PART 46
*Taylor*

Sometime between the end of 'Can't Stop' and the halfway through 'If Only', I notice that my older brother Isaac has developed some sort of facial tic. It really is all I need at this point: I haven't had what you'd exactly call a good show. Not only did the stupid girls near the front nearly kill me with the teddy bear they pelted at me--does this have rocks in it or something??--but I came in too early on 'Thinking of You' and I've stopped looking to the audience at all, being so emotionally distraught every time I glance at Brinny's empty seats. Call me a whiner, but it's upsetting, alright?

Wrenching my arm away from a girl in the front row who has a grip like a gorilla and is screaming like she is positively on fire, I give Isaac a worried look as I pull my harmonica out again. What's up with him? While playing and trying to get the crowd moving a little--what's with this crowd, it's like they're sleeping standing up, for Christ's sake--Isaac's eyes widen again and his head jerks once, twice, towards the audience.

I glare at him and roll my eyes--I just know this is about my voice cracking on the high notes of the chorus--but then I glance back at Zac when I criss-cross the stage, and he's doing the same thing as Ike. Jesus. I'm just beginning to wonder when both of my brothers became such perfectionists--has Ike forgotten the fact that he started the wrong verse not once, but twice during 'Love Song'??--when suddenly it's like I have a light shining directly over my head (besides the stage lights, I mean), and my heart lurches with recognition. Slowly, trying to look cool and like I don't care one way or the other who's sitting in the middle of the first row, I push my hair out of my eyes and really look back into the audience for the first time since the beginning of the show.

Oh, my God. She's actually here.

*Isaac*

Christ. Now, we all know that Taylor is about as dense as they come, but this really was getting ridiculous. I noticed his little love interest elbowing her way to her seats--followed by some dark, incredibly amazing looking girl who appeared to be apologizing to the other fans for Brinn's lack of manners as they passed--about twenty minutes or so into our show, and I've been shooting Taylor what I consider obvious "Look into the audience, your little love interest is here, you moody lump of crap" looks ever since. He just now has snapped out of his self-absorbed, mid-concert pity party to glance at something other than his own feet, and I think he's finally taken the hint. Shaking my head, I look back at Zac, who rolls his eyes none too discreetly. Taylor is now dramatically flipping his hair around in what I know he thinks is a sexy way, so he must realize she's there for sure. Finally; I was really beginning to wonder about him for a moment or two.

I glance out into the audience as I play through 'If Only' as if on automatic--I swear, I could play this, hell, any of our songs, in my sleep. Brinn is standing self-consciously with her arms folded across her chest--that is one incredibly bright, incredibly pink shirt she has on there (hmmm, Marit would look awesome in that color . . .maybe I'll buy her one. I mean, I would, if we were at that comfortable-buying-gifts stage. Which we aren't, not yet. But when we are. . .) Every once in a while she'll chance a glance up towards Taylor before averting her eyes. She looks like she is trying very hard to seem as if she doesn't want to be here (extremely typical of Taylor's girlfriends), but the drop-dead-gorgeous girl she came in with is clapping and jumping obediently when Taylor tells her to. It's nearing the end of the song, and Taylor bends down to shake hands--or rather, let the girls grab at him like he's a piece of meat while trying very hard to keep his feet planted firmly on the stage--something he always does at the end of 'If Only'. But I know my brother; this time, the whole task is calculated.

Sure enough, he gravitates towards the middle of the stage, stands in front of Brinn, and reaches his hand out for her. Immediately, his outstretched arm is covered by the sweaty, blood-sucker like hands of shrieking fans, but he stays that way for just a second, waiting to see what she's going to do.

I glance at Zac. He's waiting, too, staring intently towards the audience.

Finally, a smile spreading across her face, she uncrosses her arms from her chest and briefly touches her hand to Taylor's. A second later he pulls away (for his own safety; though I'm sure if he and Brinn were the only people here, he would have jumped right into the audience with her), looking both more red in the face and more relaxed than he has the entire show. He also has a grin so huge spread across his face that it actually makes me smile, too. He catches my eye and raises his eyebrows at me and nods, like he thinks he is the biggest stud to ever grace the universe. I roll my eyes, but I can't help feeling happy for him.

*Charlotte*

"Marion!" I hiss, pulling on the sleeve of the gauzy blue shirt she wore for the performance. We're standing, along with Marit, just offstage--close enough to see the girls in the audience and make fun of them, but not quite close enough so they can see us--and even though Taylor isn't exactly my favorite member of the Hanson family, I can't help feeling excited when I see that girl he's after sitting in the front row. Hell, I don't particularly care for her, either, but anyone's better than Jules. "See that girl, right there? In the pink?"

"With the big hair?" Marion asks, squinting into the lights.

"Uhh, yeah. That's her, the one that Taylor has a crush on. Ohh, I'm so glad she came. Taylor must be so excited."

"Pretty," Marit comments, downing the rest of her water. "But she looks. . .mad or something."

I wave my hand. "Oh, that's just the way she is. Really, I bet she's in a really good mood."

"Huh. What's with Taylor and the cranky girls?"

I shrug. "You've got me. . ."

*Zac*

"Holy shit," I mumble to myself when I see Brinn for the first time. Is it possible that this girl got hotter since the last time I saw her? Completely not fair; how come Taylor gets all the hot girls and I get Charlotte? Not that there's anything wrong with Charlotte, or anything, but. . .she's just Charlotte, and Brinn is dark and exotic and she's wearing a shirt so tight I can actually see the outline of her bra. I turn guiltily to my left, where Charlotte and Ike's girlfriend and that other hot European girl, Marion, are all standing offstage, wondering if Charlotte somehow can tell that I am drooling over Taylor's scantily clad crush from behind my drumset. She just smiles, and for a second I puzzle over the idea that I would feel guilty for checking out Brinn from behind my drumset. . .I mean, Charlotte isn't my girlfriend or anything. Yeah, that's right.

Feeling relieved that my inner naysayer and I have worked that issue out, I turn back towards the stage and dreamily stare at Brinn.

Taylor. That kid gets all the breaks.

*Brinn*

So we're here, at the show, and all of the sudden I don't know what to do with my hands. Emily is no help whatsoever: she's jumping around like the weirdo that she is and has no idea that I'm seriously uncomfortable here. Finally, after a minute or two of staring at my fingernails, I chance a glimpse up and there he is: Taylor Hanson, live and in the flesh. My first thought isn't about how gorgeous he looks (cause he does) or how this song isn't half bad; instead, all I can think is, "Oh my God, how much can one boy possibly sweat?" It's amazing. . .the kid looks like someone drenched him with a fire hose. Slightly horrified, I glance around at his brothers, but they aren't dripping half as much as Taylor. Jesus. Is there something wrong with him or something?

Pretty soon I am over the fact that Taylor is soaked through to the skin (though I must admit the whole situation--a nearly completely wet Taylor Hanson mere feet in front of me--is making me feel sort of hot all over), and I start listening to the music and it's actually good. I remember the song from my afternoons of watching TRL--before I swore it off a couple weeks ago because I was sick of hearing this exact same song, or rather, watching Taylor in the video--something with lots of harmonica and a beat that causes Taylor, and most of the audience, to jump like rabid animals. If rabid animals, you know, jumped or whatever.

"Geez, Brinn," I hear Emily say between hops. Her dark hair brushes my cheek as she bounces, and she has to keep stopping to hike her hip-huggers back up around her narrow waist. "He is so beautiful."

"He is not," I say back, snottily, but I'm lying; he really is.

He's smiling and nearly skipping from this side of the stage to the other, grinning when the girls grab at his legs and pushing his damp hair off of his face every time he whips the harmonica out. I admit it, I'm enjoying the way he looks tonight: some ratty but tight-looking jeans, and he's just pulled off his long-sleeved shirt to reveal a white wife-beater. Now, where I come from, guys who wear these aren't the desirable type, but the sight of Taylor in one is nearly mesmerizing.

I'm starting to relax, even enjoy myself, liking the fact that Taylor hasn't yet spotted me and I can just sit here and observe him, in his element. I mean, we all know that Taylor is this big, egomaniac wannabe rockstar, but even I must admit the boy has some talent. I'm not saying that his music is necessarily my thing, or anything crazy like that, but I'm really having fun watching him sing. His brothers are pretty good, too (though Isaac's head is bobbing back and forth in this strange way and Zac is staring so intently into the audience that he looks like he's on the verge of unconsciousness or something), but they just don't have whatever Taylor has. Not that I think Taylor is extraordinarily gifted and amazing, or anything, but he's just talented, okay?

And then, all of the sudden, he whips his head around, right to my seats in the middle of the first row. His eyes get big for a second, looking at me, and I don't know what to do--smiling or waving or acknowledging him in any way seems not only silly, but ridiculously out of the question--so I just fold my arms over my chest and try to find a suitable place to look. Therefore, the only reason I know that Taylor is standing in front of me a couple seconds later is because Emily jabs me sharply in the ribs.

Trying to look cool, calm, in control, I look up at Taylor Hanson. And then he does something funny and completely unexpected: he sort of bends over and reaches his hand toward me. The parasitic fans on either side of Emily and I latch onto him hungrily, but when I look into his face, his bright blue eyes are staring into me, a smirk playing across his face.

Conceited bastard, is what I think, but I can't help smiling a little and before I know it I've placed my hand on his sweaty one. The teenybopper in my head, who apparently is trying to take up permanent residence, rolls over and passes out.

