IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You (15 page)

“Do it!” Colleen snaps her fingers, dismissing you with a weary sigh. “If it turns out half as good as you’re trying to make it sound, then we might actually manage to make the parents happy. Happy parents equals happy board members, and it’s always handy to have those folks on your good side. God knows we could use some new bunk beds—try fifty of them.”

“So it’s done then? Can I start working on my script? We’ll need to hold auditions and teach them the routines! I might need an assistant or two, maybe a vocal coach? What about the costumes? I’m sure we can—”

“I don’t want to hear about this until we’re lifting the curtains and I’ve got to worry about some kid throwing up from nerves on my stage.” She waves her hands at you. “Now go on, do what you have to do.”

On the inside you’re squealing, but you manage a respectable
nod and rush from her office without breaking out your famous moves. Only when you’re in the safety of your private cabin do you jump and squeal and put on your
High School Musical
playlist to give your muscle memory a true workout.

This is going to be fantastic—you just know it.

“THIS IS A DISASTER,
a complete and utter disaster.” You’re sitting with your throbbing head in your hands on the floor of the small auditorium where the camp holds its events.

Your cocounselor and the closest thing you have to a friend here, Janie, sympathetically pats your head. “They’re not that bad.”

“He’s supposed to be Troy Bolton! Do you realize what that means? He’s got to be the most amazing basketball player, singer, potential boyfriend material, out there. Right now, Mr. Wells is doing a pretty crappy job of that. He hasn’t been able to make a single shot, Janie.”

“Well, you’ve got to admit those are some pretty big shoes he’s got to fill. This Mr. Bolton sounds like quite the accomplished person.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen
High School Musical
. This entire camp is filled with pop culture heretics. What were you doing in 2006?”

“Watching documentaries on the reproductive cycle of elephants? Did you know an elephant can stay pregnant for up to two years?”

You stare at her, completely dumbfounded. “You could’ve seen Ryan and Sharpay’s ‘Bop to the Top,’ and you chose to watch elephants copulate instead?”

She shrugs. “We all have our priorities.”

Before you can shake her and ask her what the ever-loving heck is wrong with her, you’re summoned onstage. Eliza Monroe,
the eleven-year-old playing Gabriella, is quite the diva, and as usual she’s having issues with her costar, the Troy that was never meant to be, little Aaron Wells.

You frown at her. “What is it this time, Eliza?”

“He’s ruining the song!”

“No, I’m not,” faux Troy protests. “If you quit trying to be a show-off and stealing all my high notes, maybe we wouldn’t have a problem.”

“I’m doing us both a favor here, buddy. Have you heard how you sound when you try and sing that last part? Here, this is how you sound:
‘This couLd beEeeE, the start of sOmethING newWwW
,’ ” the little diva screeches. “We don’t want to damage people’s eardrums now, do we?”

Ouch, eleven-year-olds are worse than most of the people in your Advanced Acting class.

You raise a hand. “Whoa, hold up. You’re being unnecessarily rude, Eliza, apologize to Aaron.” She may be right, but you’d die before you’d admit that.

“There’s no need, this is stupid.” Aaron attempts to take off the basketball jersey with the number fourteen embossed on it. You’d found a bunch of knockoff costumes from the film on Amazon and opted for next-day delivery. It took quite the mental fortitude to give the jersey to Aaron when you wanted to wear it to bed instead.

Trying to break up the latest drama between the two, you wonder if you’re ever going to be ready in time to put on the show you promised Colleen. With auditions having been held two and a half weeks ago, you have exactly one more week till the final performance. But with dismal pickings, you’ve ended up with a mismatched cast who seem to all hate each other. However, since they were the only people who showed up, you’ve got to put up with their daily tantrums.

“Aaron, sweetie, please stay,” you say gently. “I’m sure Eliza
didn’t mean that; it’s been a long day. Why don’t you two take a break and we’ll go back to rehearsing the song once again?”

He looks annoyed and sniffs, addressing both Eliza and you. “I looked him up, you know. The actor in the movie that you talk about so much? Personally, I think I sound better than him.”

