Seven.

"I don't think I can do this," Richard mumbled to himself, over and over again. One of the others would probably have stopped to reassure him, but they were all too busy having minor freak-outs themselves. As confident as they were, standing backstage and waiting to be introduced was even more nerve-wracking than any of the lead-up press had been.

CJ was bouncing up and down in a corner, harassing the stage manager. "Oh my god! Oh my god! How many people are out there? Seven thousand? Ten thousand? Oh my god! … How about now? How many people now?"

This was doing nothing to calm Richard down.

Then there was Alejandro. He was holding some sort of rag that he kept twisting between his hands and folding over on itself, every move betraying nervous energy. But at least he wasn't making any noise.

…Unlike Nick, who had cracked his knuckles and his back at least ten times in the last minute.

And finally, there was Chris, who was, if that were possible, being even more annoying than CJ. He kept examining himself in the mirror, and would grab the nearest person to ask, "How do I look? Is my hair all right? No, really, does it make me look goofy? I don't look too young, do I? Is this shirt too tight? I think I can move in it, but it's still pretty tight. Do these pants make my butt look big? Last thing I want is to be back on TV and have my butt looking big, right? Are you sure my hair's okay?"

Between Chris and CJ, the stage manager looked ready to have a nervous breakdown.

Richard, meanwhile, was sitting on a chair with his head between his knees, trying to breathe, but only managing pathetic little moans. They'd warmed up and he'd spent close to a half hour on the phone with Sherman, who had calmed him down, but now that it was almost time to go onstage, he was feeling sick again.

He'd managed to pull his head up and was hesitantly starting to say, "Um, guys? I don't think I can d—" when he was interrupted by a crackle from the stage manager's headset.

"Okay, guys," the stage manager called to the five nervous boys, "you're on!"

And then it was too late to back out of it. Alejandro jumped to his feet, and he, CJ and Nick started for the door. Chris stared at himself in the mirror for another moment, nodded in satisfaction, flashed a grin at himself, and turned away. He saw Richard was still sitting, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Anxiety Boy, they're waiting."

"I'm gonna puke."

"Just do it before the lights go up and try not to slip in it later."

"Chris!"

"You can hear them screaming already, okay? No one is going to boo you, no one is going to hate you, except for me, if you don't get your lousy butt on stage. You'll be fine."

Richard whimpered slightly, but let Chris drag him down the hall and towards the backstage. The lights were down and the path was lit by glow tape, and up ahead he heard CJ walk into someone.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"How many people are—"

"CJ! Just! Walk!"

They reached the stage entrance, and Chris paused and glanced at Richard in the dim light. "You gonna puke? Do it now."

Richard whimpered again, but when he didn't retch, Chris grabbed him and hauled him out on to the stage. Their starting marks were on the floor and Chris could see how scared Richard was as he got ready, but the next thing they knew the first chord struck and the lights began flashing in a bright, multi-colored pattern. They'd only rehearsed on stage twice before and it felt alien and like sensory overload, but then the lights came up completely two beats before the first verse and the first move of the dance.

Chris had the first line and he hit it, and spared a glance over at Richard, who had begun to fall into the dance. He continued through the verse, making sure he didn't fall now that there were people watching them, and after the chorus it was Richard's turn to solo—and Richard was jumping into the dance with enthusiasm, and came in to the part with confidence.

It was all going to be okay.

The rest of the concert was something of a blur, and the set was only half an hour long. It felt like only minutes when they went into the big finale of Rippin' Out My Heart, and when the lights went down for the last time, they nearly skipped off the stage.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! We were amazing! Did you see how good we were? We rocked! Oh my god!"

"CJ, quiet, your mike is still on…" the stage manager answered, sounding pained.

"Well, turn it off!"

"It's off, and, you're clear. Good show, guys!"

The backstage lights came up, and they were ushered into the green room, and it finally hit them what had just happened.

"Guys?" Nick asked. "Was that real? Did we just do that?"

"We were amazing!"

"We were—"

"Excuse me for a moment," Richard interrupted, and ran for the bathroom. The door slammed shut, and they could hear the sound of him puking through it.

"Well, at least he held it in," CJ commented, and rested his head against Nick's shoulder for a moment—but then sprang back up and began jumping again. "We so ruled!"

Chris glanced at himself in the mirror and nodded. "I looked good."

"We all looked good," Nick answered.

"Well, yes." Chris shrugged. "I still think that these pants—"

"Shut up about the pants already!"

