Title: Life Is Life

Summary: Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version. "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." AU Smitchie.

Author's Note: I will now demonstrate how bad I am at maths: it's not four weeks until I go away, it's twenty-one days. This is Chapter 9 of about 20, and so I have at least 11 chapters left to write. Clearly if I'm going to finish it before I go away, you guys will be getting updates pretty regularly, and if I feel that I'm maintaining my writing quality throughout then I'll stick to that. If, however, I get insanely busy or if I'm writing and find that the quality of my writing is diminishing then I'm going to make the decision to not rush it and I'll finish it after my holiday. This song is one of many that are simply perfect in summing up this story – I could make a playlist of the songs I hear that I go "oh my God, this is Life Is Life right here" – but then the Beatles are perfect for having a song for every occasion. Anyway, I'm rambling. Some of this chapter will look familiar.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Music: Got To Get You Into My Life – The Beatles

What can I do, what can I be,

When I'm with you I want to stay there

If I'm true I'll never leave

And if I do I know the way there

Ooh, then I suddenly see you,

Ooh, did I tell you I need you

Every single day of my life

"I can't see how you can do anything but let this go, Shane. It'll all blow over eventually."

Jeff Witcombe was not a sympathetic man.

He'd had dreams of becoming a musician in the 90s, fresh out of music college and determined to make it big. He'd been rejected, over and over again by record companies who told him that his sound just wasn't what they were looking for. Boy bands were in fashion when he was trying to get his break and, as he was a few members short of fitting that criteria, nobody seemed interested. Finally he'd given up and had taken a job behind the scenes, which eventually brought him here, thirty-five years old and managing a teenage boy band.

As a result, he was not a sympathetic man. He was bitter and harsh and, if he was being completely honest, he didn't understand why these kids had made it as far as they had. From what he could see (and, having opted to keep his distance for the years he had been their manager, it was safe to say he didn't see all that much) they were entirely overrated. Arrogant, too big for their boots and not all that talented.

"Eventually isn't soon enough!"

Shane Grey, if it hasn't already been established, was a passionate man. He fought for what he believed in, albeit not in the best way, and would almost never back down from an argument. He was capable of breaking bones in order to get things to work out and when he wanted something he wanted it with every fibre of his being.

He wanted to help Mitchie. He wanted to fight to ensure that he did and he wasn't prepared to back down from this argument with his manager regarding the matter, even if he did have to break another nose in the process.

"Eventually is as soon as it's going to be."

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

"Oh, and what do you suggest then, Shane? Enlighten us with your genius plans."

Jeff sat down at this, leaning back into the fake leather of the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. The tilt of his eyebrow and the hint of a smirk on his face did nothing to suppress the anger that was threatening to rise in Shane's gut, but the teenager had no real plan to supply as an answer. He had passion and he had fists, but he didn't have the semblance of a plan, and the semblance of a plan was the only thing that was really going to help here.

"See? You have nothing. Because there is nothing. This girl will be fine, she just has to keep her head down. People will get bored."

Nate, who had until then been standing to one side deliberating whether getting involved in this battle would be a wise thing to do, interjected here. "Shane, maybe Jeff is –"

Shane cut him off, not to spite Nate – though it may have seemed that way – but to keep his momentum going, to make sure Jeff knew he wasn't just going to let this drop. Because he wasn't. "I'm not worried about her being talked about. I just don't want them saying the stuff that they're saying. We didn't do anything. She didn't do anything. It seems unfair that –"

"Unfair?" The older man in the room said, taking his turn to butt in. "You want to talk about unfair? Being lectured by a nineteen-year-old on how best to handle a PR situation is unfair. I'm not prepared to continue this conversation."

The dark-haired boy scoffed, disdain oozing from his voice as he retorted: "Well, to be honest, I don't really give a –"

"Shane." Nate spoke this time, but assuming that he was just going to be berated by him, Shane carried on without even faltering.

"– about whether you're prepared to have this –"

"Shane."

"– you honestly have no regard for what we want, do you? You just walk around like you're king of the –"

This time it was Jeff who scoffed, standing up from his sitting position. He was shorter than Shane, however, and so if he had hoped to tower over the teenager he was left disappointed. "You're lecturing me about walking around like I'm king of the world? Take a look in the mirr –"

"Shane."

