So, this has been floating around in my head for a while, and I didn't feel like writing a long story, so I did this instead.
Camp Rock has not ever been, is not, and will never be mine. Tear.
My life as I know it is over. No, it's not because I had to move in the middle of my senior year, or because my friends have been totally unsympathetic about it, or because I have nothing to do.
No, it's because my parents had to go and be arrested.
I know right? My parents are the last people you would ever suspect of stealing from the cruise line they work for, but it just goes to show ya – sometimes the judge you thought you were best friends with will pitch you in jail and throw away the key. For a while, anyway.
But then, it was decided that I was neglected at home because of said cruise line jobs, and I wasn't allowed to live with my parents anymore. Apparently they "abuse" me.
Please. They never touched me – never at all. Hmm, maybe they were right about the neglect thing.
Not that I like it, of course. Why would I? I have no relatives to take me in, so now I'm stuck in this run-down, dilapidated orphanage, when I'm not even orphanated. Or whatever you call that. Orphaned. Right.
But anyway. I'm stuck here until I turn eighteen or some extension of my nonexistent family comes to pick me up and take me out of here or my parents get out of jail. And since I have no family, cough parents are only children cough, and said parents will be in jail for longer than the time it will take me to come of age, I have to wait until July before I get to get out of here. Where is the justice in that?
Exactly. There isn't any. I don't even have any friends that are 18+ and willing to take me. At least, none that have bothered to call me since I got here. I have just been wallowing here in my own self pity, waiting for the next four months to decide to speed up, but it hasn't happened.
I sigh and sit up, taking a look around the small room I have become so familiar with. I share this room with three other girls, so my personal space is limited – though it's not like I have anything from home. I cleverly forgot my stuff when I was being hustled here. So now all I have is a few outfits, my phone, and my laptop, which had long since died, since I don't have the charging cord.
As if I had called him with my sigh, a figure appeared at the door. I knew what was coming.
"What's up, Caitykins?"
I groaned. "Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that?"
He grinned. He didn't care. He sat down on another one of the beds in the room and stared at me. He took in my phone, grasped in my hand, my bedhead, since I didn't want to get up today, much less look presentable, and my pajamas, for the same reason.
"Still waiting for Nate to call?"
Oh, yeah. When I had gotten here, I made the mistake of telling people I knew Connect 3. Personally. And no one believed me, especially not Matthew.
"I do know them, Matthew. And someday, after I get out of this hellhole, you will see me on TV or in a magazine with them, and you will be forced to eat your words. And I will be there, on the phone, rubbing it in."
I don't know why I keep defending myself, since it's getting nowhere.
He snorted. "Yeah. And I will be married to Beyoncé. But seriously, though, they haven't called, they will not call. If they don't know you're here yet, you can foolishly wait, but I wouldn't hold my breath."
And here's where it starts hitting me where it hurts. Nate, Shane, and Jason had not called me in the weeks that I'd been here. At all. If that doesn't make me feel loved, I don't know what will.
Matthew snorted and walked out of my room. "Don't lie there all day, Caitykins. People will start asking questions about your sanity!"
"It's not my sanity I'm worried about," I mumbled, though he couldn't hear me over the sound of his evil, maniacal laughter.
Okay, just kidding. He wasn't laughing maniacally. But he could be, for all the pain and annoyance he has caused me in the short time I've been here.
Weeks pass and I am no closer to being free of my boredom than I was when my laptop first died. Before that, I could make my music; you know, siphon all the musicality out of my brain and put it on paper—er, a memory card—and I would be set for a while. But I can't do that anymore because I have no electronic "paper" to put it on anymore. And I am seriously pissed off about it.
"Caitlyn! Visitor!" someone called from down the hall.
I really do not feel like getting up right now. Jeez, if I'm here for too much longer I will become a serious couch potato. I haven't done much besides lay here for weeks.
