Camp Rock

Title: Hip Shaking, Heartbreaking (1/1)

Author: giraffedinosaur

Pairing: Shane/Mitchie, Shane/OC

Summary: Written for a prompt...

Rating: K+

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights for the characters and the world go to their owners (ie. Disney, along with everything else in this world). I, in no way, believe – or would lead others to believe – that I own Camp Rock. No affiliation implied; no infringement intended. I am merely someone who for some reason could not get the characters out of her head and wound up writing this when she saw a prompt online.

Author's Note: Characters might be a bit OOC. I'm not going to offer excuses for this; it's possible. I just wrote and this is what came up.

The boat shakes beneath us, rattling the already nervous footing of our relationship. With each ebb, my stomach churns inside of me, too afraid to even dare move into my throat. For once, I wish it would. At least then it could stop me from all of the stupid things I've been saying since we hit the lake.

"I actually hate the color yellow; it reminds me of my dead fish from third grade - and what was left in his fish bowl after I played Hide-and-Seek with him."

Really? It's been a year and I still manage to feel like the nobody I am anywhere but here. This may be Camp Rock, but I'm still Mitchie Torres - daughter of a caterer, aspiring musician, and horrible at relationships.

Shane smiles just a bit, revealing the teeth I'm pretty sure he whitens every morning. (It's so not natural to have that bright of a smile.)

"You played Hide-and-Seek with a fish?" he asks. Before I can duck my head to hide my embarrassment, his hand falls on top of mine. I pull my gaze back to him, and his smile brightens even more. He adds in, "That's so adorable. How did I get so lucky?"

A year ago, I was telling people how much of jerk Shane Gray seemed. And today, he's calling me adorable and risking everything (stellar hair included) to spend the night in a canoe with me. And he's the lucky one?

"I think I'm the lucky one. I mean, I'm dating a rockstar," I say. He laughs, but it doesn't sound as nice as it should. His hand retreats just a bit. It wouldn't have even been noticeable if it weren't for the fact that I'm freezing and he's half of the reason I'm not a chunk of ice floating in the river.

I reach out with my other hand, stopping his from leaving. This time, he's the one ducking away.

"Mitchie," he starts. I know that tone. When you're as bad at love as I am, you know that tone. I mean, it basically has a soundtrack playing along that just alerts everyone within a ten mile radius that a break up is coming along. Good thing we're the only two people out here.

"Yes, Shane?" I try not to sound too desperate, too 'what am I supposed to do without you when you're right here next to me,' but I'm most definitely not a good actor.

His hand slips from mine easily. He uses it to fix the stray strand of hair. With it gone, his face shines in the glow of the moon. I wonder if mine does the same. I wonder if my fear is obvious. I wonder when he stopped caring.

"Mitch, I didn't really know we were dating. I figured, it's been a year, emails and Skype only count for so much," he says, "I-look, a few months ago, there was this girl and I really thought we had something. She loved me for who I was."

And I didn't? Wasn't I the person who sang about how no one saw me for the strong girl within? Didn't we spend hours in this same canoe, talking about ourselves and our lives? And weren't we in love? Or was it just the mixture of fireflies and exhaustion putting the sparkles in our eyes?

He trails off.

The wood of the paddle sends a cold shock through my fingers. He stops it before it can touch the waves.

"Don't do this," he says.

"Don't do what? Try to go back to land where things made sense? Shane, you never even told me that you met someone," I say.

He chuckles, "Yeah, because it'd be so easy to do that, right? 'Hey, Mitchie, yeah, the concert's going great; Nate fell into the audience and, by the way, I'm dating a nineteen-year-old costume designer and we're totally in love. How's my summer fling doing?'"

Fan-stinking-tastic. Why would I be anything but? And summer fling? Is that really what he thought of us? Why even drag this out? He should've told me before.

"It'd be better than telling me now. Every time someone asked about you, I said I didn't know. I said it was just a summer thing that mellowed out. I didn't think I was telling the truth!"

"You weren't. I just thought if we're going to do this again, you have to know that things are different," he says.

"What's different, Shane?"

"For one, me. I've gotten better with people, and I don't have time for games anymore. This summer, it's about sharing with everyone else what it means to be a rockstar," he says.

I roll my eyes. "Rockstar?" I repeat, "More like a tween pop idol whose only fame comes from the twelve-year-olds convinced they'll marry him one day."

"And the sixteen-year-olds who think the same way," he bites.

It's like I punched stone with both fists. They halt so completely against the puffed out material of his life vest. His stunned expression only drives me on more. What did he think I would do? Did he think I would always be the happy girl who skipped around and threw flour on her face? I've grown up too. And now I know that there are better ways than words to end a conversation.

I push again, and the rocking has nothing to do with the water beneath us. His hands go out to the sides. White knuckles shine more than any overly cleansed teeth ever could.

"Whoa, cool it. It's not that serious," he says.

I hit again.

"Really? Not serious? I spent weeks with you, by you, wanting you. Then, I spent months trying not to think of how much I missed having you around. This year, camp wasn't even just camp; it was Shane. It was all about Shane. And I'm thinking, maybe this year, we can really be something. I'm thinking, all those dates I turned down were worth it. All those Saturday nights sitting in my room writing love songs that would never be heard were worth it. Countless hours spent convincing myself that nothing would change between us were worth it. Well, I was wrong! Did you hear me? Mitchie Torres was wrong. Mitchie Torres is not perfect. Mitchie Torres is a stupid girl for falling for a little kid in a teenager's body and expecting him to fall for her too!"

He doesn't say anything. My chest heaves more times than his eyes flicker from me to the cold death below. Every inch of my skin tingles like I've been lying on it and it went to sleep. And all he does is sit there.

I don't even know where the last push came from.

The splash moves the boat, and I slam my arm against the side. Ignoring the pain, I reach for the paddle again.

"Mitchie!"

He screams my name into the night.

"Mitchie!"

He tries again, but I don't look back.

"Mitchie!"

I don't look back.

Sobs shake within me, only adding to the rocking of a boat going the wrong direction.

End Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Camp Rock is about growing as an individual; help me do that with a review.