Chris glanced over at Alejandro, who was sagging against the wall, looking tired. The concert took a lot out of all of them, and required a lot of energy, but Alejandro looked dazed and was just taking slow sips out of a water bottle. Chris managed to catch his eye, and he smiled.

Chris smiled back. "Not bad for a first show, Bumlets."

"Your butt looks fine," Alejandro answered.

Richard finally came back out of the bathroom. "Well, that was… pretty good. Yeah. Good."

"You feeling okay?"

"I do now."

"Are you going to do that after every show?"

"Maybe."

"Look," Chris said. "You were really good, okay? They were all screaming for you. Well, and me. But they loved you, they loved us, and they're still screaming out there—we're gonna get such good press from this, you won't even believe it."

"Press, right. That makes me feel better." Richard glowered at him, and Chris shrugged.

"Well, I tried. It's not my fault you've got some sort of weirdo anxiety—"

The door to the room burst open, and Ms. Alcott and Weisel hurried in. "Boys, that was—"

"Richard, darling, you were amazing! I've never seen you perform like that, you're not usually nearly so good!"

"Gee, Mom. Thanks."

"Oh, you know what I mean, sweetheart. You did such a good job!"

Weisel cleared his throat. "Well, boys, that was very good. You've done a great job today, but the hard work is just beginning. We've got an audience now, and it'll just get bigger and bigger, but they want more V-Tones. They want photos and interviews and concerts, and they need an album. We'll be starting the recording process tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" CJ asked. "We can't sleep in?"

"Sleep in? You're hilarious, kid. We're going to try and get the album done within two weeks—it'll be long days of recording, and you'll need to learn the new songs and the new choreography, Wayne's already agreed to stay on to work on it."

"Great," Chris muttered, but no one heard him.

"And then we'll be starting a tour—it's not a big tour, just mall shows, but it'll really build up your audience. We're looking at maybe two months of that across the country, and we'll see where we stand."

"So that's two and a half months of no sleeping in?"

"Maybe if you're good I'll give you a day off."

"Mall tour?" Chris said. "You're kidding me, right?"

"It'll build up a fan base—"

"Mall touring? I do not think so. We're too good to be performing in a mall."

"You're good, but no one's heard of you yet—"

"Then what was the point of today?" Chris demanded. "All the people who saw us? And gave us a standing ovation? And the press!"

"Yeah, that's all well and good, but that's still just this city, and you guys are gonna need to hit the whole country. And I don't want to hear any complaints."

"Well, that's too bad for you, because I am not doing a mall tour."

"Check your contract, Chris, yes you are."

Weisel glared at Chris. Chris glared at Weisel.

Alejandro cleared his throat. "It won't be so bad," he said. "I mean… It's a small place to perform, and I'll bet our fans would, uh, really like such an intimate show… You know?"

"I don't care, I—"

"Alejandro's right," Nick said. "I mean, we can also do all the signings and in-stores, and those will win us fans for life."

"But it's a mall tour!"

"I'm with Chris on this," Richard put in. "I mean… It's good to meet our fans and all, but they're gonna know who we are. We're too good for that, get us a few spots on MTV and we'll have the same audience in half the time."

"You agree with Chris?" CJ asked, sounding amazed, but it was lost as Ms. Alcott began to speak.

"Now, dear, don't jump to conclusions. Of course you're going to build up a fan base, but really, you need to interact with them first. Give it some time—trust me, darling, mommy knows best."

"Excuse me, I think I need to throw up," Chris mumbled.

Richard snickered and Ms. Alcott glared at Chris, who shrugged. "I vote against it."

"Me too," Richard agreed.

"I'm for it," Nick said.

"Ditto," CJ said.

Everyone turned to stare at Alejandro, who looked uncomfortable. Finally, he cleared his throat, "Well… I mean, I don't think it would be so bad. But, Chris and Richard know a lot more about these things than I do."

"Ha!" Chris yelled triumphantly. "That's three to two, and—"

"And this ain't a democratic process. You've got contracts, and I book your shows. You go where I say. Period. Now go home and get some rest, you start early tomorrow."

Weisel gave them one final glare, and then left the room. Ms. Alcott hesitated, then pinched Richard's cheek. "You were so good today, darling, don't worry. Mom will take care of everything!"

She swept out of the room, and Richard looked pained.

"See, now I know why you're so screwed up," CJ said. "You seriously lived with that?"

"Yeah, there's a reason I wanted to live with Dad when they got divorced." He made a face. "There's a reason they got divorced. Ught. Chris, you're so lucky your mom's not like that."