You gasp.
How
dare
he? The little piece of toe jam!
“I’ll let you know that his voice—”

“Wasn’t the best in the first movie, I agree. But, kid, jeez, that was harsh!” someone says from behind you.

At first they don’t register, the gasps and the bug-eyed expressions of the people around you. You’re pretty sure you hear someone scream, but it doesn’t hit you for a few seconds. You hear footsteps, thundering ones, and that’s when your heart begins to race.

“It was my big break,” the same voice says. “I like to think you won’t judge me on that forever.”

You freeze, your spine stiffens momentarily, and then you’re pretty sure you’ve gotten a permanent cramp in your neck by how fast you turn around. Your entire body shivers because you’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve had it serenade you during lonely nights for years. When times got tough, you had it telling you to get your head in the game. When your third blind date of the month turned out to be a dud, you jammed out to “Start of Something New” because it gave you hope. Just a couple of weeks ago, when you’d gone ahead and had an anxiety attack about school, all you had to do was play “Breaking Free” and you could breathe easier. You’d snuggled with your personalized
HSM
jersey and imagined that you were someone else for the night, possibly Gabriella, and you’d have a Troy sneaking in through your balcony. The idea itself made everything ten times better.

But it’s not possible to hear that very voice live within a few feet of you. No, you’ve finally gone ahead and breached the fangirl
line of sanity. Not only are you dreaming of Zac Efron, you’ve started seeing him as well.

“Hi.” Imaginary Zac takes a step toward you, and you notice how silent the entire auditorium has gone. Even Janie looks shell-shocked, her hands covering her mouth and her eyes the size of saucers.

Wait, if he’s a mere figment of your deprived imagination, why is everyone reacting this way?

Oh, God.

You don’t move, simply staring at the Adonis in front of you, your heart galloping inside your chest. In that moment you’re not even sure if you’re breathing the right way. Your mom did always tell you that you were a mouth breather, but given that you’ve been gaping at Imaginary Zac for a good few minutes now, you’re not even doing that. You feel a bit light-headed; maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or the beauty of the person before you. Real or not, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. His eyes—the ones you’ve loved for the past ten years—pierce right through you as he extends his hand.

He says your name, tells you he heard about the musical you’re trying to stage to commemorate ten years of his movie. Apparently a kid from your class tweeted about it. Apparently it went viral and reached his publicist. He wants to help out. He thinks what you’re doing is great. He’d love it if you could make him part of the process somehow. Maybe he could help the actors with their dialogue and songs? You can’t see beyond the fuzziness beginning to cloud your vision. He keeps talking. You keep struggling to not sway on your feet. Tanned skin, rich brown hair that’s been lightened by the sun, tanned, muscled arms that are exposed by his short-sleeve shirt, and, above all, the smile that’s hitting you with the blinding force of a thousand lights.

He’s rendered you speechless.

“My friend here’s in shock, I think. She’s a huge fan. We all are, Mr. Efron, and we’re so grateful that you took the time to come out here. Offering to help out these kids is just so very kind of you! I’m sure she’d say the same if she wasn’t so—”

“I watched
The Goonies
!” you blurt out, then slap your hands over your mouth.

You’re still shaking, your entire body humming to get closer to Zac. You want to touch him, not in a creepy stalker way, but just to make sure that he’s there and that you haven’t crossed over to the dark side, where fangirls become ghosts haunting their obsessions.

Zac smiles at you, a restrained, polite smile, and you’re not sure if he thinks you’re cute or just plain crazy.

You can hear your own voice quivering but you keep talking. “I know it’s your favorite movie. . . .” Heat blooms across your chest and radiates from your face. “I’ve watched it multiple times. . . . I . . . thank you for introducing me to it. Just yesterday when Ryan nearly dropped our Sharpay during one of the routines, I went back to my cabin and watched it twice! I mean, between consuming copious amounts of wine and having a killer hangover the next day, or watching a cinematic gem, I think I went for the lesser of the two evils.” You laugh at your own comment, but no one joins you. You keep laughing; it soon turns into hysteria, and then to your utter mortification, you snort . . . repeatedly.

