Ohmygahhh thanks for all of the reviews.

...Camp Rock is celebrating its tenth year anniversary and has asked 'a few outstanding alumni to return as counselors'.

Their words, not mine, Mitch.

Crazy, right? I can't believe it's been three incredibly long years, and now they want me back. It's like making a full circle. And you know what's even crazier? I just might do it. It would be kind of fun to see Brown and Ms. Dee again and to take cold showers and sleep on hard beds and-most importantly- ROCK OUT.

So Mitch, you know me; I could go on for hours about our... eventful summer at Camp Rock. Write me back okay? Tell me about prom and Torren. Be sure to congratulate me on getting into Berkley with you (a gift would be nice!). And pleasepleaseplease tell me Camp Rock considered you to be 'outstanding alumni' as well.

I miss you, girl.

Quite terribly, actually.

xoxo,

Caitlyn

Mitchie blinked four times.

She swam in the outskirts of reality, not able to fully comprehend the following:

A. Caitlyn got into Berkley- her Berkley, her dream since she had learned to play 'My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean' on the piano when she was seven. As much as Mitchie wanted to envy Caitlyn, she simply couldn't. She could only rejoice.

B. Camp Rock was back. Those cloudy memories she had pushed to the back of her mind were creeping to the front of her conscience again. A part of her wanted to pull on socks and check the mail for a letter. Another part of her hoped that Camp Rock would overlook her completely.

In that moment, Mitchie Torres, wasn't sure of anything. All she knew was the paper in her sweaty hands, the smell of her mother's perfume, and the hazy picture of a dark-haired boy from her past with musical brown eyes...

"...Mitchie?..."

Suddenly, all of her senses flickered back to life like a lamp, and she found her mother perched beside her on her bed.

"Mitch, you look like you've seen a ghost," she said as she brushed her daughter's bangs away from her face. Mitchie wanted to laugh at the irony. "Baby, what's in the letter?"

Everything she did and didn't want to hear. "Caitlyn was accepted to Berkley," Mitchie mumbled. She looked away when she saw the apples of her mother's cheeks rise in excitement for Caitlyn. Her face glowed with a genuine happiness, a look Mitchie had always wished she could cause in her mother.

"Oh," Mrs. Torres said curtly, sensing her daughter's disappointment. "Well, tell her I said congratulations."

Mitchie sighed as her mother coaxed her to come down to the dinner table. Though the pit of her stomach roared for attention, she told her mother she wasn't hungry. "I feel tired," she said. She peeled back her sheets and shimmied between them, hoping sleep would show her mercy and nudge her into a dream.

As she pressed the side of her face into her pillow she felt her mother press a kiss to the back of her head. "Please, Mitchie," her mother pleaded quietly. "Please don't let this get you down."

Mrs. Torres' words fell to the back of Mitchie's mind as she finally, finally left reality.

--

It had been like his first kiss.

No, better. It had been like his first concert.

No, it had been better. Way better. It had been like... like that time his father took him skydiving: the way the wind screamed past his face as he hurtled through the clouds back to reality.

All in all, this was euphoria.

As the door cracked open and Torren Yorke looked out into the morning, he knew his entire day had officially been flipped upside-down.

Was it his imagination, or was Mitchie Torres really standing on his front porch, swirling in the brilliance of the morning sun? Her chestnut hair was glossy and set in disheveled waves and she was wearing distressed jeans. Her plain red T-shirt highlighted her chocolate eyes that were heavy with concern, puddling with anxiety...

"M-Mitchie?!" Torren choked.

Mitchie's red mouth parted awkwardly. "Hi," she breathed as she jammed three of her fingers into her front pockets.

Torren Yorke and Mitchie Torres were suddenly enveloped in a heavy silence; her thoughts pulsing calmly through her brain, his conscience spinning off of its axis with questions: What was she doing there? Why did she have to look like that? What was Mitchie thinking in that exact moment? Was she thinking about him? Was she thinking about anything?

Damn, he wished he had showered that morning. Or at least put on some decent clothes. Here was Mitchie Torres, looking effortlessly beautiful as always, with her hair like that and her clothes like that and her mouth like that and her eyes like that. And he was freaking Torren Yorke in blue boxers and a tattered Dave Matthews Band T-shirt. Why was it always him that was caught in the bad place at the bad time...

"Um..." Mitchie's word struck the tense silence. "Can I... can I come in?"

His brow furrowed as if she had spun a sentence of Latin. "Wha...? Oh! Yes! Come in!" Torren eagerly stepped to the side and invited Mitchie into the house.