"I'm glad you came," he yells into the noise, and then he turns on his black-booted heel and rushes to the other side of the stage, hands reaching after him (mine isn't one of them, just for the record). He could have been talking to anyone, really; judging by the hysterical sobbing of the girls to my left, I'm evidently not the only one to think so. But I know he was talking to me, and even though the stubborn, anti-Taylor side of me is ticked that I gave in and came to the concert, the rest of me thinks the attention and the look he just gave me is sort of. . .nice. First the satisfying fight with Taylor's ex and now this: this excursion may just be worthwhile after all.

PART 47

*Brinn*

Just like cattle, or more accurately, kindergartners: they pushed coming into the theater, and now, three hours later and only slightly more sweaty and tearful, they push with the same fervor going back out. The sudden empty quiet has left my ears buzzing, and I sit back down in my front row seat, feeling slightly dizzy. Only Emily is still standing at her seat, clapping her hands and squealing like some variety of monkey. "Oh, Brinn, that was so fun. . .I'm so glad I came. . .I'm thinking about buying their cd, what did they say its called again. . .?"

"Don't you dare," I say distractedly, sliding my feet back and forth over the worn carpeted floor. My mind is caught somewhere between what I am going to say to Taylor when I see him and what exactly the funny feeling in my chest is. I swear to God I'm headed for an early heart attack.

Emily--unreasonably bouncy for 11:30 at night after (for me anyway) an emotionally exhausting concert--untangles a strand of her hair from her silver necklace. "So are you going back stage or not, Brinn?" she asks. "I wanna meet me some Hansons."

I shrug, unsure. "I don't know. . .I don't wanna, just, bust back there. One of them might be naked or something." I shudder.

For once Emily is the one to give me the withering look. "I think that's what they have dressing rooms for, Bri. I don't think they just walk around, naked. Though, if they did--"

"Enough," I cut in before I can hear where exactly she's going with this.

And before she can open that perky little mouth of her's again, an unfamiliar dark-haired guy walks out of the wings and grins at me and my sister, the only two weirdos left in the whole theater. "Which one of you ladies would be Brinn?" he asks.

*Zac*

"Okay," Taylor's saying before I even get a chance to get completely offstage or wipe the sweat off my forehead. "This is what we're going to do. I'm going to take a shower. Zac. . .just go do something. And Isaac, you go and get Brinn. And her friend, or whoever that majorly hot girl is."

I snicker. "Good plan, jackass. That must've taken quite a lot out of you."

"I am not going to beckon your little girlfriend," Isaac whines, his eyes following Marit's movements as she moves around in the half-darkness backstage. "I have. . .plans, Taylor."

"Well," Taylor says huffily, "I certainly can't get her, I'm all sweaty and gross. And she's not my girlfriend. Yet. But she will be very soon, possibly even within the next three hours or so--"

"I can get her," mom says brightly, appearing beside us with Zoe on her hip. "The little dark-haired one in the front, right, baby?"

"I think that's a great idea, mom." I grin widely and poke Charlotte in the ribs, who giggles.

Taylor's eyes widen with the horrifying idea of mom talking to Brinn so early in the game. "Um. . .I don't think that. . .I don't know if that would be such a good idea. I mean, I appreciate it and everything," he flounders, looking at Isaac and I for help. "Zac?" he says pleadingly.

Ashley, who has been traveling with us for the last few shows, appears in our little circle just as Isaac slinks off after Marit, who is disappearing in the shadows behind us. "I'll get her, Tay," Ashley says in his easy way. Luckily for Taylor, because I was definitely going to say no. Why help your brother when you can watch him squirm?

You probably would be able to see the relief spread over Taylor's face if he wasnt so damn sweaty. "You're awesome, Ash. . .I'm just worried that she'll leave before I get a chance to get out of the shower, and none of these bozos will help me out." He punctuates his accusation with a narrowing of his eyes.

"I said I'd get her, baby," our mom calls over her shoulder as she walks off to round up the rest of the Hanson clan.

Taylor rolls his eyes discreetly. "Yeah, I know, Ma. . .and I really appreciate it and all. . ." He suddenly dashes off in the direction of the upstairs dressing rooms, only stopping to yell to Ashley, "She and her friend are in the front row, center. Beautiful, with the curly hair? Make sure she doesn't leave before I come back down."

"You'll know which one she is," I say, loud enough for Taylor to overhear, "because as soon as you mention Taylor's name she'll start rolling her eyes. Oh, or have her stand up. . .she has this really amazing backsi--"

I am simultaneously punched very hard by Charlotte and glared at by both Taylor and my mother, who unfortunately is still within earshot. Ashley just shakes his head and grins before heading to the front of the stage.

*Brinn*

I have never been backstage anywhere--well, not counting the one fateful year when Ellie conned me into acting in the school production of the King and I, and I, cast as a servant, kneeled so long at the side of the art club-designed throne during one practice that I dislocated a toe. But whatever, besides that. . .backstage at the Orpheum Theater is quite different from backstage at our dinky little auditorium stage: though the general degree of disrepair and falling down-ness is about equal, the ceilings here are high, there is real equipment scattered around and the crew members are not using their walkie-talkies to tell their girlfriends in the light box what they want to do to them after practice, a la Joey Broderband. At least, I don't think they are, anyway.

There is one especially major difference. Today at the Orpheum, there are Hansons backstage. One of which, evidently elected to keep me busy until Taylor appears from wherever he is at the moment, is standing directly in front of me.

"So," Zac is saying, looking generally damp and frazzled from his two hours on stage, "then I said to her--the redhead, not the tall one that looked like a horse--who do you think you are, following me all the way to my hotel room?"

I feel dazed. I have no idea what he is talking about. "Uh-huh," I say. I glance at my watch, wondering when the self-centered sex symbol of this group is going to appear. I mean, I have school tomorrow.

Zac stoops over a little to look me in the eye, scratching his dirty-blond head. "Am I putting you to sleep?" He asks like this is an impossible concept. If his stories are always like this, he has to be used to people nodding off in front of him.

I let Zac babble on (his eyes keep drifting towards the front of my shirt in a way that is both completely indiscreet and completely offensive), looking around in the semi-darkness (don't they have waiting rooms back here or something? Why am I sitting on a dusty stage, anyway??). The rest of the Hansons have cleared out, probably gone to bed like smart people. . .except for Isaac, who I'm pretty sure I saw sneak off with the blond from the opening act. It's just me, that snitty little carrot-haired girlfriend of Zac's, Charlotte (who I'm sure would rather die than leave me alone with Zac), and Emily--who, being her usual bundle of no help-ness, is sitting primly beside Charlotte and rambling on about the Calvin Klein model she just met at her audition in the city.

Hmmm. There seems to be one more person around, illuminated in the doorway like some kind of disgustingly beautiful angel.

"Brinn," he says, a wide smile breaking over his face. I'm caught again by how blue his eyes are, even in the half-dark.

"Taylor," I say, swallowing hard and rising to my feet. "Hi."

*Taylor*

The whole time I was in the shower, I half thought that someone--one of my brothers, a scary body guard, Zoe and her new disturbing habit of throwing up when she wants attention--would probably scare Brinny away before I get a chance to talk to her, so I was so surprised to see her when I finally get down onto the stage that I feel breathless, like the wind was just knocked out of me. She's sitting there on the dusty stage with my crazy brother telling her some story, looking bored and annoyed, and I've forgotten how unbelievably crazy pretty she is. So I just stand there for a minute, trying to look cool and collected while trying to catch my breath. I'm a clumsy idiot and knock my elbow against an open door as I stand there and she turns around at the noise, her expression remaining blank as she takes me and my retardedness in. She's kind of biting her lip, and even though I'm trying to be aloof and cool and unexcited, I can't stop the smile from spreading across my face. "Brinny," I exclaim without meaning to, walking towards her. I stop a few feet away, taking in her wild hair, gone curly with sweat and humidity, her wide green eyes.

"Taylor," she says in response, not sounding quite unhappy but not exactly excited, either. She stands up, taking the time to brush off the seat of her jeans, and then shoves her hands in her back pockets before she says anything else. "Hi."

*Brinn*

Nice sister. She says she'll come to the concert with me for moral support, but evidently she doesn't realize that moral support translates to "I will never leave you alone with Taylor at any moment." I mean, any moron can sit in an audience; this is the important part, what is all comes down to, but here I am looking up and she is completely gone. Unbelievable. She even took Zac and Charlotte with her, so I don't even have those two weirdos for distraction. Yup, this is just great.

I put on a bad parody of nonchalance, standing there with my hands in my pockets like I could care less about the fact that there is a bonafide hottie standing in front of me. He sort of hesitates--like a scared puppy whose tail has been pulled one too many times--but then he smiles and comes forward and, true to his previous behavior, stops about two inches from me, completely invading my personal space. Moving away feels like a rude thing to do so early on in the night, even for me, but I have to break the silence so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "You certainly sweat a lot during a show. Just like the proverbial pig."

He arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at me, looking slightly hurt as well as amused. "That's all you can say about the show? I sweat a lot?"

I shrug defensively. "Well, I mean, it's kind of hard not to notice, Taylor."

"Whatever. You thought it was hot." He takes a step closer, tentatively, close enough for me to smell shampoo in his still-damp hair. "I'm glad you came, Brinny. I was sure you wouldn't."

I open my mouth to say that I almost wished I had stayed home, thanks to his disgusting two-hour sweat-fest, but there's something about the way he's smiling at me so honestly that makes me stop and smile back. "Well, I guess it was slightly better than staying home and doing my algebra homework," I say, begrudgingly. "Of course, I definitely would have left if you hadn't have been wearing such tight pants . . ."

Taylor looks at me for a second as if considering something, then grabs my hand and pulls. "Come on, Brinny, come with me," he says.