"– at least I'm not a grown man exploiting the talents of teenagers to make his –"

"– you're walking on a thin line right now, there are thousands of kids like you that could take your place in a heartbeat –"

"Shane!"

Shane stopped, turning to face his band mate, his face a little redder than normal due to his anger. Exasperation was evident in his voice when he gave an emphatic: "What?"

The look on Nate Daniels' face was indistinguishable; his brow was furrowed and his lips turned almost downwards, but there was a sparkle in his eye that didn't seem to fit with the rest of the expression. "Shut up, okay? I think I have an idea."


In the competition for 'Worst Day Ever', Tuesday 16th of November was taking the gold as far as Mitchie Torres was concerned.

She had spent the majority of the previous night trying not to lie to her parents about things, but finding herself doing so anyway.

When they asked how her day had been, she'd said 'fine', a perfectly acceptable answer in the eyes of her mum and dad but one that did not feel right on her tongue. Because it hadn't been fine. It had been awful. She'd been nervous and jumpy all day, Rochelle Adams had been a bitch and then her name had been leaked to Hot Tunes as the girl who had spent the night on the Connect 3 tour bus. And even though she had been the girl who had spent the night on the Connect 3 tour bus, she didn't want people to know about it. They'd all assume the wrong thing! They all had assumed the wrong thing.

She managed to confess a little: she told her parents that it was rumoured a girl from Cohasset High had been spotted with Connect 3 on Saturday night and also that there was a lot of media interest in it. Not meeting their eyes, Mitchie had said that she didn't know who the girl was but that it was probably just a stupid rumour anyway. Her parents agreed – they didn't keep up with the world of celebrity, especially not the world of teenage celebrities – but she could have sworn that her mother watched her a bit more carefully until the meal ended.

Shane had called her that night to promise he'd sort it out somehow, but Mitchie had kept the conversation short, ending the phone call with an assurance that she wasn't getting her hopes up about it. She knew gossip – the Sam Rodeski thing had been experience enough – and she knew that it didn't just go away, no matter how many denials were offered. People always believed the worst, the juiciest stories, and that was what this was. Even if people dropped it, they would almost certainly still believe it.

The morning had been a rush to get ready before any questions could be asked by her parents and the walk to school was peppered with people aiming their looks and points and whispers and laughs in her direction.

Mitchie hadn't done anything wrong. She'd walked home a lost pop star, and somehow found herself wrapped up in all of this. Her name was on television, on the Internet, on Perez Hilton. It had been a trending topic on Twitter, she'd received over 100 friend requests on Facebook… She'd walked Shane Grey back to his tour bus because he'd been lost and her whole life had been turned on its head as a result.

She was definitely grateful that her parents didn't pay any attention to social networking sites (or to Hot Tunes, Perez Hilton and the local radio stations, for that matter) but even then she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep up the secret forever.

There was a big chance that someone would go into her father's store today and mention what was happening.

There was a big chance that one of the other chefs would bring it up as her mother was whipping up a lunch order.

There was an even bigger chance that someone would turn up at the front door, seeking a quote from Mitchie herself, and as mortifying as that prospect was Mitchie couldn't help but think that at least she wouldn't have to explain the situation. It was, after all, one of Caitlin's Top Tips for avoiding getting into copious amounts of trouble; make your parents think the worst and then the truth will bring them relief and thus the punishment they dish out won't be too severe. If a reporter told them that she'd spent Saturday night with Shane Grey doing sleazy things, then at least when she told them what had really happened they would be thankful. Right?

As she took her seat in her English lesson, usually her favourite class of the day, a comment made from behind her drifted into Mitchie's earshot.

"Look, there she is. I heard that she and Shane did it in the park. How disgusting is that?"

Mitchie dropped her bag on the floor, wincing slightly at the thump it made on the plastic tiles, and slouched as far down in the chair as she could go, desperately trying to ignore the pricking in her eyes. She could not cry over this, she could not cry over this, she could not cry. Crying would not fix anything; it would only make people mock her more. The Biology breakdown of last year had proved as much and she wasn't going to be that weak again.

Mr Redford, the twenty-something English teacher who loved his subject but was less fond of the people that he had to teach it to, sauntered into the room only seconds later and a surge of relief washed over Mitchie. His presence wouldn't deter every student from making their snide remarks, but it would (hopefully, at least) deter some of them from pouring salt into her open wound.