Chris shrugged, and glanced over at Alejandro, who was stretching out one of his legs. He'd leaned against the wall and had pulled it up almost all the way to his face, and Chris couldn't help but note that the guy was pretty flexible.

"I can't believe they want us to do a mall tour," he mumbled. "Come on, let's go deal with the reporters outside."

Richard nodded and the two of them led the way out, Chris sulking all the way.

The next two weeks were awful. The boys spent most of their time in the studio, learning the new songs and getting them recorded, and then evenings were spent with Wayne, dancing. Any time they had that wasn't spent recording, signing or dancing became a press event, and as the tour loomed closer, they spent more and more time talking with reporters.

"Tell us, Chris, what's it like to be the baby of the group?"

"Having four older brothers, are you kidding me?" he laughed. "It's great, except when they gang up on me!"

"We really are like brothers," Richard added, jumping in. "We goof off and play around like brothers, and we're really close—but of course we fight like brothers, too."

"No kidding," CJ said. "It's your turn to do the dishes tonight!"

"Is not."

The reporters laughed politely at the staged antics.

"Since you guys are getting pretty popular now, what do you have to say to your fans?"

"Thanks for the support, guys!" Chris shot the camera a thumbs up. "It really means a lot to us, and we love being able to touch people through our music. It's a passion, really."

"So what do you think you'll do when this whole band craze is over?"

"Over?" Richard repeated, feigning offense. "We're just getting started!"

"But what if it doesn't work out?"

"Well," Alejandro said, speaking up for the first time, "we really think we're going places—we love it too much to let a few hard days stop us. We've worked too hard to give up, right guys?"

There was a chorus of gleeful agreements, and Nick commented, "Bumlets is going to college, though—he's smart." He laughed. "He got, like, a perfect score on the SATs, did you know that?"

"Is that true?" the reporter asked.

"Well… I mean, not the first time I took them… But you know, if you study hard and put your mind to it, you can do anything."

"That's quite inspiring," the reporter said, and Chris responded quickly by throwing an arm around Alejandro.

"He's an inspiring guy to have around—we still have to take classes and tests and do homework and everything, even when we're busy, and he really helps us. I know I'd never understand algebra if it wasn't for him!"

Alejandro possibly turned a little pink at that, but no one seemed to notice.

"So, you're so popular now, and fan clubs are springing up all around the country—any special fans you want to thank?"

"Well, yes, actually." Chris laughed and tucked his hair behind his ears.

"I'd like to thank my mom," Richard said sweetly. "She's always been my biggest fan—she's always encouraged me to do my best."

His fingers were crossed under the table.

"I really want to thank a sweet little girl who I know is my biggest fan," Chris added. "Her name is Rosalia, and she makes awesome cookies."

Alejandro laughed a little, and didn't say anything. Not until a few hours later, when they were all winding down in their half an hour of free time before bed.

"It was really nice of you to mention Rosalia," he said quietly.

Chris shrugged. "Well, I'll do almost anything for cookies," he answered.

"You realize you made her whole life, right?"

"Hey, she's a nice girl." He glanced at Alejandro. "Kinda like her older brother, right? You're getting to be really good in interviews, you know. All that genius stuff—the girls love it." He laughed, chucked Alejandro on the arm, and walked off towards his bedroom.

"Girls," Alejandro sighed after him. "Right."

The album was released the day before Chris's sixteenth birthday, and went gold—and then platinum—on his birthday. "That's one hell of a birthday present," Richard commented.

"I'm so tired," Chris answered. "I just want to sleep for my birthday. Can't I sleep?"

"No can do, kid," CJ answered, mimicking Weisel. "You gotta work, work, work in this biz. Ain't that right, Virginia?"

"Why, yes, darlings. Don't you worry, though, Mommy's going to make sure everything goes perfectly!" Nick answered, pitching his voice up to mock Ms. Alcott.

"Please don't ever do that again," Richard said.

"Don't make me laugh," Chris whined. "I'm too tired to laugh. And too sore…"

"Chris, we've only been touring for two weeks," Richard sighed. "We've got a month and a half left…"

"I can't believe we're doing a mall tour," Chris mumbled.

"Rosalia baked you cookies for your birthday, Chris," Alejandro piped up. "She wanted to make a cake, but that doesn't survive as well in the mail."

Chris brightened up a little at that. "Cookies?"

"Can you actually move to get them? They're in my room."

"Aw, man, that's all the way down the hall!" Chris pouted. "It's my birthday, come on. Can't you go get them for me?"

