Camp Rock (3 page)

I
t was early, and the soft, hazy light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the cracks in the walls of the Vibe Cabin. Outside, it was quiet except for the sounds of chirping birds.

The silence was abruptly pierced by the muffled ring of Mitchie's alarm clock. Mitchie shoved her hand under her pillow to silence the buried clock. She looked around. Ella stirred slightly but fell back to sleep.

The coast clear, Mitchie jumped from her bed, grabbed some clothes, and began to tiptoe past the sleeping girls. Accidentally, her knee
bumped Ella's cot.

Ella raised her head, her eyes squinty. “Mitchie?”

“Uh … you're dreaming … you're a rock princess,” Mitchie whispered in a soothing voice.

This pleased Ella, who smiled sleepily. “Okay, I rock,” she said before her head dropped heavily back onto her pillow.

Mitchie let out a sigh of relief and made her way out of the cabin and down the path to the kitchen. She had work to do.

A
short while later, a line of hungry campers snaked around the mess hall. Slipping out the back unnoticed, Mitchie made her way around to the front, where she joined the impatient throng. Entering the big room, she searched the crowd, looking for a place to sit. She finally spotted an empty seat at a table with Caitlyn, Lola, Barron, and Sander. Catching her eye, Barron waved her over.

“Hey,” she said, sliding in next to Caitlyn.

“Slumming, I see?” Caitlyn said.

“What?” Mitchie asked, confused by Caitlyn's cool tone.

At that moment, Tess, Peggy, and Ella came through the mess-hall doors. They spotted Mitchie.

“Hey, Mitchie!” Tess called loudly. “Over here!”

Mitchie glanced over at Caitlyn.

“You'd better go.” Caitlyn snickered. “The queen awaits.” Then, as Mitchie stood up, Caitlyn asked, “Your music? Are you any good?”

Mitchie didn't know how to answer the question. “I don't know.” She shrugged modestly. “Maybe. Kinda.”

Caitlyn nodded. “Word of advice,” she said. “If you want to be friends with Tess, don't be.”

By now, Tess was gesturing and yelling louder at Mitchie from across the mess hall.

“See ya around,” Caitlyn said coldly.

Not knowing what to say, Mitchie left. Once at Tess's table, Mitchie immediately got interrogated. “What happened to you this morning?” asked Tess suspiciously.

“Early riser,” Mitchie answered quickly. “Yum, toast!” She grabbed a piece of plain toast and stuffed it in her mouth before Tess could ask any more questions.

M
eanwhile, someone else's alarm clock had not gone off. Shane hadn't even set it. Instead, he was rudely awakened by his uncle ripping off his blankets.

“What the … ? What?” Shane grumbled.

“Rise and shine, superstar,” Brown said as his nephew groaned and buried his head under the pillow. “Mate, don't make me do this.” When Shane made no attempt to get up, Brown picked up a glass of water and threw it on him.

“Hey!” Shane shouted, sitting bolt upright. “I'm up! I'm up!”

“We both have classes to teach,” said Brown. “Yours starts in five minutes.”

I
n one of the Camp Rock activity rooms, rows of folding chairs had been set up to face a large piano. Sitting in the front with Tess, Ella, and Peggy, Mitchie couldn't help but feel cool. In another part of the room, Lola and some of her friends were playing around before class, singing and hitting various keys on the piano.

Lola struck one, then became flustered. “Was that a D-flat or a D-sharp?” she asked, looking between her friends.

Tess overheard and leaned over to whisper in Peggy's ear. “She's gotten really good since last year.”

Caitlyn, sitting a row behind them, overheard. “What? Are you scared?”

“Of catching your lack of fashion sense?” Tess didn't miss a beat with her insults. “I'm horrified.”

Caitlyn smirked and turned away.

“Has anyone actually seen Shane Gray?” Mitchie asked, glancing around at the filled chairs.

“You know,” Peggy said, popping a piece of gum in her mouth, “this is the class where he developed his sound.”

Mitchie's eyes grew wide. Camp was so cool. Ella, meanwhile, was distracted once again. “Hey, guys, is my lip gloss losing its gloss?”

Impatiently, Andy began beating his desk with his drumsticks. Barron and Sander joined in. They were so caught up in the music that they didn't even notice Brown walk in.

“Whoa,” he said, the sound hitting him. “If the class is rockin', I'm glad I came knockin'.” The kids laughed, and everyone settled down. “So, let's hear what we're working with,”

Brown said to the rows of campers. “Who wants to sing first? How about …” He scanned the room as every single hand went up—except for Mitchie's. “You?”

“Me?” Mitchie asked, glancing behind her.
“Can't argue with the finger,” Brown teased.
Mitchie hesitated.
“I'll do it,” Tess quickly interjected.
Brown didn't take his eyes off Mitchie.