"Okay, class, settle down." He placed his mug of coffee – the liquid bought from Starbucks only fifteen minutes prior, the tacky 'World's Best Teacher' cup it was in having been given to him by his girlfriend when he landed this job – onto the desk and began immediately. "Who can remember what I told you guys we'd be studying today?"

As usual, the lack of response prompted him to sigh, leaning back on the front of his desk in the way that many young teachers do in an effort to appear less like an authority figure and more like 'one of the class'. This action doesn't have the desired effect for many teachers, and Mr Redford was no exception to this. He may not have had a desk in front of him, but he also didn't get any volunteers to answer the question. So, again, he did what many other teachers will do in that situation. He picked someone at random.

"Ms Torres."

Mitchie could do nothing but reflect on her rotten luck. The fact that Mr Redford had drawn the attention of everyone in the room back to her was just a catalyst for a few more whispers to pass along the rows of students. She heard the name Shane run around the class like a current.

"Has someone stolen your tongue, Ms Torres?"

A voice from the back of the classroom interjected into the conversation, the boy's tone cocky and arrogant. "No, sir, Shane Grey will have just told her that she can't use it on anyone but him. He's real possessive like that, I hear."

Mitchie was speaking before Dan Freeman's voice had faded away, her voice harsh as she answered the question. "Emily Dickinson. We're studying Emily Dickinson."

"That's correct. Did everyone do the reading I set? The poem was 'Wild Nights', so what can you all tell me about it? Rochelle?"

The blonde tossed her hair before replying, giggling with one of her cronies as she did so. "Why don't you ask Mitchie, sir? I heard she re-enacted it with brilliance on Saturday."

Mr Redford's sigh of agitation was audible, but he again chose to ignore the speaker and address the rest of the class. "Does anyone have anything insightful to contribut – is that somebody's cell phone I hear?"

It was at that moment that Mitchie came to the conclusion that she must have been something awful in a previous life; the ringing cell phone was hers and the ringtone (which had been especially selected to represent a certain person) was the last one she wanted to hear at this very moment in time. She had just managed to fish it out of her bag and was seconds away from turning it off when the hands of her English teacher swooped in and took it off her.

She knew what he was going to do before he did it, but her "Please, no, don't" of protest fell on deaf ears. He had answered and crooned a hello into it before the words had finished falling from her lips.

"Mitchie is in an English lesson just now, but seeing as she seemed to think it was appropriate to leave her phone on, I'd be happy to take a message."

Silently, Mitchie prayed for her English teacher to have enough sense to not mention who was on the other end of the phone. If he would just hang up and not say anything about the fact that –

"Well, Mr Grey. Not everyone is a rock star and some of us have to be in classes. Ms Torres included."

Damn.

The rest of the students immediately began buzzing with the new information, whispering amongst each other like it was a mass game of Chinese whispers where the rules were that everyone had to talk at once.

"Oh my God is that really him?"

"Are they dating or something?"

"No way is Shane Grey calling her. It's probably just someone pretending to be him."

Mitchie looked up at her teacher, her words a plea; she was not above begging right now. "Mr Redford, please just give me the phone. Please?"

The teacher glanced around the room, well aware of the comments that had been made, well aware of the fact that they were tantamount to bullying and feeling a tidal wave of pity for the girl in front of him as a result. It wasn't in correspondence with the rules at all, but he simply couldn't deny Mitchie the conversation – so it was with a sigh that he handed the phone back to its owner. "Two minutes. I have a lesson to teach."

Mitchie shot a look of gratitude at her teacher, closing her eyes to shut out the gawping and jealous looks from her classmates before she spoke quietly. "Shane?"

"Mitchie? I'm so sorry, I didn't know when lunch was..."

"Well... not now, that's for sure."

"I'll be quick. I just wanted to know: what time does school end?"

This question was met with a pause as the girl processed what this question could possibly mean. Why would he have to call her during the school day to find out when it ended? Why not just call at a time where she was guaranteed to not be at school the way he had the night before?

"Three o'clock. Why?"

"Oh... no reason." Shane cleared his throat, wondering if he was making Mitchie quite as suspicious as he suspected he was. "Anyway! I guess I have to let you get back to English. Say hi to your teacher for me. He seems to think I'm a rock star."

