*Brinn*

"So what are my choices?" I ask, pulling on one of my braids.

Taylor stands on his toes to open the high cupboard against one wall. "Hmm, let's see here. . .we have Froot Loops, Apple Jacks, Cheerios and. . .two onion bagels that have been up here for most of the tour. No promises about lack of mold on that one." He scratches the back of his bare left leg with his right foot and waits for me to decide.

In a considerably better mood since I changed out of the hellishly uncomfortable jeans I spent the night in, washed my face and braided my hair, I lean back in the cushioned seat and rest my head on the cold glass of the window behind me. "We'll go with the Froot Loops." If I was in any other company, I would have gone for the onion bagel, stale or not, cause they're my favorite food in the entire universe. However, there are breath issues to worry about, and no, I don't mean because Taylor is here: Isaac is sitting to my right, slurping on a bowl of cereal.

I haven't talked to him too much this morning or any other time, for that matter, and that's okay because he makes me embarrassingly nervous. Those deep dark eyes of his are really too much for me to handle. I mean, Taylor may be good looking, but. . .let's face it, the boy's a dork. Isaac, on the other hand, is tan and glossy and rockstarish, the personification of a shiny professional photograph. Speaking of which, I wonder if Poppy saved the negatives from the Hanson shoot, cause I would love a nice 8" by 10" of Isaac on my wall, possibly wearing tight leather pants. Now that I think about it, he--

"Brinn, your cereal is getting soggy," Taylor says pointedly, flopping down on the cushioned seat beside me.

"Oh. Right," I mumble, taking a huge bite of semi-spongy Froot Loops. I hope Isaac doesn't notice that I'm blushing, or that I was staring at him, for that matter.

Taylor sort of leans against me as he eats his cereal, casually like maybe I won't notice. He smells absolutely amazing, some sort of cologne that makes me dizzy. God, being this close to him makes me feel like throwing up. He's so disgustingly perfect.

"So what do you guys do all day on the bus, anyway?" I ask, just to fill up the empty space, as Charlotte and Zac drag themselves sleepily to the front of the bus. Charlotte is wearing a sweatshirt that is so obviously Zac's; the girl probably only weights about 86 pounds and she is absolutely drowning in it. I admire Zac's Led Zeppelin t-shirt as he walks by; when I look up Charlotte is glaring at me pointedly.

Taylor shrugs; there is a thin ribbon of milk running down his chin, which he wipes away hurridly with the back of his hand. "I don't know. Sleep. Play Nintendo 64. Take bets on how much longer its going to be before Zac and Charlotte stop this flirty stuff and actually have sex."

Isaac snorts with sudden laughter, choking on his cereal. "Taylor, really," Diana Hanson admonishes, suddenly appearing from behind the curtain that separates the kitchen area from the rest of the bus. She is tiny and blond with eyes the same color as Zoe's; even though I only talked to her for a limited amount of time last night, I can see where Isaac gets his easy personality. Walker, who I haven't seen at all this morning--though I have caught snatches of his side of a cellphone conversation from this side of the curtain that separates the front half of the bus from the other--is seriously handsome, sort of a combination of Taylor and Zac with darker hair and eyes. I don't know why every member of this family is good looking, but they are. Sort of gross if you think about it long enough.

Diana climbs on the counter to reach a bag of pretzels on a high shelf. "You shouldn't tease your brother, Tay. It's unbecoming." She kisses Charlotte lightly on the forehead as a sort of apology for her obnoxious son.

Charlotte is as red as her hair, but she grabs a bunch of grapes out of the fridge and sits on the floor against the counters. Zac promptly sits in her lap, which elicits an eye roll from Taylor. "See what I mean?" he mumbles into my ear. His breath against my cheek sends a shiver up my spine. "And Mom,everything is becoming when I do it. You are talking to your second-born son, not the older, doofy one or the third one with the biker hair." He smiles a big, cheesy grin at Isaac and Zac, who are both glaring at him. Charlotte is giggling like a maniac, pulling on Zac's long, tangled hair. He swats at her hand, which leads to a short but intense tickle fight right there on the floor. I think Taylor is right, for the first time since I've known him; those two do want each other, in a big way.

Diana rolls her eyes but she's smiling. She reaches forward to ruffle Taylor's already rumpled hair and its easy to see that he is probably her favorite. Doesn't that figure. The more I'm around this kid, the more I realize just how much he is like my sister, Jesus help me. "Evidently God wasn't serving up modesty on the day he made you," she mutters, opening up the refrigerator and pulling out a jug of apple juice.

"You're just now realizing that?" Isaac asks, speaking for the first time since he pulled out his laptop and started clicking away. "Modesty isn't part of the Taylor Hanson makeup. Though it really isn't surprising that he's such a horrible mess because really, what could you expect after the perfection that is your first son? "

Taylor, evidently unable to come up with an appropriate insult, sticks his tongue out at Isaac. Isaac sticks his tongue out in return. It's like I'm sitting between two very goodlooking, very tall children.

Diana snaps the top onto a blue sippie cup and kisses Isaac on the forehead. "Aww, Ikey. . .of course no one is as perfect as you," she says sincerely, as only a mother can. "Except, of course, my other six children. . . By the way, how did you sleep, Brinnsley?" she asks, smiling at me over her shoulder as she dumps a handful of mini pretzels into a bowl.

"Oh, fine." I didn't really, between my tight jeans and her son's snoring, but I figure that would sound rude, so I lie.

She smiles. She looks quite a bit like Isaac, if you want to know. "I'm glad, honey. Well, make yourself at home, really. Don't let these bozo sons of mine annoy you too much; Charlotte, Walker and I are very much sane, and we are available if you want to talk to some real people for a while." A shrill shriek followed by a loud thump and an, "AVIE! You BROKE it!" erupts from the bowels of the bus; Diana rolls her eyes discreetly and murmurs, "Those children will be the death of me," before disappearing with pretzels and Zoe's juice.

*Taylor*

Sitting around the bus being lazy has never been quite so enjoyable.

I'm not doing anything particularly interesting. To be more specific, all I am doing is watching tv. But the big difference about today is, I'm watching tv with Brinny, and that changes the whole tv-watching experience, if you will.

"Who does that?" she mutters, her deep green eyes locked to the tv screen. We've somehow managed to kick Mac and Avie off of the Nintendo 64 in the back of the bus, so Brinny and I have the couch and the big tv all to ourselves. The bus is quiet--the little kids are all doing homework, Zoe is taking her afternoon nap, Isaac is on the phone with his European lover and Zac and Charlotte are making each other all horny playing checkers up at the front--and the only noise I can hear is coming from Jackass, which is what Brinny wanted to watch. Though I can't understand why, because all she's done since we've turned it on is complain about how stupid it is.

"That's a lovely way to break your neck. God, don't these people have jobs? What a bunch of losers," she mutters. There are these tiny curls that have escaped from her long braids, loose to frame her face. She brings a whole new meaning to drop dead gorgeous.

"Mmm-hmm," I agree. I wonder what she'd do if I put my hand on her leg. I mean, she let it happen last night in the balcony, didn't she? Hell, I'll try it. Maybe her guard is down.

"Hand. Off leg. Now," she murmurs immediately, not shifting her eyes from the screen for a second.

"Sorry. Geez." I wasn't even in the vicinity of her upper thigh yet.

Suddenly she switches off the television--which shouldn't surprise me, given the way she has been rolling her eyes for the last fifteen or so minutes, but it does, anyway. "Tell me something interesting," she says, tucking her legs up underneath herself. Her legs, long and smooth, still have their summer tan and I'm glad shes decided to wear shorts today. I can't imagine that she dances much anymore, being on the road all summer and all, but she has these beautiful dancer's legs. "I wanna hear a story."

I don't know why she's suddenly volunteering to have a real, live conversation with me, but this has to mean progress. I am so good with girls its almost funny. "A story. . .you gotta give me a second," I mutter, trying to think of something that will catch her attention, make her think that I'm the coolest person to walk to the face of the Earth. I'm sure she's already halfway there, we just have to bring it out. The appropriate story would help a lot. I glance up at her as I think, catch her wide green eyes; she immediately turns away. I'm trying to think of something funny, something like a story that Zac would tell when he's in a good mood, but what comes out is, "Way back before we be became famous--God, it feels like a bazillion years ago, I feel so old--I used to sit up in my room and write autographs. They weren't for real, of course, because at that point I couldn't give my signature away. No one cared about who I was, you know, I was only, what, eleven or something. . .but anyway, I used to practice a lot. Different ways to write my name, the pretty girls who would die to hold a piece of paper with my messy handwriting on it. Zac caught me once, writing my name on slips of paper for imaginary fans, and teased me unmercifully because of it. It was always Zac who would be the one to tease me, even though he was younger. He had the same dream Ike and I did, about making it, but somehow it was always sort of halfhearted. . .probably just because he was so young when it all started, I don't know. But then again even when I was just Zac's age, I wanted it, people everywhere to know my name, to mean something. I know it sounds silly, but. . .to make a difference or something. To let people hear the music that comes slow into my head in the middle of the night, music that is somehow so familiar to me by the time I wake up, like its always been running through my brain. To let other people hear that, and to think that maybe its added something to their world, if only for the three minutes that it lasts. . .you have no idea. Its so weird to think about, how I was back then, because I didn't know, of course, that it would really happen, we really would become famous and all those hours sitting in the top bunk, practicing signatures in our old bedroom and dreaming, all the hours writing songs and practicing and practically begging for a recording contract, would be worth it."

"Is it?" Brinny asks seriously. Which I'm not expecting at all, considering I have never seen the girl truly, 100% serious. But her deep green eyes are wide and solemn .

"Is it what?" I ask absently. I'm still caught halfway between now and my eleven-year-old self, writing my name carefully late at night in our stuffy bedroom, the comforting snore of my brothers humming in my ears.

"Worth it. Everything. . .practicing the autographs, the long hours, the screaming girls. . ."

"Aww, the screaming girls are always worth it," I say before I even think about it, even though it isn't the truth. "I don't know. . .today, I would say yes, it is worth it. Everything, every last part, the good and the bad. But ask me tomorrow, it may be a different story. It changes, I change every day. . ."

Brinny smiles faintly, the echo of a good thought. "Not that it's my type of music, or anything, but. . .to someone, its worth it. Someone is glad that you do what you do."

"Hopefully more than one someone, or else we will be out of work very quickly."

She smiles again. God, I gotta start rambling around this girl more often, it makes her so soft and reasonable. "Please. We know its more than one someone. . ." She's smiling, and I can't tell if she genuinely enjoyed my little ramble or if shes making fun of me in her head.

Here I was, planning on a funny story, and look what I've just spit out. God, way to lay it on the table, Taylor. Soft and reasonable Brinny or not, I am a huge dork. No points this round. "I don't know why I just told you all of that," I say faintly, pushing at my hair.

Brinny shrugs. "I have that effect on people. They just open up to me." She tilts her head to one side and pushes a stray strand of hair out of my eyes with a feathery touch.

"Thanks," I whisper, successfully fighting the urge to not kiss her.

"It was bugging me," she says, shrugging again. She leans back into the couch cushions, hugging a pillow to her chest. "So you think up music in the night? It just flows into you, easy like that?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, sometimes I'd like to get into that head of yours, Taylor Hanson," she says softly.

I raise my eyebrows at her. "That would make two of us. I'd like to understand you. . . "

She narrows her eyes, an almost imperceptible change in her expression. "You don't want to get in my head, you just want to get in my pants, Taylor," she says, brushing me off.

I sigh. So much for thinking Jackass and spilling my guts are the key to romance with Brinny. "That isn't true. I just want to get to know to you, Brinny," I confess, trying not to sound whiny.

"Really. . .don't bother. And I mean that in the nicest way possible."

"Why do you act like you don't like me?"

"Its not that I'm acting, Taylor. I dont like you. I think you're evil." The insult comes out quietly, without her characteristic bite, and she wont look me in the eye.

"Well, you're nothing if not blunt."

"I prefer truthful. That's what they teach you in Catholic school, its bad to lie. . . "she heaves a deep sigh, sliding the zipper on her red hooded sweatshirt up and down, up and down. "Really, Taylor. . .just let it go. Please. It would be a lot easier--"

I fold my arms at try not to make my face look too pouty. "Maybe I don't want easy. Maybe I just want you."

*Brinn*

I could just tell him, because I've hinted around it before: why offer myself up, let myself go with Taylor if I'm just going to get hurt in the end? I admit it, I'm scared to death of him, his easy smile, those deeply blue eyes, and if I give myself over to him, go with what I possibly might be feeling inside, well. . .who knows what kind of terrible mess I would be in? Because everyone knows that if you let your guard down to someone like Taylor Hanson, you are going to get hurt. . .if not today, then definitely tomorrow. I'm pretty sure whoever said, 'It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' definitely was on some type of heavy narcotic, because I am 99% sure that it is better to have said no in the first place and keep your heart safe, whole. Why let yourself fall if you're inevitably going to be broken?

*Taylor*

"Well, you can't have me. Though I'm sure there are a zillion screaming girls waiting for you at your next concert, ready for the taking." She sounds sad, though I can't understand why. I mean, I've told her, I want to be with her and it would be so easy. All at once I realize that I don't understand girls at all, and especially not this girl here in front of me with the suddenly serious green eyes. Its a depressing thought, to say the least.

A tinny version of Mmmbop starts playing from the depths of my jeans pocket, startling both of us.

"Tell me you didn't set your cellphone to ring to the tune of one of your own songs," Brinny moans, covering her face with her arms.

I grin sheepishly as I pull my phone out of my pocket. "Maybe Zac did it as a joke, alright, and I just haven't had a chance to change it yet. . .Hello?" I say, holding my tiny, new-this-summer cellphone to my ear.

"Taylor. "

I sigh. Just what I need. "Hey, Jules . . .look, can this wait until later? We'll talk in a little while, when we get to the hotel. I'm sort of busy right now--"

"Jesus, what are you, making out with that new groupie of yours? God, you don't waste any time," she spits out, the edge of a sob creeping into her hard voice. And I thought she was crazy before she found out about Brinny.

"You have no idea how far that is from the truth," I mumble, glancing at Brinny, who still has her arms pulled over her face. Geez, dramatic much? "The making out part and the groupie part. . ."

"I just wanted to know when my flight is scheduled for. You do remember that I'm leaving on Sunday," she adds hopefully, as if maybe suddenly that will snap me back to my senses and I'll decide that I will put her general pyschoticness behind us and like, propose, or something like that.

"Yeah, I remember. Call up Ashley on his cell, he'll have all the flight information for you." I know the lack of feeling in my voice won't go over well, but whatever. We're on separate buses, so I'm safe. Though I may be acting differently if we were face-to-face and she's got her red eyes boring into me.

"So you are really going to go through with this. Dump me off at the airport and let a perfectly good relationship die, just because you are all horny for a bitchy photographers assistant? Who is sixteen?"

Oh my God. Where do I even start with that. I take a deep breath as Brinny peeks out from between her arms and looks at me curiously. I smile apologetically at her and stand up, heading over to the privacy of my bunk farther up the isle. "You have got to be kidding," I say in a half-whisper when I am a respectable distance away from Brinny. "Really, tell me you aren't serious."

"Look, Taylor--"

"No, you look. Let's, just for one moment, think about our relationship over the past two and a half years. First, for quite a while, you hate me. You treat me completely like trash. . .I have seen child molesters that are more compassionate than you were for most of our relationship, and I put up with it, because, well. . .I am a pushover. Then you love me--or love to make out with me--only because you find out that I went on a date with someone else, which you can't stand to think about, because if nothing else, I am a prized possession of yours. And you are so manipulative--and okay, such a good kisser--you nearly had me back again because you acted nearly normal over those three weeks, or as normal as you've ever acted. Though, that's exactly what it was, an act. Because when you find out that I've been talking to Brinny you hit the roof. Remember the horrible things you were telling the fans? 'Taylor is such an asshole,' 'Taylor treated me like shit', 'Taylor is a bad kisser'. . .I am not a bad kisser," I say hotly. "Then, when you finally meet Brinny, you have a nervous breakdown in a back alley behind the Orpheum! You are like, the queen of multiple personalities, and personally, I don't want to deal with it anymore. So yes, I am finished with you, yes I am finished with our relationship, yes, you are returning home on Sunday and yes, this conversation is over with. . . Oh, and one more thing. . .she isn't sixteen, she's fifteen," I finish smugly.

I hold my breath and wait for the shit to hit the fan.

"Well, Mr. Jordan Taylor Hanson. Your fans will looooove this, I must say. And by the way. . .I taped this entire conversation. Just for your general knowledge. . .goodbye," she says crisply, and hangs up the phone.

Oh, that's very bad. "Shit," I moan into my pillow. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT--"

"Jordan Taylor," my dad admonishes from somewhere near the front of the bus. "You do realize that there are children present on this bus, right?"

"Sorry," I mumble, though I don't really mean it.

Someone sits on the edge of my bed and gently places a hand on my shoulder. The said someone smells an awful lot like roses, so hopefully its Brinny and not my father.

"Um, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, like I care about your well being or general sanity, but. . .are you alright?" she asks tentatively, taking her hand away just when I start to enjoy it being there.

I sigh deeply, breathing in the scent of fabric softener in my just-washed pillowcase. "Oh, I'm fine. Though your half of the race sucks, no offense of anything."

I can nearly hear her smile. "I sincerely hope that has nothing to do with me."

"No, of course it doesn't. . ."