Alejandro glanced over at everyone else, then sighed. "You want a piggy back, your majesty?"

"Yes."

There was a pause, and Alejandro nodded. "Only because it's your birthday. Loser."

"Ha! I win!"

"Well, if you don't behave, I'll drop you. Down the stairs."

"What, on my birthday?"

"No, I'll wait for tomorrow. See, it could be worse, you could be in the emergency room instead of a hotel, right?"

"And Weisel would still make you perform tomorrow," Nick added. "On crutches. So behave."

"Why is everyone mean on my birthday?"

"Chris, for real, shut up."

"Well, come on," Alejandro sighed, and crouched down next to Chris's bed. "If you're seriously going to make me carry you…"

"I so am. Ha!" He pulled himself out of bed and actually did wrap his legs around Alejandro's torso, and his arms around Alejandro's neck, and Alejandro groaned as he stood up. "Mush, doggy! Mush!"

"I swear to god, I'll dump you on your butt."

But Alejandro half-smiled as he carried Chris, laughing hysterically, out of the room. The rest of the boys followed, and getting his key out of his pocket proved a bit difficult with Chris on his back, but Alejandro managed, and handed it to Richard to open the door with.

Richard flipped the lights on, and Chris was greeted with a large banner reading Happy Birthday! in large letters, a cake on the middle of a table, surrounded by cookies and a small stack of presents.

"Aw, for me? For reals?"

"Get off me," Alejandro answered, and unceremoniously dumped Chris on the floor. But Chris scrambled up to his feet and inspected the cake. "That's awesome! Presents!"

"See, this is why we always call you the baby," Nick answered. "And now you're at your sweet sixteen. Awwww."

"Oh, shut up. You're not that much older."

"I'm enough older."

"No fighting!" CJ yelped. "Presents!"

"Presents!" Chris agreed.

"Mine first!" CJ added, and thrust one of the wrapped boxes at Chris.

Chris tore into it eagerly, and was a little surprised to find a gag inside. "Uh… Creepy," he answered.

"Oh, come on. It's not to be kinky, it's to shut you up," CJ answered. "It's a gag gift! Get it? Huh? Anyone?"

"CJ, that's terrible," Nick answered.

"You're just mad I didn't get one for you."

Nick raised an eyebrow, and no one asked. "Here's mine," Nick said, and handed one to Chris, who unwrapped it, to reveal a remote control car. "We can't afford the real thing… yet. But you are sixteen."

"Hey! I can drive! I hadn't even thought of that!"

"Thanks, Nick." Richard sighed. "I was hoping no one would remind him of that. Now someone will have to teach him to drive." He paused. "You know, I'll bet my mom would be happy to!"

"Oh, god, no. I'll stick with the remote control car, thanks." But Chris was laughing.

"Here, that one's mine," Richard said, pointing at a small, flat present. Chris unwrapped it a little more suspiciously, but broke into a grin when he saw what was inside: an old magazine cover, framed, with the Game On! cast on the front, himself somewhere around age thirteen in the middle. Chris Ivers: America's Sweetheart, Inside! the text read.

Chris stared up at him. "Thanks, man. I…"

"Yeah, well, eBay." Richard shrugged. "But I figured you'd appreciate a picture of yourself."

"You make me sound arrogant."

Richard coughed.

There was one present left on the table, and Chris glanced over Alejandro. "It's going to be a book, isn't it?"

"What makes you think that?"

"It's you."

Alejandro shrugged, and Chris opened the present, to reveal a large, hardcover math textbook. He rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Alex. Really. It means a lot."

"I got you a calculator, too."

"You are the lamest friend I've ever had."

"Aww, gee, thanks."

Chris coughed. "Where's my real present?"

"You think that's a joke?"

Chris stared at him, and Alejandro grinned.

"You don't give text books for birthday presents!"

"How about clothes?"

"Alejandro—"

But Alejandro had walked over to his suitcase—they were only at the hotel overnight, there was no point in unpacking—and produced a small, squishy present. Chris glanced at him, looking nervous, and unwrapped it, to reveal a pastel pink girl's t-shirt.

He held it up and read the text, in baby blue: I did Chris Ivers.

On the back, it said, Twice.

"This is a real shirt? Seriously?"

"Yup. I picked it up at the mall we were at yesterday—they were selling them in Claire's."

"Oh my god! That's awesome!" Chris tossed the shirt aside and half jumped on Alejandro, hugging him.

"I guess they only had them for Chris, huh?" CJ asked.