Her thoughts were momentarily dragged away from the messy situation, away from trying to work out what on Earth this boy was planning, and she smiled slightly at Shane's words. "You've obviously brainwashed him, pop star."

"Oh yeah, because I have nothing better to do with my time than brainwash your English teachers..."

Mr Redford cleared his throat from where he was writing out the poem on the board, not so subtly telling Mitchie that her two minutes allocated time was up.

"I really have to go..."

"I know. Okay, say that I'm sorry for disturbing the lesson, that I hope your education does not suffer as a result of this phone call..." Shane trailed off, and for a moment Mitchie thought he had hung up. He then decided to finish his sentence, however, and Mitchie almost wished he hadn't. "…and I'll see you at three o'clock."

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, forgetting that she was in her English class, forgetting that she had an audience, forgetting that her two minutes talking time had been up at least twenty seconds ago. "What do you mean, see me at three o'clock?"

But Shane Grey had hung up, leaving no answer to her question; just a beep as her phone told her the call had been terminated.

There was silence for a few more seconds while both the class and Mitchie tried to process what they had just heard, and then:

"Well. Now that Ms Torres has planned her hot date with a rock star... what do we know about Emily Dickinson?"


The caretaker at Cohasset High had been working there since the early 70s. A sixty-three year old man, he had seen many a crazy thing – from the kid who had gotten himself stuck between the bleachers to the girl who had decided to scale the flagpole for the purposes of Physics research, only to reach the top and find that she was scared of heights.

The craziest thing that he ever witnessed in his time at Cohasset High, however, happened on Tuesday 16th of November at precisely three o'clock. The bell went, the students vacated their classes, and suddenly, from the confines of his tiny office just inside the front doors, he heard the screaming begin.

Thinking that something terrible was happening, he grabbed the baseball bat that he kept by the side of his filing cabinet and inched the door open with his foot, peering out into the hallway as surreptitiously as he could. Students were running by him towards the front doors, hysteria in their eyes, and he immediately turned to look in the direction they were running away from, expecting to see something horrific.

There was nothing of the sort.

Upon seeing one girl, a short brunette whose face he had seen around school before, walk fairly calmly to the exit he came to the conclusion that nothing too catastrophic could have happened, if only because of her reaction, and so he turned his attention to the direction in which the majority of the students were running. The screams were happening for a reason, after all, and he felt compelled to find out what that reason was.

So he followed them. Forcing his way through the crowd of students – mainly girls, he noticed, now that he was paying closer attention – gathered at the top of the stone entrance steps, he found a vantage point from where he could see everything that was going on. But even despite the fact that he could see everything that was playing out in front of him, he still couldn't fathom it.

Three boys were climbing down the steps of a large bus, the side of which was emblazoned with a spray-painted guitar and the words Connect 3 in big letters. The appearance of these boys seemed to be causing many of the spectators to go into a frenzy – something that reminded the old man of the Beatlemania of the 1960s – and he could only assume that the screaming was happening for this very reason.

But – and although the caretaker didn't know it, this was the question on the mind of every single person congregated in the parking lot – why? Why did these boys garner this sort of reception and why were they here in the first place?

Just as he was pondering this, the brunette girl who had passed him in the hallway reached the top of the stone steps, her eyes wide and an expression of disbelief painted over her face. And, as though she had some kind of magnetism, the area fell silent and the gaze of every person gathered there fell upon her. Including the gaze of Shane Grey.

It was like the parting of the Red Sea; suddenly, with what seemed like very little organisation, a pathway extended from the steps to where Shane was standing, the students lining the way not even bothering to disguise the looks of immense interest on their faces.

"Mitchie."

The fact that that one word was heard so easily was a testament to how eerily silent the scene had become. Shane hadn't been speaking particularly loudly, and yet Mitchie Torres heard her name clear as day, the soundwaves drifting past over a hundred other students to reach her.

Now she was expected to reply, she knew that, but couldn't form any kind of coherent sentence in her mind. In all honesty, when Shane had said that he'd see her at three o'clock, she'd assumed that he'd be at her home, waiting for her. She had assumed that the three o'clock was an approximate time stamp, not exact. She hadn't been anticipating this kind of scenario. She wasn't sure she could cope with this kind of scenario.