PART 53

*Zac*

"Oh, that's great," I hoot, when Avery gives me the scoop. You want to know what's going on in your very own tour bus, all you have to do is ask your little sister. If you're me, anyway, and your little sister is Avery. I don't know how she manages to catch every conversation that takes place there--half of which occur on random cellphones--but she does. Sort of sketchy, maybe, but learning about Taylor being humiliated is learning about Taylor being humiliated, no matter how you find out about it. And this is classic.

"So she actually taped the conversation, you say?" I ask Avery in a confidential tone. We've just arrived at. . .Canada; dont ask me where in Canada, because I don't know (the important factor being that we have arrived at our destination, wherever that may be), and as always, Avery and I are the first ones ready and off the bus. There is a rather frenzied group of teenagers milling around in front of the hotel, about thirty or so feet away. What I want to know is, why are they here already? I mean, our show isnt even until tomorrow night. Anyway, they are apparently either too timid or too stupid to cross the parking lot and approach us, because they are just hanging around over there, staring at us. Suits me, considering I am in the mood for frenzied teenage girls about 0% of the time. Whatever, this just gives me the opportunity to quiz Avery about the new mess Taylors gotten himself into.

Avery giggles, shrugging her turquoise LL Bean backpack onto her shoulders. "Yeah. How funny is that? He just about peed his pants when she told him. Your fans won't care, naturally--I mean, its Taylor, not you, and they think everything Taylor does is great, even if he is acting like a jerk to his now ex-girlfriend--"

This matter-of-fact statement should piss me off, but it actually makes a lot of sense. Avery is so perceptive, for a little girl. "Yeah. . ."

"It was just funny to see the look on Taylor's face when she told him. It was awesome."

"What was awesome?" Comes a breathless voice behind me. In the back of my mind I realize that the crowd grows a little more rowdy when they spot her red hair. They hate Charlotte, which makes me appreciate her a little bit more, in a twisted sort of way.

"Oh, Taylor making a fool of himself for about the zillionth time this week. God, got enough stuff with you?" I ask, incredulous.

Charlotte blushes hot pink and looks down at her bags: about ten, plus three books stacked under one arm and her purse swinging precariously by one strap from her bony, sweat-shirt covered shoulder. "Well, I'm going to need stuff to do, I mean, your show isn't until tomorrow night. . ." her voice sort of trails off as the teenies in front of the hotel get a little more vocal. Charlotte is borderline scared of our fans, if you want the truth.

"Okay." That's my mom, using her take-charge voice. My dad is supposedly the one whos more involved in our career, but Mom is really the one that makes all the decisions. And from the tone of her voice, we are about to hear room assignments. Usually, this is handled on the bus, but everyone was in such a hurry to get off that godforsaken vehicle, having been cooped up on it for the better part of twelve hours, that we didn't get around to it when everyone was still on. I don't know why I can't choose who I want to share a room with; Christ, this isn't summer camp. Not that it really matters, because who I usually want to share a room with is Charlotte, and that's usually who I get. But still. Its the principle of it all. And I dearly hope my mother isn't too loud talking about room numbers, because I was wrong about the teenies; they evidently aren't too stupid to cross the parking lot, because they are doing it right now. Its like being in the water and having piranhas closing in on you. I glance over at Taylor, planning on making an obnoxious comment about our ravenous fans, but he has spotted Juliana--who is stepping off of Marit and Marion's bus with something like evil in her eye--and is looking rather preoccupied with anger and fright.

"Okay, M2M already has their rooms squared away, so that just leaves us Hansons and you three girls." She chews on the tip of her pen, examining the hotel reservations. "Dad and I will take the four younger kids in the suite--"

I groan loudly. I can't help it. "Why do you always take the suite? I never get the suite. I have been suite-less this entire tour. And I'm the one making the money here! "

Charlotte gives me a shut-up poke. Mom clears her throat and says, "Fine, Zac wishes to sleep in the suite with the little kids--"

"NO! Nevermind. I'm fine without a suite. . ."

"That's what I thought," Mom says dryly. Dad and my younger sisters and brother wander off with a couple of nameless bodyguards to the back entrance of the hotel. The seven or eight fans standing around immediately scramble for their cameras. Jesus. Piranhas, I'm telling you.

"Juliana has requested that she has a room to herself for her last two days with us--" even I notice Moms eye roll, so Juliana, who is standing directly in front of her, definitely does, "So that leaves three rooms for the rest of you. Let's have Charlotte and Brinnsley in one, Zac and Taylor in the other, and Isaac in the last room."

"Hold on a second here, Taylor interrupts, snapping his head around to look at Mom. "Why do I have to share a room with Zac? Hell, why am I sharing a room at all? I always have to share with Isaac, you'd think I'd get a room to myself for one stupid night--"

"What's so bad about sharing a room with me?" I ask, feeling slightly hurt. "You're the one who snores like an ox in heat. Can't I room with Charlotte?"

"Zac, please. You talk in your sleep and you leave big chunks of hair in the shower drain," Taylor says, sounding irritable. God forbid anyone bring up his snoring problem.

"I do not. YOU are the one who clutters up the whole place with beauty products, and I refuse to be woken up at six a.m. to the sound of your hairdryer."

"At least I care about how I look," Taylor shoots back snootily. Brinn sighs deeply, leaning against the side of the bus and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Taylor, you can have my room," Isaac cuts in, a little too eagerly. The fact that Marit is nodding her head vigorously isn't going to help his case much, either. "I can just. . .stay in Marit's room?" Mom snorts her answer.

"Well, fine then, how about I just stay with Charlotte and Taylor can stay with Brinn?" A fine solution, if I do say so myself. I give myself an imaginary pat on the back.

"YES!" Taylor and Charlotte say loudly at the same moment that Brinn mutters, "Yeah, maybe in Taylor's dreams. No, wait, actually, probably not even there."

"The answer, my dear children, is no. Charlotte and Brinn together; you three, I don't care who rooms with who. . .you have two rooms between you, feel free to fight it out. Now, gather up your stuff, let's get this over with. The group of fans at the door is only going to get larger." She wrinkles her nose.

We follow behind Mom, pulling our luggage behind us. There are sullen faces all around: regardless of how much bigger I am than my brothers, I am stuck with Taylor for the weekend, because Ike can be an incredible ass about that stuff; I can tell that Charlotte isn't crazy about spending the night with Brinn, and I can just see Taylor thinking his chance to get in Brinn's pants is destroyed. The only one who looks mildly pleased is Brinn, not because she particularly wants to share a room with Charlotte but because she doesn't want to sleep near Taylor. I don't blame her, really; the boy is turning into something of a sexual predator.

*Brinn*

There is a God, and her name is Mrs. Hanson. I will probably forever love that woman, just because she didn't make me room with her son.

"Its okay, Brinny. We'll just wait until they're all asleep and you can sneak into my room," Taylor whispers conspiratorially.

"You are the dumbest person that has ever walked the face of the Earth," I whisper back in matching tones.

"Huh? he asks pleasantly.

I smile sweetly. "Nothing."

Hanson fans are so annoying. The show is over twenty-four hours away and there are already about ten of them near the door, hanging around like a bad disease. One of them--mildly chubby with Taylor etched on her forehead with what looks like eyeliner, gives me the evil eye as I walk in. I bat my eyelashes at her and blow her a kiss. "Bitch," she mumbles.

"Right back atcha, honey," I call over my shoulder. Taylor glances at me out of the corner of his eye and grins.

I get my hotel key from Ashley--who is looking, as he has every second I have known him, annoyed--and hurry across the lobby to the elevators. I am dying to get up to my room before Taylor gets done goosing the fans, or whatever he's doing, because geez, I am dying for a shower. I round the corner at a dead trot and bump directly into a thin-ish woman in a long, straight khaki skirt. "Watch it," I grumble.

"Wow, thats a lovely way to greet your favorite aunt, who I might add you haven't called in a month?" Poppy says lightly. She pulls off her sunglasses (why is she wearing them in the first place? Its been cloudy all day), and grins. "Fancy seeing you here, Brinns."

"Poppy!" I squeal, dropping my bags. We hug tightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Covering the folk festival in the city tomorrow morning, God help me. You know how I love hippies and the smell of unwashed hair," she adds flatly, rolling her eyes as we step into a waiting elevator. "What floor are you on?"

"The tenth."

"I'm on the seventh. Time and time again, I ask for the first floor, they say yeah, sure, and this is what I end up with. Do I have the face of someone who likes to be lied to?"

"No," I say honestly, though I don't think she was necessarily looking for an answer.

"I don't think I even have to ask, but for the pure pleasure of it I'm going to do it anyway. Are you here with the beautiful Hanson boy?"

I can feel my face burn. I study the digital number high above the elevator door; we seem to be moving awfully slow. "Well. . .you could say yes. The truth is, I was conned into it somehow. Blame it on being overtired."

"Uh-huh. I am absolutely dying to say I told you so, but I'll save you the embarrassment."

"You told me about what? This doesn't mean that I like him as anything more than a friend, which is what you kept telling me. Actually, I don't even really like him as a friend. I'm just using him so I can see Montreal."

"Please. Is there a sign on my forehead reading, 'Penelope Tyler, Born Yesterday?' I'm not a moron, like Emily." She pauses as the door opens onto the seventh floor. "No offense to Emily, or anything."

"Poppy," I whine, following her out of the elevator, even though it isn't my floor. "Give it a rest, please."

She smiles. I really should just go on to my room, because once she gets started on something, she never shuts up. "Okay."

She opens the door to her room and we're blasted with artificially clean-smelling hotel air. I toss my bag down and flop onto the queen-sized bed.

"So how long are you here for?" Poppy asks conversationally, sliding open the heavy floral drapes at the window.

"Until Sunday morning. You?"

"Christ, I wish I wasn't even here at all, to tell you the truth. . .but I'm doing a favor for a dear friend. God, I'm too nice. Anyway, I'm at the festival by nine tomorrow, take two rolls of film for distribution to high-profile papers, and then I'm back on a plane to Boston for an assignment with Leonardo DiCaprio on Sunday morning."

"Nice," I exclaim. "Can I come with you? He's super hot."

"No. Not only is Mr. DiCaprio unappreciative of extra bodies hanging around the set, I have dinner with Pedro at seven."

"Oooooh," I say in a high-pitched voice as Poppy blushes furiously. She gives it to me, I'm sure as hell going to give it back. "Who is this Pedro, and why is he interesting enough to break your eighteen-month no dating streak?"

"Just a friend," she mutters, but she has this huge smile on her face. She sits down in the armchair by the window, and I can tell by her expression that she is dying to talk about this mystery man. "Friend, my ass. So what's he like?"

She glances at me over her shoulder as she pops the cork on a bottle of red wine that she evidently had sent up to the room ahead of time. "Wine?" she asks.

"Just a little. And quit stalling."

"Fine, fine. But you have to promise. . .if I tell you about my love life, you have to reciprocate."

"Whatever." I accept the glass of wine and wait eagerly for her to start. This is big news: Poppy gets boyfriends like, never, which I haven't even been able to figure out, considering she is smart and beautiful and successful. This Pedro guy must be secure in his masculinity, or something.

"Welllll," she starts, sinking into the rose-colored armchair by the window. "Anna, you know Anna. . .you met her at my Christmas party last year, she introduced me to him about three weeks ago, and. . ."

"And?" I prompt, taking a huge sip of wine. I'm already feeling slightly dizzy. My tolerance to alcohol is unbelievably low. Maybe that means I should drink more often.

"And. . .its going well. He's an amazing guy. . ."

I focus on my cuticles and finishing my wine and Poppy rambles on and on about Pedro, the no-longer-a-mystery guy who she didn't want to talk about fifteen minutes ago. Now I can say that I know that he likes his eggs over-easy and his arm hair is blond. I love Poppy and I'm thrilled that she has found a guy that doesn't suck, but come on. . .you'd tune her out after about thirty seconds, too.

Or maybe that's just my undiagnosed ADD coming out.

I hear her next sentence loud and clear, though.

"So. . .how are things with Taylor?"

I choke on my wine.

"Things? There are no things with Taylor, we are just friends. . .I mean, sort of friends, I don't even really know the guy. . ." I can feel my resolve to keep my mouth shut slowly break down as Poppy sits calmly in the flowered armchair and sips her wine. I don't know if its the alcohol working my system or Poppy herself, but suddenly I can't take the quiet and not talking to someone about it, so I burst out, "Look, I'm only saying this once, so listen carefully, okay? I think Taylor is amazing. I think he is beautiful and talented and okay, he's sort of dumb, but he's fun and he makes me feel so good, and I haven't had that in a long time. Hell, have I had that ever? But that's the thing, why would he like me, when he could have anyone, anyone, he wanted? That's just absolutely ridiculous. Ridiculous! So I am refusing to let things happen, and do you have any idea how hard that is? On the one hand, he is annoying and conceited and, I said it before, really stupid, but on the other hand, there's all this good stuff, and you try to be around someone like Taylor Hanson all of the time and not feel your backbone dissolve? Just like powered Kool-Aid," I add thoughtfully, draining my wine glass in one last huge slug.

Poppy looks at me strangely.

"Whatever. The point is, Poppy, is one half of me wants to just let go, give it a shot. But that isn't the logical half of me, because the logical half says, don't do it, the bastard will smash your heart into ten thousand pieces! Wait, no, go back for a second, its probably the logical third, not half, because there's another part of me, the--what the hell fraction would be left?"

"It doesn't really matter, does it, Brinns?" Poppy is doing a rather bad job hiding her amusement. I'm filing that away for the next time I want to spill my guts to her.

"Well, the last part of me says, go for it, it would be fun, and who cares if it doesn't last? But that part of me isn't very smart at all," I finish glumly.

"That was sort of anticlimactic."

"Well, Poppy, life is a rollercoaster. Can I have some more wine?"

"No. You're making no sense as it is. What kind of fifteen-year-old are you? Can't even hold your alcohol."

"Shut up."

"Alright. But before I do, I have to say one thing. . .and I'm only saying it because you are my favorite niece."

My head is swimming with alcohol and the realization that I just admitted to a real, live, logical person that I am attracted to Taylor Hanson. What the hell is wrong with me. "I'm only your favorite niece because Emily is a moron."

"Yeah, well. . ." Poppy shrugs. "If you spend your whole life not doing things because youre afraid of getting hurt, you might as well just never come out of your room."

"That's fine. I like my room--"

"How are you ever going to have a fulfilling relationship if you don't take chances?"

"Ohhhh, Ms. I-haven't-had-a-boyfriend-for-nearly-two-years-until-recently feels like she can give love advice, huh? Veeeeeerrry interesting--"

"Don't be a snot, Brinns. All I'm saying is, Taylor could be the man of your dreams, but you'll never know unless you let your guard down."

She's right, I know she's right. "Whatever," I mumble.

"And I say this would be the perfect opportunity to do it. Weekend away, hotel rooms. . .you are taking full advantage of this situation, right?" She asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

"You are such a bad influence on me its disgusting. What kind of an aunt are you?"

Poppy shrugs, pouring another inch of wine into her glass. "God, Brinnsley, someone has to be a bad influence on you. You're such a tight ass."

"Fine. Does that mean I can have more wine?"

"No, it doesn't."

*****

I leave to find my room soon after, walking slowly to avoid stumbling. God, one glass of wine and look where it got me: bumping into walls in a deserted hotel hallway after just admitting to a crush on Taylor Hanson.

I am never drinking again.

I push the up arrow by the elevators and hum to myself as I wait. Maybe I'll take Poppys advice, maybe I won't. Its a free world, and besides, Poppy doesn't know everything. On the other hand, it would be sort of nice to go up to Taylor's room right now while this alcohol in my system is still giving me courage and tell him I want him and push him back on the bed and climb on top of him and--

The elevator doors open. Taylor, Marit, and Isaac are standing within the mirrored walls. "Brinny!" Taylor exclaims. His hair is slightly wet and rumpled looking, and his cheeks are bright pink, like he just got out of a really hot shower. "We've been looking all over for you! We're going down to catch and cab and see what there is to do around here, you wanna come?"

I hesitate for a minute. Marit catches my eye and smiles at me.

I reach inside their elevator and push the button that closes the elevator doors. Then I turn to find the stairs.

PART 54

*Brinn*

It's fifteen minutes later when I find my room and slide the keycard into the lock, breathless. I'm caught halfway between feeling disappointed in myself and proud for having resisted Taylor and his manipulative charm one more time. Finally I decide that I'm not going to think about it for one more moment: as soon as I walk into my room, I will take a nice, long, sobering shower, drink lots of water and fall into a deep, oblivious sleep.

I swing the door open. Charlotte and Zac are on one of the two queen beds, rolling around and shrieking and generally acting horny. For the love of all that is holy, what is with these Hanson boys and their perpetual horniness?

"Do you ever STOP?" I say sharply, louder than I mean to. "What is WITH you Hanson boys and your perpetual horniness??"

Zac has this glassy-eyed look about him, like he isn't quite sure who I am. "What are you doing here? I thought you went with Tay and Ike and his Swedish bitch," he says innocently.

Charlotte, who is straightening her ponytail, pokes Zac in the ribs. "She's not a bitch, Zac, and she's from Norway," she says indignantly. Like it really matters where shes from.

Zac shrugs. He's getting this look like maybe he's about to start grabbing at Charlotte again, so I cut in and say, "I'm not feeling very well, I didn't want to go. Plus I think your brother is a complete moron."

Zac nods, like this is a perfectly acceptable observation. "Yeah, you're right, he is."

Charlotte giggles, her face still red and blotchy.

