Okay, so yesterday I had this song stuck in my head and I got this idea that included Alyson Stoner's song Make History, and I had to write this.
I have not ever, do not currently, and will not ever own Camp Rock or anything affiliated with it or its actors. Sadly.
"Caitlyn, do you ever get tired of producing music?" Nate asked me, lying down on the couch. His long, gangly limbs spilled over the edge and grazed the floor.
I furrowed my brow. "No," I said. Was he getting tired of writing songs? "Do you ever get tired of performing music?"
He sighed. "Sometimes." I must've looked surprised, because he kept talking. "There are times when I wish I could just take a night off, you know? Do something different. Sometimes I wish I could go out like a normal person and not have to worry about paparazzi and magazines."
I nodded. "That makes sense. I know that if I was an international popstar, I would want to be normal too."
He made a face at my slightly mocking (sorry! Didn't mean to!) tone. "No, I just wish that sometimes I wouldn't have to worry about writing and performing music and could just do something totally random. Like raise goats."
I lifted an eyebrow. "Is that seriously what you're thinking about? Raising goats?"
He rolled his eyes. "No. It's just an example." He looked at me. "You know, it would be fun to just switch jobs with someone. Just for a day," he added at my alarmed glance. "Just one day that I could try something new and not have people judge me for it."
I nodded slowly. It did make sense, when you thought about it. Almost no one is in love with the idea that all their life would be up for everyone to see—not everyone would like not being able to have a normal life because of their job. Nate just wanted to have a taste of what everyone else took for granted.
"Well," I said, "why don't we try switching jobs for a little while? You can produce your music and I can write your music."
I was joking, but his eyes lit up and he straightened, looking excited. "Can we? I want to do something different."
"I don't know if I can write songs," I protested. Well, not really protested. More like pointing out the obvious.
"I'm sure you'll do fine," he said, hugging me quickly and running into one of the rooms. We were on the tour bus, en route to Chicago, but the bus still had room for a couple small cubbyholes they called rooms. We used them for storage and slept on the bunks.
He came back and sat down next to me, his laptop in hand. "So how do I do this?" he asked, turning to me.
In a way, this new enthusiasm was cute and loveable, but that side of it disappeared when he proceeded to question me for hours on how to produce music and fit it to the songs and words and make it sound professional. I should be glad that my boyfriend is so in love with my career. I just wish that he would've been a little less animated about it.
Right after Nate made his first piece of music—which, admittedly, wouldn't've been downloaded very many times, had it been Connect 3's newest song—he said, looking scandalized, "I am so sorry, Caity! I've been taking up your entire afternoon! And you need to start writing songs!" He took his laptop, with the newly installed music program on it, and moved to one of the rooms, shutting the door behind him.
I sighed and grabbed a notebook, sitting back down on the couch and starting to think. Poetry had never been my strong point, and anything I wrote was almost always freeverse with no rhymes and no rhythm. But I knew that that wouldn't work for songwriting, since songs are melodic and rhythmic and moving.
"Hey, Caitlyn," I heard from behind me. I turned, kind of grateful for a distraction, and saw that it was Mitchie. She was the opening act for Connect 3's tour, and she and Shane were very happy about that.
"Hey, Mitch," I replied, sliding my notebook under a pillow so Mitchie wouldn't see it and ask questions.
Too late. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to it.
"Uh…" I decided to just get it out. I didn't know if Nate would ever say anything about our job-switching, but if he did, I didn't want Mitchie to get mad at me for lying. "It's a notebook. Nate wants me to write a song."
She squealed and I was instantly reminded that Mitchie was more girlish than me. "That's awesome! Then you could sing it at one of the concerts!"
I shook my head quickly. "No, I don't think I'll be singing it."
She pouted. "Pleaseeeee?"
I stared at her, inwardly hoping that I wouldn't succumb to her puppy dog look. "Fine," I said, disappointed at myself. "But you have to help me write it. Poetry isn't my thing."
