Act Fourteen: Gunpoint

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. At all. It's a terribly sad story, actually...

Author's Note: Hey guys. (: You're all probably thinking "Woah, that was the fastest one third hiatus I've ever seen!", and I agree with you. But, since school's starting, and all that jazz, I won't get the chance to post up new stuff as often I used to. And, the chapters might be kind of wonky, because I don't have an exact "time-line, master plan" thing, and I type out whatever I can, because I'm trying to save trees, and am far too lazy to do rough drafts.

So, leave me some reviews, or else the next time I update, it might be in like... 2 months. Or more. :P

Cheers,

- Footsie.

She returned it with an amiable smile of her own, forgetting that this had been the same Shane Gray that she loved to hate.

For that moment, he was just another boy, and she was just another girl, kind of just... making their way through the endlessly winding roads of life.

He wasn't the platinum album award winning cover boy with the cockiness, overbearing character, and the attitude to match, right then, and she wasn't the outspoken girl who would forever live in the shadows of her parents that no one ever knew about. They were just... normal; acting like normal teens they were supposed to be, laughing at silly little things that weren't all that humorous.

Lacey began to wonder if she had misjudged him.

Sure, he was a douche bag inside and out, but right then, it felt like it might have just simply been a case of an over inflation of the ego. It's hard to keep yourself grounded, humble, when people are literally hand feeding you praise and giving you and especially good reason to believe that you are, indeed, the greatest human to have ever walked on the planet since Jesus.

Although camp rock had been a place where they encouraged and taught of the virtue of being humble, and respecting your fans, because they're truly all you have, once you leave the grounds, things that you learned at camp seem get be lost in translation.

Sometimes, they simply don't apply to real life, where they'd praise a one-legged rabbit like mad just because it still has the will power to hop on one foot. Praise can be so easily received, but respect is a different matter.

Maybe Shane Gray just lost his way- lost himself, through all the fame and fortune, and he just needed to remember that making music isn't about the money; it's about sharing something that you love with the rest of the world. Perhaps coming back to Camp Rock was the best thing for him.



The lunch bell interrupted their tranquil quiet, shrilling so loud that it could be heard on the other side of the neighbouring island.

Lacey sighed as she got up and stretched her stiff arms and legs, as Shane continued to stare into the endless lake of water.

"Coming for lunch?" she asked, slightly offering. "I heard there'll be muffins."

He let out a stiff laugh. "Nah, I'll pass. We both know that Brown's favourite meal of the day is lunch, and I don't think running into him will be the best idea I've ever made in my life. I want to see how long I can keep myself away from the punishment, and it would be stupid to put myself into a situation where Brown can easily find me."

"A full-blown game of hide and seek?" she questioned patronizingly. "Childish much? You and Brown are so obviously related that I could just die of laughter."

"Clearly you haven't played a full-out game of hide and seek with the entire Camp Rock perimeter as the playing field with Shane Gray," he smirked.

"Whatev's," she laughed. "I see you around, then, and keep my updated on how your little game goes,"

"Later, and will do."



Lacey met up with Tiffany, Gavin and Meaghan in the mess hall, with Caitlyn still out with a fever, and Shane Gray going completely AWOL.

Apparently, he hadn't been seen by anyone, including the rampage of the Shane Gray fan girls since 10 AM, although he had been seen once by Gavin at 10:03 AM, and by Lacey at 11:24 AM.

"Do you think we should start making missing posters?" Tiffany asked, clearly not knowing that Lacey had seen him exactly five minutes ago, looking alive, and well, and not in the some truck of a foreign vehicle tied up with a mass or ropes, held at gunpoint.

"Now where would we find photo references of Shane Gray at such short notice?" Lacey asked cunningly. "As we all know, no one at this table has exceptionally good art skills, and if Shane Gray found badly drawn cartoons of him pinned up across Camp grounds, I think he might go on a rampant massacre spree in order to find who tarnished his good looks with these bad stick figure drawings."

Tiffany and Meaghan exchanged looks, before promptly dropping a couple dozen magazines on the dining table, most of which had Mr. Bad Boy, Shane Gray as their cover. Lacey and Gavin exchanged looks, and shook their head in shame.