The fact that someone is finally agreeing me calms me down a bit. I sit gingerly on the edge of the other queen bed (like I would be caught dead on the same mattress as Charlotte and Zac-those two are apt to spontaneously start having sex any moment, much like a pile of wood and kerosene about to burst into flames). As annoying as Zac and Charlotte and their touchy-feely act are, Im heartened to know that Im not the only one who thinks that Taylor is a completely self-centered airhead. I mean, he probably has a right to be self-centered, as gorgeous as he is. Though I'm sure Zac doesn't think he's gorgeous, that would be kind of gross. I heave a deep sigh and kick off my pink Adidas sneakers. "Well, okay then."

Zac grins this sort of crooked half smile and sits up on the bed. "You probably don't even realize how dumb he really is. I mean, once we were watching tv, right? And they were talking about elections, whose running for president and stuff and the newscaster mentions something about George W. being the son of George Bush, president of the United States from 19-eighty whatever to 19-ninety whatever, blah blah blah, and Taylor gets all quiet and says, completely serious, 'Wait a secondthere are two George Bushes??'" Zac starts sputtering with laughter before he even finishes the story.

I can't help it; I burst into giggles. "He did not say that." Talk about being stupider than I thought.

"He did! You underestimate the power of his ignorance. If Taylor was a super hero," he continues earnestly-I can tell hes' enjoying the audience, "He would be, like, The Amazing Retardo or something. His super power would be the ability to knock people senseless with his lack of intelligence."

I laugh again. Who would have thought that Taylor's younger brother was so funny? Taylor isn't exactly one for witty remarks, by any means. Or maybe he is, and I'm just too busy trying to avoid his deep blue eyes to notice.

Just thinking about his eyes makes me sigh like the disgusting lump of Taylor Hanson-crazed cells that I am becoming.

Zac notices right away and immediately starts looking serious. Holy mood shift. "Why did you want to come with us for the weekend, anyway?"

Geez, I can't get away from deep, mind-penetrating questions. Its like the God damn Spanish Inquisition around here. "I don't know," I mumble, feeling uncomfortable. Charlotte's gray eyes are boring into me, and I wish to God she'd just leave. Who invited her, anyway? "Free weekend away, I mean, youre concerts arent that great but its better than staying home. . . "

Zac narrows his eyes. "I don't believe you. You want my brother as much as he wants you." He shakes his head, "The thought of which completely disgusts me, if you want to know, but its the truth."

"So maybe I do," I mutter, feeling defeated. "It doesn't mean that I'm going to do anything about it."

I'm looking at my pink sneakers, lying there on the floor with their laces tangled, but I'm distinctly aware of Zac staring me down from the edge of the other queen bed. I stubbornly refuse to look up, and finally he sighs. "Whatever," he mutters. "I just want you to know, Brinn. . .the kid may be a complete moron, but he'd treat you like a princess. For real."

"Yeah, yeah," I say softly, nudging the dirtier of the two sneakers with my toe.

"Come on, Char," Zac says. "Let's go see what Jess and Mac are doing."

"Fine," I whisper to myself, "be that way." I turn to walk into the bathroom and take the planned shower, but somehow it's lost it's appeal. I fall back on the bed and try to go to sleep.

*Isaac*

"Marit," I whisper. "What's with Taylor?"

She peers over her shoulder, trying to look inconspicuous, at Taylor, who has fallen about six paces behind us and isn't, by any means, speeding up any. We're walking down a busy street lined with clubs and restaurants, but Taylor doesn't seem to be enjoying the ambiance as much as Marit and I are. Leaning in conspiratorially, she says softly, "I'm not completely sure, but don't you think it has something to do with the fact that Brinn slammed an elevator door on his face?"

She's wearing this long-sleeved, gauzy blue shirt that tickles my forearm. I reach for her hand and she pushes her fingers through mine, giving me a delicious shiver up my spine. I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying being the only Hanson brother with a smooth, steady relationship, and I may even admit to slightly enjoying Taylor and the non-luck he's had with girls lately. Though I probably wouldn't say it aloud. Well, maybe, given the right time and situation, I might blurt it out, unintentionally of course. . .

Marit elbows me softly, giving me a start. "Shouldn't we try and cheer him up? I feel bad. . ."

I glance behind me at Taylor, whose face is completely obstructed by the hair that is hanging in his in his eyes. He is absolutely the picture of despair. "Nah," I say, turning back to Marit. "He doesn't look too bad. . ." The truth is, I just don't want to confront the kid about his rocky lovelife. I mean, he'll figure it out sooner or later, right? It would just be embarassing for both of us. I'll leave the love life talks to Zac and Dad. . .much safer that way.

We don't have to come to any type of conclusion, luckily, because Taylor (who now is about 200 feet behind us and not growing any closer) suddenly yells, "Hey, Ike? I'm going back to the room. I, uh, have a headache."

Headache my ass. I snort at his ill fortune. "Are you sure you can find your way?" I say loudly, standing on my toes to see Taylor through the crowd that has formed between us. I try not to sound like I'm eager to be rid of him and his wet-blanket attitude and be alone with Marit.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I think I'm going to go see what's up with Brinn."

"My, the boy certainly doesn't understand the notion of rejection very well, does he?" Marit murmurs, stopping to check out the menu posted outside of a tiny, bustling-looking restaurant. "I mean, she kicks him and hes right back up, ready for the next foot in his face. . ."

I sigh. Truth be told, I feel very slightly bad for Taylor, but what are you going to do about it? "He's always been like that," I say, untangling one of Marits curls from her left hoop earring. "A glutton for punishment."

*Taylor*

"Look, Charlotte, really. Would it kill you to give me your hotel key? Honestly." I tap my booted foot nervously on the carpeted floor of my parents suite. Charlotte and Zac are sitting on the bed in front of me; Charlotte looks vaguely annoyed, Zac looks amused.

Jess appears out of the adjoining living room and hops up onto the bed, nearly crashing heads with Charlotte. "Can you be more careful, Jess?" Charlotte says irritably. A"nd why, in God's name, do you want my hotel key? You aren't after more of my Herbal Essences, are you, Taylor? Because it is not--"

"No, no," I say, pushing my wind-tangled hair out of my eyes. "I just want to talk to Brinn."

Jess looks at me, squinting. "Isn't that sort of creepy, to just bust into her room when she's probably sleeping? Or, worse, naked?"

I hope my eyes don't light up too brightly. "Naked? I never thought of that. . ."

Jess throws a pillow at me. "Gross, gross, GROSS. . ." She wanders out of the room as quickly as she came. "That's on the list of things I DON'T ever want to hear a brother say. You hear me, you two?" She slams the door behind her without even waiting for a response.

Charlotte fingers the keycard while Zac tangles his fingers in the ends of her long hair. "I don't know. . ."

I can tell she's only withholding to be annoying. I mean, really. "Charlotte, this is juvenile. Just give me the damn key!" I say, sounding more unstable than probably I even realize.

Charlotte's grey eyes grow wide. "God, here's your stupid key. Geez," she says, tossing the key at me. I" don't know why you'd want to talk to her, anyway. She obviously has a big problem with you."

Zac nudges Charlotte in the ribs. "Char. . ."

I shrug, feeling two sets of eyes boring into me. "No, Charlotte, you're probably right. But I just. . .I want to see if I can sort this stuff out."

Charlotte sighs. Zac shakes one of his wrists, trying to free his left hand from Charlotte's tangled hair. "OW, Zac. . . Taylor, not to get all sisterly on you or anything, but maybe you can't sort it out. Maybe she's just a bitch, plain and simple, end of story, and you have no future together."

"I, personally, am leaning more towards a definitely than a maybe on the bitch idea," Zac says innocently, gesturing with his one free hand. . . .though it doesn't really matter what her personality is, considering she has an ass that rivals any full-time salsa dancers--"

Charlotte belts him with her tiny white hand. "Do salsa dancers have nice asses?" I ask distractedly, fingering the keycard.

"I don't know. Well, yeah, probably. All that salsa dancing, twenty-four seven. . .you could always go after one of those, and rid us of the horrible mood swings you've been caught in lately," Zac suggests brightly.

I shake my head. "You probably are right. . .she is just a brat that devotes her life to rejecting me, over and over again. But, then again. . .maybe not, you know? Maybe I'll catch her in a good mood. I'm going to go talk to her," I add firmly.

Zac rips his right hand out of Charlotte's hair with a snap that I can hear from five feet away. Charlotte shrieks; Zac ignores her. "I don't think she's capable of good moods, Tay. Part of me can't blame you for keeping after her like this, man, but part of me says, 'What the hell is he thinking?' I mean, you'd think being rejected one time or even three times by the same girl would be enough, and a light bulb would go off in that dim little brain of yours, because the girl obviously has some serious issues that I, personally, don't even want to know about, no matter how hot she is. I mean," he says pleadingly, "think of the salsa dancers you could be dating."

I cock my head to one side, pretending as if I am considering his reasons. I know he just wants to keep me from getting hurt, but really, what does he know about love? Here he is, with Charlotte all over him like a wet blanket, and he has no idea that they should be together. Not an expert in the dating department, by any means. "I'm going to talk to Brinn now," I say decisively after a moment or two. "A real talk. I need to figure her out, once and for all."

"Yeah, I knew you would be. Good luck, dude." He looks uncomfortable, being so sincere.

I glance once more at the card, turning it in my hands. "Thanks. And uh, don't come up for a while, okay guys? Just in case we really get things worked out, if you know what I mean." I wink to cover up my nervousness.

My brother and Charlotte both snort in unison. "Doubtful," Zac mutters, but he flashes me a wide smile and nods.

PART 55

*Charlotte*

"I think he's more like a dog," I say conspiratorially to Zac, flopping on the bed and landing half on his chest, by-accident-on-purpose, "that just enjoys being kicked. Over, and over, and over, and over--"

"He's always been like that," Zac responds, sighing deeply, as if the notion really depresses him. "The poor boy feeds off of insults. The more abuse, the better. Wanna place bets on what is going to happen this time?"

I search Zac's face out of the corner of my eye: he has just enough flecks of green in his wide brown eyes to make him different, eternally interesting. Maybe its me, but it seems as if he's gotten even more freckles lately, even though summer is definitely gone and we haven't been anyplace sunny in weeks. He's beautiful, so beautiful, and I really could just sit and look at him forever, but. . .you can't just do that, so finally I look away, and say softly, "Sure, I'll bet. Five bucks its a broken bone. At least a finger."

Zac laughs, his mouth wide open, like right now, he's the happiest guy in the world. That's the way it is with Zac . . . its like he feels things on a higher level than most people do, and he can be so happy, just sitting around making fun of his brother. With me. The idea sends a shiver to the very tips of my fingers. "Aw, broken finger, I hope it's worse than that. I'm hoping for blood of some type, truthfully." He absentmindedly twirls a stray strand of my hair around an index finger. "Poor Taylor," he sighs again, tugging on my hair lightly. "When is he ever going to realize that girls aren't worth getting involved with?"

In retrospect, maybe it wasn't anything to get annoyed with, but . . . I did. "What's that supposed to mean?" I say, trying to ease the tightness out of my voice. Really, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

*Zac*

I don't know why I said it, and I definitely don't know why she cares so much. I mean, what is it to Charlotte if I decide never to date anyone, ever? It's puzzling, it really is. PMS, maybe?

*Charlotte*

Just like that, and I'm the owner of the worst mood of the century. Why can't he just let us have a lazy, wonderful afternoon, and let me go on believing that Im getting somewhere, we're getting closer to being the Zac and Charlotte in my head. . .why does he feel the need to periodically ruin things with his stupid, I-don't-need-anyone comments? It pisses me off, if you really want to know. Zac squirms under my shoulder, shrugging me off of him. "I don't know . . . just, girls are too much bother right now, with the tour and music and traveling and everything. . ." I'm not even looking at him, being concerned with keeping my expression flat and I-don't-care-ish, but I can sense the confusion in his voice. Really, the kid talks about Taylor being stupid, but he's won the Ignorant Hanson award, hands-down.

"Girls. . .? You're saying I'm too much bother?" I can hear the testiness in my voice that I hate to hear in my mother's, and it makes me even more angry. I'd punch him or twist his arm hair or something, but guys don't get that. . .they just think you're trying to make up with them. Not that we're having a fight, because we are not. I'm just slightly hurt.

*Zac*

You know, you think you know someone, and then they go and start acting weird and hormonal. I'm talking about girls in general, just to clarify. But Charlotte in particular. I pity the man she ends up marrying.

"No, not you, Char," I say quickly, reaching for her nearest hand, "I meant girls. You're not a girl girl, you're. . .Charlotte." There. If that's not clear, I don't know what is.

*Charlotte* I search his face for a moment, looking for signs of joking. No, the ignoramus is serious.

"I think I am going back to my room now," I say tersely, sitting up and sliding off the bed.

"Charlotte! You can't do that, Taylor and Brinn could be having sex!" There is a genuine look of terror on his face.

"Gross," Jess mutters from the adjoining room.

"Well, fine then, I'll go to Isaac's room."

"HE could be having sex!"

"Then I'll go to Juliana's room, and if she's found someone to screw around with, which wouldn't surprise me at all, I will sit out in the hallway!"

Zac crosses his arms over his chest. "Charlotte, why are you acting like such a girl all of the sudden?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "I am a girl, you retard."

"No you aren't. . .girls are those strange faceless creatures that hang outside of our hotels with Taylor written in permanent marker on their foreheads." He looks hurt. Why does he look hurt? I'm the one that was just blatantly rejected here. "Look, Charlotte, I really don't see how saying I don't want a girlfriend right now would make you angry."

I can hear Jess laugh aloud. "Stupid," she sputters between giggles.

I sigh. Zac has been like this since the day we were born; I don't know why I thought things were changing lately. I'm the stupid one, really. "If you don't get it by now, you aren't ever going to get it," I mumble. "Goodbye."

*Zac*

I can't believe that Charlotte just walked out in a huff on me. This is ridiculous. "Do you think she ate something that made her incredibly sensitive?" I wonder out loud, still looking at the door.

"No. But I do think you're a moron," Jessie answers back.

"Why is everyone always telling me that!" I scream. I kick the side of the mattress, which accomplishes nothing but does give me a nice sore foot.

Jess appears in the doorway, twisting her long blond hair into some type of girly hairdo. "People always tell you that because Charlotte has been in love with you since before I was even born. Not only did you insinuate that you have no interest in dating anyone, including and especially her, you said that you dont even consider her a girl, which would mean that you have no interest in dating her, ever. God, you're such a flake," she smirks.

I think for a moment. "No, I really don't think that's it," I say finally.

Jess rolls her eyes. "Jesus," she mumbles.

"I'm telling Mom!" I say, just because I feel like yelling something.

"Yeah, you do that. It might be the high point of your day."

I grab the remote and start flipping through channels, which, as every guy knows, helps you think more clearly. Really, the idea of dating Charlotte is preposterous . . .I mean, how weird would that be? Just try and tell me that wouldnt be weird. I don't think I can even think of her like that. Absently I think about how this is probably the first time in weeks that I have not been within inches of Charlotte, and that feels even more weird. Well, maybe not weird, exactly, but. . .lonely. I sigh and consider the empty side of this king-sized bed. Hopefully Jessie and everyone else is wrong about Charlotte wanting to be my girlfriend, because, well . . . not only is it mildly creepy, but I really don't know what I would think if they're right.

PART 56

*Taylor*

I whistle in the hallway as I walk to Brinny's room, loudly to distract myself from my own thoughts. If I was the type to give myself last minute pep talks--I'm really not--I would be doing it right now, walking down this too quiet hall to my destiny.

Room 1034. I think. Or was it 1032? Or 1043? Damn, am I even on the right floor?

I turn around slowly three times in the middle of the hallway, trying to think. Yes, it is 1034. And if it isn't, well . . . I guess I'll just go on down the line, trying the key in every door. Hell, why not.

I pause in front of room 1034 and take a monstrously deep breath. I picture myself sneaking slyly into the room, waking Brinny from a nap that has her looking flushed and angelic, her hair fanned out perfectly on the hotel pillow, and then. . .you know, lots of boring talking that hopefully goes by very quickly, and then the part we're all waking for: the kiss. Hopefully more than one.

It makes me feel better. I step up to the door, I slide the key into the slot, and miraculously, the tiny light flashes green, clearing me for entrance. My heart hammering in my chest, I push the door open.

I don't get too far, because get this: the girl has put the chain lock on the door. Who even does that? So much for the suave, no-hassle entry. I'm so pissed off I actually swear out loud.

"Fuck," I mutter.

*Brinn*

I'm dreaming of a thunder storm, its dark and theres long, lazy flashes of lightning, and I'm hiding in a closet because someone is trying to break into my house. I'm scared, naturally, because that's a scary predicament to be in, you know. . .someone breaking into you house, and all, and I've worked my unconscious self into this huge frenzy with the suspense and terror involved in the whole situation, and then suddenly my eyes fly open with a loud eruption of noise at my door, and there really is someone trying to break in. And they're swearing.

I'm pissed. Let me tell you, no one is about to break into my hotel room.

I fly out of bed (only bumping into the wall once in my half-sober state) and slam the door closed in the intruders face. "Who is it?" I hiss, trying to sound menacing. I don't look through the peephole in the door for fear that I'll loose my nerve.

"SHIT, Brinny! That was my FINGER!" Comes the hoarse shriek.

"Oh, it would figure that its you," I sigh, trying to calm my racing heart.

*Taylor*

"Please give me my finger back," I say frantically, trying to keep my eyes from watering. This isn't at all the way I wanted this to go.

Brinny opens the door wide enough for me to extract my red and swollen finger, probably broken. She peeks at me through the crack in the door, but doesn't release the chain so I can come in.

