Richard tried not to glower as Chris signed the contract, grinning. It was just a preliminary contract which would be revised later, but it meant he was in it for the moment. Richard sighed. To make matters worse, Weisel was absolutely fawning over Chris.
On the other hand, watching Chris trying to be polite to the heavyset, sweating, kind of… fragrant… manager, who kept putting a hand on his shoulder or an arm around him, was amusing. Chris couldn't squirm, because that was unprofessional, and he couldn't even pull away. But Richard could tell that he really wanted to, and a small smirk played across his lips as he watched.
"Now, we just need to find you three more bandmates," Weisel finally said, letting Chris go, to his obvious relief. "I've got a list of names in the area—dancers more than singers, since you two will be our star vocal talent."
"Hey," Chris laughed, "we're both dancers."
"Chris, I've seen you dance," Richard answered.
"I dance fine."
"Well, that's one word for it."
"Now now!" Richard's mother interrupted. "Rich, dear, don't antagonize Chris. You two need to be best friends from now on."
"Oh goody," Chris muttered.
"Yeah, 'cause I'm thrilled."
"WELL," Weisel interrupted, "you two will have to work on that. Your fans will be looking for chemistry between bandmates, after all. You have to sell the right image."
"Friends with him?" Rich said. "Yeah. I'm a good actor, I'm not that good."
"Luckily, I am," Chris hissed back, then broke into an obviously fake grin. "Buddy."
"ANYWAY, Ms. Alcott and I put together a list of names to look at; we'd like you boys to talk with them and make the final decisions. After all, you'll have to be one big happy family—and get along."
"No one asked me if I could get along with him," Rich said under his breath.
"Yes, dear, because he's actually got name recognition, so learn to love him."
"Mom!"
"It's the way business works, Rich. You should get used to it," she answered sharply. "Now, no more talk of this. I don't want to see you two bickering like this anymore. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Chris answered cheerfully.
"Suck up," Rich muttered, then said aloud, "So, who's on the list?"
Alejandro's eyes watched the door intently, waiting for Chris to finally appear. He glanced over at his little sister, Rosalia, who was sitting in a nearby chair, engrossed in a book on her lap. He smiled; she was a good kid, and very smart, and it was his afternoon to babysit her—which he didn't mind. He just felt bad for making her sit in the library while he had to deal with Chris.
Who, he told himself, had better be nice in front of her.
However, judging by the spring in his step, Chris was already in a good mood. Alejandro walked over to greet him with a smile that disappeared as soon as he turned away from his sister, and met Chris halfway. "Look," he hissed. "My sister is here, so watch your mouth, okay?"
Chris glanced around for his sister and smiled. "Cute kid," he noted.
Alejandro gave him an odd look. "Why are you so happy?"
"Because I got a gig. And I'm out of this shitty—"
"Language!"
"Yes, mother. I'm out of this… freaking… school in a matter of weeks."
"Great, can I stop tutoring you?"
"The sooner the better," Chris answered, his smile clearly forced for just a second. "But I'm still supposed to attempt to care until I'm gone."
Alejandro snorted as they sat down at one of the study tables. "So what do you want to 'work on' today?" he asked snidely, finger quoting as he spoke.
"Your attitude?" Chris answered.
"Like you should talk."
"At least I have genuine star credit, not just for some stupid school musical. I have math homework."
"Do it yourself—"
"Alejandro?" Both boys shut up and turned to see Rosalia looking up from her book. Her eyes went slightly wide. "Alejandro!"
"Rosalia?" he asked, then glanced over at Chris, then back at her, and then laughed. "Oh." He nodded at her and she put her book down and shyly walked over to him, blushing lightly, alternating between staring at Chris and staring at the floor. "Rosalia, this is my… friend… Chris Ivers. Chris. This is my little sister."
"Hi," she said shyly, and half-hid behind her brother's chair.
"Hey," he answered, grinning. "How old are you, Rosalia?"
"Ten," she whispered, and Alejandro smiled.
"Well," he urged. "Ask him."
Chris suddenly broke into a genuine smile, figuring out what was going on. God, it was good to be recognized.
"Can…" she whispered. "Can I… CanIhaveyourautograph?"
"Of course," Chris answered. "Noooo problem." He laughed cheerfully and tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, picked up his pen and scribbled, Hey cutie—Glad to meet you. Love, Chris Ivers.
She sighed adoringly as he handed it to her. In a small voice, she managed to squeak, "Thank you!"
"My pleasure, kiddo." He stood and hugged her, and she turned bright red.
"Rosalia, go read your book, hmm? Chris has homework to do."
"You do homework?" she gasped, kind of awed.
"Of course. Your brother helps me out lots—he's a smart guy."
She glanced over at her brother, looking slightly shocked that someone so famous would say nice things about him. "Wow," she said. "He… He always watches your show with me."
