Okay, going on vacation for the next two weeks or so. Wanted to get a chapter up to you guys before, so here it is. Won't have my laptop or any other means of writing with me, plus I won't want to (I want to just let go and have fun). So I won't write on vacation. I will, however, start a new chapter as soon as I get back. Please enjoy this update, and I'll see you in two weeks.

Disclaimer: I do not own Camp Rock or Wizards of Waverly Place. If I did, it would go a little something like this…

Mitchie sat in the examination room of the doctor's office, her knuckles white from clutching the edge of her chair so hard. It was Tuesday, right after school. Her mother picked her up immediately after classes ended for her appointment to confirm her pregnancy.

She was nothing but a bundle of nerves, her breathing heavy even though she was doing no physical activity. To say she was anxious would be an understatement. This test could determine her entire future. Sure, she'd taken a pregnancy test at home that told her that her future was pretty much screwed, but those could be wrong. This was a real one, from a doctor. What this one said is what mattered. There was still a chance she wasn't pregnant. She had one last shred of hope, and she was hanging onto it for dear life.

"Jeez, how long do these things take?" Mitchie's mother asked impatiently, checking her watch.

"Mom, I honestly don't care how long it takes, as long as it comes back negative," Mitchie said.

"I thought you wanted the baby." Connie quirked an eyebrow at her daughter.

"If there is a baby, yes, I'd like to keep it, but I'd much rather there being no baby at all." The girl glanced nervously at the door, wondering how much longer her future would be undetermined.

"That makes no sense," Connie said.

Mitchie opened her mouth to defend herself right when the door to the exam room opened. Dr. Walters entered, his white coat a little blinding under the fluorescent lights. His hair was starting to turn gray, showing his age. He'd been the family's doctor for years, since Mitchie was born. He'd watched her grow up, always admiring what a good kid she was, which meant he was very shocked to find out the reason the sixteen year old was coming in that day.

"Well, the results are in," Dr. Walters said, giving the mother and daughter a forced smile as he sat down on a stool across from them.

"And what are they?" Connie asked, reaching for her daughter's hand. Mitchie let her mother take it and squeeze it, needing the comfort.

"They could be good or bad, depending on how you look at them." Dr. Walters scratched the back of his head, obviously stalling.

"I think you know how we'd look at them," Connie said. "So how about you just tell us?"

The doctor looked at the clipboard in his hands, flipping a paper over. "Well, all blood work came back good. She's very healthy, no sexually transmitted diseases…"

"Dr. Walters!" Mitchie exclaimed, tired of waiting. "Am I pregnant or not?" She looked at him, pleading with her eyes.

He knew the answer she wanted. It was the same answer every girl her age in this situation wanted, and he rarely ever delivered good news to these girls.

Dr. Walters sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, Mitchie," he said. "It's not the results you want."

A hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as her face drained of all color. "So I'm pregnant, then?"

Dr. Walters nodded, a grim look painted across his visage. "I'm afraid so." He took a paper from his clipboard and handed it to the girl, who numbly took it from him. "I've made a list of the best obstetricians in the area. That is, if you decide to go through with the pregnancy…"

"She's going through with it," Connie said warily, rubbing her temples to sooth her headache that had hit her all of a sudden.

"Okay," the doctor nodded again. "Well, if you visit an obstetrician, they should be able to tell you exactly how far along you are. Based on the time of conception, we estimate you're about nine weeks pregnant."

"Shouldn't she be showing by now, though?" Connie asked, looking at her daughter's stomach.

"Not necessarily," Dr. Walters said. "Some women start showing late for their first pregnancy, but she will be showing a tad. Could you stand up please, Mitchie, and lift your shirt a little?"

Mitchie sighed, her cheeks turning pink at the thought of exposing even just a little of herself, but did as she was told. As soon as she lifted the dark green fabric, her mother gasped. Her stomach, which was usually flat, was now protruding over the top of her jeans slightly.

"How did I not notice that?" Connie asked, eyeing her daughter's small pregnancy belly.

"I did," Mitchie muttered. "That's why I've been wearing big clothes. I've been trying to hide it so no one else would notice." She let go of her shirt, smoothing it to hide her stomach again.

"You're in your first trimester of pregnancy," Dr. Walters started to explain as Mitchie sat back down. "The fetus actually has a heartbeat. Once you reach seven weeks, or two months, a face starts to develop and various vital organs. "

"Well Mitchie's at nine weeks, so what does that mean?"Connie asked. It had been sixteen years since she'd had a child, so this information needed to be relearned.