"I think you broke my finger," I mumble, because my prepared suave and sexy lines have been thumped completely out of my body with the jarring of the door and I can't think of anything else to say.

I study her one visible green eye as she peers down at my bent finger and shrugs. Her curly hair is fuzzy and disheveled, and I think I really did wake her out of a nap. She rubs at her eyes, slightly bloodshot, and says pointedly, "What do you want, Taylor?"

"Being a girl that just viciously attacked me, you'd think that you would, I don't know, invite me in?"

"I don't owe you anything, Tay."

"Yeah, but that room you're standing in was bought with my hard-earned money." I try to sound stern but I'm caught on how she called me Tay, and nicknames insinuate closeness, right? This must be a good thing.

She snorts, still looking me up and down from three-inch crack in the door. "Well, that's very nice and all, but you really weren't invited, thank you." She slides down the closet door beside her and sits on the floor, pulling her legs up to her chin.

"Are you going to let me in, or not?"

She shrugs. "I don't see a problem with this arrangement."

I sigh and drop down to the floor, propping the door open with my knee so I can see the beautiful girl on the other side. "If a fan walks by and sees me out here, sitting in the middle of the hallway all vulnerable exposed and decides to eat me, I'm holding you personally responsible."

Her lips pull up into a slight smile. She pushes a curl out of her eyes and says, "Well, I guess that's a price I'm willing to pay."

We don't say anything for a moment; Brinny is playing with her hair, twirling the poufy strands into ringlets, and I take the opportunity to inspect my cuticles, because its the only unawkward place the look.

"What do you want from me, Taylor?" Her voice is so soft that for a moment I think that I may have imagined it, but when I look up at her, her wide eyes are on me, questioning.

I shrug. "I don't know," I say, and its true; I think for a moment but I can't grasp the reason why I'm here, sitting outside of her hotel room like an obedient puppy.

"I mean," she says, still in that tiny quiet voice, "Why me? Why can't you just . . .let me be? There are so many girls . . ."

"Because," I say simply, "you are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on."

"That isn't a reason," she scoffs.

"Well, I'll give you another, then," I say. I'm so red and flushed with sudden heat I'm afraid to even look at her. "You have this . . . this magic quality about you that I've never seen in a girl, and I can't get enough of it. You're so different from every girl I have ever known, and I can't just, leave you alone and walk away, because what if I could have some of that magic forever? What if we could make something out of us, and we had this great thing--"

"It isn't real," she says suddenly. "This isn't, we aren't. There is no 'we'. Nothing we have now is real, Taylor, I mean it. How could you just, go blindly after something that could never be perfect? Why would you want a relationship that is bound to fall apart? I mean, you are this celebrity, I'm just some stupid high school sophomore, why would you even want to try?"

"Because something imperfect is better than nothing at all."

"Yeah," she says softly. "You say that, but you don't really mean it."

"Look," I say pleadingly, reaching for her hand in the crack in the door. I hate the whininess in my voice, but I can't help it; I can just see her slipping between my fingers. "Can't you just give me a chance, please? Let's try, lets see if it can work."

She sighs. It scares me, the seriousness of her expression and the sadness in her eyes, because I haven't ever seen her like this." You don't want to love me, Taylor." She doesn't pull away from my hand.

"Why do you keep saying that? I do, Brinny, you have no idea--"

"Because it isn't worth the effort, that's why. Its easier not to."

"You cant go through your whole life, taking the easy way out of everything, Bri."

She shrugs tiredly. "Oh, its worked well enough so far."

We sit in silence for a moment, holding hands through the door. She's rubbing tiny circles on my palm with her thumb, and its so nice; I wish it was all like this, this easy touch.

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you, Brinny," I say.

"I know that," she says, honestly, her wide eyes sorrowful. "I know you wouldn't ever mean to. But sometimes it just happens . . ."

"It could be so great with us, Brinny," I sigh.

She sighs in return. "Taylor, you have no idea how much I want it, I want to trust you, but--"

"Don't think about it, then," I cut in, pushing closer to the door. "Don't worry about planning ahead or worrying or reasoning it all out. Just go along with things, live in the moment."

*Brinn*

He's so close and so real, his blue eyes wide with eagerness and pleading. His smell, the deep scent of beautiful boy, envelops my every sense and for a moment, I live through his words, I live in the moment. "Okay," I whisper. I strain towards him, and find his lips through the crack in the open door. It all feels so warm and honest and earnest and lovely, pleasant to every nerve in my entire body, and for a moment, I live through that kiss.

*Taylor*

As my mom would say, I don't practice what I preach: I tell Brinny to live in the moment, not to think, but I'm this huge thinker, and though my whole body is reeling from the after effects of this kiss, I can't help but saying, "So does this mean you're going to trust me?"

*Brinn*

"I dont know what it means, "I say honestly, and "I'm definitely not promising anything."

Taylor nods, his face flushed. "That was one hell of a kiss though, huh?"

I smile, which is against my general principles, but I can't help it. "Yeah, that was one hell of a kiss."

PART 57

*Brinn* There may have been something more to this, I don't know, but all of the sudden Zac comes storming down the hallway, stepping on one of Taylor's hands in his haste. "SHIT, Zac!" Taylor yelps, giving his brother something resembling the look of death. "What is God's name are you doing here?" Glancing through the crack in the door at me, and then continuing in a hiss (as if I couldn't hear him perfectly well), "You told me that you were going to stay in Mom and Dad's room tonight and leave us alone in case--"

"Where's Charlotte?" Zac interrupts, sounding whiny. I feel like a parent who's about to get some when the baby suddenly wakes up. I roll my eyes.

Taylor, rubbing his hand and frowning deeply (Zac has added boot trend marks to the already smushed fingers), spits out, "I don't know, you tell me. Yours is the butt she's always up, not mine."

"Ha ha," Zac says flatly, sliding down the wall to sit beside his brother. "Why are you talking to each other through a door? Do you have a guy in there, Brinny?"

Taylor, looking suddenly alarmed, tries to peer past me into my darkened room. "Hey--"

"Just when I think you've finally gotten a little smarter," I mutter, looking to the ceiling.

"You never even said you were sorry about smashing my delicate hand with your boot, Zac. How the hell am I supposed to play tomorrow with a smashed hand?"

"Oh, quit your whining. You'll play just the way you always do; you suck anyway. Now seriously, have you seen Charlotte?"

"I already said no! Why, did she finally decide that she hates you? Its about time."

This comment appears to hit very close to home, because Zac immediately looks down at his folded hands in his lap. "No . . ."

"I'm sure she'll get over it. . .she's been planning your wedding since you were two, why would she want to give up now? Girls are just like that. . .moody." He glances at me to gage how I will take this comment. I reach through the door and pull on his arm hair.

"OW!"

"Jesus Christ. I need to do something," Zac says, drumming his hands on the carpet runner. "Let's go swimming."

"YEAH!" Taylor exclaims, jumping up with a little too much enthusiasm. I can just see an image of my bathing-suit clad self in his mind. "Let's go, Brinny."

"It isn't even warm out," I stall. Damned if I'm going to be the only girl swimming in a darkened pool with two sexually frustrated Hanson boys.

"Duh, Brinny, the pool is inside. This is Canada, they do things backwards here. Come on."

"I didn't bring a bathing suit. And there are inside pools in the United States too, you know, dumbass."

"Whatever. You did bring a bathing suit, its in the top pocket of your suitcase. The black bikini."

"Oh yeah," I mumble. The proverbial light bulb goes off in my head. "What the hell were you doing in my suitcase?" When was he in my suitcase would be the better question.

Taylor is undeniably beautiful when he blushes. "Ummm--"

"We can talk about this later. I'm getting my stuff; I'll meet you at the pool in ten minutes," Zac calls over his shoulder. "And if you see Charlotte, tell her that I'm sorry."

"Whoo, look at the big man, apologizing and everything!" Taylor cackles. Zac turns to glare, then disappears around the corridor.

"That wasn't very nice," I say absently, standing up.

"Yeah, I know. I'm like that."

"Tell me about it."

"Are you coming swimming with us? "

"No," I say, but I shut the door in his face and walk into the bathroom to change.

*Charlotte*

"Honestly, Charlotte. As a friend, really. . . the Hansons are bad people. You have to realize that Zac is never going to get it . . . because I mean, he's stupid, as well as bad." Juliana stops on this philosophical note and says brightly, "Well, I need a cigarette. Do you smoke?"

"You've asked me that about three billion times, Jules," I mutter, burying my head in the bedspread. "No, I haven't taken it up yet."

"You really should," she says, fumbling with her glittery pink lighter. "Its great for calming you down."

"Uh-huh," I say without lifting my head.

"And I meant what I said; you need to get over Zac. He's very cute, I must admit, but if he's anything like Taylor . . .he's an ass. You don't need that. Find a real man who will appreciate you."

I start to wonder why I am sitting in Juliana's hotel room and listen to her insult Zac. I mean, he's dense, but I still don't think he's an ass. Then I realize that I am here because I was more than 50% sure that I wouldn't be interrupting any humping if I knocked at her door after I stormed out on Zac. Not very good odds, true, but they were better than the odds at Brinn or Isaac's rooms.

I start to feel antsy. I'm not quite as mad anymore, just hurt, and frankly, Juliana is boring. "Let's go swimming," I say into the bedspread.

I can sense Juliana frowning as she sucks on her cigarette. "I just straightened my hair."

"That's a stupid excuse. I'm going swimming."

"Okay," Juliana agrees, only because she loves to parade around in skimpy clothing. "Go get your suit, and meet me back here."

I hurry out of the room and breathe the fresh air of the hallway. Goddamn cigarette smoke. I walk slowly up the corridor, listening at the door of the room I'm sharing with Brinn to make sure she isn't doing Taylor or anything. The room is quiet. I slip in, grab my bathing suit (a one-piece black Speedo, just because I am boring), change in the bathroom, and hurry back to meet Jules. I half-hope that I'll meet Zac in the hallway--looking for me so he can apologize for being such a blind, oblivious lump of gorgeous man and to beg me to take him, right there in the hallway--but I don't see anyone. I start to wonder if Jules is right, and I should just forget about Zac.

*Brinn*

"Come on, Brinny, the water is great," Taylor says enthusiastically. He is wearing a pair of dark gray swimming shorts, and even though he has this narrow, boyish-y chest, he's still pretty hot. The room is small and dimly lit--we're the only three people here--and even in the gloomy lighting I can tell that Taylor is tan all over, like he's walked around lots without a shirt on. "You can't just sit there and watch us swim."

"Sure I can," I say, pulling the towel tightly around my waist. Why the heck did I only bring a two-piece on a trip with Taylor? I feel so . . .exposed. "I'm doing it right now."

Taylor rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his wet hair. I'll admit, he's making me pretty horny. Who can blame me? Really.

He gets out of the pool; I know exactly what is going to happen next. "Don't you DARE!" I yelp, holding me arms out as a barrier. My towel falls down; I retract one arm and yank it back up again.

"Do it!" Zac yells, splashing his hands on the surface of the water like a two year old. Water seems to make Hansons both hornier and more loopy.

He doesn't have to cheer him on, because Taylor would do it anyway. Wrapping both wet, wiry arms around me--one over my back, the other under my knees--he lifts me up easily and starts walking to the pool with a menacing expression on his face. "You have to let me see you all wet one time this trip," he says in a husky voice, glancing down at me with those sky-blue eyes.

"Christ, what the hell did you eat for lunch? You weigh about a hundred and fifty-eight thousand pounds--" And here I am promptly thrown into the water.

"You could have been a little more original with that," I mutter, pushing my tangled curls out of my face. "Dangled me over the water for a moment maybe, or jumped in with me--"

"Your boob is hanging out of your bathing suit, Brinny," Taylor says easily, staring at my chest.

"It is not!" I say quickly, looking down.

"Yeah, you're right, it isn't. But wouldn't it be funny if it was?"

I laugh, because it was sort of funny, and because the water is warm and I'm not too sleepy and Taylor looks cute with slicked back hair, and because I told him that I'd try a little. That's why I kissed him, too, right on the lips. He's surprised, I can tell, because I don't just do that, but then he relaxed and he opens his mouth a little bit--not like he's trying to eat me, the way that Devon always did, but just a little, and I go with it. I don't know, maybe I'm still a little drunk."

He reaches around under the water and touches my thigh. I'm amazed with myself when I don't hit him.

"If you two are going to make out, I'm leaving," Zac says in a whine from the opposite end of the kidney-shaped pool." I mean, can't you pretend that you hate each other for a little while? I liked that a lot better."

Taylor pulls away and smiles at me--not an, arent-I-hot smile, but a genuine, I'm-happy smile. My stomach does a tiny flip flop.

The boys start tossing handfuls of water at each other and I hang back at the shallow end of the pool, and I realize that even though I have this achy, panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach in relation to Taylor, it isn't as bad as it usually is. I can handle it, I think. Or, tonight I can anyway, with a little bit of wine flowing through my veins. Still, looking at him--all slick and tan and glowing with this ethereal beauty, happiness radiating from every pore in his body--I can't imagine being his girlfriend, can't imagine that he would really want me. I mean, who wants me? I'm Brinn, I have frizzy hair, my butt is big, my eyes are slightly different colors. I'm a bitch. It doesn't make sense. Charlotte and Jules appear--the latter in this teensy little bikini that would fit into a jar lid and is nearly see through in the nipple area--and the eyes of both boys pop right out of their respective heads. Charlotte looks somewhere between pissed and happy that Zac is there. I don't have the slightest idea what is going on between those two, but I'm intrigued.

Pointedly ignoring us, they settle on lounge chairs, Charlotte's eyes completely locked to Zac's head. Zac alternates between staring at the surface of the water and making puppy dog face at Charlotte; she refuses to respond. Jules goes between glaring at Taylor and whispering comments to Charlotte. These people are down right animalistic.

"Brinny," Taylor says, swimming towards me as the others are locked in a three-way glaring contest. "Let's get out and go back to your room."

"Okay," I say, before I even think about it. "But wer'e not having sex. At least, I don't think we are, anyway." Probably a bad choice of wording, but I don't care. I'm letting myself go tonight.

"Okay. I won't pressure you."

"Yes you will."

"Well, okay, maybe I will. But you wouldn't mind." He raises his eyebrows at me in what he must assume is a sexy stare.

"Riiight. Or we could just play Monopoly again."

"No pressuring it is. Can I dry you off?"

"No."

PART 58

*Brinn*

With me, its not like I get hunger pangs or anything delicate like that. It hits me like a Mack truck, right in the stomach. This happens because we pass by a vending machine filled with Fritos and M&Ms, and I realize that I haven't eaten anything since breakfast--obviously the wine doesn't count. But the point is I needed food. Right then. Or now, depending on your point of view.

"I'm hungry," I say to Taylor as we walk down the hallway towards my hotel room.

Taylor--two strides ahead, his swimming trunks making scrunchy wet noises with every step--looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. His hair has already started to dry in the front and his eyes look strangely dark as he stares me down. "I thought you said you wanted to have sex," he says, only whining a little.

I groan. I"n Taylorland, that's what I said. But we are in the real world, darling, and the truth is, I need food. Now." Goosebumps rise up on my arms from the chilly air conditioned air and I rub my hands over my arms.

"Well, we must find you food then, immediately. We wouldn't want that ass of yours to get any smaller." Absently he reaches over and runs his fingers over my shoulders; the touch is so light and gentle that I let him do it, trace small circles over my collarbone. He leans in and kisses me softly on the forehead.

My brain is screaming for me to run back to my room and lock the door, but I ignore the kiss and say, "You do know its insulting to most girls when you say they have a big ass. Myself included."

"I believe I compared your ass to Jennifer Lopez's, at one point. That's a compliment."

"Whatever," I mumble. We start walking down the hall again. First order of business: room service.

*Taylor*

When Brinny said that she doesn't think we'll be having sex, that definitely means that we will, right? I mean . . .why would she even be thinking about sex? Unless, of course, she wants to have sex with me to begin with. Who wouldn't want to have sex with me? I would want to have sex with me, if I was a girl. Hell, probably even if I was a guy. Well, a different guy. You know what I mean.

*Brinn*

The room is empty when we get back, and as I am about the temperature as a frozen fish stick, I immediately begin to rifle through my suitcase for my favorite pink windpants and T-shirt. Brushing past Taylor with the clothes in my hands--clothes that are, admittedly, not very flattering--he looks strangely deflated. "I thought we were going to. . .you know. . .fool around?"

I roll my eyes. "I can't help it. One: no, probably not. Two: why can't I fool around in comfortable clothes?"

This seems to perk Taylor up a little bit, which wasn't exactly my intention. "Oh, right," he says. "Do you have any shorts I can borrow?"

"I don't know, you tell me. You seem to have looked the contents over earlier."

Its wonderful when you realize that you can make a beautiful boy like Taylor blush. "Right. . ." he mumbles, leaning down hesitatingly to look through my suitcase.

I change quickly--okay, I also comb my hair and put blush on, just because hotel lighting makes me look pale--and when I emerge from the bathroom Taylor is laying on my bed, wearing a pair of running shorts that I usually wear to bed and my purple Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt. My heart does a slight pitter patter--not because I am thrilled to see Taylor in purple, but because he is lying on my bed, and don't lie to me, that would make your heart flop around a little bit too. But all I do is reach for the room service menu that's lying on the darkly-varnished bedside table and start scanning for something to eat. "What kind of room service menu doesn't even have cheeseburgers? Christ. Hmmm. . .I think I'm going to get chicken nuggets."