I drag my feet like a little kid and say stubbornly, "It's Brinn, Taylor. And if you think for one second that I am going to follow you into some back room in this pit to have sex or something, you couldn't be more wrong. Besides," I continue, trying to wrestle my hand out of his grasp, "It's getting late, and I have school tomorrow."

He turns briefly as we climb up a flight of stairs and grins at me. "Ohh. So you're saying, if you didn't have school tomorrow, you would follow me into some back room to have s --"

"NO." I press my fingers into his bony ribs as we reach the landing, trying to get him to loosen his grip on me. I wouldn't want anyone, especially Taylor, to think that I am enjoying this in any way, shape or form.

"Cut it out, you little tight ass," he calls cheerfully over his shoulder. "I promise, climbing all these stairs is worth it."

We reach the second landing, and he turns to face me. "Now, close your eyes," he instructs, still holding onto my hand.

I do as I'm told, but I say, "Listen, Taylor Hanson, I don't even know you that well. If you think I'm going to be following you all over this falling-down theater with my freaking eyes closed, you have something else coming."

"Uh-huh. Whatever. We're almost there now, anyway," Taylor murmurs. "Be careful, there are more steps here. Up."

I can just see the newspaper headline now. Boston Girl, 15, Killed After Following Crazy Wannabe Popstar Onto Rickety, Falling Down, Extremely Dangerous Upper Floors of Orpheum Theater. That certainly would show Emily for leaving me all alone with this nutcase . . .

"Okay," Taylor says triumphantly, helping me into my seat. I can't believe I still have my eyes closed. I really am asking for it, going along with him and all. Maybe I'm the nutcase. "We're here. You can open your eyes."

Taylor has led me to the very top row of seats in the highest balcony level. Its eerily quiet up here, no noise anywhere, and with only a dim set of stage lights on, it's easy to forget that this is just an old falling down theater; it's easy to imagine how it must have used to be. It's beautiful, really, when you're so far up you can't see the chips in the paint along the walls and the rips in the seats down below.

"We're so high up," I say, feeling strangely giddy. "You can't tell me that people actually pay money to see you guys play from up here? Ludicrous."

Taylor smiles, looking pleased. "Oh, they want to and they do, sweetheart. Well. . .sometimes, anyway." Looking slightly sheepish, he pulls a vaguely rumpled-looking rose out of nowhere and offers it to me timidly. "This looked much healthier earlier, really," he says hurridly. "I mean, I meant to put it in water, but. . ." He shrugs his narrow shoulders and smiles at me, pushing at a wayward strand of still-damp blond hair.

"It's nice," I reply. "Thanks." And then I don't know what else to say, because I don't really know this kid, so I don't say anything. I look down at the all the rows of seats below us, appreciating the quiet until I hear Emily's distinctive giggle in some far-off hallway. That little snot.

"So why did you decide to come?" Taylor says after a moment.

"Where?" I ask absently. The white petals of the rose are turning slightly brown along the edges.

"To the show, silly," he says, nudging my foot with the tip of his boot. He stays there, our feet touching and his knee pressed into my thigh, and I'm distracted into silence for a moment because it's all I'm conscious of. God, I gotta get it together.

Finally, I shrug. "I don't know . . .boring Thursday night. . ." What, exactly, does he want me to say? I couldn't stop thinking about you? I was dying to hear if the rumors about you taking your shirt off were true? I don't think so.

He snorts. "Whatever . . . you just wanted to hear if the rumors about me taking my shirt off were true."

God. I don't even know this boy, but I know him. Disturbing, really. "You'd love it if I said that, wouldn't you, Pretty Boy?" I tease, pulling away from him to prop my feet up on the seat in front of me. "And while we're on the subject of you taking your shirt off, I have to tell you. . .wifebeaters are so sleazy. I mean, if you're going to show that much skin, you might as well just--"

It takes a moment before the fact that I am being kissed actually registers. My mind works in short bursts: he tastes like peppermint gum. He must have skipped the morning shave. That floppy, wayward strand of hair is tickling my cheek. His palm feels callused as he rests it on my arm, just above my elbow. The word 'WOW' is flashing in my head like a short-circuiting neon sign.

After a moment, it feels like time to pull away, but in my half-functioning state I cannot think of one good reason to do so. So I don't. Taylor leans into me, reaching up to touch my hair, and although I vaguely feel like this all isn't happening, in the back of my brain I'm not the least bit surprised.

*Taylor*

I wish I had a video camera to record all of this, so the next time someone tells me I'm not the man, I'll be able to play them a tape of me making out with an amazingly beautiful girl in a far corner of the balcony of a theater where I just played a show for a full house.

I want her, all of her, I absolutely cannot get enough of her. Her hair, the way she tastes, the way she smells is all making me dizzy and I love it. I can't believe I thought for a moment that being with Jules was anything like being with Brinny.

*Brinn*

Of course, I had to stop it all sometime; I can imagine that he will let this kiss go on forever, if I leave it up to him, which certainly is not going to happen. Can't send the wrong message here. "Taylor," I whisper. He kisses me once more, quick, and I smile without even thinking about it. "It's getting late. . .don't you have to leave soon? I mean, you must have another show, what, tomorrow night? Need your beauty sleep for all of those screaming girls." I'm so dizzy with heat and kissing and the smell of him that I can't even think about the fact that tonight, I have completely let my guard down to Taylor Hanson. Self-consciously, I lean towards him and wipe a smear of lip-gloss off of his lower lip. So much for having a backbone. Really, this all just proves my point that I shouldn't ever be around this kid; he's just bad news, period. He hypnotizes me with those huge blues eyes and within seconds, I'm all over him like some back-alley floozy. I'm pathetic. It's a good thing I probably won't be seeing him anymore after tonight.

He clears his throat once, twice; he's breathing hard, and there's this slight smile playing on his lips, like he thinks he's this huge stud. "I. . .yeah, I probably should go. . .we do have to leave. . . long drive. . ." it seems as if Taylor is having some trouble putting a coherent sentence together, which is mildly satisfying, in a twisted sort of way.

"Where are you guys headed to next?" I ask, only because Taylor is looking so flustered it's beginning to be sort of embarrassing. God, hasn't the kid ever made out with anyone before? It's a good thing one of us has our heads on straight.

"Canada, I think . . . Montreal. . .that's in Canada, right?" He yawns and shakes his head quickly, his sun-streaked hair flying everywhere. I notice his hand creeping towards my thigh cautiously.

Even though I can't quite think straight when we're kissing, I have no trouble swatting the hand away. "Cut that out. . .and you're kidding about the Montreal thing, right?" Nobody who is most of the way through high school could possibly say something so ridiculous and be serious. I mean, come on.

"Yeah, of course I'm kidding. I'm not stupid," he says quickly, his ruddy cheeks growing even redder.

"Uh-huh. Right."

"Have you ever been to Canada?"

"No. I'd like to, though, sometime. . .I've heard it can be nice. . ."

"It is nice. Why don't you go?"

I push his hand away again, vaguely annoyed. "Some of us don't have the time or money to be jet-setting all over the world on a whim, Taylor. And do you mind not groping me like that? I have to get going soon, find my sister--" I can feel myself being taken in by him, sucked under by his beautiful smile, his eyes, and I know that it's time to go. I'm already nearly to the point where I'll do anything he asks me to do. A dangerous feeling if there ever was one. Whatever happened to the Brinn of, what, yesterday, who would rather have died than give in to Taylor and his devilish good looks? A girl of the past, evidently. How sad.

He waves my words away with his hand. "No, no, that isn't at all what I meant. . .I meant, if you want to. . .you could just come with us. See the show, fly back home on Sunday. That way we can spend more time together, and you can see Montreal." He grows increasingly excited as he says the words aloud. "Is that a great idea, or what?"

I snort. "Except it isnt. . .what's wrong with you, anyway? I have school tomorrow. My parents would be pissed. Your parents would probably be pissed! And. . .and I. . .dont even know you, Taylor. Not at all. I can't just. . .leave with you."

He cocks his head to one side, and I look away from the powerful blueness of his eyes. "Oh, come on, Brinny . . .we have so many people on tour, my parents could care less if there was one more, especially if you rode on the other bus, there's more room there. . .and what's this about us not knowing each other? Your tongue was just in my mouth, for God's sake." He snickers at his own wit.

I narrow my eyes at him. Now I'm remembering why I thought he was such an egotistical bastard. "Just because I happen to enjoy your skills as a kisser, Taylor, and am frankly too tired to fight with you when you suddenly start kissing me like--"

"Chicken."

"I am not! "

"Yes you are. Baby." He pokes me in the ribs with a bony finger.

I am not a baby. "If I really wanted to go with you to Montreal, I would. So there." I smile at him triumphantly.

"Baby baby baby baby baby baby baby--"

"STOP IT! Fine! I'll go to stupid Canada with you. Jesus Christ." My heart pounds as the words leave my mouth. I don't think my brain is working correctly today. "I mean, I--"

Taylor claps his hands like a school girl. "I knew you would! Awesome--"

"Fine! But on one condition," I cut in. I can just about see Taylor thinking that now he has me, I'm done, its all over.

"Fine, whatever. What's your condition?"

"This doesn't mean that I'm your new makeout buddy or something like that. Okay? Just because I want to take advantage of your generosity does not mean, in any way, that I have become a Taylor Hanson groupie."

He looks at me strangely. "Meaning. . .?"

"I will not be sleeping in your hotel room. You will not be sleeping in mine. There will be no. . .none of this kissing, groping business, okay? Just friends. Or I'm not coming." Well said, Brinn. The women's rights activists would be proud. I give myself an imaginary pat on the back.

Taylors face falls. "You're no fun."