"At this point, the fingers are webbed," Dr. Walters said, gaining an odd look from Mitchie.

"So my baby looks like a frog?" She asked.

The doctor cleared his throat, avoiding the question. "I suggest you take an ultrasound when you go to the obstetrician. That way, you can see how the baby is developing. Also, you can find out the sex once you reach a certain stage of pregnancy, and figure out a course of action…Whether or not you want to have the baby naturally or have a cesarean section."

Connie took the paper with the list of doctors from Mitchie's hand. "Thank you, Dr. Walters. We will look these over, talk about it, and decide where to go from there," she said quickly, the thought of her little girl giving birth breaking her heart. "Come on, Mitchie. Let's go." She stood and left the room hurriedly, leaving Mitchie sitting there across from the Dr. Walters.

Mitchie gave the doctor a nervous smile, then hurried after her mother. She found her by the front desk, digging in her purse for her wallet to pay for the doctor's visit. She went to stand beside her, resting her elbows on the counter and placing her chin in her hands. Connie handed a bill to the receptionist, who informed her that she'd have to find the cash box to make change. Mrs. Torres sighed while she waited for the young receptionist, who obviously had no idea what she was doing, to get back with her change.

Her eyes roamed around the room until they landed on her daughter. She looked at her stomach. Her pregnancy was obvious, now that she was actually looking. How had she not seen it before? And why hadn't Mitchie told her about what happened with Shane? When did they stop communicating? How could her sweet, innocent, beautiful, talented, and intelligent little girl let this happen to her? They'd talked about sex. She thought she had made quite clear to Mitchie the consequences of sex, especially unprotected sex. But maybe she hadn't talked to her enough.

Connie looked from Mitchie's stomach to her face. She was staring at something, her brown eyes fixed towards the other side of the room. Her eyes were soft, yet there was a scared expression on her face. Connie followed her daughter's gaze to see that Mitchie was staring at a woman holding an infant in her arms. The baby looked about six months old, so she was probably in for her immunization shots. She was sitting on her mother's lap, looking around, eyes full of wonder. When she spotted Mitchie, she gave her a toothless grin. Mitchie's expression softened and a small smile crept its way to her lips and she ducked her head to look at her stomach. She moved her arm from the counter and placed her hand on her small belly.

Connie watched the interaction between Mitchie and the baby across the room, wheels in her head turning. She could tell when Mitchie saw the baby that all of her fears had come flooding back to her. But then, that baby smiled. And that somehow calmed Mitchie.

Could her daughter handle a baby? Not just having it, but also raising it? Mitchie had always been mature and responsible, with the exception of last summer. She was certainly great with kids; the neighbors praised her every time Connie met up with them. They spoke about what a wonderful babysitter Mitchie was and how much their kids loved her. But it's one thing to take care of a few children for a couple of hours at a time, then hand them back off to their parents, and another actually being there for a child 24/7, being responsible for its upbringing and its life. Then again, she and Steve could help. After all, they'd had Mitchie right after they were married, and they were married at a young age. They still had a lot of life left in them. She'd always regretted not having more children.

She shook her head, clearing the thoughts of once again holding a baby in her arms away. She couldn't think of what she wanted, or even what Mitchie wanted. The main priority was that baby. It deserved the best life possible. That meant having two loving, responsible parents that could support it…Right?

"Here's your money, Mrs. Torres," the receptionist said, returning with a few bills in her hand.

"Thanks." Connie took the money from the young blond woman and shoved it in her purse. "Come on," she said to her daughter, snapping the girl out of her trance-like state in which she was staring at her stomach.

When they got in the car, they both put their seatbelts on. Connie put her hands on the steering wheel, but made no move to start the car.

" Mom?" Mitchie asked, looking at her mother, slightly worried.

"What happened, Mitchie?" Connie asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" She asked, even though she had a pretty good idea of what her mother was questioning.

"I mean, how did you get yourself into this situation?" Connie asked, facing her daughter. "I know that I talked to you about sex and how to be responsible about it."

"Yeah, you did." Mitchie looked at her feet guiltily.

"Apparently we didn't talk enough," Connie said, her voice catching in her throat as tears started to surface. "I guess I just didn't pay attention enough. I wasn't a good enough mother."

"No, Mom, don't," Mitchie said, her guilt multiplying. "You're a great mother. And you talked to me plenty enough. I knew everything there was to know."

