Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Ducks, especially Adam Banks, and I don't own Seventeen Magazine. I do, however, own Becky, Benny, and Melanie.

"I still don't feel right about shooting on Friday the 13th…" I told my manager while nervously wringing my hands. "I mean, you know how superstitious I am."

Benny nodded and crossed his arms, his gold, mob-like jewelry clinking together. "Yeah, but we can't reschedule it to any other date. It's either take it or leave it." He stood up, slicking his gelled, perfectly styled hair back.

"I'd rather leave it." I muttered as Melanie, my new stylist, pulled a straightener through my long, light brown hair one last time. She swung my chair around to face the photo shoot I was planned to do today. So what if it was for the cover of Seventeen? It still didn't feel right. I sat in the black, cushiony chair for a while, my chin resting in the palm of my hand. My eyes wandered around the room as my brain wandered into another world. I mused back about 10 years ago when I was actually normal. And only my family and friends knew who I was. And I had privacy…

"BECKY!" Benny shouted, apparently for the fourth time. I jerked my head up, looking at my manager's red, angry face.

"Sorry." I got up, glancing down at my custom-made outfit and keeping my temper under control. My mom always told me never to argue with anyone I work with. It's my own fault that I'm famous and nobody should feel my wrath but me. And it's true. The only reason why Becky Conners is a name everyone in the whole nation (and 1.6 million people in Europe, according to record and ticket sales) knows is because I wanted to be famous.

The photographer pointed to the mark on the floor and I obediently stood there, waiting for pose instructions. I sighed, just wanting to be safe at home with no ladders, umbrellas, or black cats. Can't I be an ordinary teenager? If only for one day... just one more day.

Just then, I heard a creaking noise above me. Immediately, I looked up at the ceiling. My eyes shifted around, examining the wooden beams that seemed stable. Then… the next thing I knew, I felt a huge 'thunk' on the back of my head and all I saw was black.

"Adam. Pay attention. Get out there." Coach Orion patted my back as I shook my head, returning to reality and switching places with Averman. I've never been the type to daydream, really, but lately, I've been floating into a whole 'nother planet Earth. I guess it's because I've been feeling as though nobody notices me anymore. When my hand is raised to answer a question, somebody else gets called on. When I'm open in front of the goal, the puck is passed to someone else. When I try to tell one of the Ducks about my weekend, they get concentrated on something else.

I skated towards center ice, watching Dwayne bounce the puck on his stick. I looked ahead, seeing an open path to the goal.

"Dwayne! Over here!" I yelled, striking my stick on the ice. I watched him throw the puck back down at his feet and shoot at the goal. Saved. Of course. I groaned, skating near him and rolling my eyes. "Dude, I was open. I could have made it in." I explained, trying not to sound as annoyed as I really was. Maybe this whole "Game on Friday the 13th" thing got everyone all shook up.

"Oh. Sorry, Banks." Dwayne semi-frowned, shrugged slightly and skated to the bench.

God. Can't someone notice me? Ever? Just for one day? I sighed, taking the face-off and winning the puck easily. I passed it off to Guy and stood in a spot near the board.

Suddenly, I saw a hockey mask coming at me and I was rammed into the boards. Damn. Daydreaming again… I gotta stop this.

My eyes fluttered open and I was greeted by the uber-bright fluorescent lights of a hospital. I was also greeted by a crowd of people hovering over me.

"Adam, are you ok? You got checked pretty hard. Gave us all a good scare." Someone with red, curly hair and glasses spoke up and everyone else nodded in agreement. Adam… checked…? What the hell is going on? My name's definitely NOT Adam. I thought to myself, sitting up and trying to find the most comfortable position in this godforsaken bed. I looked down at my hands, noticing something oddly strange. Ok, my hands are not this big and my arms are not this toned.

"Uh… anyone got a mirror?" I asked, shocked at the sound of my deep, almost soothing voice. Now, I was getting a little scared. A Latino looking guy handed me the mirror, his expression confused. I smiled slightly, trying to ease the awkwardness. Then, I looked in the mirror.

"Holy banana boats." The reflection I saw in the mirror was not the reflection I'm used to seeing. My hair was not long and light brown. It was short and dark brown with a tad bit of gel thrown in there. My eyes were not light brown, matching my hair exactly. They were a piercing blue and rather big. I was a guy. I was definitely not Becky Conners.

My eyes shifted upwards, noticing everyone around my bed staring at me, concerned. "…What's wrong, Adam?" A guy with darker brown, curly-ish hair asked me.

"Uh…nothing. I just look…tired." I said, chuckling nervously. Yeah. That's the understatement of the year. I look… I don't even know. I don't even know who I am! Or where I am. I just want my mommy.

My face felt cool, like a fan was blowing directly at me from 2 feet away. As my eyes opened, the first thing I noticed was an incredible pain in the back of my head. Then, I noticed a ton of adults crowded around me, one fanning me with a folded up piece of paper. That explains the breeze. I thought, sitting up before feeling a rush and lying back down again.

"Oh my goodness. Becky, are you all right?" An Italian, mafia looking guy asked as he pulled off his leather jacket and slipped it under my head.

"Huh? Becky?" I said aloud, utterly perplexed and suddenly realizing that I had no idea who any of these people were. Where were Charlie and Russ and Fulton and Luis and everyone else?

"Wow. You must have hit your head really hard…" The same guy said, placing a bag of ice on my forehead. I looked around more, studying the room I was in. The ceilings were tall and covered by wooden beams, there were cameras and what I assumed was a photo shoot set, and over in the corner was a mirror bordered by bright, circular lights and a small table cluttered with hair products and make-up. This is definitely not the ice rink… or even my dorm room.

"No, I'm all right." I replied, noticing my voice was higher and softer that it had been for the past several years. Did I go back in time or something? I sat up again, this time successfully, and was pulled slowly to my feet by Mr. Mafia. I was forced to sit down in the nearest chair, which was conveniently located in front of the huge mirror. As I turned around, I came face-to-face with someone I know I've seen before. Then, it all fit. Mr. Mafia called me Becky. There are cameras and make-up and hair products all around… I'm Becky Conners. I. Am. Becky. Conners.