"Taylor--"

"You are so weird! You were just kissing me about five minutes ago, and now that's off limits?" He looks genuinely puzzled, and really, I can't blame him. But where will I be if I don't set the ground rules? As far as I'm concerned, if we're going to be anything, it's friends, and that's as far as it's going, dammit.

"Let's consider that a lapse in judgement. It was a bad idea..." I'm surprised he doesn't laugh when I say it, considering I'm lying through my teeth. If nothing else, Taylor is fun to kiss. It's probably all he's good for. Even so, I can't see myself going anywhere with him if he thinks that I'm going to be his girlfriend or something stupid like that.

"Lapse in judgement my ass. You enjoyed every second, and if I hadn't have kissed you first, you would have been all over me in about thirty seconds anyway." His blue eyes are flashing. The way he finds himself so attractive is just disgusting.

"'Well, Taylor, if you're so goodlooking, you shouldn't have any trouble finding some other girl to go to Montreal with you--"

"Fine, fine. As friends, whatever." Even as he says it, his hand creeps towards my leg for a third time.

"TAYLOR! "

"Alright! Geez."

"I can't believe I'm doing this. My parents are going to kill me," I mumble as we get up to leave.

"Just tell them that you're going on the road with an international superstar. They'll understand."

I snicker. "They, along with most of the world, have no idea who you are."

Taylor looks hurt, but only says, "Well, we could always stop by and have my mom talk to them. That usually helps, doesnt it?"

I grin. There's basically is no way that my parents would say no if Mrs. Hanson shows up at their door at one in the morning.

"That might work. . ."

Taylor smiles as we walk down the stairs in the near darkness. "This is awesome. I'm so glad you said yes."

I put on a hard face, but I'm glad I said yes, too. Why not take a chance, right? Even if the kid is a dufus, at least I'll be able to see Montreal. And his older brother will be around to stare at, so it won't be a complete bust. "God, my parents are going to kill me. . .and I have an algebra test tomorrow. . . and this doesn't mean that I like you in any way, you realize that, right? I mean, you may have a nice ass and you may be fun to kiss--not that we'll be doing any more of that. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. . ."

PART 47

*Zac*

"Are you kidding me?" Charlotte murmurs incredulously. For a second all you can hear is the crunching of Cracker Jacks as we both stuff our faces with our after-show snack.

Emily--Brinn's incredibly hot, incredibly tall and incredibly ditzy sister--is grinning beside me. "I can't believe it. I never would have thought, in a million years, that she would do something like that. Crazy! She's finally listening to me. I really can't believe it."

I snort softly. "Well, we all know exactly what Taylor's listening to. Here's a hint: it's a body part. . ." but Charlotte elbows me in the ribs before I can elaborate. I silently fight with Charlotte over the last of the caramel popcorn as Taylor and Brinn walk past us to the lower level of the theater. When they are safely out of earshot, we stand up from our hidden crouched positions in a shadowed section of the balcony. I stretch my cramped legs and groan. "Man! I wonder what mom and dad are going to say. They can't say no to Taylor--otherwise known as Mama's Little Boy--and especially not with Brinn right there-- "

"Pretty gutsy, if you ask me. Though Taylor never was one to be exactly shy with the girls," Charlotte mutters. She pulls at one of her braids. When she wears her hair like that, she looks exactly like Pippi Longstocking. Or, you know. . .what Pippi Longstocking would look like if she was a real person. "I'm just flabbergasted that she said yes. I thought she hated him?" she asks in the direction of Emily. She tips the box over her head and tries to pour the crumbs into her empty mouth. Popcorn flies everywhere. I smile.

Emily shrugs, tipping her head over to gather her long dark hair into a ponytail. "Please. Brinn hates everyone, or she acts like it anyway. I guess there was as much chance of Brinn saying yes to Taylor as there was of her doing just about anything else you can think of--you can never tell what she's really thinking."

Charlotte nods, evidently pleased with this answer. Suddenly her eyes light up. "Hey! I bet they're going to ask your mom and dad now! We're going to miss it, quick!" She darts off down the stairs like a five-year-old after the ice cream truck.

I grin and watch her for a minute. Sometimes, she is just so cute. Not hot like Brinn or her sister or anything, just . . .cute. Charlotte-ish. "Wait for us, you dork!" I call, chasing after her.

* Isaac*

"Aren't we ready to leave yet?" Marit yawns, running her hands through her curly hair. "It's nearly one. What are we waiting for?"

I run my hands over Marit's pale legs, which are resting in my lap. I think one of the nicest feelings ever is having a pair of girls legs in your lap. Well, it doesnt have to be a pair, I guess. . .though it might be a different story having just one girls' leg in your lap. I really don't know, considering I've only had pairs of legs in my lap. Well, one pair. . .Marit's. And it's very nice. I wish we could sit like this all of the time: Marit and I, at either ends of the tour bus couch, Marit's legs in my lap. So nice. Frankly, I don't care if we wait all night, considering how I am enjoying this seating arrangement to such an extent. I may never get up.

"We," I tell her, "are probably waiting for Taylor to visit with his little Boston crush. Did you see him at the show? The kid nearly had an aneurysm when he saw her, right on stage."

Marit giggles, pulling at the hem of her t shirt. "I saw. . .he went all white and then bright red. I've never seen Taylor act like that with a girl before."

I nod. "Yeah. . .he does seem to like her a lot. . .They're probably. . .all over each other somewhere here, in some back room." I shake my head quickly to erase images of Taylor making out with Brinn. "Gross gross gross."

Luckily I'm distracted by Zac, Charlotte and a girl who must be Brinn sister: she is taller, thinner and prettier than Brinn, but the family resemblance is definitely there. Hopefully this one isn't as much of a jerk. All three of them pile onto the bus--Zac and Charlotte come first, eating gigantic slabs of cheese pizza (those two eat like they're starving to death, twenty-four hours a day), and then The Sister, who is as red-faced and excited looking as if she's about to meet her favorite celebrity. Hey--maybe I'm her favorite celebrity! That would be nice. I'm liking The Sister more already.

"Now which one are you?" she's saying, smiling brightly.

Or maybe I'm not.

"Isaac," I say, holding my hand out cordially. "And you are . . .?"

"Emily Creighton," she says, grasping my hand. She has this weird limp handshake. I hate limp handshakes as much as I love having girls legs in my lap. Or, you know. Something to that degree. "Brinn's sister."

"Oh, I know who you are. You wouldn't happen to know where your sister has taken Taylor, would you? Cause I, personally, am ready to hit the sack."

"I second that. And I'm Marit, by the way?" Marit pipes up from the other end of the couch, apparently a little offended that she wasn't introduced.

"Oh, sorry. This is my girlfriend, Marit," I say without even thinking.

There is dead silence from all around. Zac and Charlotte are poking each other and grinning wickedly. Oh boy. I said it: my girlfriend. Feeling slightly ashamed and silly for feeling ashamed in the first place, I peak at Marit. She's bright red, but thankfully, isn't running screaming off the bus or anything of that sort, so I'm taking that as a good sign.

I think this means that Marit is actually my girlfriend. I chance a smile at her and she smiles back. A shiver runs up my spine.

"Riiight," Zac finally says, rolling his eyes at the way we are smiling at each other like drugged baboons. "Anyway, we have a purpose for coming on here and interrupting your love fest. After extensive observation of Brinn and Taylor--by observation I of course mean spying without their knowledge or consent--we have learned that not only does Brinn think Taylor is one hell of a kisser--"

"Ew," I cut in, just so everyone knows how gross I think the idea of Taylor kissing is. There's the mental image, back again. . .

"I know, bro. Try witnessing it firsthand. But anyway, secondly, it seems as if Taylor has invited Brinn to the next stop on the tour. As in, she is going to Montreal. As in, with us. On our bus, or maybe yours, Marit--"

"As long as she doesn't mutter evil things about Taylor in her sleep the way that Jules does. I've had it up to here with waking up at three a.m. to the sounds of her planning the ruin of Taylor's reputation. Not to mention how she acts when she's awake."

Zac frowns. "Well, I'm not promising she won't mutter evil things about Taylor. This one doesnt like him much, either," he smirks. Emily shrugs and smiles apologetically.

"You are telling me that mom and dad went along with this?" I ask, incredulous. That's it. If Taylor gets to bring his girlfriend on tour, I think it's only fair that I'm allowed to sleep on Marit's bus. I mean, the older brother gets more privileges, right?

Charlotte giggles. "Oh, but this is the best part. Taylor put on this big sob story about how he doesn't get to spend time with any of his friends when he's on tour, and his 'friend' Brinn has never seen Montreal, blah blah blah, Zac has me and Isaac has Marit, and he just doesn't have anyone to hang out with. . .and so it would work out sooooo well if she came with us for a few days. It really was hilarious. At first I wasn't sure where he was going with the whole thing, exactly, but I guess he got his point across. Whatever that was." Charlotte still looks vaguely confused just thinking about the whole thing.

I roll my eyes. Marit is grinning. "They didn't buy the whole friend bit, did they?" I ask.

"Dad did, because he's oblivious, but I don't think Mom is that easy. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because Brinn is coming with us for a few days. Give Taylor time to visit with a 'friend', you know. We're all leaving in just a minute . . .have to make a stop at Brinn's house to pick up some of her stuff. How we are going to get four tour buses down a residential street at one in the morning without waking up the whole neighborhood, I don't know."

There is a noise at the front of the bus. Juliana--looking radiant, if pissed, even at this time of night--is standing in the isle with her arms folded over her chest. "Excuse me. . .I don't want to interupt or anything, but. . ." she pauses to smile icily. "Did you say what I think you just said?" Her voice is low and, I daresay, rather evil sounding.