"Sorry." Alejandro shrugged, blushing. "But he's the famous one."

"Aw, flatterer," Chris answered, laughing. "Guys, they're selling our stuff in Claire's! Cheap merchandise with our faces on it! Do you know what that means?"

"We're not making nearly as much of the licensing as we should?" Alejandro suggested.

"It means we're famous!"

"Or that."

"Oh, man, this is the best birthday present. Seriously. The best birthday. I love you guys."

"If you expect a group hug—" Richard started, but Nick and CJ had already pulled him over to Chris and shoved them at each other, and the next thing anyone knew, the five of them were embracing, jumping up and down with excitement, and laughing.

"It's like a boyband battle to the death," CJ said.

"Oh, come on. You're the only one of us who actually plays sports," Richard pointed out. "I mean… Chris and I have only played them on TV."

"And I don't think they'll let us use cut away shots to set anything up," Chris mumbled. "I hate sports."

"Look," Alejandro sighed. "Weisel says we have to do publicity with the Uptown Boyz to get the press to stop showing us as rivals."

"We are rivals."

"That's not the point."

"And, you know, us playing against them in a basketball game is going to help us not be rivals!" Chris added.

"Look, it won't be so bad. They could be really good guys—we've never even met them," Alejandro tried. "And it's just a game for fun. No one cares if we win or lose."

"I care!" Chris yelled. "I hate losing!"

"No, really?" Nick mumbled.

"You be quiet. You're just depressed because CJ's dating a girl."

"Don't remind me!"

CJ shrugged. "Look, Weisel said we were looking a little too cozy, I had to do something to throw them off the scent. I didn't think I'd actually like her."

"You… you hussy!" Nick pouted. But he shrugged; everyone knew that he and CJ had liked each other and enjoyed hooking up, but it hadn't been serious. Neither one was heartbroken, and even though Nick sulked when it was just the group around, he was genuinely happy for CJ. If a little lonely.

Chris glanced down at the publicity pamphlet, showing all ten members of the two bands, wearing different colored uniforms. He was so used to seeing pictures of himself and the other four members of the V-Tones in silly costumes that he didn't even look at them, other than a quick check to make sure he'd photographed all right, and he glanced down at the Uptown Boyz.

"These guys don't look so tough," he said hesitantly. Which wasn't true—while the two bands had a lot in common, and people joked about how the V-Tones were really just Uptown Boyz clones, overall the Uptown Boyz were slightly older and slightly larger. (Well, except for Sean Conlon and Tony Higgins; they were both pretty small. But the other three—Ryan and Jack and Jeremy—they were all pretty intimidating looking.)

"We're gonna get squished, aren't we?" Richard asked.

"Come on, Rich, it won't be so bad," CJ said. "I mean, I have a jump shot that's pretty good. And Nick's buff. I hear they're all totally gay, as soon as he takes his shirt off, they'll swoon."

"Yeah, great strategy."

Nick shrugged. "I'd be willing to give it a try. Take one for the team, you know."

"How generous of you. The rest of us, however… Squish city. Unless this is something else Alejandro's magically good at."

They all turned to look at him in unison, and he shook his head no. "Math. Science. Not sports."

"Damn it," Richard sighed. "All right, well… uh… CJ, we'll try and give you the ball and everyone else try to, um… give him the ball."

"Yeah, great strategy, Rich."

"You have anything better?"

There was a long silence.

"Ready to pretend to be a good loser, Chris?"

"Bite me."

"Well, let's go and shake their hands and pretend to get along," Richard said, and they started to the MTV studio that had been temporarily converted to a basketball court. There were legions of screaming teenage girls around, but that was pretty much standard by now—two-thirds of the way through their mall tour, with big things (which Weisel refused to elaborate on) on the horizon.

For once, the fans were not particularly welcome, as none of the boys really wanted anyone to see what seemed like an impending crushing defeat—though they were all in peak shape from performing every day, they weren't exactly athletes.

They met the Uptown Boyz in a greenroom, down the hall from the studio.

"Hey," Richard said, stepping forward, and pulling Chris with him.

"Hey," one of the Uptown Boyz—Jack Kelly, the one who always wore his signature cowboy hat—answered, pulling another band member up behind him.

"So, uh…" Richard looked around desperately for backup. "Um, I'm Rich Greensmith, and this is Chris, and—"

"So I've read," the guy who followed Jack said. "We know who you are."

"Well, good then, no point in introductions. So, uh, we're really looking forward to playing a nice, friendly game of—"

"No, see, we play to win."

