Camp Rock (2 page)

T
he campers were gathered in a sunken, stadium-style area for their official Camp Rock welcome. As they waited, a boy named Andy began to bang out a rhythm on the bench with his drumsticks. One by one, the other campers joined in, adding to the beat and dancing and singing.

Mitchie, who had just arrived, watched in awe. She had never seen so much talent gathered in one place! Not looking where she was going, she accidentally bumped into Tess.

“Sorry,” Mitchie started. “I didn't see you.”

“Obviously,” Tess snapped and continued walking.

Mitchie stared after her in shock. Talk about rude!

“That's Tess Tyler,” explained a girl sitting nearby. “The diva of Camp Rock.”

“Is she really good?” Mitchie asked, watching Tess sashay over to an empty seat and sit down as if it were a throne.

“She's good at trying too hard to be good,” the girl replied. “Understandable, since her mom is T.J. Tyler.”

“The T.J. Tyler?” Mitchie's eyes widened in amazement as she turned to look at the girl. “She's got, like, a trillion Grammys.”

“A trillion and one, I think. Hi, I'm Caitlyn. Camper today, top-selling music producer tomorrow.” She clicked a few buttons on the laptop resting on her knees, and music poured from the speakers. “Check me out.”

“Cool. I'm Mitchie.”

They were interrupted by the sound of someone tapping on a microphone. Camp Rock's peppy music director had taken the stage. Everyone fell silent.

“Hi, gang!” she said cheerily. “I'm Dee La Duke.”

“Hi, Dee,” the crowd chimed, slightly less enthusiastically.

“Uh-huh. Here at Camp Rock, we SIIIING !” Dee hit a high note. “So let's hear that again,” she said, cupping her hand to her ear.

“Hiii, Deee,” the campers sang, imitating her.

Dee grinned, pleased. “Sounds good. A little pitchy in places, but we'll fix that before Final Jam.”

Dee's reference to Camp Rock's huge, last-night singing competition brought cheers from the campers. Barron James, a fifteen year old with a reputation for mischief, and Sander Loya, his best friend and partner in crime started an impromptu jam.

Dee smiled from the stage, excited at the kids' enthusiasm. “Okay,” she said, quieting everyone again. “This summer isn't all about Final Jam. We've got a lot of work to do. You are going to leave this camp with new music skills. You are going to find your sound and create your own style, figure out who you want to be as an artist, but overall, HAVE FUN!” Taking a deep breath, she added, “And … drumroll, please.”

Andy the drummer started tapping on the stage with his sticks. Dee cleared her throat and looked at him sideways. He stopped.

“For the first time,” she continued, “we're going to be joined during camp by a very special celebrity instructor…”

A
t that moment, the “special” celebrity instructor was getting a surprise of his own.

“I don't want to waste my summer at some camp!” Shane Gray barked at Nate and Jason, the other members of his band, Connect Three.

Shane was, no doubt, a bona fide pop star. But he also had a growing chip on his shoulder. He'd learned the hard way that with fame came pressure. He barely noticed the beauty of the rolling landscape outside the tinted windows of his limo.

“Hey, we used to love that place!” Nate argued. Nate was the leader of the group, a position he was not relishing at that moment. “Three years ago, we were campers.”

“Yeah, man, it's where Connect Three … connected,” piped up Jason in his usual laid-back voice.

Shane still wasn't buying it, so Nate tried a different approach. “You get to see your Uncle Brown.”

“Uh, not a selling point,” Shane shot back.

Nate understood that his bandmate wasn't thrilled, but he had had enough. “Look, man, you're the bad boy in the press, and the label has a problem with that. Which means, we have a problem with that.” When Shane didn't say anything, Nate went on. “This camp thing is supposed to fix that. So do your time. Enjoy the fresh air. Get a tan.” He laughed at his own joke as the limo came to a stop.

“Ooh, and make me a birdhouse or something,” Jason added.

Shane shot him an icy glare. “One word: payback.”

“Hey, that's two words,” Jason mistakenly pointed out as Shane grabbed the duffel at his feet and opened the door. Still fuming, Shane got out and slammed it behind him.