There is dead silence on the bus. Even Emily knows to look away.

"Well," Zac says, trying what he probably thinks is a charming smile. "That, uh, depends on what you think I said, I guess."

PART 49

*Taylor* I peek at Brinn as we walk to the tour buses, clustered along one side of the street. Her hair has sprung up in wild curls from the late season humidity, and she has this set look on her face, like she's determined to hate whatever is going to happen over the next few days. I know better, though: she's as happy as I am.

"We're going to have so much fun, Brinny," I say excitedly.

She rolls her eyes. "For the love of all that is holy. . .are you mentally retarded or something? It isn't Brinny, it's Brinn. And my agreeing to this little excursion has a lot less to do with me thinking you are attractive than you are probably capable of understanding. Got that?"

I smile weakly and nod my head. I have no idea what she is talking about. But whatever.

I'm just opening my mouth to suggest some things that we could do over the weekend--you know, subtly imply that we should spend the time making out or something fun like that--when Juliana steps out from between two of the buses. I promptly run into her.

"Geez, Jules . . .you can't just . . .run out like that," I murmur, straightening my shirt. I glance at Brinn out of the corner of my eye. Now this has the potential to be an awkward situation. I try to step around Jules, chanting to myself, Avoid eye contact, avoid eye contact. . .

"I hear we have company for the weekend." That would be Jules. I look up, wincing, ready to be smacked or screamed at or something. But Jules doesn't look capable of doing any of the above; she actually looks sort of hurt. What the hell. . .?

"Company. . .?" I say, stalling for time. The girl has harassed and embarrassed me about a gazillion times over the last few weeks, so I shouldn't even care, but I'm telling you, awkward doesn't even begin to describe this situation.

Brinn snorts beside me. "I think she means me, asshole." She straightens her shirt and throws her shoulders back. There is a distinctly smug look on her face. "Hello, Jules."

I shoot her a withering look. "I know she means you." Smiling weakly, I gesture vaguely with my hands. "Brinny, Jules, um . . .have you met?"

Jules is shooting laser beams out of her eyes and Brinny is rolling hers. "Yeah, I've had the pleasure of making her acquaintance," is all Jules says.

Now, I may not be very quick on the uptake, but I don't think anyone is necessarily ever pleased to meet Brinny. Unless they are a guy, of course. So there must be some sarcasm going on here . . .

"Look, Sherlock, don't have an aneurysm trying to figure the situation out. Jules and I met before the show. I was coming in late, she was smoking out front--"

"Jules! You smoke?" This is all just too bizarre. I need some time to catch up.

Jules just rolls her eyes at me, snapping her gum loudly. "Please. Really, Taylor."

"--and promptly accused me of wasting my time with you, or something ridiculous like that. Speaking of which, I am wasting my time even standing here with this girl. So, Taylor? If you want me to come with you to Montreal. . .?"

"Uh-huh," I say, because she is dragging me along behind her, and what else am I going to do? Though I am thinking about how Jules telling Brinny that she's wasting her time with me sounds very much like something a jealous ex-girlfriend might say. Could she be jealous?

I sneak a peek back as Brinny drags me to the front of the buses. Jules is crying. Oh, God.

I heave a big sigh. "Wait a second, Brinny," I say. Not that I want to be talking with Jules instead of getting on the bus with Brinny--I mean, it is getting late, and I can practically hear her thinking about frigging the whole situation and catching a cab home--but I can't just leave Jules there crying. It's un-American, or something. Plus, the girl isn't going home until the day after the Montreal show. I can just imagine what she will tell the fans.

"Are you crying, Jules?" I ask, stupidly.

"No." she sniffles softly. "I just need a cigarette."

Jesus Christ.

"Look, Jules. I thought that things were okay, you know, over for us? I thought that you were okay. . .?" "Of course I'm okay. I don't need you, I never did. I'm fine, alright?" She definitely is crying. I can feel myself start to panic. Where is Mom when you need her?? She can make anyone stop crying.

"Are you sure, because you really look like maybe--"

"I said I'm fine. Stop being such a nosy asshole."

Okay. I'm not trying to get the bottom of anyones emotional problems when they're calling me names. "Whatever," I mumble, walking back to our bus.

She talks to my back. "Its just, I did really like you. A lot."

I don't think I'm man enough to turn around, so I don't do it. "Jules. . ." I want to say that I liked her too, but I don't know if I'd really mean it or just say it to make her feel better. I mean, she's hot and all, but. . .at one time I would say that I really like Juliana Chapman, but now I'm not so sure.

I can hear her sigh, one last sniffle. "Whatever. I don't need you anyway. There are plenty of guys out there--"

I roll my eyes. Now this is getting ridiculous. "Yeah, you mentioned that."

"Just get on the bus, okay? I want to go to sleep. The fans are going to love this story."

"She okay?" Brinny asks in a surprisingly tactful whisper as we walk around the front of our bus.

I sigh. "She's as okay with this as sh'es going to get, I think. Just don't be surprised if you get hate mail from the fans. It wouldn't be below her to pass out your address," I add.

*Brinn*

"This is it," I call to the driver as we near my parents two-story brick house. "See the driveway, where the Jetta is pulling in?"

"Christ!" Taylor says loudly, running a hand impatiently through his hair. "The place is huge! You didn't tell me you were rich. Are you rich, Brinny?"

Really, the kid is tactless. Hasn't anyone ever told him that it's rude to ask people things like that? "Shut up, Taylor," is all I mumble.

"Well, are you?"

"I don't know, maybe!"

"Well, this place is way huger than our house. Wouldn't you say, Zac?"

Zac, who is sprawled across Charlotte and half of the couch besides, shrugs his shoulders. "Well, I don't know. Its big, but I think maybe our house is a little bigger. Now, the old house, that would be a different story--"

"God, does it really matter?" I cut in. "We're here. Am I going in by myself or are one of you Hansons coming in with me for cover?"

I was hoping that maybe Mrs. Hanson would rise to the challenge--no way would my mom think of saying no and causing a scene if there was another adult there--but sadly, she seems to be putting the baby, Zoe or whatever, back to sleep. Which only leaves Taylor, waving his hands madly.

"I'll go! Come on, Brinny."

"You better not embarrass me," I mutter as we climb the steps to the side door. "That is, if they've waited up. They might have gone to sleep, and in that case, maybe I could just sneak out and let Emily tell them in the morn--"

"Brinnsley. You're home," my mom says, throwing the door open. She definitely has not been to sleep, considering she is still in her work clothes. Though even if she had been sleeping for hours, I'm sure the noise of a tour bus pulling into the driveway would have definitely been enough to wake her up, anyway. Unfortunately, she does not look like a happy woman. Not that I can really blame her, considering it is nearing one-thirty in the morning, her two daughters have just gotten home, and there is a strange boy and a tour bus in her yard. She squints at Taylor.

"Um . . .Mom. Hi. Did we wake you?" I say lightly, brushing past her into the living room. Not that I would necessarily care if she said no, I couldn't go to Montreal. I mean, it's just Taylor Hanson, and I could definitely handle it if I couldn't spend the weekend with him. The opposite of not a big deal, to tell you the truth. Though I am mildly interested in seeing Montreal and spying on his hotter, older brother.

"I think it might have been the screeching of the bus brakes as you rounded the corner." She has this awful pinched look on her face, like she smells something terrible.

"Oh. That might have been it."

"And you are. . .?" she says to Taylor, not like she doesn't know, or something. She doesn't offer her hand. What the hell is her problem?

"Taylor," he says, flashing his magazine-cover smile. Not like it matters, or anything; I'm pretty sure my mom blames Devon and I breaking up completely on Taylor, so she already hates him, and him showing up at this hour isn't going to help his case any. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Creighton."

She sniffs. Oh, this isn't going well at all.

"Well, we're actually just stopping in, actually," I stammer. Where the hell is Emily, anyway? What we need here is some distraction. "Because, um . . .Taylor has invited me to his next show? And I just need to get some clothes, and um. . .then we'll be going, or something. . ." I finish meekly.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, Mrs. Creighton. My parents travel with us all of the time, so Brinny and I wont ever be alone, or anything. So you don't have to worry about us having sex, or anything like that." He punctuates his statement with another dazzling smile.

Oh. My. God. He absolutely did not just say that. I am beyond mortified. I try to hide my red face behind my hair.

"Is that so?" I can see her wavering between making a scene and not wanting to make a scene in front of a famous stranger.

"Oh, yes. Definitely. And we have bodyguards, so don't worry about the fans trying to maul her or something like that--"

"Taylor, please shut up," I murmur pleadingly. "Look, mom, it's just for the weekend, I'll be back Sunday night for school, okay? I'll call you as soon as we get there." I cross my fingers behind my back and pray that she doesnt embarrass me.

Her jaw is so clenched that I can see the veins in her temples from across the room. She looks like she is going to explode.

"Fine," she says.

Excuse me? "Excuse me? "I say, aloud. Taylor's eyes grow wide.

"I said, fine. You seem like you've already decided, anyway." She looks over my shoulder out the front window, where the tour bus is idling. Her eyes narrow, like she's challenging me or something.

Okay.

"Which I personally can't understand, considering that you are a fifteen year old girl and I am your mother, I expect to be at least consulted on these matters. . .how old are you, hmm?" she adds suddenly, speaking in Taylor's general direction while not actually looking at him.

Taylor, who seems to have been inspecting his cuticles, jerks his head up, looking slightly alarmed. "Me? Um, seventeen?"

Older boy. I can see the warning lights flashing in my mothers head. "I see," she says. I say I'm probably up to a month of groundation, minimum. See what getting in with a Hanson gets you? In trouble, and not much else.