But curiosity gets the best of me and haul myself out of the bed and haphazardly brush the nest I call my hair, then trod out of the room to the—I don't know what it's called—common room? Living room?—and nearly have a heart attack when I see who's there.
Nate, Shane, and Jason are standing there in all their popstar glory, soaking up all the interestingness in the room and holding it hostage. Nate held his arms out for a hug.
And then I got mad. Like, seeing-red-and-smoking-at-the-ears mad. They ignored me for weeks and now they expect me to run into their arms like they were the best things that ever happened to me? They probably were, since this is my personal hell on earth, but they didn't need to know that. Heck, I wasn't even thinking of that. I was just so mad that they had the audacity to come here and act like nothing had happened.
I calmly walked over to them, and, with a peaceful grin on my face, punched them all in the stomach.
"YOU REALLY THINK THAT YOU COULD JUST WALTZ IN HERE AND TELL ME TO FORGET THE WEEKS THAT I SPENT HERE ALL ALONE? JUST BECAUSE YOU FINALLY SHOWED UP? YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN HERE WEEKS AGO! OR IF YOU REALLY COULDN'T BE HERE, AT LEAST YOU COULD'VE CALLED ME OR SOMETHING! SEND ME A LETTER! SEND ME A TELEGRAPH! HECK, SEND ME A SMOKE SIGNAL, JUST MAKE SOME CONTACT NEXT TIME!" I broke off, panting, and glanced around me. Looks like I got the attentions of everyone here, not just those three.
Nate spoke first, and his face looked appropriately embarrassed and ashamed. "We're sorry, Caity, but we had a tour—"
"And you couldn't spare one concertless evening to call me or find me or anything?" I asked icily, my arms crossed.
"Would you let me finish?" Nate asked, getting a little grumpy himself. "Our manager—you know, the one that we got since Larry quit?—said that we couldn't have any contact with anyone, and took our phones and laptops and made sure we were completely isolated. Apparently Shane was spending too much time on the phone with Mitchie."
Shane scowled. "He knew that I wouldn't be able to see her for the entire tour, but he just had to take her away from me too."
Mitchie, my bff from Camp Rock, had called me as soon as she found out I was here, and we had been talking as much as we could. That and staring at the ceiling were my main two activities these days.
"So anyway," Jason said, cutting Shane off, "we snuck away here as soon as we could, but Greg's been watching us like a hawk. Oliver agreed to back us so we could slip out of rehearsal. And here we are!" He swept his arms wide, like he was Vanna White and there was a Prize Puzzle.
"And," Nate continued, "we came here to bust you out and take you on tour with us."
Honestly, right here I was in shock, because they had, you know, just given me a lot to think about, and then they dropped a bombshell like that at the end…
"But what about your manager? Won't he be mad?"
Shane waved his hand and shook his head. "He won't care."
My eyebrows raised, I said, "But you just said that he wouldn't let you talk to anyone for the whole tour, and now you want me to come on said tour with you, where I will most definitely not be wanted?"
"He won't care," Shane repeated, grinning, "because we fully intend on firing him when we get back to the bus."
And then I couldn't help it: my face broke out in a grin.
"And since Nathaniel here turned eighteen back in September, right before the tour was about to start, we're all legal adults that can take you out of here!" Shane exclaimed, paying no attention to the dirty look Nate was giving him for using his real name.
I squealed, though I will deny it to you if you ever ask me about it. "Thanks guys!" I ran and hugged them all at once. "I just gotta go get my stuff." I ran and grabbed my meager pile of belongings, stuffed them into my pillowcase, and was the first one out the door.
But then I stopped, turned around, and found Matthew in the disbelieving crowd of my orphanage mates.
"So, Matty," I said, grinning, "how do your words taste?"
I didn't even allow him to answer me before I sauntered out the door, pillowcase under my arm, and climbed onto their bus.
I was gonna put some Naitlyn in there, but I liked how it ended...
Review please! I like knowing what people think about my writing!
Hugs and chocolate,