Another quick update. I figured I'd be a jerk to just leave any of my readers hanging now that Nate has obtained her number. And summer break from college equals having the time to do nothing but write. Hope you enjoy Nate's random ramblings. The links to Charley's costumes are posted in my profile, run by and take a look if you would like.

PS. Thank you to the user who just story alerted this story. And to my many reviewers, it means a lot!

Disclaimer: Don't own Camp Rock-or anything of the mass produced things I might have mentioned in the last chapter that I didn't disclose in the disclaimer. I own Charley though, just not her job.

Saturday, June 26, 2009 3:56 PM

So.

Yeah.

I've been staring at my phone for three hours. Three hours today. That doesn't count the time I spent staring at it last night. But it was pointless to stare last night, why would I text her at almost midnight, that's just unreasonable. Unreasonable unless she texted me first, but then she probably wouldn't because she might think texting me at that time at night was unreasonable.

It really isn't though. Our concerts last a good while, plus the tear down time—and come on, I may be a celebrity, but I'm not above helping the help tear down from a show, but a cut up hand sort of affects that good Samaritan work. We typically aren't on the bus 'til (well I'M not typically on the bus 'til) around 11:30, almost midnight. She doesn't know that though.

Hmm. After looking at my previous entries, this one looks a bit dull. But how in the big, wide world do I top seeing the WOMAN of my dreams? AND she can sing..but doesn't like our music.

DEEP breath.

In.

Out.

IN.

OUT.

Okay, I don't top that.

But seeing as I've saved her number in my phone and STILL haven't tried talking to her yet..

What if she has a show right now? Or, maybe she has a boyfriend..OR WORSE..what is she's married? Oh dear sweet Aunt Elaine, what if she's married and lives in a house with a white picket fence, 2.4 children, a dog, and a tire swing with a huge rose garden in the front? I'm a homewrecker!

I'm also hyperventilating.

She can't be married. I mean, she took her younger sister to a concert. If she was married she'd have better things to do. Let's scratch that paranoia off the list.

Speaking of lists..

My "Which Bandmate Would Be Eaten First?" list has lengthened slightly. Shane got a few points for repeatedly smacking my hand yesterday after the Beetlejuice show, using ALL of my hair gel, AND—oh this tops the cake—and you would think him smacking my hand would have, but NO—he stole my cake! My to die for, smack your grandmother, 'seven deadly sin' deadly sinful chocolate cake. I should be more upset with Jason for slamming my injured hand in the bus door this morning, but oh Shane. You. Will. Pay. Just wait.

So all in all, Shane's in the lead. You better hope our jet doesn't just mysteriously stall over the pacific ocean and crash into some uncharted primitive island with natives who still believe in cannibalism. Jason and I will sacrifice your pretty little head first you jerk.

I'm straying away from the emergency of global proportions at hand.

Hand-speaking of hands, mine is okay. Still nasty looking though, and now that it's been slammed in a door, it's pretty epic. Jason thinks I have rabies and Shane thinks I'm going to catch gangrene.

I swear, even though it LOOKS like it might fall off, my hand is perfectly fine.

I think.

I tend to change the subject when there's a problem I don't want to handle. Or I'm in trouble.

Fred's doing well. YOU (hey dude, what's up, we spoke yesterday, you and I have to talk more) have to remember Fred. My trailer park pink flamingo made of awesome? I duct taped Fred to one of the walls in the bus. Shane spits spitballs at him and Jason built him a birdhouse..I wonder if Jason was dropped on his head when he was smaller.

I was dropped on my head, more like accidently bounced off a bed, but that's not the point. I thank that incident for my superior intellect and awesome persona.

OH yeah.

Fred.

I was talking about Fred.

Anyway, well, I forgot what I was going to say about him.

Not that I'm trying to distract you (and my many other voices I think I have) from telling me to just send the stinkin' text message to Charley already.

Charley, that's an interesting name. I wonder if her parents thought she was a boy at first, and then just decided to girl-up her name when they discovered she was a girl. Maybe her parents were some crazy hippies hitting the uh, garden variety drugs at Woodstock. OR OR, her mom was some crazy feminist movement protestor and conned her dad into the name. What if her dad died before she was born and that her dad's name? I am SO sorry hypothetically dead dad of Charley, you have a very nice name.

I would also find out how she got her name if I would just. Send. The Message.

But what do I send? I can't just say 'hi, this is Nate.' It has to be something witty. Like, 'hey dead girl, it's a member of the living world, Nate.' No, that's just lame.

WHAT DO I SAY?

How about, 'hope your jolly green husband doesn't mind you cavorting about with the living. Hey charley, it's nate, from yesterday.' Hmm, that looks good on my phone, maybe I'll exchange—

Oh shiz.

I pressed the wrong button.

I HAVE LOST THAT LAME TEXT MESSAGE TO THE GLOBAL PATH OF OTHER TEXT MESSAGES THAT CAN'T BE STOPPED! HOW WILL I EVER GET HER TO-

Wait a second..

One new message from: Charley.

Nate! I was hoping to hear from you. I'm sure Frankie won't mind me talking to you, but he will mind if I'm late to the stage, gotta show in 5, I'll text you when it's all over if that's okay.

I. Am. A. Genius.

Review?