"Look, mom, it doesn't matter how old he is because he's just a friend, okay?" I get red just saying it, for some reason, and my mother and Taylor both shoot me these yeah, right looks. Well, what the hell do they know?

"Oh, I'm sure he is. Can I talk to you in the other room for a second, Brinnsley?" There it is again, the full name. Not a good sign.

"Can't it wait, Mom? I mean, the entire Hanson entourage is waiting in our driveway--"

She just walks off into the dining room, which of course means that I need to follow her. I'm a brat, maybe, but I'm not stupid.

"Yes?" I say meekly, hovering in the doorway. I look over my shoulder at Taylor, who has wandered around to my great-grandfather's grand piano in the back of the room. He's running his long fingers over the keys, picking out the tune of what is probably some bad Hanson song, looking completely unconcerned. While here I am, being cornered by my mother--who looks very slightly crazy, putting my life on the line all so I can go to Canada with him. I take back what I said before, I am stupid. Mentally retarded is probably even closer to the truth.

"What is all of this? I thought you were going to little Brian Ellis' birthday party? I cannot believe that you brought this. . .this . . .pop star to our house in the middle of the night and then announce that you will be leaving with him for the weekend! It's unacceptable. You have school tomorrow! And what will people think? You are just a little girl, Brinnsley, and--"

"Mom," I moan. "If you're going to say embarrassing things, can you at least do it quietly? Taylor can hear you."

She rolls her eyes, suddenly looking very tired. "The only reason I am saying yes--only--is that I know those Hanson boys travel with their parents. And I've heard that they're nice Christian boys."

I have no idea where my mom is getting this information--she really isn't the type to read Teen Beat or anything like that--and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't think that Taylor was a nice Christian boy if she saw how he was pawing at me in the balcony earlier tonight, but whatever. I'm just so relieved that I got out of this without any seriously humiliating incidents--like, my dad stumbling downstairs in his bright orange terrycloth robe--that I'm on the verge of bursting into tears.

"Thanks, Mom," I say. I think about hugging her and then think better of it. She still has a funny look in her eyes.

She rubs her temples. It's funny but I'm just now noticing that my mom is getting serious grey streaks in her hair, especially near her ears. "We'll talk about this more when you get home," she murmurs. From experience, I know that that means very, very bad things. But hey, I'll take it.

"Um. . .okay, Mom," I say cautiously. "I just gotta get some clothes upstairs." I make sure not to get too close as I cross the room to the stairs.

She shuffles after me, looking tired. "I hope this all is worth it, Brinnsley. I need a number of where I can reach you and you are to call me once--no--twice a day. Do you understand? Or I will be on a plane to Montreal so fast--"

"I'll call, Mom," I promise. I scurry up the stairs before she changes her mind about the whole thing, leaving poor Taylor alone with her in the living room.

Emily is sitting in the middle of the floor when I walk into our bedroom. At first I think that maybe she's doing her evening Pilates session--gotta keep the model figure for upcoming photo shoots--but then I see that she's just sitting and smiling and she's still wearing the clothes she wore to the show. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining.

"I heard her say yes! I can't believe it," she says. I don't know why she's so excited; she isn't the one going, after all. But even though it's sort of weird, it's still nice that my sister is excited for me.

"I know, I can't believe it either. Will you help me pack, Em? Taylor is waiting downstairs and I'm afraid Mom will eat him alive. She said yes, but I don't think she's happy about it."

"Well, I actually briefed her right before you got home. Just so she'd have a few minutes to think about it." She blushes, like maybe I'll be mad at her or something.

I stuff my favorite blue sweater into my smallest suitcase. "Really? Huh. Are you the one that told her about the parent chaperones and the Christianity?"

She blushes even more deeply, carefully folding a pair of my jeans before placing them in my suitcase. "Yeah, I actually did. I thought maybe it would help sway her a little. I didn't know if she'd believe you if you if you told her that stuff, but. . .you know, as the older sister and all . . ."

"Yeah," I say. Mom believes everything Emily says simply because she is Emily and she's perfect. We both are thinking this but we don't say it aloud. "Well, it did help, Emily, so thank you."

I hate to say thank you. You can probably tell.

"Well, I'm all set," I announce a moment or so later, having filled my bag to nearly bursting. "I'll see you on Sunday, Em. Or sooner, if this turns out sucky. Which it probably will, after all."

Emily grins and hugs me self-consciously. "Have fun, Brinn. Did I tell you that I'm mad with jealousy? Cause I am."

I snort my amusement on my way out of our bedroom. "I don't know what the hell for, unless you haven't been to Montreal, either. That part, I'm looking forward to. . ."

Downstairs I find Mom and Taylor at opposite ends of our long leather couch. Taylor, having evidently been interrogated to within an inch of his life, is no longer wearing his megawatt smile; instead, he is looking longingly at the bus out in the driveway and appears to be petrified. Mom, looking satisfied, has this sort of deranged look on her face. Definitely time to go.

"You better call, Brinnsley. And when you do, I want to talk to this boy's mother. I would come out right now and have a word with her, but it being so late--"

"Yeah, that would be a bad idea," I cut it quickly. God, talk about embarrassing me even further. Taylor wordlessly pulls my suitcase out of my hands and heads for the bus. Before he does, he flashes me this gorgeous smile that nearly makes me weak in the knees. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Creighton," he calls. I notice that he's careful to keep his distance, in case she's thinking about eating him or something. I can't say that I blame him. "It was very nice meeting you. "

"Bye, Mom." I peck her on the cheek and scramble towards the bus before she changes her mind, which she is apt to do at virtually any second now.

Back on the bus, it's surprisingly quiet. Once my eyes adjust to the dimness, I can see why: the little kids are sleeping, Mr. and Mrs. Hanson are nowhere to be seen--probably in their bunks--and Charlotte and Zac are snoring softly on the couch at the front. Charlotte yawns and pulls closer to Zac in her sleep as we walk by.

"Well," Taylor says excitedly (I don't know where the kid gets his energy. I mean, it's nearly two in the freaking morning), "we did it, Brinny! Welcome to life on the road."

I look around disdainfully. All of the bunks appear to be full, and the M2M bus is nowhere to be seen. "Maybe this is just a silly little detail, Taylor, but . . .where exactly am I going to sleep?"

Taylor looks from his parents bunks and back to me hopefully, those deeply blue eyes of his shining slightly in the dim light. "Um . . .with me?"

I roll my eyes. I'm telling you right now, this is going to be one long weekend.

PART 50

*Brinn*

"Taylor, really. There is more of a chance of a bald eagle shooting out of that refrigerator than there is of me hopping into bed with you." I fold my arms over my chest and stare him down.

Taylor looks slightly disappointed, but he looks quick over his shoulder at the refrigerator, just in case a bald eagle does come bursting out or something. I roll my eyes.

"Well, you can't say I didn't try," he says huffily.

"Yeah, you're right. I won't ever be able to say that Taylor Hanson didn't try his darndest to slime his way into my pants any chance he got."

"Oh, don't give me that, little Miss Catholic Princess. You try to fight it, but one of these days you're going to run at me like a sex maniac and rip all of my clothes off," Taylor says in an offhand way, stifling a yawn as he stows my suitcase under one of the bunks. I try not to stare at his butt as he bends over.

"Uh-huh. For chances of that happening, see Bald Eagle example. How did you know I was Catholic, anyway? That's. . .creepy."

He grins and nods towards my windbreaker. 'St. Mary's College Preparatory High School: A Roman Catholic Institution since 1901,' it reads in stitched letters along the left side. "Whatever," I mumble. "The only reason anyone would notice that is obviously because they were checking out my boobs. Pervert," I whisper fiercely.

Taylor grins and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, its not because its right there, in blaring white print. It has to be because I'm checking you out."

"Taylor, you're always checking me out. That's just what you do. I mean, if you aren't checking me out, you're asking me to jump in bed with you." I clear my throat and look away from his intense blue eyes.

He shrugs, pulling off his button-down shirt and tossing it onto his bunk, standing in a tee-shirt so glaringly white it must be brand new. "Yeah, yeah. Details. . ."

I glance at Zac and Charlotte, who, amazingly enough, are both still asleep on the couch, even though Taylor and I are arguing a mere inches away from them. "Well, if these two cuddle-freaks are sleeping here--I'll just sleep in one of their bunks. Not that I feel terribly comfortable sleeping on the same sheets as your brother, whom I have spoken approximately two words to. . .but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. . ."

Taylor, who looks crestfallen at the fact that I have managed to get out of laying down beside him for the next six or so hours, turns his back on me suddenly and crawls into his bunk in a huff. "Fine then. Why don't you just go ahead and say that you'd rather lay on Zac's dirty sheets than spend the night with me?" His voice comes, muffled but audible, from the depths of a heap of pillows.

I gingerly fold back the comforter on the nearest empty bed, peering at the sheets before I sit down. I'm still wearing my jeans and the stupid pink tee-shirt that I wore to the show, but the idea of wearing my pajamas in front of the entire Hanson clan is unappealing at best. Yes, we'll just wear the jeans to bed. "Taylor. I did say that I would rather sleep on Zac's bed, and as you can see, I'm actually doing it. Really, your comprehension skills are commendable." With no visible ickiness on Zac's sheets, I carefully lay down on the narrow mattress, looking over my shoulder one last time to see if the owner of the bed is waking up. No, still snoring. Christ. "I thought you said that I would be sleeping on the M2M girls bus?" I hiss across the bus isle at Taylor. Not that it's much of an isle; we're so close that I can both see Taylor and smell his warm soapiness, his blond rumpled hair peeking from under his pillows.