"Off the kids' menu?" Taylor says, lounging back with eyebrows raised. Like he's soooo mature that he would never even think of ordering something off the kids menu.

"Yes. Off the kids menu. Do you want anything? You are paying for this, right?"

"Riiiiiight," he says slowly, with a dramatic roll of the eyes.

"Good," I say, eyes narrowed as I dial room service. "I thought you probably would."

*****

Because Taylor is a guy he eats most of my food, even though he has ordered his own disgustingly large club sandwich, just because that is something that guys do. After we eat--to the soundtrack of CNN, for some reason Taylor like, cares about the world all of the sudden--we just sort of sit there on my bed and I'm licking ketchup off my fingers and sort of looking past the television and thinking of something to say, but all I am conscious of is the way my leg is almost touching Taylor's, so close I can feel the heat of his body through the fabric, and its making me insane. I mean, I am NOT going to spend my whole evening making out, I can tell you that, because that's what floozies and groupies do, but I can't stop thinking about how close he is and how little he is actually wearing.

I dive into conversation without any pre-thought. "What's your favorite color?"

Taylor looks at me strangely. "Blue."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second. Blue is everyones favorite color."

"So why don't you believe me, then?" He clicks the television off.

"Because. You're Taylor Hanson. You aren't everyone." Way to stroke the ego, Brinn. That was not intentional.

Taylor evidently likes that, because he pushes the empty Styrofoam food containers off the bed and props his head up in his hand, smiling slightly. "Okay, okay. It's purple."

I laugh. I can't help it. "You're so. . .so. . .flamboyant."

He attempts to look hurt. "You said you wanted to know."

"I did. And now I wish I didn't. I have some purple nail polish with me. . .want me to paint your nails?"

"Yes," he says with no hesitation. "But why do you have nail polish with you?"

"Because I knew you'd want me to paint your nails. Come here, Pretty Boy."

This proves to be an ideal setup, because I can satisfy my need to touch Taylor without making him too outwardly horny, and it diminishes the need for constant conversation. I concentrate on Taylor's right thumb, sticking my tongue out a little as I brush the dark polish on. "Its so dark," he comments, frowning.

"What, you want light girly nail polish? Really." I continue the application; Taylor scrunches his nose up from the fumes.

"You have soft hands," I say after a moment, because he does.

"So do you," he says back.

"Thanks," I say, and it strikes me that this is probably the first time I have ever said thank you to Taylor Hanson. I don't like this trend at all. Time to toughen back up; I told Taylor I'd try to be nice, not turn into a complimenting pile of mush on the floor.

*Taylor*

I think this is probably the first time I have ever had someone paint my nails. I mean, okay, I've painted my own nails before, maybe only once or twice, but having someone else do it for you is something else entirely. Especially when the said someone is dark and extravagantly beautiful, with this hair that just screams, 'Touch me, Taylor!' Not literally, obviously. I always want to touch Brinny's hair--nearly every girl I've ever dated has been blond, and everyone in my family is as Scandinavian looking as they can possibly be, and Brinny has this hair that is so dark and twisting that its absolutely foreign to me. So she's painting my nails--her green eyes narrowed with the effort needed to concentrate on directing the tiny brush--and her hair is flopping over one side of her face and I'm dying to brush it back, but I know that would make her all annoyed, so I don't do it.

Oh, hell, when did I ever worry about pissing Brinny off?

"Tayyyyyylor," she whines, pulling my unpainted hand out of her hair. "You just completely messed me up."

"I'm sorry," I say, even though Im not.

"Oh, don't tell me that you're sorry. Its your frigging finger, and I didn't bring any nail polish remover with me."

"That's okay," I say, frowning at the smudged nail. I hope this stuff doesnt take to long to dry, because I'm dying to run both of my hands all over her, even if it does invoke whines and maybe even hitting of some type. Come to think of it, that's actually pretty exciting . . .

*Brinn*

"There," I say triumphantly as I finish the last nail. "I decided to go for an abstract look--see, every other nail. I didn't want to make you look too gay."

"Nice," Taylor compliments, admiring my handiwork. Or, more likely, admiring his hands; this is Taylor I'm talking about, after all. "But you don't have to worry about me being gay."

"Yeah, I realize that," I mumble, rolling my eyes to the ceiling for about the six zillionth time today.

"I can demonstrate how gay I'm not, if you like," he says wickedly, sliding closer on the bed.

"No, that's quite all right. What the hell time is it, anyway?"

"Late. "

I yawn. "I don't know why I'm so tired. I feel like I slept for ever this afternoon, until someone woke me up so rudely."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I ignore him and stretch out on the bed, because the combination of swimming and greasy food has made me so sleepy. Taylor fumbles around with the nail polish bottle, rolling it over his palms.

"Your turn?" He says questioningly.

"Sure," I agree, plopping my feet into his lap. "But if I fall asleep, don't take it as an insult to your nail polish abilities. I'm sure you're a very exciting polisher."

"That's not all I can do," Taylor tries again, wiggling his thin and beautiful blond eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, I bet. Now paint."

"I mean, I am exciting at other things too . . ." He guides my right foot into the proper position with the lightest touch and unscrews the nail polish bottle.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm a pretty exciting keyboard player."

"How can playing the keyboards be exciting? Even if it is Taylor Hanson, Wonder God of the Universe."

"Drums, too. Have you seen me play the drums? I'm amazing."

"I thought Zac was the drum player?" I say sleepily. I crack one eye open; Taylor has a look of utmost concentration on his face; his pimple-less brow is furrowed and his tongue is sticking out of the corner of his mouth. I shut my eyes quickly because that isn't at all good; Taylor's tongue reminds me of kissing Taylor and we all know what that would lead to, in a darkened and empty hotel room. I fold my arms over my chest.

"Well, he is. But he shouldn't be; I'm way better than he is."

"I can see that, for sure."

"I knew you would see it my way, sooner or later, "Taylor says evenly, either ignoring or not understanding my sarcasm. "There! All done."

"You're quick," I say, inspecting my toenails. "Not too bad . . . paint a lot of nails?"

"Only sometimes," he responds sheepishly. Timidly he pushes my feet of his lap and crawls up to lay beside me on the rumpled bed; I'm too tired to protest. He rests one leg over mine carelessly and flops his head down onto my pillow. His hair tickles my nose and smells like chlorine.

"You smell like the pool," I murmur without opening my eyes. Its true, you know.

"So do you." His hand brushes against mine; I wait for that familiar urge to pull away, but it doesn't come, so I just say, "Well, that's fair, I guess."

"I guess,' he echoes softly. I can tell this is beginning to be one of those awkward, don't-know-what-to-say moments, but its surprisingly nice laying here with Taylor so I don't mind too much.

*Taylor*

Time to move in for the kill.

*Brinn*

"So tell me something interesting," I finally say.

"Well . . ." Taylor starts; somehow his fingers find the ends of my hair, and I wonder how he always manages to do that without me knowing before hand. Its always just boom, his hands are in my hair, and by then I'm helpless to do anything about it. If Taylor had a secret weapon, that would be it. "Right now I'm looking at the most beautiful girl in the whole world."

"Really? I wasn't aware there was anyone else in the room. Il'l leave, if you two want me to."

"Stop that," Taylor says, laughing slightly. So I stop.

"Can I kiss you? "

"Why are you always asking that?" I say, opening my eyes to peer at him. From two inches away, Taylor's face is as perfect as it is in magazines; take it from this girl. With the most perfect blue eyes, though at the moment they are a little bloodshot from all that chlorine. Though personally that doesn't really bother me. "I know you're going to kiss me anyway."

He shrugs his shoulders. "That's the polite side of me. But yeah, I was going to anyway."

"I knew it," I mutter, and I kiss him before he moves any closer.

*Taylor*

There is something quite different about kissing Brinny than kissing Jules. Jules kisses in a way that makes you think she must have kissed nine thousand guys; she's that sure, knowing the perfect moment to pull you closer and when to bite your lip to make you go absolutely crazy. But with Brinny, its different; she's slow and careful and hesitant, and she makes me feel like I have to be extremely careful, or else she'll be gone, just like that. And of course, the last thing I want is for her to leave.

*Brinn*

Its happening again, only worse this time: the pull I feel every time I'm kissing Taylor has me by the feet, and I feel like I'm spinning, turned inside out. I put a hand on his chest and push him slightly; I can feel the crazy beating of his heart, and without thinking I leave my hand there.

"Taylor," I start, trying to catch my breath. "I . . . "

Taylor looks at me expectantly with those wide eyes; absently he reaches for one of my hands and kisses my knuckles. "Yeah?" he asks softly.

I'm melting from the inside. "Nothing," I say, and find his lips again in the half darkness.

*Taylor*

You know, nothing ever goes this well for me, at least where Brinny is concerned; if she isn't going to tell me to get lost, than something else is going to happen. Enter, sibling . . .

*Brinn*

"What the hell?" I mutter, sitting up in bed like I've been hit by lightning. This is easier said than done, considering how Taylor had migrated on top of me and had a hand tangled in the depths of my t-shirt, but I managed in a nanosecond, because it seems as if we have a visitor.

"Right on cue, Zac," Taylor says hotly, shooting his brother a dirty look. His cheeks are flushed pink, and I can just imagine how red I am. I pat my hair self-consciously.

"I took Charlotte's other key; she's staying in Juliana's room. I didn't know you guys were going to be humping." Zac kicks his boots off and flumps onto the bed, a pissed expression on his face.

"We were not humping," I cut in, just as Taylor says, "We weren't humping, YET."

I roll my eyes at Taylor while simultaneously wanting to have him on top of me again. "Or never."

"Yeah, never, thanks to puke face over here."

"Reeeeal mature, Tay," Zac mumbles, moments before whining, "I don't know what Charlotte's problem is; she has like, grown horns and one of those little devil tails in the last six hours."

"What did you do now?" Taylor mumbles, raking a hand though his hair. He leans against me as he flops back onto the bed.

"What did I do?? Nothing. She's just crazy. Some advice would be nice, you know." Zac sighs.

I sigh. Taylor sighs, weaving his fingers through mine.

PART 59

*Taylor*

God damn the part of me that didn't think of setting the chain lock. Who knows where all that would have gone otherwise. I glance at Brinny as Zac drones on and on about his junior high problems; her face is flushed and her eyes look bright and I wonder how rude it would be if I just shoved Zac out the door right now, mid-sentence.

Brinn

All in all, it was probably the best thing that Zac is here--he sort of, you know, broke that trance that Taylor had me under. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a wave of his beach-blond hair, the smooth line of his jaw. He is too beautiful, which is why I always lose control around him like a rabid dog, or something. Whatever. My point is. . .well, I guess I don't really have one, but I am sort of relieved that Zac got here when he did.

Isaac

This is nice. I could get used to Canada.

In case you are wondering, or are interested in my amazing love life, Marit and I have had an evening equal in amazingness only to Moses parting the Red Sea, or. . .well, you know what I mean. After Taylor broke third wheel status and left with his raincloud of unpleasantness, Marit and I walked around in the pleasant Canadian night air, holding hands and window shopping and eating ice cream and, of you want to know the truth, probably generally invoking sudden urges to vomit. Because we are incredibly cute, I must say, though the few fans we met along the way really didn't think so. The fact that that last girl burst out crying because Taylor wasn't with us is really beside the point. The real point being, I am falling more quickly than Zac down a flight of stairs (he has done this on more than one occasion, though not as frequently as Taylor has), and we really had an amazing night.

That is, until it started to rain. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that this was the Great Flood, coming to destroy all of humanity.

And that's my last Bible reference.

But back on to the rain storm-this was much more than just a drop or two, or a sprinkle, if you will. This was a deluge; the sky really did open up and pour gallon upon gallon of water onto the pretty little streets of Canada. Needless to say, I was pissed. I mean, talk about destroying my ambiance.

I turn to Marit. Her blond hair is plastered to her forehead and I notice with great interest that her blue silk shirt is now see-through, though I try to pretend that I'm not interested at all. But what's really surprising is the fact that she is laughing outloud. "Ahhh!" she shrieks, making a big show of trying to cover her head with her tiny, fit-in-your-back-pocket purse. After a second or two she grabs my arm and pulls me after her down the street in the direction of the hotel, laughing her head off.

I laugh too, though my new leather sandals are now slightly more than damp. How cute is she? Scratch that about our evening being ruined.

*****

"Damn," I mutter, wiping drops of water out of my eyes. "Forgot the key."

Marit stands on her toes and wraps her arms around my shoulders, peering into my wet wallet as I rifle around in it. "Nice planning."

"Well, Miss I-Am-Always-Prepared, where is your hotel key?"

She leans against the wall and stares at me through curly wet strands of hair. That really was some rainstorm. "Marion keeps our keys, because I always lose them." She smiles sheepishly, as we both remember Marion left to meet a songwriter friend of her's at a restaurant.

"Well shit." I run a hand through my soggy hair. Rain does terrible things to my curls. "We could go wait around in Mom and Dad's room."

Marit wrinkles her nose. I'm not offended, but choose to take this as a sign that Marit wants to make out. Ten points for Isaac. "How about Zac's?"

I snort. "Talk about making out. . ."

Marit looks confused. "I wasn't talking about making o-"

"Let's see what's going on in Brinn's room, shall we?" I interrupt, hoping she won't notice my red face. "Our chances of walking in on something embarrassing is much less there."

Brinn

"I mean, what does the girl want from me? I don't understand why she has to get like this. Do you think its like, constant PMS? Is that possible? And can it make you send people messages while meaning something completely different?"

That's Zac. He's whining about Charlotte, who hasn't appeared, much to Zac's disbelief. Evidently she's always the one running back, because she's spineless like that. That's according to Zac, anyway. I'm sitting here French braiding my hair; Taylor is absently running a finger up and down the length of my leg, even though I keep telling him to stop; I can think much more clearly with the lights on, if you can't already tell. Zac is dividing split-ended hairs with a particular ferocity.

"Oh yeah, girls definitely do that," Taylor says eagerly with only a two-second sideways glance at me. "Take Brinn, here, for instance. She sends me these telepathic, Taylor-I-want-you signals, but then half the time she smacks me if I try to touch her."

I glare at the back of his head, because evidently he is too much of a weenie to look at me after saying something ignorant like that. "Bullshit. You're so horny all the time, you think everyone wants you. Even when they don't." So much for thinking making out is a good idea. Never again.

And I mean it this time.

"HA! Bullshit yourself! You wanted me pretty bad about a half hour ago!" He grins smugly, glancing at Zac to make sure he heard correctly. Zac rolls his eyes, peels a hair in half.

I glare at Taylor, and Zac too, just because he is related to this pig. "I can't believe what an asshole you are!"

"ME? You're the one who can't deal with how hot you think I am! Geez, woman, face the music."

"Don't call me that, sexist pig."

"You just called me an asshole! And a sexist pig!" Taylor's face is starting to look all hot, like he's going to explode, but he has this pretty smile plastered on his face, like he wants Zac to think that hes got me wrapped around his little finger. Uh-uh.

"Are you saying you aren't?"

"See, my dear brother," Taylor says, his lips stretched stiffly into a toothy smile, "this is your prime example of a girl in constant PMS."

I snap.

"Get OFF of me!" Taylor squeals. He tries to pry my fingers from around his neck. "You are CRAZY!"

"You're just digging yourself deeper, you creep!" I holler. There's a brief struggle where Taylor looks like he's going to get out from under me, but my fierceness combined with the headlock I have him in takes care of that. Zac looks scared, his fingers perched on two ends of the same hair, mid-split.

In a minute more Taylor stops struggling. "You know," he says, smiling as he breathes hard, "having you on top of me like this really turns me on."

I think about punching him, but I just catch his eye. "You know," I say, leaning forward, "I think that you are mentally retarded. I really think you must be."

A hoot of laughter busts through Zac's facade of misery. Taylor's smile disappears.

There's a knock at the door. Zac answers hurridly, hoping for Charlotte, but in walk Isaac and Marit.

Taylor

What is it with my siblings? I just get Brinny all horny all over again and in walks another one. I can't catch Ike's eye so I glare at Marit instead. She wrinkles her brow in worry.

Brinn

Thank God for distraction. Otherwise, Taylor would be dismembered by the time anyone reads this.

Taylor

"Is it raining or something?" I say absently, slinking out from under Brinny, where its safer. Marit and Ike look. . .damp.

Isaac rolls his eyes hugely at me. "No, Taylor, we actually decided to go swimming. With our clothes on."

"What's the point of that? The beauty of swimming is the half-naked girls," I say, knowing full well that Ike was positively dripping with sarcasm. Among other things, like rain, apparently.

He shoots me a look. I smile innocently, glancing at Marit and wiggling my eyebrows.

"Why are you destroying your hair like that?" Ike asks Zac with something bordering on concern.

"You look. . .mentally disturbed. Has he been like this all night?"

"YES," I say loudly, just to get back at Zac for interrupting Brinny and I seconds before I got her bra unhooked. Brinny glares at me.

"I am not," Zac says through clenched teeth, trying to grip a frazzled strand of hair, "mentally disturbed." He pauses for a second with furrowed brow and splits a hair with concentrated satisfaction. Smiling grimly, he continues, "Charlotte is just. . .pissed because . . .I don't even know why she's pissed, truthfully, but it all started when I said that I have no interest in dating at this point in my incredibly busy life."

A collective "Ohhhh," sounds throughout the room. Marit is giggling under her breath and Brinny is rolling her eyes for five bazillionth time tonight. If I was my grandmother-which I'm not, obviously-I would tell her that if she kept doing that, her eyes would stick to the tops of her eye sockets.

"What??" Zac says indignantly, searching madly for a strand of hair to further destroy.