A moment later the window rolled down and Nate's head popped out. “By the way,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “We told the press you'd be recording a duet with the winner of Final Jam.” With a laugh, the window rolled up and the limo drove away. Shane was stuck at Camp Rock.

M
itchie stared at the large mound of cold, sticky ground beef on the kitchen counter. A stack of hamburger patties was already piled high before her. She sighed and tore off another hunk of meat.

“I hear there's an open mike tonight,” her mom said, diligently peeling potatoes beside her.

“Yeah,” Mitchie confirmed, glumly patting the beef between her palms.

“Are you going to sing?” she pressed.

Mitchie raised an eyebrow. “In front of all those people? No way!”

“Sweetie, I hear you in your room. You're really good.” She held up two fingers in the Boy Scout salute. “Mom's honor. You gotta believe in yourself. And if you are nervous, so what? Everyone is nervous.” When Mitchie didn't respond, her mother went on. “That's why I'm making so much food tonight. People eat when they're nervous.”

Mitchie looked queasily at the pile of raw meat. “Not me. I don't think I can eat another burger. Ever.”

Her mother took the half-made hamburger from Mitchie's hands. “Why don't you take the trash to the Dumpster and then set up in the mess hall?”

Mitchie smiled thankfully, wiped her hands on her dirty apron, and swung the ripe garbage bags over her shoulder. She was halfway down the path to the garbage bins when she heard singing. The voice was loud and coming from one of the cabins. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Mitchie tiptoed to the cabin and pressed her nose to the window screen.

Inside, Tess was belting out a song at the top of her lungs. It was good, but Mitchie couldn't help thinking it was overdone. Caitlyn had been right; Tess was trying too hard. Behind her, Peggy and Ella threw in a few “ooohs” and “ahhhs.” Suddenly, Tess stopped singing.

“Work with me here, people!” She sighed in exasperation.

Peggy put her hand on her hip. “Hello! We're trying. But you're just so—”

Tess glared at her. “Excuse me. I am the one with the Grammys. Well, my mom is.” She tried to glide over that little fact. “But she mentioned me in her acceptance speech. If we want to rock tonight at open-mike night, you guys have to listen to me. Let's go again.” Tess failed to mention the other reason she was pushing her backup singers—Shane Gray. Ever since Dee had mentioned he was going to be a guest counselor, Tess had been determined to get his attention. And open mike was her first chance.

Outside, Mitchie, realizing how bad it would look if someone saw her, started to back away from the window and tripped on a rock. She fell to the ground, ripping one of the garbage bags and spilling trash everywhere.

“Great,” she whispered and struggled to her feet. That was going to leave a bruise.

A
cross camp, Shane had his cell phone glued to his ear.

“Come on, guys!” he pleaded to his bandmates. “I learned my lesson. I showered in cold water. I looked at a tree. It's been eight hours. I need hair product.”

On the other end of the line, Nate stifled a snort. “I guess it's time to embrace the natural look,” he joked. Then he hung up on Shane.

Grumbling, Shane shoved the phone into his pocket. When he looked up, he found a pack of screaming girls headed straight for him.

“There he is!” the girls screeched, practically tearing their hair out. “Shane! Shane!”

“Great,” he muttered. They'd found him…

T
he Music Mess Hall of Fame looked like any camp cafeteria, except for the signed guitars, old concert posters, and rock T-shirts tacked to the walls.

At the end of the long room, a makeshift stage had been erected. A banner above it read,
OPENING NIGHT JAM
. Mitchie placed the last set of utensils on the table, and then paused. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she climbed onstage. She stood, dreamily imagining an adoring audience hanging on her every note. Pulling out her journal, which was in her apron, she began to sing. Nervously at first, then with confidence, her voice filled the room. It was a song about being more than what everyone sees, about finding your voice even when you're afraid. As she sang, Mitchie forgot where she was. Her voice rose higher and higher.

Outside, Shane was fleeing the pack of crazed fans. He quickly ducked behind some bushes beside the mess hall as the girls ran screaming past him. Relieved, he sat back and sighed.

Was that someone singing inside? He cocked his head to listen. It was. Shane closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the lyrics. They were good—really good! And so was whomever was singing them.