Maybe he shrugs in answer but I can't tell, it's so dark and he's buried under so many pillows and blankets. "I don't know, Marion was bitching about getting to the hotel early so she could work out in the gym before the show. Plus Mom and Dad dont think you and I would dare to do anything, with all of us on the same bus an all," he says, wistfully. "And that's Charlotte's bunk, by the way, not Zac's."

"Your mom is one smart lady. We won't be doing anything," I say determinedly, rolling over. The bunk is so narrow that when I turn my face is immediately squished into the wall. Yes, I can just see how the sleep situation is going to go over the weekend. And I don't really care whose bed this happens to be. I just need to go to sleep. . .

"You probably wouldn't want be on the M2M bus, anyway. I mean, that's where Jules is, otherwise known as the Evil One." I can hear him wriggling around under the blankets, burrowing deeper like some kind of tall, skinny rodent. "She'd definitely try to crucify you in your sleep if she got the chance. Ropes, knives, the whole bit. Seriously."

I snort tiredly. "I'm not scared of her."

"Well, you should be. Her manipulation skills are off the charts. She makes you look like a choir girl. . . .Speaking of which, are you a choir girl, Brinny? "

I groan. "No, Taylor, I'm not a choir girl. Are you?"

He sighs but chooses to ignore my last comment. "That's too bad. I've always wanted to date one of those. Private school choir girl. . .hey, do you have like, a uniform that you wear to school?"

I sigh heavily. I can see where this is going. "Yes."

"Like, Britney Spears in 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' type of uniform?" He is sounding entirely too excited about this prospect, even from the depths of his pillows and blankets.

"No. Pervert." Our uniforms do, in fact, bear a resemblance to Britney's, minus the poufy pink hair decorations and the exposed bellybuttons. Lets say Britney's uniform, only rated G. Not that I would tell Taylor that; I can just imagine how horny that would make him.

"Damn." He doesn't even try to hide his disappointment.

Silence. Taylor squirms around in bed a little more, the mattress creaking with every turn. His jeans come flying out of the bed, landing in the bus isle with a dull slap. A shiver runs up my spine as I put together the idea that if Taylor's jeans are in the bus isle, that means he isn't wearing them. Unfortunately the idea of Taylor not wearing jeans is unmistakably nice, so I'm glad its dark and Taylor is still covered by a mound of blankets, because the red face I suddenly have might give Taylor the wrong idea, like I want him or something. I mean, the idea of the boy with no pants on is mildly interesting, I admit, but I don't want to see him with no pants on or anything. And I definitely dont want him to think that I want to see him with no pants on. Bad idea on all levels. I turn back to the wall.

Relative silence, if you consider there are nearly a dozen people sleeping in this small area. Taylor starts squirming around again. I hiss at him before he starts taking off more of his clothing,

"Geez, Taylor, do you toss around like that all night?"

"Yes. No. How am I supposed to know? I'm asleep all night, for God's sake."

"I bet you do. You probably snore and everything, just to be as annoying as possible."

"I do not snore, Brinny, not one bit. I am incapable of snoring," he adds, sounding unsure.

"Yeah, I bet. Actually, you probably don't snore; I bet you just mumble to yourself about how gorgeous you think you are, all night long."

I hear Taylor giggle from inside his burrow. "I bet you lay there and mumble about how gorgeous I am, too."

"Dream on, Pretty Boy. Literally. . .I want to sleep."

"'Alright, alright."

Silence. I can feel myself slip away.

". . .Brinny?"

"Dammit, Taylor. . .what do you want now?"

He must have poked his head out from between the blankets because his voice sounds much clearer now. "I just wanted to say goodnight. Sweet dreams, baby."

Okay, so that's a little cute. I'm glad it's dark because I'm actually smiling. "Goodnight. Oh, and Taylor?"

"Yeah?" He sounds overly hopeful, like maybe I have decided to sleep in his bed after all and he's really glad he's decided to take his pants off.

"If you snore? You will wake up with your limbs at opposite sides of this bus."

"Geez. . .little harsh, don't you think?"

"Sleep, Taylor. . .go to sleep. . ."

*Zac*

I groan and look at the fluorescent clock over the refrigerator. Two-freaking-thirty in the morning. Could Brinn and Taylor stop arguing until daylight, perhaps? Jesus. The level of sexual tension between the two of them is enviable. And Taylor has the nerve to say that Charlotte and I want each other. Please.

I look down at Charlotte, who is curled up against me on the couch. Her hair is almost unbelievably messy, like a red pouf exploding out from her face. I brush it back carefully away from the place where it is tickling my arm. She sighs in her sleep, pushing closer to me, her face as close to my neck as a face can possibly be. It's weird but sometimes being this close to Charlotte completely creeps me out, because she's my friend, and between other people, this would be a 100% girlfriend-boyfriend sleeping arrangement. But other times I can't get enough of it, the closeness and the way that she smells and even her poufy, tickly hair. Today I am feeling the latter, so I'm glad its cold in the bus and Charlotte is wearing a short-sleeved shirt and she needs to pull closer to me to get warm.

I don't know what's with me lately, because isn't it sort of wrong to feel that way about a girl who's only your friend? Sometimes I don't know. If you know, feel free to offer advice, because lately I've been feeling less creepy about being thisclose to Charlotte and more like I need her with me. Maybe it's my crazy, out of control teenage hormones. Maybe I just need a girlfriend, and since Charlotte is the only girl I'm not related to that I see every day (aside from the M2M girls, of course, and one of them is already spoken for), she's the automatic receiver of my affections. Maybe Taylor and Ike are right, and I really am in love with Charlotte. Maybe I'm just finally realizing it.

Hmm.

Personally, I'm really hoping it's just the hormones. Because dating Charlotte. . .well, we just don't go there. Even if she is nice to cuddle with on a too-cold bus. But this is Charlotte. I've known her since I was born, which, in my book, practically does make her related to me.. And you can't date your sister. I mean, if you look at it that way. . .ew.

Charlotte sighs again in her sleep. Her lips brush my neck as she turns her head. I smile.

"I'm freezing," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself. She has these little tiny forearms with like, a four inch diameter.

"That's because you have zero body fat. Luckily you have a very nice friend with plenty to spare." I gingerly put my hands over her bare arms, covered in goosebumps.

"Mmm. That's nice." She yawns and pulls my arms over her, holding my hands in hers.

"Yeah," I say, because she's right. It is.

*Charlotte*

Lately, the best time to try to get close to Zac has definitely been at night. This is just general information; it's not like I want you, or anyone, to try to get close to Zac, but. . .at night he's just especially cuddly and sweet, and he actually likes it if you wake up cold and you want to snuggle up to get warm. If I tried this during the day sometime, when were both wide awake, I would get a, "Charlotte, why are you being so weird?" And that would be the end of that. Not now, though, in the middle of the night. Here I am, freezing and half awake and I don't even have to ask, and he's got his arms around me like the most wonderful boy in the whole world. Which he is. It's times like this when I really think, okay, he feels the same way. I should just tell him . . . I'm trying to stay awake, struggling to keep my eyes open to enjoy feeling his arms around me, but already I can feel myself slipping away.

*Isaac*

My cellphone rings at some God-awful hour. I really can't even tell you what time it was, exactly; I answer the phone and say hello like the caller has interrupted the only sleep I've gotten in several weeks (not too much of an exaggeration, really), and the only reason I don't immediately hang up in anger is because the caller happens to be Marit.

"Marit!" I exclaim, trying to keep my voice down, and it's like I've gotten straight caffeine injected into my veins: suddenly I am the very opposite of groggy.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, babe," she says. I can tell by the way she's keeping her voice down that everyone on her bus is sleeping, too. "Marion and I were just practicing 'Don't Say You Love Me', because it didn't go well at the show tonight, and. . .we just finished a few minutes ago, but I wanted to say goodnight."

"Aww," is all I can say. God, is she cute or what? Who knew that Norwegian girls were so damn adorable? I don't even care that she woke me up to just say goodnight, I love her. God. "Well, goodnight, Marit."

She giggles. "You were already asleep, weren't you? "

"No. Well, yes. But I'm glad you woke me up. Really."

I"s that new girlfriend of Taylor's still with you guys?"'

"Yeah. We stopped a little while ago to pick her up and stuff. . . I don't know where she's sleeping, this place is packed as it is. . ."

Marit sounds sheepish. "I'm sorry we didn't wait, we have room on here, but you know how Marion gets, she has to do yoga every morning before lunch and she can't do it on the bus. . ."

"Oh, it's okay! Really. Hell, I don't care where Taylor's girlfriends sleep," because I really don't. Though I am mildly jealous that his girlfriend is right on this bus and mine is on a different bus, an hour up the interstate. I'm definitely going to have to bring that up sometime tomorrow. "Though having Jules and Brinn on the same bus would have been an interesting situation for you. I would have liked to see it, personally."

Marit giggles again. The girl is so giggly, even at night. Maybe even especially at night, I don't know. I'm tired and half asleep but I'm glad she called, anyway. It's cute of her to do. "I'm sorry if I'm not much of a conversationalist, Marit, but I'm sort of on the verge of passing out here. . ."

"I'll let you go then, babe." Her voice is soft and nice. I love it when she calls me babe.

"I wanted to tell you, Marit. . .I know we haven't been together for very long or anything like that, but. . .I'm really starting to like you a lot. . ." I have no idea why I am telling her this in the middle of the night on the phone. I'm just half asleep and with me, that's the equivalent of having just downed six or seven beers. Loose lips, or something. But I mean it. I am crazy about Marit.