He remembered the day his father took him skydiving again as Mitchie passed him by; the way their bodies sliced the atmosphere, building up a pressure in his ears, plugging his thoughts into his brain. He could've sworn his heart had stopped beating the entire four minutes he plummeted to the ground before he pulled the cord to his parachute...

"So, what's up?"

"Nothing much, you?"

"I... um... nothing."

Silence.

They stood awkwardly by the front door, Mitchie looking like that and Torren looking like a pitiful mess. He wished he was able to form coherent words around Mitchie Torres, but he found it close to impossible. It had been approximately been three weeks since Mitchie had broken up with Torren, since everything he knew had been turned inside out.

"Look at us," she had said that day with a sigh. "We're graduating next month. In a matter of four weeks, we're going to be going in two completely different directions with our lives. Do you really think we're going to last?"

Torren knew she had been exactly right. And as she had gently pressed her lips to his cheek one last time that day, he wished he had been able to let go. If anything, he wanted to hold on tighter, go back to those days when they were crazy about each other. And as Mitchie stood in front of him that very morning, looking like that, making him feel like he was hurtling towards the earth, he knew his feelings hadn't changed in the slightest.

"Mitch..." Torren finally found the courage to ask. "What... what are you doing here?"

He watched her struggle for words. Her mouth would twitch and her eyes would twist upwards. "I wanted to talk to you," she breathed. "I know... I know after everything I've done to you, I shouldn't, but I... there's so much more that needs to be said, Torren."

What else could there be? What else could there possibly be? It was then that Torren realized the front door was still wide open and the summer was spilling onto the marble floor and the sunlight still managed to find Mitchie's silhouette. Closing it was like placing the lock on his own cage, like preparing for his own heartache.

"You don't have to say anything else, Mitch," Torren said. He raked a hand through his floppy brown hair. "You were right about everything. I'm going to UCLA, you're going to Berkley... it never would have worked out-"

"But you're wrong!" Mitchie's sudden outburst startled Torren. He blinked once as to clear his mind and looked at Mitchie, really looked at her. Her eyes were blazing with desperation and she was wringing her delicate hands out of anxiety. "You're wrong...I was wrong. I'm not going to Berkley..." Torren could have sworn he sensed her voice crack at her last statement.

"What?" he furrowed his brow.

"I'm not good enough. Why... why would Berkley want me when they could have something ten times better?" Her eyes were brimming with tears and Torren was 10,000 feet in the air again, crashing back to reality. Where was this all coming from? Since when did Mitchie Torres feel unworthy of her dreams?

"Mitch, what are you talking about?" Torren found himself taking long strides towards the former love of his life. He found himself touching the side of her face with the lightests of touches as he spoke. "Of course, you're good enough. Music is your life..."

"Not anymore," she rasped. And with that he watched her break down entirely. The tears escaping down her cheek, her chin wobbling, her entire being shattering. "I'm not and I know it and I thought... I just thought that if I can't have the future I wanted, maybe I can go back."

Torren found himself checking out of reality at Mitchie's words. He felt his chest tighten and his blood pulse wildly in his veins. He felt vibrantly alive again, like he had never had his heart broken in the first place. "Mitch," he choked. "W-what are you say-"

But the words were barely out of Torren Yorke's mouth before they were shoved back in by the soft touch of Mitchie Torres' mouth on his. He realized her kiss wasn't taking him back, it was launching him into the air. Out of the stratosphere and beyond the mesosphere... and he wanted more...

Mitchie's hands-those delicate hands- combed themselves through his brown hair as their kiss grew firm and desperate. His mouth slanted over hers in a declaration of forgiveness.

He forgave her.

For hurting him like that with the brutal truth. He forgave her for giving up on him. He forgave her for everything if she promised to hold him like that, kiss him like that. His left hand angled her chin upwards and his right hand smoothed over the small of her back, down to the back pocket of her jeans. His skin set on fire as her whimper touched his ears and he realized this was so right.

"Oh, God, Torren," was all she had to say in that soft purr.

He was beyond the mesosphere, screaming out of the thermosphere, tumbling out of the exosphere, where he floated in content blackness. He was okay again.

With Mitchie Torres, he was okay again.

Okay, so don't freak out. I know some of you guys are like, 'Where's Shane? Where's Camp Rock?'

Well.

Mitchie's got a lot of extra baggage. It'll get better, I swear. And this will be a Smitchie.

So yeah. Review!