When the coast was clear, Shane emerged from the bushes and swung through the mess hall's screen door. “Hello?” he called out. “Who's in here?”

But the stage was empty.

I
nside her cabin, Mitchie rifled madly through her duffel bag while her mother looked on in amusement.

“I've got all the food set up,” Connie said, trying not to smile. “So you, princess, are free.”

“Gotta find something to wear first,” Mitchie said as she dug through her wrinkled T-shirts and jeans.

“Honey, it's camp, not a fashion show.”

Mitchie stopped and looked at her mom. “Have you seen these kids? My usual is not going to cut it.”

Connie's brow furrowed. “I think you're cute.

In a non-mom way. Totally.”

Mitchie ignored her and pulled out a simple shirt. “This,” she said, holding it up. “This is safe.”

“It's also mine,” her mother answered. “Honey,” she urged, “wear your clothes. Be yourself. You'll be fine.”

Mitchie gave her a look, then pulled the shirt over her head.

T
he open-mike night was going strong as Mitchie watched quietly from the back. She had belted her mom's shirt and was actually pleased with her outfit, but that hadn't helped her confidence. She was nervously tapping her foot to the bass when Caitlyn walked over. A pretty girl with obvious stage presence was beside her.

“Hey,” Mitchie said.

“Hey,” Caitlyn said with a smile. Nodding at the girl next to her, she added, “This is Lola. Lola, Mitchie.”

The three girls chatted for a few moments.

Then Dee announced the next performer—Lola Scott. Smiling, Lola said good-bye and took the stage. A moment later, her voice had captured everyone's attention.

“Wow!” Mitchie gasped. “She's amazing.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn agreed. “She should be. Her mom's on Broadway.”

“Broadway? Wow.”

Caitlyn nodded and leaned back against the wall. “But the kids around here don't care about that. It's all about the bling. That's why Tess runs this camp.”

Mitchie looked over at Tess and they made eye contact. Tess and her posse started to walk over.

“Great.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Something wicked this way comes.”

“Hey, Caitlyn,” Tess said with a smirk, sidling up to them, “your folks still wowing 'em on the cruise ships?”

Ella and Peggy laughed.

“Actually, they work in—” Caitlyn began to defend her family, but Mitchie cut her off.

“Hi, I'm Mitchie,” she said.

Tess turned and eyed Mitchie. “Oh. Hi,” she replied. “I'm Tess Tyler.”

“I know. I love your mom,” Mitchie gushed. So much for playing it cool on her first night at camp. Beside her, Caitlyn held back a groan as she stepped out of earshot. Apparently, she couldn't watch—or hear—this.

“Of course you do,” Tess said, her lips curling in a smile.

“I'm Mitchie Torres.” Inwardly, Mitchie groaned. Why had she introduced herself again?

Peggy brightened. “Hey, is your dad Nicky Torres, the composer? My dad staged one of his shows.”

Suddenly, Tess was more interested. “Is he?”

Mitchie squirmed. “No.”

“Oh,” Tess replied curtly.

“So what does he do?” Ella asked, smacking her gum.

“He owns a hardware store,” Mitchie answered softly.

“Let's go,” Tess said to Peggy and Ella. After
all, without any connections, Mitchie wasn't really worth talking to, Tess thought.

In that split second, Mitchie made a decision. This summer, she could be whomever she wanted to be … even a Queen Bee. “But my mom …” she started.

“Yes?” Tess said skeptically, half-turning to face her again.

“She's, uh … the president of Hot Tunes TV … uh, in China. Huge market there.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. But it was too late.

“Wow. Cool,” said Tess, completely turning to Mitchie now.

“So cool,” Ella chimed in.

“Major cool.” Peggy nodded.

Tess looked between Peggy and Ella. “Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” Both girls nodded eagerly. There was a pause, then Ella asked, “Wait. What are we thinking?”

Tess rolled her eyes at Ella and turned to Mitchie. “There's an extra bed in our cabin. It's yours if you want it.”

“Really?” Mitchie asked, delighted at her change of fortune.

“Totally. We're going to be great friends. Come on, sit with us in the VIP section.” Tess grabbed Mitchie by the arm and dragged her off, leaving Caitlyn behind.