She shook her head. "Uh uh, Caitypoo. You need to write this yourself. It will make history!"
I huffed as she left the room…er, area. I didn't know where shane and Jason were—most likely sleeping…yup. Theres the snores.
"It will make history!"
Hmm. I have no ideas, maybe that could be something.
Where ya wanna go, where ya wanna go, who ya gonna…
"Okay, I have a surprise for you guys tonight," Mitchie said to the audience. We finally got to Chicago, had a break day, and were doing our concert, but Mitchie goes and switches it up. I saw Nate and Shane look at each other questioningly too, but they didn't say anything.
The crowd has no idea what's going on either, but they know that they love Mitchie and they love her surprises.
"A few days ago, like maybe two, Nate and Caitlyn were bored and decided to switch jobs."
Oh, god. She's not.
"Nate took his laptop and produced some sweet tunes, and Caitlyn took a notebook and wrote a great song."
Oh, please don't be doing what I think you're doing…
"So now Caitlyn is going to sing her song for us, because she loves us and won't want to kill me later when we're driving to Milwaukee." She shot a toothy grin to me. I glared. She recoiled a bit, but turned back to the crowd. "She might hate me, but I know that she knows that everyone will want to hear this song. Including Nate."
Ah. Playing the Nate card. Of course.
I grabbed a mic and stomped up the stairs to the stage, glaring at her as I walked into the spotlights.
She smiled at me again. "Her song is called Make History. I hope you like it."
I listened as the familiar notes drifted over the speakers. Mitchie had made me produce a backing for it and memorize the words, and I hadn't known what she was planning. 'Til now.
I took a deep breath and started singing.
where ya wanna go?
where ya wanna go?
who ya gonna?
who you wanna be?
Whatcha gonna do?
where ya wanna go?
Who you gonna be?
Who you wanna be?
Who ya gonna be?
when ya?when ya?
when ya gonna say?
whatca gotta say?
where ya wanna go?
where ya goin'?
hey..
you were made for something great
you got history to make
got history to..make make
So where ya wanna go?
who ya wanna be?
watcha gonna do?
whatcha gonna say?
what's it gonna be?
what's it gonna be?
EVERYBODY ON YOUR FEET
YOU REACH AS HIGH AS YOU CAN DREAM
So NEVER STOP IMAGINING
DONT MISS A BEAT
MAKE HISTORY
whatcha lookin' for?
whatcha waitin' for?
who ya gonna?
who ya wanna be?
what's your destiny?
tell me do you know?
where ya goin'?
.com
cause everybody dreams
everybody thinks
everybody
everybody feels these things
everybody blinks
ya know what I mean?
hey..
there is no one quite the same
we each got our role to play
we got history
make..make..make..make
EVERYBODY ON YOUR FEET
YOU REACH AS HIGH AS YOU CAN DREAM
SO NEVER STOP IMAGINING
DONT MISS A BEAT
MAKE HISTORY
cause we're all
individuals
with
unlimited potential
look at all these people
connected by the dream
of the change we're gonna bring
so everybody sing
EVERYBODY ON YOUR FEET
YOU REACH AS HIGH AS YOU CAN DREAM
SO NEVER STOP IMAGINING
DONT MISS A BEAT
MAKE HISTORY
EVERYBODY ON YOUR FEET
YOU REACH AS HIGH AS YOU CAN DREAM
IMAGINE EVERY WISH CAME TRUE
IT'S UP TO YOU
GET ON YOUR FEET
LET THE RECORD SPEAK
MAKE HISTORY
I finished and smiled. Halfway through I had forgotten the crowd was there, and I was just singing. It felt good. I nervously walked off the stage, shaking a little, and looked for Nate.
He grinned.
Okay, I realize that I probably could've ended that better, but I didn't want to write anymore.
Review please! They make me happy!
Ryn