"Geez, Zac, and I thought that I was dense," I say while subtly taking this moment where Brinny is annoyed with someone other than myself to place a hand on her knee.

"You are dense," she answers sharply, whacking the aforementioned hand. "But so is your brother."

Zac looks hurt. "Thanks a lot, Brinn."

She smiles. "I mean that in the nicest way possible, honey."

Ike, who has emerged from the bathroom with a bundle of towels, is now drying Marits hair in a way that is not quite rated R, but bordering on it. "Why don't we all stop fighting like children and actually do something constructive, huh? I've only been here for five minutes and I'm already sick of sitting here with all of you."

"She started it," I mumble, gesturing to Brinn.

"How about you all stage an intervention for me and go and talk to Charlotte?" Zac says, sounding slightly hopeful.

"HA! Fat chance of that!" I hoot. No one else laughs.

"Lets play Monopoly," Brinn suggests, brushing my hand out of her hair.

"You brought Monopoly with you? Again?" This girl is really incredible. I mean, who does that? She looks offended. "Just the travel edition. . ."

"How about Truth or Dare?" Marit says brightly.

Ike, who is still standing behind her, drying her hair, tips his head around to look into her eyes. "People play Truth or Dare in Norway? You're kidding-"

"Nah, Truth or Dare is for seventh graders and the severely drunk, or a combination of the two. How about. . .Spin the Bottle!" I look around at Marit and Brinny, trying not to lick my lips in my excitement.

Brinny looks amused. "You are under the impression that Spin the Bottle is a more mature game to play than Truth or Dare? You are such a. . .bizarre individual."

For the third time that night, there is noise at the door. Isaac pulls it open to reveal Charlotte and Jules, the latter looking haughty and the former looking just, well, uncomfortable.

"I need my travel information," Jules says, with nary a greeting in sight, staring directly at me. She's wearing this tiny pair of cotton gym shorts and a shrunken-looking t-shirt, and she looks. . .well, hot, too hot for a recent ex-girlfriend. "I asked Ashley but he says that you have all of it. Why are all of you clustered in here, anyway?"

I glance at Zac, who is looking not at Charlotte, but at the half-empty Coke bottle on the bedside table. There is a sudden brightness in his eyes that was lacking a moment ago. "Because we are about to play Spin the Bottle!" He says quickly. He looks past Jules at Charlotte. "You girls want to play?"

Zac

This is an example of me thinking quick: my mind just doesn't work at fast speeds. I don't know what exactly I think Im going to get out of a game of Spin the Bottle that involves Charlotte, but, well. . .it might give me a chance to apologize at least, right?

Brinn

That foul ex-girlfriend of Taylor's surveys the room, weighing the consequences of accepting Zac's offer. Her eyes glint onto Taylor; in a sudden spurt of unreasonable jealousy, I hold onto the headboard to resist the urge to dig my fingernails into her perfectly tanned neck.

"Alright," she says, flipping her ice-blond hair over her shoulder. Charlotte just stands there in the doorway, looking horrified at the very idea, but not having the common sense to say so, walks into the room behind Juliana and sits on the rug as far away from Zac as she possibly can get, without actually sitting on the bathroom tile.

"Are you really making me become part of this juvenile spectacle?" I moan, sliding off the bed onto the floor. "It makes me feel. . .dirty." Though I wouldn't, truthfully, actually mind having to kiss Issac; he's admittedly gorgeous, even if he is related to Taylor, and is looking drop-dead beautiful sitting over there all wet and tousled looking. Now if I can only get him into some leather pants for the evening, this might not turn out to be so bad after all. . .

"Of course I'm going to make you play. How else can my dream of watching you and Juliana french-kiss become a reality?" Taylor says innocently. Marit makes a little noise of shock, clapping her hand over her mouth; Ike and Zac shake their heads reproachfully. I repress yet another urge to become violent. "What?" Taylor says, glaring at his brothers. "You were thinking it too."

"Alright," Juliana says, kneeling on the floor to Taylor's left. She grabs hold of the Coke bottle, muttering, "Let's get this show on the road."

Isaac

Am I the only one in this entire room who does not find this situation to be bizarre? Here in this room, about to play a game of Spin the Bottle, we have the following: Zac and Charlotte, who are evidently in a tiff; Juliana and Taylor, who broke up within the last thirty-six hours; Brinn, who is Taylor's sort-of kind-of girlfriend, or more specifically, his surfacely-reluctant but inwardly eager make-out partner. Brinn and Juliana hate each other, Zac thinks that Juliana is God's gift to mankind; Taylor and Zac are my brothers, just for a note of added creepiness, and-oh yes-Charlotte would like nothing more than to make up (and make babies) with Zac right here in this room, and I fear a wrong turn in this game will open the floodgates, so to speak. The whole situation is just. . .strange, in a sitcom type of way. "This should be interesting," is all I say to Marit, just as Juliana gives the bottle a good first spin.

Zac

Please land on me, please land on me . ..

Charlotte

I watch the bottle slow. If that lands on Zac, I swear I will die. Right here. It will just finish me off, a lovely ending to a life of disappointment--

Brinn

Son of a--

Taylor

"Me?" I squeak, as the bottle slows to a stop in front of my right knee. When I suggested Spin the Bottle, I was thinking kissing, not awkwardness. I glance at Brinny out of the corner of my eye; she is looking stonily ahead. Jule's expression is somewhere between surprise and satisfaction. "Yes, you. Now come on, what are you waiting for?"

I shrug, still thinking. Two more inches and my dream of Brinny and Jules kissing would have come true--

Suddenly her lips are right there and its like I'm being electrocuted. Jules puts her hand on my knee to steady herself as her tongue pushes through my lips and into my mouth. I close my eyes. "Isn't there like, a time limit for kisses in this game? I know there is," Brinny says loudly to my right. She waits two seconds and then pulls me away from Jules by the collar of my t-shirt. "Okay, you're done. Your turn," she barks, looking flushed. Jules sits back down and glares at me, which is sort of exciting, if you want to know the truth.

I spin the bottle, and my plan was to make a complete and precise turn and land on Brinny, just to smooth things over, but I guess I undershot a little because next thing I know, I've landed on Jules again. She smiles a little, like I'm planning this or something and this is her ticket to stay on tour, and moves in for another kiss. Her lips are warm and nice and I get that familiar jolt again, like I don't know where I am. I don't open my eyes until Brinny says, loudly, "Isn't there rules about kissing the same person twice in a row?"

"I don't know," Zac mutters from across the circle, "but they're breaking grossness limits."

Brinn

Now I remember why this game sucks. I mean, Taylor is free to kiss whoever he pleases, this is only a game, but. . .maybe I want a turn, sometime. Because it isn't just two turns in a row; Jules spins to Taylor and Taylor spins to Jules, over and over, and I'm getting this strange lurch in my stomach like maybe I'm about to throw up everywhere. If this stupid hotel gave me food poisoning with their stupid room service, I'm suing the entire town.

Isaac

"Their accuracy is amazing," I whisper to Marit, who is reclining comfortably on my knee. "I don't think I could spin that well if I was paid. If Taylor has known this trick all along and didn't tell me back in the eighth grade, when it was useful, I'll kill him. . ."

"Oh, you don't think that he's doing it on purpose, do you?" Marit whispers back. Her breath tickles my cheek. "Right in front of Brinn like that?"

We watch silently as Taylor's spin lands on Jules for the fifth time; Jules is beginning to look nearly, but not quite, guilty with the attention and Brinn is positively steaming. Across the circle from one another, Charlotte and Zac are taking turns staring at one another.

"I think," I whisper to Marit as Taylor kisses Jules again, "you are overestimating my brothers intelligence."

Charlotte

If this doesn't result in my getting to kiss Zac soon, I'm going to bed.

Brinn

When forty-five minutes have passed and the only people to have kissed, other than Taylor and Jules, naturally, are Isaac and Marit-and that only as a fluke-I explode. "That's enough! Everyone out of my room, I'm going to bed!"

Taylor, who doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed of himself, looks shocked. "But we were having fun!" he has the audacity to exclaim, his mouth area covered with smears of lipgloss.

I can't even look at him; my stomach feels tight and hot. "Just. . .just leave, Taylor," I mutter, climbing back onto my bed.

The others, apparently sensing danger, scramble out of the room; Charlotte locks herself in the bathroom and Jules gives a last long glance at Taylor as she saunters out. I stick my tongue out at her.

"I said, LEAVE," I murmur through clenched teeth, turning my back on him.

"Are you upset or something?" He says, sounding dazed. That was a lot of kissing he did.

"No, I just don't think I'll be able to look at you without throwing up. Out of my room, now."

A minute later, after some stuttering about being sorry on his part, the door clicks shut behind him. I lay back onto the bed, hating the way he's making me feel for the billionth time since I've met him; my insides have turned to soup, and not a good kind, like tomato. More like minestrone, and if you don't know how gross that is, than yay for you.

PART 60

*Brinn

It's a few minutes later and I'm still fuming in my hotel room, unconsciously clenching and unclenching my hands. Of all the low-down, ignorant, superficial, rude, MORONIC boys I could be on tour with right now, I have to have chosen Taylor Hanson. Yes, I am saying that he is stupider, even, than Lance Bass, and that's the kid that got lost in an inner hallway at a shoot in an old warehouse in June and had to be rescued by a bodyguard. It's not that Taylor is my boyfriend, or even that I want him to be my boyfriend, but have some decency! You don't just go inviting a girl to Canada for the weekend and then make out with your ex-girlfriend right in front of her! Thats just--ludicrous! "Why am I always surrounded by incredibly self-centered assholes??" I moan at the top of my lungs, kicking the wall beside my bed with as much ferocity as I can muster. I'm giving one last good kick when the bathroom door opens.

"Oh. Its you." I seem to have forgotten that I am sharing a room with another individual. This said individual being Zac's bitch, of course. That being Charlotte.

Charlotte edges timidly around the end of her bed, flopping onto it without looking me in the eye. She looks unhappy. "What the hell do you have to be all mopey about?" I demand, at first not connecting Zac's earlier hour of whining to this downtrodden-looking girl opposite me. I kick the wall again in a surge of anger, as thinking about Zac makes me think of Taylor, who is, you know, his brother.

The picture above the wall sways on its hook.

Charlotte looks slightly taken aback at my inquiry, but narrows her eyes and says sharply, "Oh, I don't know. Why don't you ask Mr. I-am-too-busy-for-a-girlfriend-even-though-I've-led-you-on-for-our-entire-lives? He might be able to explain it to you." She begins to look nervous as soon as the words have shot out of her lips. "On second thought, maybe you shouldn't ask him that-"

"Please. I am entirely too pissed off to worry about the love lives of you two junior high kids."

Charlotte looks confused. "I thought that you're the same age as we a-"

"Not that I'm worrying about my own love life," I continue loudly, drowning her out, "because I don't have one. I just think that if Taylor wants to make out with that Heidi Klum look-a-like ex-girlfriend of his, he should do it in private. If I had have known ahead of time that I would be simply an onlooker to a lovefest between two full-of-themselves blond idiots, I would have rented myself some hotel porn." I start to get angry again but am worried that the picture about the bed will fall down if I kick anymore, so I thump my heels against the bed, instead.

"At least Taylor doesnt tell you that he'd rather be alone for the rest of his life than date you." Geez, you could measure the bitterness in this girls voice with a yard stick.

"No, instead, Taylor just goes girl to girl messing with everyone's minds. At least Zac isn't a slut."

"Yeah, that's true." Charlotte's voice sounds slightly more optimistic.

"Oh, fuck you." Being the good Catholic girl that I am, I never swear, but saying it gives me a delicious tingle in the depths of my chest. So I say it again. "Fuck you, fuck Taylor, fuck that stupid bimbo he was licking all night-"

"You know what? I get your point." Charlotte sighs angrily and pulls at her poufy red hair.

It's quiet for a long time. "I need some ice cream," I grumble when I can't stand the silence any longer.

"Yeah, me too," Charlotte says quietly.

"You want to order room service?" I say stiffly. I did, after all, just tell the girl to fuck off.

"Yeah."

"Let's order the most expensive sundaes on the menu and then charge them all to the Hansons tab."

"Good idea," Charlotte says, smiling slightly. She is maybe slightly more pretty when she smiles, but that still puts her only just above birdish-looking.

"Serves them right for having such man whore sons," I mutter, angrily punching at the phone keys.

"Look, Taylor is the man whore, not Zac-"

"Oh, like it matters..."

*Charlotte*

I covertly steal a glance at Brinn as I scrape hot fudge off my spoon with my lower teeth. She's lying on her stomach, steadily stuffing herself full of rocky road with extra marshmallow sauce and cherries. On the stand beside her bed is a silver tray holding six more elaborate ice cream sundaes, steadily melting despite the blasting air conditioner. Only being at the end of my first sundae, I am already starting to feel slightly sick just looking at them, but Brinn is still eating with a distinct viciousness, only pausing once in a while to eject some anti-Taylorism before starting to eat again.

"The bastardness. The selfishness! The incredible self-worship! How do I end up in these situations??"

I shrug, glancing away from her quickly. She really is as pretty as everyone seems to think she is, though not quite as pretty as her sister. Im sure she gets told that a lot.

"If he wanted to stay with her, why did he even invite me along, huh? What is this, just one big jolly Hanson joke?"

For some reason I want to laugh, but not really, seeing as how I have recently ruined things for Zac and I forever. "Taylor's just stupid," I mutter. Cause he is, for sure.

Brinn stabs at her melting rocky road with her spoon. "Stupid! Ha! Only probably the biggest understatement of the CENTURY! The boy is nothing short of mentally retarded!!"

There are so many emotions writhing within me that I can't help but let one escape; dropping my spoon, I start to laugh.

Brinn looks pissed off, and she opens her mouth to yell, but then I hiccup and she cracks a smile and before too long, she's laughing too, the ends of her hair dipping into the melted ice cream at the bottom of her bowl. I haven't laughed this long in a while, and I don't even know why I'm doing it, because nothing is even funny, but I can't stop and neither can Brinn. We're laughing as hard as people could possibly laugh one minute but then the next thing I know, Brinn is crying, so things sort of quiet down after that, laughing-wise.

"Brinn. . ." I start to say, but now she's nothing short of sobbing and I don't think she can even hear me, anyway. Girl-instinct takes over and, even though I don't even like Brinn that much, I get up and sit down beside her on her bed.

"Oh, shit," she mumbles between hiccuping sobs. "Its my contacts--my allergies and....

Who is she fooling? "Yeah," I say soothingly.

"Dammit. Not that I care' but I mean, Taylor's a stupid fuck. I knew it right from the beginning. I knew this was going to happen. He can go back to his stupid girlfriend if he likes. I don't care."

"That's the attitude."

"I just wish, she says tearfully," We had have ordered more of those sundaes on their account. My misery isn't costing them nearly enough. . . Not that Im miserable. God, I need to stop crying. . . Damn these contacts..."

*Zac*

TV is a wonderful, wonderful invention. Watching television is a perfect activity when you want to remove all conscious thought from your mind. Right now I am watching some blithering idiot ramble on about what's going on in the world, and its so relaxing and wonderful. It makes a guy forget that his best friend in the entire universe just stormed off in a huff for no apparent reason.

The hairdryer hums loudly in the bathroom. Whereas some guys watch television to clear their minds, other guys do things differently. If you're Taylor, you take a 45 minute shower and then primp. Right now, as I've mentioned, he's on to blow-drying his hair. The better for full body, you know.

"Tay," I yell through the wall, being too tired to get out of bed and ask like a civilized person, "turn that hairdryer off. I'm going deaf. I'm watching the news." Not exactly watching, more like vegetating while the news is on, but whatever. At least I'm not blow-drying my hair.

The bathroom door opens and Taylor pokes his head out; half of his hair is stringy and wet, the hair on the other side being dry and glossy and generally girly-looking. "Why don't you just turn the television up?" He says huffily. Taylor has this peculiar look on his face-somewhere between surprise and confusion-the same expression he's had ever since the Spin the Bottle fiasco.

"I've tried that! But with your stupid super bionic hairdryer humming away in there-"

"Its ionic, Zac," Taylor says stiltedly, "not bionic. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting back to blow-drying." He slams the door.

This, kids, is how Taylor acts when hes been yelled at by a girl. Pathetic.

I groan and roll over onto my side, facing the ugly textured wallpapered wall. Not that I really have anything to make fun of him about, considering how I've messed things up with Charlotte and I don't even know how. Being bad with girls must be something you catch in this family, like a cold. Its only about one minute later when Taylor throws the bathroom door open and come storming out. He wedges himself between the side of my bed and the wall, so I'm forced to look at him. I'm surprised to see him out of the bathroom so soon, because his hair isn't even completely dry yet, and there's no way he's already completed his moisturizing routine.

"Okay," He barks at me. "Zac, you need to tell me. Now. How bad did I mess things up with Brinn?"

I grin. This is pretty funny, because it isn't happening to me, and it gives me something to think about something other than Charlotte. "Well, to get to the root of this problem, dear Taylor, we must consider all of the stupid things you did tonight. Firstly, there was the sitting beside Juliana at Spin the Bottle."

Taylor scratches at the fully blow dried portion of his hair. "Who cares about that? I mean, you would have sat by her too, if you had have thought of it first. Did you see how short her shorts were?"

I stare blankly at him. "You have no idea about anything, do you, Taylor?"

Taylor glares. "Okay. What else?"

"Hmm...now let me see here...my memory is foggy but...oh, that's right, it had something to do with...kissing Juliana? With tongue?"