"Sean, be quiet," Jack hissed. "Look, we think this whole rivalry thing is pretty stupid anyway."

"Yeah, us too."

"Well, of course you would. We're the originals. We came first. It's our fans you're stealing."

Nick coughed conspicuously. "Right, there have never been any boybands before in the history of the world. I mean, I've never heard of the New Kids on the Block or the Jackson Five or anything." He shrugged.

The Uptown Boyz collectively glared at him, but after a second of looking pretty angry, one of them broke into a grin. "Oh, come on, guys, that was funny. Hi, I'm Ryan, nice to meet you… Nick, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Uh…. Nice eye-patch."

"Nice muscle shirt."

Nick blushed and CJ cracked up, and no one commented.

"So I guess we'd better get this thing started with," Jack finally said. "Good luck—may the better band win."

"Oh, we will," Chris answered automatically, and Richard kicked him as soon as Jack's back was turned. Chris glanced over at Nick as they started walking, and saw he was not very subtly staring after Ryan, smiling.

"No fraternizing with the enemy," he hissed.

"Oh, chill out," Nick answered. "He seemed nice enough."

"Ha!"

"You're a very screwed up guy, Chris, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Save the trash talk for the game."

Nick glanced over at Alejandro and CJ. "He knows we're going to lose, right?"

"Shut up! I can still hear you!"

"I'd say he knows, yes."

"Shut up!"

"Should I tell him those pants make his butt look gigantic?" CJ whispered.

"What? They what? Guys!"

Everyone else was laughing so hard that by the time they got onto the studio-turned-court, they were in a good mood again, despite the impending crushing defeat.

The first half of the game didn't go as badly as it could have—Richard's "give the ball to CJ" strategy worked fairly well, and CJ's "let them stare at Nick in his t-shirt" idea seemed to work surprisingly well on Ryan, who kept 'accidentally' letting Nick have the ball. Of course, that was countered by Chris's attempts to actually play; he had a bad habit of traveling, and got more and more angry the more times he got caught on it.

Of course, he just kept smiling his plastered-on smile, because there were fans watching.

By the time the half ended, the Uptown Boyz were leading, but only by seven points. They took five minutes for a break to get water, while a group of fans came out as cheerleaders, and applauded politely as they hissed things back and forth.

"Chris! Stop getting the ball! You suck!"

"I do not! That last call was totally unfair—"

"You ran halfway across the floor without dribbling, that's illegal, and anyway, you suck, so stop. Just stop."

"Way to be encouraging, CJ. Richard—"

"Hey, don't look at me. I was tying my shoe, how was I supposed to see he was about to shoot?"

"You could have waited for a timeout to tie your shoe!"

"I would have tripped! And broken my leg! And then how would we perform?"

"Guys…" Alejandro sighed. "This game is just for fun, come on. Calm down."

"Yeah, real fun," Chris mumbled.

"Okay!" the referee called, as the cheerleaders all skipped off. "It's the Uptown Boyz up by seven, let's see if the V-Tones can stage a comeback!"

"Hey," Richard said to Chris. "You're good at those."

Chris snorted, and they took their places around the court to resume play.

The second half went a little better—Alejandro gave up on being so polite, and got called for fouling the other team three times, but also scored several times. CJ continued to do well, as he actually seemed to know how to play, and Nick didn't do too badly. Chris remained near useless, however, and Richard wasn't too much better. At least Richard didn't insist on trying to score and making things worse.

But ultimately, it wasn't enough. The Uptown Boyz apparently had actually practiced beforehand, and were overall larger and meaner. The final score was 55-66, in favor of the Uptown Boyz. But the V-Tones had practice at smiling for the cameras, and even Chris looked like a good sport until they were well off-camera.

"I hate, hate hate losing!"

"That's nice, Chris."

"Hey, he's grown up; he didn't actually throw a temper tantrum," Richard pointed out. "No crying, either."

"I'm not a baby, despite what you all seem to think. And I don't cry!"

"Well, look, the game wasn't a total loss," Nick said. "I mean, we lost, but it was good press, and it could have been worse… And we know the Uptown Boyz now, they're not such bad guys."

"You're just saying that because you thought Ryan was cute."

"Ryan was cute, but that's not the point," Nick answered.

"They were jerks," Alejandro said, and that was the meanest his language ever got.

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'," Chris agreed. "Real jerks. Just 'cause they won. I could play basketball if I wanted. If I wasn't in a band."

The rest of the group exchanged amused looks, but no one bothered to say anything. It was just too easy.