She giggles again. That laugh, it's going to kill me. "You're so sweet, Isaac," she says in her soft voice. Then she blows a kiss into the phone and hangs up.

"Goodnight, Marit," I mumble, even though she's no longer there. Her phone call has made me giddy and excited but I make myself fall asleep, just because that way morning will come faster and I'll be able to talk to her again.

PART 51

*Brinn*

Somewhere in the vicinity of six in the frigging morning I am roused from a mildly pleasant sleep by the off-key singing of Britney Spears' 'Hit Me Baby One More Time.' Off-key even in comparison to Britney, I mean. I'm all ready to start screaming obscenities but luckily, at the last possible moment, I realize that I am not at my own house and Emily isn't the one singing. I listen quietly through the thick gray curtain that surrounds my bunk and deduce that the owner of the off-key voice is Taylor's youngest sister. I have no idea what her name is. I can tell you, however, that she will not be following in her older brother's footsteps and become a moderately successful singer. Or she shouldn't, anyway. Then again, look at Britney. Maybe she will.

"ONE MORE TIME!" She yells as a sort of grand finale. Everyone on the bus is silent, probably used to a toddler padding around at the crack of dawn. I listen as she slowly slides open a curtain across the isle and climbs into the bunk. A second later I hear,

"ZOE! Come on, I'm sleeping." Taylor, sounding irritated and groggy. I smirk to myself.

She giggles and then I hear blankets rustling around and then it's quiet again. I peek out the side of the curtain (as silently as possible; I would rather die than have Taylor catch me looking at him) and see Zoe in bed with Taylor, the blankets pulled up to their chins; all you can see is a heap of hair, Taylor's dirty blond and Zoe's sun-bleached curls. They both have their eyes closed, and I'm pretty sure Taylor has fallen back asleep.

Its like a freaking Christmas card. So cute it makes you want to puke.

Well, now I'm up.

Not that I necessarily was ever in a deep sleep. I was right about Taylor snoring; I listened to the kid sawing away over there, about three feet from my head, for what seemed like years before I finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. And even then I didn't sleep well, the fear that Zac or Charlotte or whoever the owner of this bed is would stumble back from the bathroom or something and crawl into bed with me without knowing that I was here. I mean, Zac is less annoying than Taylor, by all observations, but that doesn't mean that I want him under the covers with me. And then there's the whole issue that went to bed wearing tight low-rise jeans; around four I woke up and cursed the vain, stupid part of me that refused to let Taylor see her in her pajamas. Jeans aren't sleeping pants, let me tell you. And why did I ever care about Taylor seeing me in my pajamas? I mean, they're decent. They're pink and fuzzy and flannel, not sexy in any way, but I don't need to be sexy around Taylor just because he's gorgeous. That's stupid. Should've worn the pajamas.

Tonight I'll remember.

I yawn widely, glancing at my watch. 6:07. I wish everyone would just wake up so I can get out of these jeans and take a shower. I feel gross with makeup and hairspray. Then, with a jolt of horror, I suddenly realize that I am gross with makeup and hairspray. I fell asleep a little under three hours ago with my face smashed into the pillow, which probably did an excellent job of matting my hair and smearing what was left of my mascara. I cannot possibly get up and let Taylor Hanson--or worse, Isaac--see me looking like this.

For a moment I am frozen with terror.

Don't go telling me this has anything to do with vanity, or some shit about how I want to make a good impression on Taylor. It's called self respect, and I have it, and it just isn't meshing well with the thought of anyone seeing me after three hours of sleep and smeary makeup. Not to mention my breath! Where did I put my toothbrush? Christ, did I even remember to pack it?

I jump about a million miles in the air when I notice two bright grey-blue eyes peering at me through the crack in the curtains. Apparently Zoe has grown sick of cuddling with her brother. I really can't blame her. She cocks her head to one side, her right index finger hooked firmly in her mouth. "Who are you?" she lisps around her finger.

My heart is still hammering at an insane speed, but manage to say, "I'm Brinn."

"Brinn," Zoe says slowly. She pulls her finger out of her mouth with a soft sucking sound. "Why are you in Charlotte's bed?"

"Because Charlotte is sleeping on the couch." This is one adorable little girl. She must be younger than Elijah by at least a couple years but she speaks well, pronouncing all of her words carefully. I hate to say it but she has Taylor's good looks. Hopefully she'll be about ten light years less conceited than he is when she's seventeen, though.

This evidently is all of the explanation and introduction Zoe needs, because the next thing I know she's climbing onto the tiny bunk, settling against the wall near my feet. "I have a new Barbie," she says solemnly.

"Aww, Zoe, get out of Brinny's bed," Taylor's muffled voice comes from across the isle. He has burrowed back under his blankets and his voice is halfhearted and definitely not fully alert.

"Brinny?" Zoe repeats, looking confused.

"No, it's Brinn. Your brother isn't very smart. And she's fine, Taylor."

Taylor sits up suddenly in bed and yawns. His hair is huge and rumpled, and he's wearing only his boxers. I'm so shocked to see him in such a small amount of clothing that I don't even remember to be self-conscious about how awful I must look. I try not to stare.

Luckily, Taylor is still very much asleep and stumbles sleepily past me to the bathroom without noticing that my eyes are falling out of my head. I pull the blankets up closer to my chin and vow not to look his way when he walks by again.

I don't even get the chance to ignore him, however, because he doesn't walk past me, he actually lays down in my bunk. With me still in it. I am utterly horrified, as you can probably imagine, though I try not to show it; Zoe shrieks with laughter.

"Zoe, please go back to sleep," someone who sounds like Isaac moans from the back of the bus.

Zoe perks up and climbs off the bunk, presumably to find Isaac. Taylor, however, doesn't budge.

"What are you doing?" I whisper fiercely. "Get out of my bed!"

"Actually, none of these beds are actually yours; it would be a lot closer to the truth to say that all of them are mine," Taylor mutters. He thinks he's hilarious.

It's not that he's laying beside me or anything like that. The kid has actually landed half on top of me, and his bony hipbone hurts like hell. "Your bony hipbone hurts like hell, Taylor," I say out loud. "Get off me. Now." Who looks as perfect as this boy first thing in the morning? Jesus Christ.

"But I'm cold. Can I get under the covers?"

I don't look him in the eye because that only leads to one thing: Brinn melts and loses all control, Taylor gets his own sleazy way. That will not happen. I poke him instead. "Taylor--"

"I bet if you look up 'No Fun' in the dictionary, it would have a picture of you beside it," He murmurs as he sits up. He has a really hot stomach. I stare at the wall; he blinks sleepily.

"Yeah, well I bet the entry for 'Boy Who Thinks of Nothing But Sex' would just say, 'See: Taylor Hanson'," I whisper angrily.

He grins. Oh, that smile. "Can I help it if I think you're beautiful?" he says sincerely. His eyes are slits with sleep; bluish half-moons color the skin under each. Disgustingly enough, he still looks amazing.

I smile because I can't help it. I wasn't expecting to hear that; the boy is a lot sweeter in the morning when he hasn't completely woken up and started thinking solely of himself. "I don't know why you would think that. "

"Because you are, silly." He pushes a strand of hair away from my face. "Though the big hair you are sporting isnt the best look I've ever seen on you."

"You always have to ruin the compliment--"

"Can I kiss you?"

"No, of course not. What are you, crazy?" I try to sound as firm as possible, but trust me, its hard. At times like this I really wish that Taylor was the type of boy that would be good to get involved with, because asshole or not, I can't help being drawn to him. Who can blame me?

"No. Well, maybe. It worked last night, and you can't tell me that you wanted to kiss me then but you don't want to now."

He has a point, but I'm 100% sure his entire family not only can hear this conversation, but they are all getting a tremendous kick out of it too. "Can we talk about this later?" I beg.

His bright blue eyes grow even brighter, despite the tiredness that remains on his face. "I knew it! All this stuff about no kissing would go right out the window as soon as you got alone with me--"

"Taylor, not only are we not alone, but I wouldn't feel the need to kiss you even if we were." A lie if there ever was one. "Please get out of my bed."

He puts on a pouty face but he gets up and falls onto his bunk. We still are so close we could hold hands if I really wanted to. Not that I do. "Do you want to hear about the dream I had last night?" He asks, snuggling back under his covers. The air conditioned breeze has something of an Arctic chill to it, and I shiver; I would never say it aloud, but I wouldn't mind cuddling with someone right about now. Not necessarily Taylor, but someone. Whatever.

"Not really. Well, okay. . ."

"Well, I was running down this long, long hallway. Not running like I was scared or anything like that; I actually felt great. There was a mirror to my right and when I stopped to look in it, all I could see was. . .nothing. I mean, there wasn't anything there, and when I reached up to feel my face, it was completely smooth, like an egg or something. So I started screaming--"

"That was probably when your snoring kicked in, full-throttle."

"What do you think that means?" he says earnestly, propping himself up with his left hand. I wish he would cover up his bare chest; it's distracting.

"Probably your subconscious telling you you're conceited."

He scowls at me, but he wisely changes the subject, saying, "What do you want to do today, Brinny? Not that we'll have too much of a choice, we'll be on the bus for a few more hours still--"

"You're going to have to entertain me," I murmur, trying to work a knot out of my long frizzy hair. "What are my chances of taking a shower? "

"Very slim," he says cheerfully, grinning that full, beautiful, cover-boy smile. We gotta get this boy together with Emily; how gorgeous would they look together? "Shower time is precious around here, especially on the bus with a limited amount of water. Unless you agree to take one with me, of course; that would probably work okay."

I snort my answer. He is too cute, though. God help me, I hope I have enough will power to protect myself from him until my flight on Sunday night.