If you didn't notice ".xox" centered is me going back and forth between the letters and Shane/Mitchie's real life. For the most part Shane and Mitchie are going to take turns writing. I don't mean to confuse you, reader, it just happens.
So, yeah. Here's Chapter 2! Added a couple more characters just to build on the plot. Review if ya likey!
.xox
DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN IT, DISNEY DOES!
Dear Shane,
I miss you so much! I haven't stopped thinking about you. Thank you for the locket. It was beautiful. I never would have guessed you'd remember our song. You sing so many.
I'm happy I was able to change you for better. You looked so upset when we met. You know, before Camp Rock, I thought you were ungrateful for everything. You have so much — everything I ever wanted — and you were still lashing out. You reminded me of Tess. Now I know material items don't bring happiness.
This may sound weird, but I thought if I admitted I dreamt about you you'd think I was some crazy obsessed fan. But you dream about me. That's a nice twist. And... you dream about... kissing me. That's a REALLY nice twist. I don't mean to make this sound kinky, but as of now my lips are smothered in kiwi/grape lip gloss. I picked it because it was green. I hope you still like green or else I would've spent 15 bucks for nothing...
x0x . xox . x0x
He grinned. Mitchie was so cute—even not in person. He kicked himself for not kissing her when he had the chance. He was sure she fall in love before next summer. He should've made her famous, have her come with Connect 3 on tour. He was lonely. The only noise he heard was Jason.
Speaking of Jason...
"Hey, Shane,"
"Not now, Jay."
Jason appeared to Shane's sight in milliseconds. "How do you like my new style? I was gettin' bored of the same old thing, you know? Thought I'd be fearless."
Shane cringed. Fearless was exactly who Jason was, popping an orange tie-dye tee shirt with neon green skinnies. All Shane could do was stare. Jason was NOT Mitchie, and that pissed him off. "You look...LIKE THE GAYEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN! What is wrong with you, man? You're such a fag."
Through his words, that were now contaminating the air, he felt his friend's heart sink and rolled his eyes. And in his most bitter tone, he hissed: "Go cry to Nate."
He heard the guitarist footsteps fade out. Finally, he could finish reading the letter.
xox . x0x x0x .
Shane, I don't know if I should tell you this. I don't know if you're "the one", but I trust you. So here it goes:
When I got back to school after camp, everybody found out about you upstaging my song. You'd think the kids at school would make me instantly popular; but that wasn't the case. People still pick on me for "pretending to be your girlfriend". I don't tell people, I swear. If was as if I became less wanted for knowing you. I didn't want to be popular; I just wanted to be liked. I don't blame you, Shane. I'm just not as beautiful or rich like the girls at my school. My hair isn't long and curly like theirs, I didn't hit puberty as hard as they did, my parents don't have millions of dollars to waste...X, Y, Z.
You know, I never really understood what you see in me. Lots of girls have brown eyes and nice voices—nicer than mine actually. Think about it.
From Me, To You:
Michelle Torres
P.S. You should totally keep playing the black acoustic……………
. xox . x0x x0x .
Shane frowned at the paper. Ink was smudged all the over the bottom, so much so that he couldn't read anything. Tears, he thought. Mitchie had cried writing the letter.
Tears started welling in his own eyes. "Nobody deserves to feel that way," he whispered. Feeling far too guilty—for Mitchie ONLY—to even try to read the smudged words, he got up looked around the room to distract himself. The black acoustic guitar caught his eye. He stared at it for a moment. It was beautiful, the way it looked in the sunlight. He never played it often; he had better guitars; louder, shinier ones at that.
Reluctantly, he went over to it, threw the strap over his shoulder, and started playing him and Mitchie's song.
…But I have this dream,
Bright inside of me.
I'm gonna let it show,
It's time
To let you know —
Before getting to the chorus he stopped and chomped down on his lip, realizing he had neglected the guitar. It had a sweet, soft sound. It was worth a lot more than he thought. It reminded him of Mitchie and…
"Jason," he muttered, full of remorse.
He placed the guitar down on the bed and headed, 20 miles-an-hour, down the hall. "Jason! We need to talk!" He knocked on Jason's bedroom door anxiously. "Look, man, I'm sorry! Open up." He sighed in defeat and leaned against the doorframe. "I was stupid, alright? It's okay if you wanna dress weird. I'll still... love you. You're like my best friend. You can't hate me."
With no answered received he pushed the door open. "Jason, I—"
The room was person less. Jason's bed was made (as always) and everything was there.
Except Jason.
Shane started to panic. Uh-oh. The label is not going to like this, he told himself, checking everywhere: the bathroom, the kitchen, even the little room reserved for birdhouses. Looking out the window it was black out; almost horror worthy. He checked his watch. 9:45. Jason never takes walks this late. He called Jason's cell.
No answer.
"Jason! Jason!" He yelled. It was useless. The bus had stopped in the middle of nowhere at around 7! Jason could've been anywhere by now!
"What'z-a-matter?" slurred Nate, walking by with a mouth half full of burger/half full of fries.
"Jason's gone."