But people were waiting for a reply, and she could see a ripple of excitement pass through the crowd in front of her at the thought that she might not be able to come up with one. Of course, they wanted her to fail. They wanted her to look an idiot.

Well, she wasn't going to look an idiot.

Forcing a laugh, Mitchie kept her eyes trained firmly on the boy who was a few hundred yards in front of her. "Are you always so punctual?"

"Almost never," Shane said, a grin forming on his face effortlessly. "But when Nate's in charge…"

She faked a look of comprehension, letting the word that she uttered – "Right." – to leave her lips in an elongated form.

Silence passed between them once more, and the buzz of conversation from the rest of the student body increased in volume, dragging Mitchie's attention away from Shane. As she looked around at her peers she caught them all looking back at her, muttering – some mutinously and some in awe – and suddenly she felt like she was going to cry again, though she wasn't sure why.

A scuffle behind her caught her attention, and Mitchie turned her head to see what was going on there. Her best friend, having just come out of the school building, fought to get through the masses of people to her side, linking their hands as soon as she was in touching distance. The look of reassurance in Caitlin Gellar's eyes was enough to banish the tears from her own, and she only looked away from the comfort when Shane's voice rang out once more.

"I, uh, came… I came to give you… we need to talk to you."

It wasn't often that Shane Grey stumbled on his words, but he had never been in this kind of situation before. He still wasn't entirely sure that this plan would work, or that she'd even agree to it, but Nate had been right when he'd said that it was the only thing they had. They had to try it. Even if it did mean he was sleeping on the tour bus couch for the foreseeable future.

"All of us," Nate added. He could sense Shane's hesitation, his nervousness, just with one sideways glance at him, and decided that at least one of them had to be articulate. "But preferably not in front of an audience."

"Getting onto that bus got me into all this trouble in the first place," Mitchie said, and for many of the people in attendance she was confirming the event for the first time.

A few screams came from the crowd, but most were too riveted in the scene, and Mitchie wondered what that must be like. To be a spectator. Even to be in the shoes of Caitlin, who had been very much involved in keeping the secret but who hadn't been involved in everything. She could still hide under a veil of anonymity. Not for the first time, Mitchie wondered why it had to happen to her. Odd, really, when she had been wishing for a life more exciting than the one she had for years, but the grass is always greener. What was that saying? Be careful what you wish for, it might come true?

"Hopefully," Nate began, emphasising the word appropriately. "It'll get you out of it this time."

And without even really being a proposition, the request was set. Connect 3's reason for being in the parking lot of Cohasset High had been almost fully revealed and now the question on everybody's minds was whether or not Mitchie Torres was going to take it. Was she going to go with them? Was she going to get on that bus again?

There was a big part of her that didn't want to. A big part. Her brain was telling her that getting on that bus would ensure that this entire thing didn't blow over for a very long time. Getting on that bus would, effectively, be the end of her life as she knew it.

But Caitlin was squeezing her hand, telling her that she, at least, was there no matter what.

Nate and Jason were watching her with ease, with confidence, not nervous about this plan at all.

Shane was staring into her very being, his expression uneasy but his eyes… his eyes telling her that this was what he wanted.

And her heart was telling her that, yes, getting on the bus would be the end of life as she knew it. But that she was okay with that. That she wanted that. That this was an offer she could not refuse.

Mitchie Torres turned to her best friend, pulling her into a hug. "I'll call you later, Cait, okay?"

"You'd better, or I swear to God…"

The threat was left hanging, the smile on Caitlin's face proving (as though she needed to prove it) that nothing would ever come of the threat, but also that nothing would ever need to. Mitchie would call, of course she would.

And then Mitchie Torres hopped down the front steps at the entrance of Cohasset High, her folders still clutched to her chest, the gaze of every student (and, let's face it, every teacher too) watching her, most of their expressions wistful, her heart pounding out of her chest. She smiled as Shane fell into step beside her, and smiled a little more as Nate and Jason did the same. And then she ascended the steps of the Connect 3 tour bus for the second time in four days.

The first time she'd done so, on Saturday night, she'd been totally unprepared for the onslaught of rumours that would follow her. The second time, on Tuesday afternoon, she was prepared. She knew her way. She was ready.

Well… almost.