“Oh, no,” you cry, and once again try to muffle your breakdown, but it’s futile. Everyone’s looking at you, and the traitors you call students, who you’ve spent weeks training, are rolling on the floor clutching their sides.

Super.

Zac Efron, who apparently is the real Zac Efron, keeps a blank, if slightly concerned, expression on his face. Janie’s burning a hole in the side of your head, but you keep looking at him.
Even if you had the option to Apparate to Hogsmeade right now, you’d want to remain stuck right here in this increasingly traumatizing moment.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asks quietly.

You nod. It’s all starting to hit you right now. You’ve spent ten years fantasizing about him, keeping up with the Google alerts, being the first in line to watch all his movies and hoarding Wheat Thins just because you know he loves them.

And he’s finally here. To your utter embarrassment, you begin to tear up, and what’s worse is that he notices.

Clearing his throat, he stretches his hand out to Aaron, who’s watching the two of you with rapt attention—well, as much attention as an eleven-year-old can muster. “Mic, please?”

You watch in confusion as Zac takes the microphone from Aaron and brings it up to his lips. “I’d like for everyone to clear the room, please. The two of us need to go over some things for this musical, and we’d like some time alone to seriously overhaul the situation.”

He commands the room like the superstar that he is. You watch him affect everyone instantly, as they all begin to leave. Even Janie follows suit as she squeezes your shoulder and whispers
good luck
in your ear.

When the auditorium is completely silent, Zac walks toward the sound system and begins fiddling with the playlist.

Your legs finally give out as you downright collapse onstage.

Hugging your knees close to your chest, you tell yourself over and over that this is not a dream. Somewhere in the back of your mind you always believed this would happen, and it did. You’ve got to seize the moment.

“Are Honey Nut Cheerios really your favorite cereal?”

He laughs but nods. “Yup, why?”

You feel dazed. “I just wanted to confirm whether or not I’d been eating them all these years for no good reason. And I tried
to get into those comics and manga that were listed on your fan site, but, uh, I just couldn’t.”

His booming laughter fills the entire auditorium, and immediately afterward you hear the beginning notes of your favorite song.

“Would you like to sing with me?” Walking back onstage, he hands the other mic to you.

But you can only stare back like he’s asked you to strip. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“The clip I saw on the internet . . . it was of you singing this song for your students. It’s what brought me here. You’re . . . absolutely incredible,” he says with a mixture of sincerity and awe in his voice.

You continue to gape at him, then sputter. Struggling to get to your feet, you finally stand upright and try to find the right words. “My . . . singing . . .
brought you here
?”

“That and the passion with which you were telling everyone about the movies, about me. I guess I just had to see you.”

You blink and continue to do so for several long moments.

“We’re going to miss our cue,” he says. “Sing with me? Please, before word gets out that I’m—”

“Yes!” you shout, way too loud. But he just grins. “I mean, thank you. That’s just . . . and when I say that I can’t explain what this means to me, I literally can’t.” Tears prick your eyes again and he sees them and inches closer.

“ ‘We’re soaring, flying . . . ’ ” He takes your hand and brings you closer. Your skin is aflame where he touches you, flickers of pleasure dancing across the surface. He sings, and it takes you back ten years. You’re that girl again, impossibly in love with someone who wasn’t even aware of your existence. He’s whispering in your ear now: “You can do this, come on. Sing like I know you can.”

But then you get your miracle. . . . “ ‘If we’re trying, so we’re breaking free.’ ” The words slip past your lips and Zac’s entire face lights up.

You’re doing this, you’re actually doing this!

The next five minutes are the best five minutes of your life. You’ve got to hand it to the guy—he can still bust out his best Troy Bolton moves even though it’s probably been years since he last had to perform them. But what’s most miraculous is how it makes you feel: free, awakened, and bursting with joy. You dance, you sing your heart out, you laugh, and it’s the most exquisite moment of your life when he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you close and you sing those last lines together: “ ‘You know the world can see us in a way that’s different than who we are.’ ”

MAYBE YOU BLACK OUT
for a moment. Who knows? But by the end of your performance you’re both breathless, but in the best way possible. He releases you, relinquishing his hold just the tiniest fraction, and you stumble back.