He shook his head. “Nope. The finger picked her.” Mitchie was way uncomfortable now. “Um … okay …” she stammered. She stood up and
turned to face the room.

“Let 'er rip,” Brown said encouragingly. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Mitchie took a beat, and then started to sing very softly.

“I know you're singing a solo,” Brown said, “but it's so low, I can't hear you. Louder.”

Mitchie nodded and sang louder. Truth be told, she was good, very good. Everyone, even Brown, was clearly impressed.

“She's great,” Ella whispered to Tess and Peggy.

Tess shot her sidekick a look. She was not happy.

“Not bad, not bad,” Brown said when Mitchie's song was over. “Is that an original?”

Mitchie felt her cheeks flush as she looked shyly down at her flip-flops. “Yeah. It's mine, but—”

“No buts,” Brown countered. “It's good.”

Smiling, Mitchie sat back down. Things were definitely off to a great start.

* * *

“I didn't know you were that good,” Peggy said after class. “You totally rocked it!”

“Totally!” Ella agreed, making Mitchie blush.

Tess, who had been oddly quiet since Mitchie's performance, finally spoke up. “So, I've been thinking … you have to sing with us in the Final Jam. Your vocals in the background would be like, amazing. We never let people in our group. But you? A must. Want in?”

“Well … um …” Mitchie stammered. “I was going to sing solo.”

“Solo?” Tess asked, feigning shock. “In your first Final Jam? That's brave.”

Mitchie gulped. What was Tess getting at? “I'm sure I'll be nervous at first, but—”

“In front of all those people,” Tess nodded. “Yeah, you'll be fine. I mean, you've done it before.” The words were supportive, but the tone was not.

“Done what before?” Mitchie asked, her heart beginning to beat faster.

When Tess pointed out that Mitchie would
be singing in front of an audience much bigger than one classroom, Mitchie's stomach twisted. “Maybe a group would be better,” she said finally.

Tess hid a smile. “If you think so.”

Nodding her head, Mitchie tried to sound convincing as she said, “Yeah, it'll be fun.”

Just then, Mitchie noticed the time. She was late. “Um, I gotta run,” she said, hurrying off in the direction of the mess hall.

“Where?” Tess yelled after her.

“I've got to go call my mom—China time!” Mitchie called over her shoulder. More like chinaware time, she thought to herself. She was supposed to be setting the tables for dinner.

C
onnie was hard at work when Mitchie ran through the kitchen door. “Sorry I'm late,” she said breathlessly.

“That's okay, honey,” her mom said, offering her cheek for a peck. “The last batch of cookies is in the oven. You can start to clean up.” She picked up a stack of boxes and headed toward the basement. “I'm going to take these down to the storage room.”

Mitchie wiped the counter down with a sponge and grabbed a bag of flour to put back in the lower cabinet. As she bent down, she heard someone enter the kitchen.

“Hello!” a male voice called.

Mitchie's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She couldn't get up! If she did and the voice belonged to a camper, she'd be totally busted! She cowered, hidden behind the counter, and tried to stay silent, but the floor creaked, betraying her.

“Um, hello?” the voice called again.

The floor creaked once more, and Mitchie cringed.

“I can hear you …” said the voice.

Panicking, Mitchie grabbed a handful of flour, squinched her eyes shut, and threw the white dust in her face. She held her breath and stood up. And when she saw who the voice belonged to—her breath threatened to never return. Shane Gray—the Shane Gray—was right there!

“Do you work here?” Shane asked, confused.

Mitchie's stomach clenched. “Yes,” she said, resigned to the fact that the jig was up. Everyone would know her mom didn't run Hot Tunes TV China, she ran the kitchen.

Shane raised an eyebrow at her flour-whitened face. “You really get into your work. I'm Shane, but I'm sure even the kitchen help knows that.”

Mitchie's stomach unclenched. Shane didn't recognize her! Then again, she thought, it wasn't that big a shock. Unlike him, her face wasn't on the cover of every magazine.

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Actually,” Shane said, sounding annoyed, “it's not so nice. My manager said he sent over my food-allergy list, but since I couldn't go near my breakfast, I'm going to assume your kitchen people didn't get it.”

“Excuse me?” Mitchie asked, her tone
suddenly icy.

“What?” Shane asked, oblivious to how obnoxious he sounded.

“You're kind of being a jerk,” Mitchie said, the butterflies in her stomach replaced with a knot of anger.

“And you are?” Shane replied, his voice filled with attitude.

“A person,” Mitchie replied matter-of-factly. “There's a way to talk to a person. And that's not it.”

Shane was taken aback. No one talked to him like this. He looked at Mitchie a long time—too long for her comfort. She looked away. Luckily, the oven buzzer went off, breaking the tense silence.

“Well, um …” Shane stammered, still intrigued by Mitchie's boldness, “I'll have my manager send it over again.”

“Fine.” Mitchie cleared her throat, waiting for something.

“Thank you?” Shane offered.