"Really?"
"Mmmhmm, and—"
"Rosalia, go finish reading," Alejandro interrupted, trying to avoid blushing himself, having had that particular secret exposed.
"We watched it every week and if we weren't home we'd tape it and—"
"Rosalia!" Now he was feeling slightly flustered. "We have work to do."
"Sorry…" she sulked, then bravely asked, "Would you like to come over for dinner some time? My mama cooks real good."
"Rosalia—"
"I'd love to," Chris answered, grinning. "Buuuuut I have homework to do right now." He made a face and she giggled, and scampered back to her chair—and proceeded to watch him intently for the rest of the time they were in the library.
"You'd love to?" Alejandro repeated.
"What, I was supposed to say no?" Chris demanded. "I have a heart, come on. She's adorable."
"You like anyone who likes you."
"That's not true, I—" He stopped. "Well, okay. Fine."
"You're such a fake, Chris."
"I'm an actor, Alex. And I was just nice to your sister, so deal with it." He paused. "You watched my show religiously?" he added, sounding kind of amused.
"She did. Rosalia would throw a fit if I didn't watch with her, it was our thing. Okay?"
"Sure."
"Hey. I got to watch you hit puberty on television. I have to say, it was just charming the season your voice wouldn't stop cracking." He smirked a little. "So, math homework?"
Richard was waiting for Chris when he got out of tutoring. He shot a quick wave at Alejandro and then fell into step with Chris. "Sooooo."
"Yes?" Chris asked.
Richard rolled his eyes. "We got a call that Weisel thinks we'll be interested in. A dancer—well, singer, but mostly dancer. Sherman's heard good stuff about him, too."
"Do we get any say in this?"
"We get to audition him." Richard grinned. "You know I was auditioning you, right?"
"Uh huh." Chris rolled his eyes. "So when's this happening?"
"Can you make it tonight?"
Chris sighed. "I have math homework."
"You're kidding me, right?"
There was a long pause, and they both started laughing.
It took about three weeks to get the band properly assembled. They ended up taking their first audition, a kid named Caleb but who actually went by CJ, his initials. (He also ignored Richard's comment that if he was CJ Jefferson, wasn't that really just Caleb Jefferson Jefferson?) He was Asian, with a few red streaks dyed into his hair, which (at least according to Weisel) made him cool to their demographic. He and Richard got along fairly well, though he was a little too hyperactive for Richard's taste.
CJ's dance instructor had several suggestions for other band members; they auditioned almost fifty, and finally settled on two. The first had light brown skin and a smile that caused all girls in a fifty foot radius to sigh dreamily. He introduced himself as Nick, and despite being naturally charismatic and almost disgustingly sweet to everyone he spoke with, Chris disliked him almost immediately. But CJ and Richard overruled him, and Weisel and Richard's mother dealt with Chris's fit.
The fifth member was the tallest, and was surprisingly jock-like for a musician, complete with a backwards baseball cap. The adults immediately declared he'd attract the cheerleader type girls and pronounced him in before anyone even had a chance to object. For his part, Johnny just sort of shrugged and smiled when they told him he was in.
With the lineup for the band set, it was time to actually begin rehearsing and recording. The songs had been written almost as soon as Pulitzer announced he was financing another boyband; all that was left was to learn them. Which, the boys were told, was going to be exhaustive training.
There were, Chris decided, pros and cons to this. The major upside was that this involved taking them out of school and getting them the sort of private, one-on-one tutors he was used to. The downside, a rather major one, was that the intensive training-slash-brotherly bonding required that the five of them spent every waking minute together—living together in a house financed by Pulitzer as well.
It was hard to complain about the house, which had both a studio and practice room as well as a pool and a basketball court, and satellite TV, and a gaming system better than most arcades.
The problem wasn't the house itself. It was that five boys living together, aside from smelling slightly, tended to fight as often as they bonded. Like with basketball, Chris mused, as he scowled, watching Nick and CJ play horse. They'd given up on playing actual games with the five of them—aside from uneven teams, it just led to yelling. And sulking.
Chris had been banned from the basketball court almost immediately after their first attempted game. Everything had started out light-hearted enough, except that Richard had made a joke about Nick's team getting stuck with Chris, which had led to some trash talking, not all of it light hearted. But Nick and CJ didn't mind so much, particularly because they didn't really need Chris on their team, and mostly just avoided giving him the ball.
Ever.
And while Chris wasn't bad, per se, he was two years younger and a few inches shorter than everyone else, which didn't help any on the rare occasion he did get the ball. Always by accident.
The real problem had come at the collision. Chris had accidentally caught the ball when Nick missed it on a bad pass by CJ; Nick turned around to bound after it as Johnny tried to intercept it as well, and Chris had done his best to avoid getting run over by the two of them, failed, and they ended up tangled on the asphalt in a pile of limbs, which had caused Rich and CJ to collapse into gales of laughter. CJ had made a mostly joking comment about how that was why they never gave Chris the ball.