Taylor begins to look a little sheepish. "What was I supposed to do? She landed on me first-"

"You could have kept your tongue in your mouth, for starters!" I yell. I'm laughing too, because this is way funny.

Taylor makes this sort of snarling face, like a rabid animal. He flounders for something to say. "Oh...oh...shut up, dickface," is what he finally settles for.

I laugh even harder. "Oooh, good one. Maybe you should try that on Brinn--you are so far gone with her now, saying that might actually help to smooth things over."

Taylor's glare suddenly sort of fades, and in its place is this sad look that makes me feel almost bad. He sits down on the bed beside me and pushes his damp hair-which has started to frizz-out of his eyes with a long sigh. "I don't know why that all even happened, Zac. I mean, Jules is gorgeous, but I really don't feel anything towards her, you know? I mean, besides the whole sexual attraction thing, which I guess, if I was honest, I would say is probably a sort of big part of why I do anything concerning Jules--"

"Gee. I never would have thought," I interject innocently.

"My hormones are just out of control, alright? You have no idea what it is like to kiss a girl as hot as Jules-its like I lose all consciousness. Its really not my fault that things got so out of hand--I couldn't control myself. At all. Personally, I think its completely understandable," he adds, almost pleadingly.

I grin. Taylor is emotional, but that doesn't make me think that this whole situation is any less funny. "Taylor, every man, woman and child that passes by is sexually attracted to Jules but you don't see anyone else trying to hump her in a room full of people, half of which are relatives and one which is your girlfriend?"

Taylor groans. "Kids being attracted to Jules? That's gross."

"The truth isn't always pretty, Taylor. She's a babe, no one can escape it...especially you, huh?" I break into laughter.

Taylor ignores me. "And Brinn never even wanted to be my girlfriend in the first place, okay? She was just using me as a free ride to Canada." He looks both relieved and disturbed saying this out loud.

"Taylor, please. That's a shitty excuse, no one cares about seeing Canada."

"She never liked me in the first place, okay? She only told me about once every five seconds. Christ. My hair looks like shit," he complains viciously, catching his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.

"Whatever. Your first bad hair day, ever. And I guess you won't ever know if she really hated you, one way or the other, because now she definitely thinks you suck." For some reason saying this makes me think about Charlotte. Without even thinking, I stand up to find her. "I'll leave you here to wallow in your pathetic-ness," I say to Taylor. He's looking really quite dejected, so I pat him on his bony shoulder as I pass.

"Zac?" he calls when Im almost to the door. "What should I do?"

I pause with my hand on the door knob, thinking about the mess I have made of Charlotte and I. "I really think that I am the last person on Earth who should be giving out love advice, Tay," I mumble as I walk out, shutting the door quietly behind me.

PART 61

*Zac*

It's quiet and dark and sort of sweet smelling, like someone behind one of these doors is eating a huge fragrant cinnamon roll. A personal favorite of mine, if you care. Dark/quiet isn't exactly surprising, considering how it iswell, forgot my watch at the room (and God help me, I am not about to bust back into Taylor's pity party), but let's just say late. I wonder if she'll even be awake. And what I will possibly say to her if she is.

"Hello, Charlotte," I say primly to myself and the dark hallway as I absently trail my fingers over the door to room #3516. "I just wanted to tell you how concerned I am about your severe emotional breakdown over something so trivial as--" I shake my head, sigh, and start over, punching the 'Down' button at the elevator. "Hey Char. I thought we could talk about what happened earlier. What? You don't remember storming out in a fit of rage when I made some random comment, which I don't even recall, that didn't even have anything to do with you in the first place? . . .No, no, that's bad," I mutter to myself. "Charlotte. Hi. Please, please don't be made at me. I mean, I don't remember what I even said to make you upset, but let's just chalk it up to the inherent stupidity of my half of the human race and get on with our lives, because frankly I just can't live without you." I stop, dead in my tracks, wondering where the hell that came from. Shaking my head, I step inside the opening doors of the elevator.

Charlotte's sort of slumped against the back wall of the elevator, wearing pink pajama pants and a tank top. She's holding an armful of Mountain Dew cans. Our eyes meet for a millisecond before I look away, feeling panicked. I don't even have anything prepared! My subconscious and I need to figure this out!

Instead, I don't say anything. I quickly hit a button-any button-and the doors close and then I look anywhere but at Charlotte. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see the blaring orange-red that is her hair.

It's quiet for a long time. Too long, if you want to know the truth, because I really am not the type of person who can deal with silence. At all. Especially when it's this type of silence that makes your insides feel sort of tight and hot. Like maybe you're going to throw up.

I slide down the wall to the floor, still not daring to glance her way. The elevator stops at the tenth floor; I slap my hands over the buttons again, and the doors close.

A second later she joins me on the floor of the tiny elevator with a big sigh. She tucks her knees up under her chin, her hair exploding all around her. For some reason she smells big time like chocolate fudge. All of my senses are trained on her as I think about what I could say; when the elevator doors open to another anonymous gray-blue hallway, I tap the nearest button, this time sending us down. I'm sorry, I want to say. I don't know what I did, but nothing is worth making you upset. Nothing. But no words come out; nothing seems right. I suddenly wish that Isaac was here, because I know he could come up with the perfect clich that instantly make everything better, or at least make her laugh. I run my hands over my hair with frustration.

A second later, after I've closed the elevator doors for the sixth time, I can feel the warmth of her hand beside mine. My heart starts to pound for some inexplicable reason and I don't dare to move. I don't breathe. Every particle of my brain is trained to the heat of her hand beside mine.

Three floors later, her fingers are over mine. I let her wrap her hand over my fingers and then I hold tight and I don't let go.

We ride the elevator like that, up and down the hotel's ten floors, for a long time without saying a word. It's late, maybe even late enough to be light outside, I don't know, when she leans over to press the button for her floor. She stands up and I'm overflowing with the urge to press her back against the wall and kiss her for a long time, because maybe everyone's right and I do love her. Maybe riding the elevator just makes you feel like that. But in the end I just let her go back to her room with one last hand squeeze. I don't even say goodbye. She swishes out with her pouf of hair and fuzzy pink pajamas and I want to follow her, but I don't. Instead I ride the elevator back up to my room, feeling shakey-sick and strange but at least a little less miserable.

*Brinn*

It's the early hours of the morning; beyond the sheer, vanilla-blah curtains are the first pink hintings of daylight, and I have decided what I should do. Now that I have settled things between my mind and I, I am feeling surprisingly calm. I burrow down into the comforter and enjoy the quiet. After hours of bitching and moaning about our collective ill fortune, Charlotte wandered off in search of Mountain Dew; she hasn't come back yet (if she's abandoned me for the night, I almost wouldn't blame her; I can't imagine I've been cheery company), and so I'm all alone for the first time in 24 hours. Feeling almost snobbishly content with myself, I roll over and finally decide to get some sleep.

From the depths of my purse, my cell phone rings. "CHRIST!" I yell to no one. It's freaking 4:11 in the morning. For a moment I lay there, weighing the consequences of not answering the phone. On the one hand, its probably just Emily or worse, Ellie, wondering why the heck I haven't called her after Thursday's party disaster. But on the other hand, it could be Mom. And not answering the phone would have severe consequences.

"What?" I say into the phone. Maybe I'm whining.

"Bri. It's Emily." Yeah. I should have known to stay in bed.

"Listen, Satan. Do you have any idea what time it is?" I bark, fumbling with the tiny phone. No matter that Emily and I parted ways on pleasant terms. Right now, I am freaking tired, not to mention emotionally exhausted.

"Brinn, calm down. You haven't called and I was, I don't know, wondering how things are going?"

"Couldn't you have waited until daylight? What are you, part farm animal?"

"Ha ha. Funny. I had to get up early to make it to New York City for an afternoon audition. I'm not going to have any other time to talk all day."

"Well, maybe you could have, I don't know, not called at all? I've had a rough night."

I can practically hear her ears perk up. "Aw, what happened, Bri?"

"Nothing, you sleazy gossip hound. Or rather, nothing I want you telling Mom so I can get a year's worth of, 'I told you so's'." I sigh to myself. Nothing like spilling the guts of the nightmare. "Look, Em, I'm tired and I've eaten probably three gallons of ice cream tonight. I need to go to sleep."

"What kind of ice cream?" Emily says absently, mulling over the possibilities hidden in what I have just said.

"Rocky road and cookie dough. Not that it matters."

"No. It doesn't. Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

She's sounding genuinely concerned and damn, sisterly. The girl is on a freaking roll. Something inside me breaks. "Yeah. I guess I do. If you breathe a word of this to Mom, your soul is mine. Got that?"

Emily mumbles something about the irony of my calling her Satan but finally responds, "I won't say a word."

Flopping back onto the tangled sheets, I tell her everything. The earlier mild confusion where I was disturbed enough to think that I might be feeling something for Taylor; the Spin the Bottle fiasco; my ice cream eating binge with Charlotte and finally, I told her what I was going to do. "I called the airport from my cell about a half hour ago. A flight leaves for home around 10, and then there will be one less monkey at this freak show. Can you pick me up at Logan on your way to New York City?" Saying it out loud makes me even more pleased with myself. The look on Taylor's face when Charlotte tells him I've left...I almost wish I could be there to witness it. But then if I was there, there would be no look to witness, except for the confused one he always wears. Never mind. The point is, the boy will be shocked.

Emily doesn't sound quite as pleased. "That's it? You're just going to leave, just like that?"

I narrow my eyes, even though she isn't here to see my disbelief. "What do you mean, that's it? I came, didn't I? Just like you wanted me to. I took a chance, I did it and it all turned out just the way I thought it would. Sucky. The boy is a hormone-driven asshole. He doesn't care about anyone. But the hormones, of course. He has probably named them."

Emily sounds amused, even though nothing is funny. "That doesn't even make any sense, Bri."

"Yeah?" I challenge. "Yeah, well its 4:20 in the freaking morning. What do you expect?"

"I expect you not to give up quite so easily, that's what. Where's the old Brinn, who wouldn't even dream of leaving without one last screaming match, huh?"

I feel sad, which strikes me as pathetic. "Em, I don't think I have it in me. I'm all screamed out. Maybe I'm getting old."

"Maybe you're just madly in love with him. Maybe you're scared."

"Yeah, maybe you're fucking crazy," I shoot back, feeling my heart summersault.

I can just see Emily scrunching her face up like she does when she's frustrated. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you are just going to let him win!"

Well. When she says it like that. "No one is winning anything! Bitch," I mutter, bristling ever so slightly.

Emily doesn't say anything for a long time. I am bursting with angry and obnoxious comments but I'm almost too mad to say them. "So you've made up your mind." She sighs it; it is not a question.

"Yes. Of course," I say, a little more forcefully than I originally meant. I glance at my packed bags in the corner.

She sighs again. The girl is a carbon copy of our mother. "Let me say one more thing?"

"Why are you asking?" I mumble picking a loose string off the hem of my sweatshirt "You know you're just going to say it anyway."

"Yeah, well..." she clears her throat. I wait. "It's just. . .pretend it's ten years from now and you're looking back on all of this. This whole, up-and-down weekend. How he makes you feel--"

"How he makes me feel?" I say, my voice rising. "You mean like I want to tie myself to the railroad tracks? Like I would welcome being struck by lightning? Like maybe being hit by a bus would be a pleasant turn of events?"

Emily sighs again, this time in frustration. "What I'm trying to say is, if you look back on this in ten years, are you going to regret leaving now?"

I think. I can't help it. "I don't know," I say softly a moment later. "I guess that's something I'll have to find out, won't I?"

PART 62

*Charlotte*

As I walk back to my hotel room, my hands feel clammy and I'm hot from the top of my forehead down to the middle of my chest. Great. Probably hives, a surefire way to get Zac to love me. I shiver; just thinking his name makes me feel funny. Additionally, thinking about what just happened in the elevator over the last hour or so makes my stomach clench, like I'm in the early phase of the stomach flu. I look down at my chest again; red and splotchy, definitely hives. The Mountain Dews I'm still holding have gone warm.

"What the hell just happened?" I whisper to myself, to no one. I mean, really. Was that progress? Can you possibly call riding silently in an elevator for sixty minutes progress? Probably not; if he wanted to profess his undying love to me, he had plenty of opportunity, after all. But then there was his hand, holding mine. He was the one who had reached for me, who had held on so tightly. That had to mean something, right?

Sighing deeply, I fish my hotel key out of my pajama pocket and open the door, dropping a Mountain Dew can on my bare foot in the process. Cursing softly, I push my way into the room, tossing the soda cans onto my double bed. Across the darkened room, Brinn lays sprawled on her back, her dark hair fanning out over her pillow. For a moment I stand there, contemplating. It is 4:30 in the morning; waking her up would probably be a bad idea. . .after all, her night has been just as bad as mine. Well, as bad as mine was up until about an hour ago. Because, after all, Zac and I have just had a breakthrough. Or maybe we haven't. But I have to know, somehow. I need her opinion.

"Hey. Brinnsley?" I murmur hesitantly.

Nothing but deep, even breathing.

I take a deep breath. "Hey! Brinnsley!"

She bolts upright in bed so quickly I take a step back. "Holy Mother of God. Tell me that it isn't--" She glances at the clock, "--4:33 in the morning and you're standing here, yelling to me. Tell me that isn't true, because I can't imagine anyone being so stupid."

I roll my eyes discreetly. Remember, Brinn and I have shared the tragedy of being involved with Hanson boys; alas, this does not make us friends. But my heart is still jumpy from the elevator ride, and before I can get embarrassed or apologize, the words start pouring out. "Look, I just saw Zac. On the elevator," I say hurriedly, impatiently brushing an especially frizzy strand of hair out of my eyes. "And--well, we didn't talk or anything, or even make any eye contact, but about twenty minutes in he reaches for my hand, and then. . . we just, sat like that, on the elevator, holding hands. I think it really was the strangest thing that has ever happened to me. I mean, we didn't even look at each other! And then, when I couldn't stand it any longer. . .after forty-five minutes, maybe longer, I don't know. . .I got up and pressed the button for our floor, and I waited for him to say something, anything. . .but he never did." Forgetting myself, I flop onto the end of Brinnsley's bed. "What do you think it means?"

Brinn is glaring at a spot on the wall somewhere above my head. "I think it means that Zac is just as completely brain-dead as his beauty queen brother."

I groan. "I'm serious, here! I need you to help me."

Brinn sighs in a way that manages to be both angry and defeated. "You want help? Here's my advice: pack your bags and ride with me to the airport to catch a flight home."

"I told you, I'm serious!"

"Well, so am I! I already booked my flight. I'm done, I'm finished, this is over. My flight leaves at 10 am, and then Taylor is free to lick whoever he wants to. Not that he isn't already. Not that he will even notice I'm gone." The bitterness in her voice is palpable in the cold hotel air between us. So is the shock in mine.

"You can't be serious--"

"Haven't we already had this argument?"

"Look, Brinn, you just don't know Taylor how I do. He's always been like a big brother to me--"

"Pretty stupid excuse for a big brother," Brinn mutters, pulling at the fuzz on the hotel comforter. "You have my condolences."

"Yes, fine, whatever, and will you stop interrupting me? Things that are apparent to other people just aren't obvious to Taylor. He lives in a dream world! If things aren't completely spelled out for him, he just doesn't get it. He's like a child," I plead. If Brinn leaves, Taylor will get back together with Jules. And trust me, I want that girl back in Tulsa first thing Sunday morning, not sitting around for Zac to drool all over. "If you don't talk to him about what happened at that retarded session of Spin the Bottle, he probably won't even realize what he did, let alone try to fix it. It's up to you."

Brinn doesn't respond for a long while. "I have come to the conclusion that it isn't even worth it. You know, I'm really the dumb one . . .I knew what he was probably really like, but I thought, well, why don't I give it a try, anyway? And then what does that asshole do? Make out with his ex of only ten days right in front of me! For nearly an hour! I just. . .can't believe I let myself get in this situation."

"But Brinn," I say, trying to make her see, "it was just a game! I mean, a little dumb of him, sure, but--"

"But that's where you're wrong. It wasn't just a game. . .it was a fine example of his weak and slimy character."

I shake my head sadly. "I can't believe you. With all of the sarcasm and guts and. . .and balls that you have, you're going to let something potentially good slip right between your fingers like this?" Brinn smiles. "You sound exactly like my sister. And that isn't a good thing. And I am doing something about all of this; I thought it over, and I know I'm making the right decision. Taylor is just. . .too much for me to deal with, you know? He's like this major man whore."

"Well, maybe, but I just thought--"

"You thought? You?? You, who just rode an elevator with the man--excuse me, boy--of her dreams for nearly an hour without saying anything? Don't you tell me about guts, and definitely don't give me guilt about letting opportunities slip through my fingers. Because you, my friend, just did."

I stare at the gaudy mauve-flowered bedspread. "You know? You're right."

Brinn smiles, the happiest I've seen her all night. "I know."

"But you know what the difference is, between you and I?" I start, stretching nervously as I stand up. "I'm not the one running away. I'm going to try to fix it."

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it," she mumbles, sliding back under the covers.

"Okay," I say, hurrying to the door before I lose my nerve. "Watch me."

*Zac*

Okay.

Now, a lot of strange things have happened in my life. Paramus Park Mall, for instance. Jakarta, Indonesia, for another. Then there was the night Taylor and I fell asleep at opposite ends of the couch and I woke up with his gum in my hair. But I have never, ever felt as weird as I do about right now.

This is about that elevator ride. This is about Charlotte. I mean, who knew riding around in an elevator in complete silence would completely shake up your life like this?

