A/N - Sorry for a slow chapter. And just in case you're wondering when the story is set, it's exactly where we are right now, after Crybabies & Cologne and before the Jessie crossover.


"No way." Austin shakes his head emphatically. "There is no freaking way I'm going to pull a PR stunt like that."

I'm glad he's on my side. I reach for a fry with my right hand, forgetting that my pointer finger is cocooned in bandages. So I go for it with my left hand. "So that's the end of that," I say, right before biting into the soft, salty fry.

The food court is really busy. It's lunch hour.

Trish pulls the tray of food away from me. I whine a little. I didn't get to eat breakfast. She forces our copy of Cheetah Beat into my hands. "Look at this," she orders. "Austin's spread. Page sixteen."

I flip through the glossy pages. Austin leans over my shoulder so that he can see as well. Why couldn't Trish have brought him his own copy? I think sourly. There are four pages featuring Austin and his crazy, made-up adventures. "Yeah, Trish," Austin says. "The article's still there."

"That's not the point," Trish huffs. "The point is that Ally is on every page."

"OK..." Austin says slowly. "So what?"

"Listen to some of the things people said online," she says, pulling a myTAB out of her sparkly backpack. She scrolls with her finger, reading the comments. "They are so cute together! Either Austin in Ally are in love, or they're totally crushing. I bet they're a couple, but they're keeping it private. Auslly forever! I would..."

"Auslly?" Austin scratches his beach-blond head.

"It's your mashup name," Trish explains.

I flip the magazine over so that I'm staring straight at the cover. It's Austin, with a goofy smile on his face, bungee jumping from a bridge. I'm behind him. That was Moment #3, or actually a little before it.

"I don't know if I can go through with this," I say uncertainly. The wind whistles around my ears. Frightened, I hold onto the huge red thing that's pushing against my stomach, clutching it so tightly that my hands turn white.

"Hold my hand," Austin says confidently. "We'll jump together."

I don't even think about it. I just take his hand. Then I look down again. It's far. Really far. The Florida water is so murky that I'm not sure how deep it is. We could hit our heads on rocks hidden below the surface of the water and die.

"Give me a second to think about it," I say nervously.

Austin squeezes my hand, a smile in his eyes. "Take all the time you need."

Pretzels. In my stomach. And not cause I am about to plummet a couple hundred feet to my death.

"So then what we'll have is a CD full of songs that two attractive people wrote together, inspired by love." Trish leans forward. "Wouldn't you want to buy it?"

"That's not the point." Austin leans forward too. "The point is that it's more lying. Ally's not cool with it, so neither am I."

Trish gives him a weird look.

"And," he corrects himself. "And neither am I."

"Morals." Trish shakes her head regretfully. "They ruin young stars. I prefer to live without them."

"Young stars?" Dez says, suddenly appearing with a clear plastic beach ball covered in multicolored butterflies. "But we need them to give light to the galaxy!"

"Morals," Trish says, rolling her eyes. Then she focuses back on Austin and me. "Suspiciously, you guys didn't have as many of them when you were inventing your fantastic lives for the sake of that annoying little reporter. How much more harm can this do to your consciences? At least dating is something normal people do, unlike eating bugs and jumping off bridges."

Austin and I look at each other. I look away first. "No," I say, determined to be firm. "I'm not going to do it."

"Then that's it." Austin stands up. "We're just going to have to find something else to make me more popular."


"How about we write a song about how much going back to school sucks?" Austin suggests, going over to the fridge.

Trish thought posting a new song and video online might help album sales. Austin going back to his roots or something like that. Dez was already ordering a wide selection of exotic animals. Trish was working somewhere. I hadn't heard the latest on her job situation. Austin and I were writing. Or starting to write.

"That might work," I say, in as positive a tone as I can.

He takes out a ziploc bag that's stuffed with pancakes. "Or one about having a crush," he says.

"Sounds good," I say, fiddling with my hair. I really should straighten it. It's been a while. Trying something new could be fun, I guess.

"Or we could record the song you were singing the other night..."

"That could..." I realize what he said. "What? No!"

"Come on, Ally." He takes a bite out of a cold pancake. "It was good!"

"It doesn't mean anything!" I protest.

"So what?" He crouches down, searching the lower shelves of the fridge. "Got any syrup?"

"So a song should mean something." I begin to braid a few strands of hair. "And no, I don't."

"You should get some," he says, standing up. "And a song doesn't have to mean something. It can just BE."

"It's not really your style," I say, holding out a hand. Throwing a pancake like it's a Frisbee, he lands it right in my hand.

"I don't have a style," he says with food in his mouth.

Gross.

I laugh harshly. "Yes. Yes you do. They're all about fun, unimportant, fluffy things like girls and beaches and having the time of your life. That's who you are." I take a bite of pancake. It really does need syrup.

Austin is shocked. "You think that's who I am? After all this time, that's all you know about me?"

I'm not sure how to answer. I concentrate very hard on chewing.

"Look, Ally," he says, spreading his hands out. "You don't think I'm sick of singing about all that stuff? The only reason I do it is because that's what people expect from me. Do you think Justin Bieber made it big by singing about injustice in the world? No. He sang about girls. It's what my fans want to hear. It's what I give them. But it's not working now! No one is buying the album! So now I'm willing and ready to try something different. Where's the song?"

I gesture towards the stack of papers in the corner, literally speechless. Maybe I've been too hard on him. At least on his musical style.

Austin reads the bridge aloud.

Then maybe someday when you look back on the lessons that I taught

You'll understand my reasons why; you'll understand that you got

Caught up in the chance I had to take, I knew I might be hurting you

Life's not fair. Sometimes you lose. And this is one I can't afford to.

"This is genius," he says, his eyes scanning the paper again. "And it totally means something. Please, let me sing it."

"Fine," I say quickly, before he can get down on his knees to beg and turn this into something really awkward. "You can sing it."