Chris, being Chris, hadn't taken that very well. A long round of, "Well, I'd have been better if my own team hadn't tripped over me!" and "How do you know I can't play when you won't ever let me!" and "Stop whining, you baby!" ensued, which ended with Chris stalking off to go play video games instead, by himself, and a "Good! Go on, then!" shouted after him.
Really, it was just easier to not let him play to begin with.
On the other hand, the pool was better. Chris could hold his own when it got down to splash wars, and years of singing had taught him how to hold his breath for quite an impressive amount of time. Though he did have to admit, he kind of enjoyed the, "Oh my god, we drowned Chris!" panic that ensued when he didn't surface immediately.
But he was careful to come up for air before they could stop panicking and start celebrating.
Goofing off was mixed in with rehearsals, which were often long and torturous, but also kind of satisfying as they came together as a group. They started with the vocal training and learning the songs—nothing remarkable, and everyone admitted that they did basically sound like a rip-off of the more popular Uptown Boyz—and then the choreographers showed up.
It was almost like military training. They had a month to prepare for a showcase that Pulitzer had arranged to be broadcast on Nickelodeon, though only because the Uptown Boyz had pulled out of their live concert broadcast. And a month wasn't a lot of time to learn an entire forty minute performance. Especially not one that had to be perfect—as it was their introduction to the country.
Chris thrived under the stress, which was good because for all that he was the youngest member, he was also, in a lot of ways, the anchor of the group. He was the best known of the five and had the best voice; it took him longer to pick up on the dance steps than the other four, but once he had them learned, he never faltered. And he was good with the press, once the press started showing up; his long-rehearsed, well-practiced charm came out in full force.
Not everyone else was doing quite so well. Richard had a great public face and smiled for the cameras; he sang well and danced better, but had an unnerving habit of locking himself in the bathroom for an hour after interviews. CJ and Nick also took to it fairly well—getting the hang of talking to reporters and posing for pictures with the right smile was awkward, especially after nine hours of rehearsing, but it came to them both with some degree of ease. CJ fell into the role of class clown with relish, playing off of Chris surprisingly well; and all Nick had to do was wink.
The only problem was Johnny, who learned his parts in the songs well enough, and danced better than he sang, but who was shy around reporters, awkward in pictures, and didn't quite keep up with everyone else. But he suffered through it, as their debut performance loomed closer and closer.
Time passed remarkably quickly, and the days nearly flew by; a week before their performance, they had an open house where friends, family and reporters were all welcome to join the band for dinner. Both of Richard's parents attended, which was more than slightly awkward; and Johnny's friends from school all showed up as a crowd to support him. And also to make fun of him for joining a boyband. But Johnny took that fairly well, and was actually far better in front of the reporters with his friends there than he had been in awhile.
The open house went well, even the (not so) spontaneous a cappella the band had broken into after the meal. It was an impressive showing, with a great reaction, and Weisel just kept telling them over and over how much buzz they had going, how much the press loved them, and how they'd better be perfect in their debut or else they were fired.
And that was it for Johnny.
Everyone cleared out to leave the band on their own for the night, and Johnny called a meeting. "Hey, guys." He leaned casually against the wall. "I've been thinking."
"There's a first time for everything," CJ noted.
"Shut up. I've been thinking, you know. I'm not sure this is right for me."
There was a long silence, and Chris opened his mouth; Richard kicked him hard under the table, and said, "What do you mean, exactly?"
"I mean… I don't think I can handle this. It's just too much pressure, and anyway, I kind of miss going to school."
"Freak," Chris muttered quietly, and Rich kicked him again.
"But we're so close," Rich said, concerned. "Can't you wait until the debut to make your decision? I mean… It's hard doing all the preparation, but once we're actually performing, you might feel differently."
"I don't think so," Johnny answered. "And you guys are all better than I am anyway, and I don't want to wait because I want you guys to be able to have your real line up when you debut. I just… can't be in it."
"But—"
"I called my Mom. She's gonna come take me home tonight. I'll call Weisel once I get home… I'm really sorry."
He got up from the table and walked out of the room, and everyone else sat in silence, staring at each other.
Finally, Nick cleared his throat. "Great," he said. "Now where the hell are we going to get a bass singer in under a week?"
AN: It becomes more obvious which band member is which newsie later, so for the sake of not confusing people too much, here's the list (thus far):
Chris: Dutchy
Richard: Specs
Alejandro: Bumlets (sigh)
CJ: Swifty
Nick: Mush
Johnny: Snitch
Sorry for the long break between updates. Senior year is a bitch, but we're working on it and hoping to have the fic done by graduation. Please, God…