"And here I was, getting my hopes up and all about having to die in a Pop Star's psychotic hands over a stick figure drawing," Gavin said sarcastically.

"If there are any posters that are going up, they should be 'Wanted: Dead or Alive' as far as I am concerned." A voice behind them said stiffly.

Tiffany and Gavin were already facing the tall man, but Meaghan and Lacey were forced to turn around to meet a pissed off Camp Director by the name of Brown.

"Hey Brown," the kids greeted jovially, as Meaghan and Tiffany hastily stuffed the stacks of magazines into their bags.

"Have any of you lot seen my lovely nephew by any chance?" he asked. "I've got a bit of bone to pick with him."

"Last time I saw him, he had intentions of challenging you to a full-out game of hide-and-seek," Lacey told him smugly.

"If you see him later, Lace, tell him that I openly accept the challenge," he said in all seriousness. "And that once I find him, he's a dead man walking."

"Will do," she sent him a mock two-finger salute. "Later Brownie."

"Bye kids."



Classes resumed as they normally did, without any signs of one Shane Gray showing up to grace the campers with the brilliance of his presence for the rest of the afternoon.

The day consisted of four classes, alternating between day one and day two, with eight classes in total: Vocal Training, Musical Theory, Dance, Instrumental Training, Studio Rehearsal, Character Training/Stage Presence and an elective of personal choice.

With her voice damaged, she had no need to take Vocal Training or Musical Theory, and having spoken over about the issue with Brown two years before, she could take that time and do as she wished as long as she was still in Camp Rock grounds.

In the middle of camp last year, Brown started to help her work on getting back her voice, and although it was much better than it had been post-laryngitis, the voice she was developing didn't feel like it was hers.

It wasn't even close to the calibre of her prior voice; it was weak, feeble, and just didn't hold character.

That's why she was glad that those lessons were only with Brown, prior to supper, because food would take some of the disappointment off.

But any dreams of pursuing a career in singing died during that first summer of vocal recuperation.

Brown tried to comfort her, saying that she still had a strong, exceptional voice; but she knew that exceptional wasn't good enough.

So singing became something recreational that she kept to herself, ashamed and disappointed with what she was left with, having tasted what it had been like to have a superior singing voice that left people's minds blown away.

It, quite honestly, sucked. She never sang to an audience who wasn't Brown, not even to her parents, despite all their efforts in supporting her. It wasn't the same anymore.



This year, both of the two classes completely irrelevant to her had been the last class of each day, which was something she was glad for, because it left her time to explore the outer edges of the campgrounds.

That was what she had done since her voice injury, with her spare time, meander the grounds and find something that kids didn't have time to do, because for them, it was all about the music. It was a vast land of great character, and she was determined to know every crack and grain of sand in the place.

So during the last class, she decided to explore the north part of the grounds, despite the fact that the tree branches were too low, and kept on whacking her in the face, and in the arm, and legs. Lacey continued anyway, until something grabbed her foot and sent her flying until she found herself eating dirt on the ground.



"What the hell Gray?" she demanded. "What gives?"

Shane wasn't wearing the trademark smirk of his, and apologized for making her eat dirt, and that he hadn't meant to surprise her.

"Lacey, I'm hungry," he declared desperately.

"Then go get food," she told him curtly.

"I can't go into the mess hall," he argued. "Brown will be there, he knows I can't go without food for longer than two hours, please, Haybern? Come on, we're on relatively neutral terms now; you can't watch someone who you're on relatively neutral terms with to die from starvation. That's inhumane."

"Painting a parrot's claws with neon green nail polish is inhumane, clubbing baby seals is inhumane, skinning a rabbit alive and deep frying it is inhumane," she listed, "not getting food for a Pop Star who hasn't eaten for two hours isn't inhumane."

"Come on, I'm begging you," he pleaded.

She hesitated for a second, but sighed as she completely caved in.

"You owe me," she threatened.

"Thank you," he said genuinely.

Lacey glared at him, as she brushed off the dirt that covered half her body, as he promised he'd never do that to her ever again, offering to help her up.

She declined. "You've done enough damage, Shane."

He apologized again.

"I'll see you in five," she sighed.