Sighing, I sit down on my bed and glance at the clock. It's past four; I wonder, at this point, if there is any use in sleeping at all, seeing as how we'll have to be up to do a slew of newspaper and radio interviews at 6:30. I glance over at Taylor; even with his love life in it's current state (read: train wreck) he's sleeping soundly, a pillow pulled over his face. He's so clueless, it's almost funny. Or sad.

There's a knock at the door.

Feeling slightly, foolishly scared (who knows what kind of freak is on the other side? Ax murderer, armed robber, crazed fan with 'I Love Taylor' written on her face with eyeliner), I peek through the peephole before opening the door. All I can see is hair. Bright, carrot-orange hair. The sick feeling that spreads out from the pit of my stomach when I realize it's Charlotte makes me almost wish it was one of the former: dealing with the mind-scrambling that was the consequence of our silent elevator ride was really as much as I can handle, for one night, anyway. Running a hand through my tangled hair, I clear my throat and open the door.

"Charlotte," I say, let it hang there in the semi-darkness of the hallway. It's so quiet I can hear the low humming of the overhead lights. She's slightly breathless and her cheeks are flushed, as if she ran all the way up here. The fingers of her left hand are twisting the hem of her sweatshirt like a nervous little girl. I just stand there, hoping she'll say something; I don't know how to handle this new, silent, serious Charlotte.

"Zac," she starts finally. I reach for her hand because I can't think of anything else to do; just touching the very tips of her fingers, like this, calms me. She smiles slightly. "Zac, I don't know what's happened to us, but--"

"Neither do I," I cut in, pulling her closer to me. Startlingly, I realize we're talking about two different things: she's talking about our fight and. . .well, I'm not quite sure what I'm talking about, exactly, being too concerned with the sudden urge to kiss her upturned face.

"But," she says again, her fingers tracing concentric circles on my forearms, raising goosebumps on my skin, "I do know that I can't stand not talking to you like this, even if it is only been for a little while. I. . .well, I need you." A blush rises in her already flushed cheeks, complementing her flaming hair. "I know, that sounds stupid, but--"

"No, it doesn't at all," I cut in, and before I can think about what I'm doing, I lean in to kiss her, just as I have a million times before. But this time, I kiss her lips. It's so soft and nice and feels so natural, like this has happened every day, forever, just this way. Only it hasn't. Only this is huge, in the world of Zac and Charlotte.

*Charlotte*

I know this is going to sound like something out of a Harlequin romance, but I let myself melt into him. There isn't time to think, time to get nervous and overanalyze; I just kiss him back. I have a sense of the world closing in around us, leaning against the wall in the doorway of Zac's hotel room. It's just one kiss, but it seems to go on forever. When it's finally over, I dare to look up into his brown eyes. He smiles, looking flushed about the cheeks and very slightly surprised at what just happened. "Come lay in bed with me," he whispers. I nod. We creep across the room, past the still soundly snoring Taylor. Zac folds back the heavy comforter; he crawls in first and then I snuggle down beside him. Drawing the blankets over us, Zac places a hand around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

Automatically, my hand goes to his hair. I begin running my fingers over his scalp, in exactly the way I know he likes. He sighs and burrows closer to me; I can feel his breath against my neck, his lips so close to my skin. We don't kiss again.

I think about all of the times we have done this: in hotel rooms, the tour bus, even in my own bedroom on those special weekends and holidays when Zac came home to Tulsa. I think about our stupid fight. And then, of course, there is the monumental happening of less than five minutes ago. The moment is running over and over in my head, the most wonderful movie clip set on repeat. I can't think about it too closely, can't let myself overanalyze the moment, searching for the motivation behind what he said, what he did, because he's still so close. I think about his hand on my hip, my fingers in his hair. No one knows exactly how deeply I love this boy.

*Zac*

I think about what happened, that kiss. I didn't think about it at the time; it seemed, and still does, like the thing to do, the most perfect thing. I think about what everyone's always told me; maybe they were all right, and Charlotte does love me. Maybe I've been fooling myself, and I really love her back. Maybe I'm just realizing it now.

I let myself fall asleep to her gentle fingers in my hair, dozing to the sounds of traffic outside. It's still early when I hear Taylor rustling around. I peer over the mass of her fuzzy hair to the glowing green numbers of the alarm clock: 6:12. Charlotte's breathing is deep and even; under the covers, our legs are tangled together. Taylor moans his wake-up moan, stretching in his bed. Suddenly, the light on the table between our beds clicks on. Taylor is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and looking sleepily disgusted. "Oh my God. For a minute there, I thought I was having a nightmare. You know, all those times I told you two to get a room? I didn't mean mine."

Charlotte's eyes fly open; she looks immediately embarrassed. Our eyes meet for just a second, and sheepishly I slide my hand off of her hip. Thinking about last night's events in daylight makes things feel slightly more, shall I say, uncomfortable.

Taylor throws back the covers and stands up in his boxers, still stretching. The smooth and glossy hair that was the result of his post-Spin-the-Bottle, depression-induced blow-out is now rather matted and sticking out from his head in about fifteen different directions. He glares at us. "Did you guys have sex?"

Charlotte giggles nervously, sitting upright in bed. I roll my eyes, hoping neither of them notice me blush: hello, post-kiss awkwardness. "Taylor. . ." I start to complain.

"Alright, alright." He heads for the bathroom; then, as if remembering the events of the night before, calls over his shoulder in a show of fake-casualness, "Hey, uh. . .did either of you talk to Brinny?"

Charlotte pauses in her futile attempt to gather her pouf of hair into something resembling a ponytail and offers, "Yeah, I did."

Taylor stops in his path to the bathroom, but doesn't turn around. You can tell his mood for the next several weeks is riding on her answer. "And?"

"She's leaving, Tay. She's on the ten o'clock flight back to Boston."

PART 63

*Taylor*

The words that come out of Charlotte's mouth are such a surprise that for a moment, I can't think of anything to say. I run a hand through my rumpled hair, still not daring to turn around. The silence is, well . . .deep. "Leaving?" I finally say, absently. Maybe I heard her wrong. Maybe she means tomorrow's ten o'clock back to Boston. Yeah, that must be it, because she couldn't possibly be--

"Taylor, you can't actually be surprised," comes Zac's voice. "I mean, not after last night, what with your entire tongue jammed down Jules' throat for three-quarters of an hour."

I walk backwards until my thighs hit the side of my mattress, then I let myself fall back onto the unmade bed, still warm for my long, oblivious sleep. "I know I messed up," I say. I close my eyes, wishing the whole world would disappear. I've never felt as much like the hormone-driven asshole that everyone seems to think I am. "But I didn't think--I never thought--what am I going to do?"

I can just hear Zac and Charlotte exchange looks. "She really sounded serious, Tay." Charlotte whispers the words, as speaking them any louder might send me over the edge.

I do feel like I'm close; this could be the episode that finally drives me insane. "Last night, I just thought . . .I mean, we fight so much, she's so hard to get along with, I thought it was something I could just, you know, work out today. I never thought she'd be hurt enough to leave." I feel pained as soon as the words leave my lips: hurt. I've hurt her, because I'm obnoxious and horny and all I think about is kissing, and now I've ruined things irreversibly. Not even the patented Taylor Hanson charm can get me out of this mess. I think back to last night--God, it feels like years ago--sneaking to Brinny's hotel room, talking to her through her partway-open hotel door. I told her to let me love her. I told her to give us a chance, and I promised that I wouldn't do anything to hurt her. And gee, that lasted for about, oh, three hours. I would give anything to be back at that moment, live the whole night over again. "I didn't mean to hurt her," I add in a whisper.

Looking back over the edge of the bed from my prone position I can see an upside-down Zac and Charlotte reclining on the bed in a manner that is classic Zac and Charlotte: Zac's searching for split ends in his tangled hair while Charlotte leans half on a pillow, half on Zac himself. Something about them seems stiff though, somehow; when Charlotte catches Zac looking, he quickly averts his eyes. Briefly, I wonder about what happened to them last night. But I don't care enough to ask; right now, I don't care about knowing anything but what to do to fix things with Brinny. And, contrary to what you may think, this is a new experience for me: I don't think I've ever really, truly hurt a girl before. This probably is because that all of the girls I date are too busy trying to hurt me to be affected by anything I do. I mean, Jules, that other girl . . . Olivia or . . .the point is, I never had to worry about hurting anyone before. Truthfully, I wasn't even sure that I, Jordan Taylor Hanson, was capable of hurting anyone. And realizing it's happened, well . . .I'm less than enthusiastic about the achievement. "Do you think I can talk her out of it?" I mumble, knowing full well what the answer's going to be.

I can hear Charlotte sigh. "I guess, you could always try, but . . .seriously? I doubt it. She's pretty upset."

"Shit," I mutter. Heaving a great sigh, I sit up, feeling slightly lightheaded. "Well, I have to try. Otherwise, I'd always wonder if maybe . . ." Talking mostly to myself, I find the hotel key and walk purposely towards the door. I'm swinging it open when I hear Zac say through a choked giggle, "Um, Tay? You think that maybe it would be a good idea if you put some clothes on first?"

I look down. Nothing but bare chest and red-plaid boxers. "Oh," I say. "Yeah, maybe."

I shuffle into the bathroom with a change of clothes--jeans and the purple shirt of Brinnyss I borrowed yesterday, socks and shoes will take too long--and listen as Zac and Charlotte have a giggly discussion about what could have happened had they allowed me walk out into the hallway with nearly nothing on. "All it would have taken them was one quick movement, and BOOM . . .he's not wearing anything! And you know the way they are, they can smell us coming, so in a matter of moments there would have been dozens of them in the hallway, and poor defenseless Taylor, standing there with his boxers around his ankles . . ." Zac sounds funny for some reason. Nervous, the way he's tripping over his words. I'm telling you, those two . . .they are so weird. . .

You know that stupid expression, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Well that's what I feel like right now: I barely have the energy to pull the T-shirt on. I can't get over what a fuck up I am.

I step out of the bathroom and say it. "I can't get over what a fuck up I am," I moan sadly to Zac and Charlotte.

Zac looks at me with a face full of pity. "Well . . .there's always Jules," He says, trying to sound hopeful. "And hey! The other M2M girl! How would you like to date a real European girl? And I don't think her English is too good, so you could probably take advantage of her pretty easily."

I shoot him a withering look and step out into the hallway.

*****

I'm heading down the corridor towards the elevators, looking down at my bare feet with my hands in my pockets, when I slam headfirst into a knockout blond. Who happens to be my ex-girlfriend. I don't even care to know why she's wandering around out in the hallway before seven o'clock in the morning, because it's probably for no good reason. "Jules," I sigh. I feel like I don't even have the energy to explain to her that I don't have the energy to talk to her. "Look, I . . .well, I want you to know that whatever happened last night didn't mean anything to me. And it's probably ruined things between Brinny and I, so . . .thanks," I mumble dejectedly. I push past her.

"Really?" She flashes me a wide, Crest-toothpaste-commercial smile, evidently ecstatic at having a hand in destroying Brinny and I. "Well, Tay, I'm thrilled, believe me. But I can't take all the credit. I mean . . .you helped, too," she murmurs.

I'm telling you . . .the girl is evil. I groan, my head in my hands. She's right, of course, and that's the suckiest part of all. "When are you leaving again?" I ask tiredly.

She flips her hair behind her shoulder. "Probably not soon enough, for you," she snaps, full of sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to lie to you," I grumble, pushing past her. What was I thinking, making out with her? Or dating her in the first place? I toss a weak "Yeah, yeah, whatever," reply to her hissing about how she's headed out to "meet your public"--meaning mine--and that doesn't sound like it would be good for me but I don't even care. All I can think about is Brinny, and if she leaves, I probably will never see her again.

Room 1034. I hesitate for just a moment before I knock firmly on the door. No answer. Sighing, I call, "Brinny, it's me. I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now, but . . .please let me in. I just want to talk to you."

*Brinn*

I hesitate in my hurried, haphazard packing, and listen to Taylor's voice on the other side of the door. I can't say that I'm surprised he's here, because I'm not: I had a feeling Charlotte would spill her guts as soon as she saw him. I also can't say that I don't want to open the door, listen to what he has to say, try to forgive him. I mean, I guess I could say it. But it would be a lie.

Sighing, I cross the room, still in my pajamas. My hand hovers above the doorknob for a long while. "Brinny," he's saying, and for the first time, the silly nickname makes me smile. " . . .Please let me in." I want to, maybe, but I don't open the door; I can?t, can't you see that? I don't even say anything. I mean, he already knows I'm in here. I lean against the cheap-wallpaper covered wall, slide down until I'm sitting on the floor. I rest my head against the door. I wait.

*Taylor*

"Brinny," I say. Standing is taking entirely too much effort in my current state; I sit, cross-legged, on the slightly worn carpet in front of her door. For a moment I stare at the floor, study the dull flowered vines in the dark gloomy print. I can feel myself nervously twisting at a strand of hair at the nape of my neck, a habit I thought I'd outgrown years ago. 'If Only' starts running through my head; the lyrics are strangely, depressingly apt, the most appropriate soundtrack for this current chapter of my love life.

I take a deep breath. I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, the perfect thing to say will come to me and I'll be able to fix things. Maybe she won't leave, after all. "Brinny. . .look. I realize how much I've messed up, and . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, so, so, sorry, you have no idea what I would give to take it all back, the whole stupid night. Juliana is . . .well, she definitely isn't you, that's for sure, and I don't know what I was thinking last night, that stupid game. . ." A deep sigh escapes from my lips; this is much, much harder than I thought it would be.

Because, in truth, I can't explain what I was thinking because there was no reason for me to act like such a dickface last night--well, no reason except for that one. I'm a dickface. I've never had to worry about my actions effecting any of my girlfriends, because they were all too busy trying to hurt me to feel upset by anything I did, and I'm only just now realizing how inconsiderate, how selfish a person I really am. "I don't know what else to say, Brinnsley," I mutter.

Rising up to my knees, I lean my forehead against her door, the metal beneath my skin cold and less than soothing. I press my palms to the surface. "Just know that I'm sorry, I've never been more sorry about anything in my entire life. I realize, now, what a huge mistake I've made, and . . .and I don't blame you, if you really fly home today without speaking to me again. I don't want you to, but . . .I don't blame you." I lower my voice to a whisper, hoping she can still hear me. If she's listening at all. "You are the most amazing girl I've ever met," I say. "And if you stay, just for one more day, if you will give me another chance, well . . ." I clear my throat quietly, my voice suddenly hoarse, "I will make you the happiest girl in the entire world. I will be the best, most wonderful boyfriend you could ever imagine."

*Brinn*

I stare at a tear in the wallpaper near the doorjamb, Taylor's voice vibrating through the door behind my head. Outside, it's started to rain; the drops patter on the window across the room as Taylor's pleas prod gently at my resolve. Closing my eyes, concentrating on the sound of the rain, I'm surprised at first, to feel the tears on my cheeks. I want to believe him, so badly. I always have, right from that very first night, playing pool at that cheesy hall, making dogged attempts to brush him off, brush him away. I never believed his good intentions, but deep down, I always wanted to. I could see myself loving him, right from the moment I met him. But I was scared, and for good reason, I guess. Because look at how it all turned out.

His voice is muffled through the thick door, but I can still hear him as he says, "I will be the best, most wonderful boyfriend you could ever imagine." He sounds so earnest, so willing to do anything to get me to open the door, to give him another chance. I want to reply, but I don't. Instead, brushing tears away with sudden ferocity, I stand up, cross the room to finish packing; I'll have to leave soon. This is the best way, I tell myself. Outside, the rain is falling harder; the slap of the drops against the window is so loud, Taylor's voice fades away.

*Charlotte*

"So," I mumble. The room is eerily quiet, once Taylor dragged himself and his broken heart out of the room. Too quiet, one might say.

"Yeah. So . . ." Zac is still sprawled in bed, alternately studying his messy cuticles and searching for split ends. He is steadily avoiding eye contact like it's his job.

So this is something I've thought about for my entire life. Well, not this awkward, eye-averting nonsense. I'm talking about last night. That kiss. The climax of my 15-year-old life. The kiss, well . . .the kiss I've had all planned out for years. And it was lovely. What I didn't bargain for, however, is this awkward, eye-averting nonsense. I'm so stuck this morning, thinking about what this all means--again, going back to the kiss--that I can't even figure out what to do next. Because obviously, what to do hinges on what all of this means. What the kiss meant. And this is the first time I've ever been in this situation. And just because I've been dreaming about Zac kissing me for my entire life doesn't mean that I ever planned out what to do after it happened.

I sneak a peek at him. He's sprawled out on top of the covers, still wearing his clothes from last night--rather rumpled now. He's trying to look casual, but I can just see the gears turning behind his narrowed brown eyes.

"Well," I sigh, twisting the hem of my sweatshirt between my fingers, "I better go. I have to pack up all of my stuff before we can leave."

"Okay," Zac says, a little too quickly. He looks relieved. At least I'm not the only one feeling awkward here.

"Okay. Well, I'll see you later, then," I mutter. I glance at him as I turn to leave; he meets my eyes quickly and smiles a sheepish, tight-lipped smile before looking down again.

I'm blushing from my the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes as I leave Zac's hotel room, and that's when the enormity of it all hits me: Zac Hanson. Kissed me. Without me having to force him in the slightest way, just because he wanted to. The idea that I, Charlotte Elizabeth, fifteen, with frizzy red hair and no boobs and definitely no butt--the idea that I am a girl that Zac Hanson wants to kiss, well . . . frankly, it's too much to process at this time in the morning. Or, quite possibly, at any time of the day.