“Much better.”

Shane left the kitchen, and Mitchie exhaled a sigh of relief, a little puff of white dust coming off her floured face.

She had met Shane Gray—and survived. At least, sort of.

I
nside the Vibe Cabin, Tess paced while Ella and Peggy sat cross-legged on their beds, writing letters home.

“We are totally going to win now that Mitchie is singing with us,” Ella mused, chewing on the end of her pen.

Tess stopped pacing. “A new background singer isn't going to make us win. We need to win Shane over.” If he was one of the Final Jam judges and they snagged his vote, there was no way they could lose.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Dee's entrance into the cabin. “Mail time, girls!” the counselor chimed brightly. “Got something here for …”

Tess perked up as Dee rifled through the bag of letters, parcels, and postcards she carried. She picked out two small packages.

“… Ella and Peggy,” she said, handing them to the excited girls. “Oh, and Tess, you have a postcard.”

“Great,” Tess mumbled, sounding far from happy. “My mom's assistant sent me a postcard.”

“See ya around, girls!” Dee called as she left.

Ella tore into her care package to discover an assortment of goodies. Peggy pulled out her own treats.

“Uh, hello,” Tess said, irritated, “back to the plan. We need to figure out how to have face time with Shane.”

“Why don't we just take all his classes?” Ella suggested.

Tess brightened, like she'd just thought of something. “Why don't we just take all his classes?” she repeated, claiming Ella's idea as her own. “I'm so ‘smart girl' right now. Let's go and sign up.”

Tess glanced quickly in the mirror, checking her makeup, then skipped out of the cabin. Ella and Peggy gave each other a look and dutifully followed.

S
hane stared at the piece of paper he was holding. He shook his head. “I don't need a chaperone, Unc.”

Brown sighed. “Seeing how you blew off your class yesterday, you sorta do.”

“I didn't sign up for this. Get my agent on the phone,” Shane demanded.

Brown gave his nephew a searching look. “What happened to you, man? That guy on TV? That's not who you really are.” He pointed to Shane's heart. “In there. What happened to that kid who loved music?”

Shane avoided his uncle's eyes. “He grew up,” he said, almost bitterly.

“Big whoop. Stop acting like it's all about
you,” Brown said, frustrated now.

“In my world, it is,” Shane responded. He barely remembered a time when people didn't do everything he asked.

“We're in myworld,” countered Brown. “And in myworld, you are considered an instructor at this camp. Which means you've got to instruct. Starting with Hip-Hop Dance at two.”

With that, Brown gave his nephew a stern look and left him alone.

I
nside the camp dance studio some of the campers were messing around, dancing freestyle and loosening up. But Tess, Ella, and Peggy hung back, waiting for class to start before busting out their moves.

“Now, remember,” Tess whispered to her cohorts, “when he gets here, act cool.” She leaned casually against the mirrors and tried to look chill.

Mitchie ran up, leaning over to catch her breath. “When who gets here?” she asked, having caught the end of Tess's comment.

“Shane,” answered Ella.

Mitchie's face fell. “He's teaching this class? Great,” she whispered under her breath. What if he remembers me from the kitchen?

Ella glanced over at Mitchie. She frowned. “Is that flour in your hair?” she asked.

Mitchie's eyes grew wide. She had to think fast! “No, uh, Chinese body powder. Cool, huh?” she managed.

At that moment, Shane entered the studio. Barely bothering to get everyone's name, he walked over to the stereo and pressed PLAY. Music filled the room. Counting off, Shane launched into a complex, choreographed number.

“He calls this teaching?” Mitchie muttered as she tried to take in the moves.

“It's a way to weed out the weak,” Tess said matter-of-factly. She began to dance.

Mitchie sighed and started to move to the beat, too. Unlike some of the campers, she had little trouble keeping up—until Shane smiled at her. Does he recognize me? she worried, tripping over her feet and bumping into Tess.

“Hey!” Tess cried.

“Sorry,” Mitchie muttered, trying to get back in step.

Next to her, Andy, his drumsticks poking out of his pocket, was doing far worse. He was all over the place.

“Eight! And one, two, three, four—” Shane continued to count out the beat, wincing at their out-of-sync performance. “Stop! Stop!” he finally yelled, punching the STOP button on the stereo.

“Talk about dancing to the beat of a different drum.” Tess snickered, nodding at Andy. Some of the kids laughed, but Shane didn't notice.

“Hey,” Shane said to Andy, gesturing to the sticks still in the boy's pocket. “You any good on the drums?”

Instead of answering, Andy pulled out his drumsticks and started tapping a rousing combination on a nearby bench. Shane nodded, impressed.

“Now we just have to work on getting that
beat from those sticks to those feet,” Shane joked.

Andy smiled. So did Mitchie. Maybe, she thought, there was more to Shane Gray than his obnoxious bad-boy, pop-star image suggested.