“I'm good,” Caitlyn said sarcastically as she watched the new “friends” walk away. “Thanks for asking.”

C
onnie was poring through one of the cookbooks stacked on her bed, when Mitchie returned to the cabin after dinner.

“Can you believe,” her mother said, without looking up, “not one of these cookbooks has a recipe for chili for three hundred?” She took off her glasses and frowned.

“You don't need a recipe,” Mitchie said happily. “Everyone loves your food. It's official.”

“Really?” Connie smiled.

“Camper's honor,” Mitchie replied.

“So how was open mike? Did you sing?”

“No … but I met some girls,” Mitchie said cautiously.

Her mother brightened.

“And,” Mitchie began, trying not to sound guilty. “They want me to move into their cabin. I know I have to help in the kitchen, but I'll just get up earlier, meet you here, and …”

“Sweetie,” her mom said with a smile, “of course you can move to the cabin. It'll be fine. Now, I'd better get back to these cookbooks. I've got a rep to protect.”

T
ess bit her manicured fingernails as she paced the Vibe Cabin and waited on hold on her cell phone. On her bed, Peggy strummed her guitar absently while Ella worked on something equally important—her nails.

“You guys, which color?” Ella asked, holding up two bottles of pink polish.

Peggy, who had stopped plucking her guitar at Tess's insistence, looked up. “Ella, they are
exactly the same.”

“So you see my dilemma?” Ella said in earnest.

Suddenly Tess perked up and stopped pacing. “Mom, hey! … Yes, I'm totally settled in. Guess what? Shane Gray is …” Her face fell. “Yeah, you can totally call me back. Love you, too. Have a good concert.”

Tess hung up and for a moment looked as if she might burst into tears. That, or throw her phone across the room. “As usual,” she muttered under her breath.

“What, Tess?” Ella asked, pausing over a nail.

Instead of explaining, Tess changed the subject. “My mom says maybe she can get us primo tix to her next concert.”

Ella and Peggy clapped at the news just as Mitchie entered the cabin, her duffel bag and guitar case slung over her shoulders. “Hey, guys!” she called, slightly out of breath from the walk over. “Which bed is mine?”

Tess pointed to Peggy's. There was no arguing. Peggy would be moving.

Mitchie plopped her bag on the bed and
started to unpack.

Tess peered over her shoulder. “One bag? You can't possibly have all your clothes in there.”

“Uh … right.” Mitchie panicked. “Well, I threw a lot of my clothes away.”

Mitchie turned to find Tess going through her duffel bag. She held up one of Mitchie's old, holey T-shirts. “And you kept this?” Tess asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Mitchie replied. “It came from China. A little boutique called … Xin Xia Ji.” Thank goodness for Sierra's Mandarin skills, she thought.

“Wow,” Peggy said, admiring the shirt. Then, “What does that mean?”

“ ‘Happy summer,' ” Mitchie said. “The store is the bomb.” Mitchie was eager to bring the subject back to Tess. “Wow, that is a really cool bracelet!”

“It's from my mom,” Tess replied, holding up the charm bracelet and admiring how it looked on her wrist. “Every time she wins a Grammy, she adds a charm.”

“Totally bling-a-licious,” Mitchie said as she
continued to unpack. She pulled out her song journal, and then quickly tucked it away.

But Peggy noticed. “Is that your diary?”

Mitchie hesitated before answering. “My songs,” she finally explained.

“You write songs?” Tess asked, plopping down on Mitchie's bed.

“Yeah, but they're probably not that good.”

“I bet they're good!” Peggy cried. “Let's hear one!”

Mitchie shook her head as Tess grabbed the journal and started flipping through the half-filled pages. “Why not?” Tess asked. “We're friends now, right?”

Mitchie hesitated for a moment. “Well … okay,” she stammered. Clearing her throat, she started to sing her most recent song, the one she had belted out in the mess hall.

Embarrassed, Mitchie stopped after three verses. “It's not that good,” she said, looking away.

Peggy gave Mitchie a look that said she was crazy. “What? It was totally good. Right, Tess?”

“Totally,” Tess agreed in a voice as sweet as a piece of apple pie. Then she tossed the book back to Mitchie—a bit harder than necessary.