"Then why did you do it, Mitchie?" Connie asked, hating herself for crying in front of her daughter.

"I told you, I was drunk," Mitchie defended, even though she knew it was a terrible excuse. Her own eyes started to well with tears. She was beginning to get annoyed with herself for crying so much. "I was stupid, okay? You did nothing wrong. It was all my fault. Don't blame yourself." She paused to wipe away the tears that were running down her face. "I'm sorry, Mommy."

"I know, Baby, I know," Connie said, reaching across the center console and enveloping her daughter into a hug. Mitchie wrapped her arms around her mother, allowing herself to collapse into the comforting touch. When they pulled out of the hug, each Torres woman wiped her face. "Let's get home, okay?"

"Actually, Mom, could you drop me off at Sierra's?" Mitchie asked. "I need to talk to her."

"Okay." Connie nodded. "I'll call your dad and tell him to pick you up on the way home."

"Can I use your bathroom?" Mitchie asked a very surprised Sierra as soon as the bushy-haired girl with glasses opened the door.

"Um…Sure," Mitchie's one and only friend from school said, standing back to let the girl in.

"Thank you!" Mitchie exclaimed as she dashed into the house, running straight to the bathroom. Recently she'd been having to go more and more often. Just one of the advantages to having a fetus pressing on your bladder.

Sierra just rolled her eyes and went down the hall to her room, knowing Mitchie would find her way there eventually.

"Much better," the young singer said with a sigh of relief, entering Sierra's bedroom.

"Didn't you ask to go to the bathroom in our last period class?" The bushy haired girl asked from her desk, where she was busy doing her homework.

"So? I had to go again," Mitchie said, sitting on Sierra's bed. The bedspread was a light purple, matching the walls almost perfectly. She picked up a book from the nightstand, only to find it was about some country in Africa she had never heard of. That was always Sierra's thing: researching a different country until she knew everything about it, even a few words from the language sometimes, then moving onto the next one. Mitchie had used a phrase she'd learned from Sierra during her scheme at Camp Rock. How she'd remembered it then, she had no clue. She sure as hell couldn't remember it now. It had something to do with summer, though, she was pretty sure.

"Where did you run off to after school ended?" Sierra asked, scribbling some words in her notebook. "You ran out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang, didn't wait for me, and when I went to look for you at your locker, you were nowhere in sight."

"I had a doctor's appointment," Mitchie said, waiting to see if her friend would ask her to explain further.

"Oh." Sierra continued with her homework. "Okay then."

Mitchie sighed in exasperation. Sierra wasn't like Caitlyn, that's for sure. It's like Sierra wasn't concerned at all that something could be wrong with Mitchie, causing her to have to visit the doctor.

"Don't you want to know why?" Mitchie asked, hoping her friend would care enough to at least look up from her book.

Sierra shrugged, her eyes on the text in front of her. "A routine checkup, I assume," she said in a bored tone.

Mitchie growled a little to herself, stood, stomped across the room, and slammed Sierra's book closed.

"Hey!" The nerdy girl protested, turning in her seat.

"I'm trying to tell you something, here!" Mitchie took a breath to try to calm herself. "It's really important," she added quietly.

"What?" Sierra asked, eyes darting back and forth between the girl standing in front of her and her book, still closed, on her desk.

Mitchie sat on the floor Indian style, looking up at her friend. "I'm pregnant," she said, her voice low, watching Sierra's face closely for a reaction.

The girl stared at her blankly. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm going to have a baby," Mitchie said slowly.

"Are you serious?" Sierra asked, her eyes wide. Mitchie only nodded. "Wow," Sierra said, not sure what else to say.

"Yeah…" Mitchie ran a hand through her hair awkwardly. "So, um…What do you think about that?"

"I think you're insanely stupid," Sierra said quite bluntly.

"Tell me how you really feel," Mitchie deadpanned sarcastically.

"How could you let this happen?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" The brunette untangled her legs from her current sitting position and stood.

"Well, it's a shock," her friend stated. "We all thought you were smart."

"I am smart." Mitchie crossed her arms over her chest. "I just made a mistake."

"Yeah, a big one!" The curly haired girl nodded her head. "I thought you just getting fat."

"Sierra!" Mitchie frowned at her friend's brutal honesty.

"Who's the father?"

"Shane Gray."

Sierra stared at her disbelievingly. "No way."

Mitchie rolled her eyes. "Way."

"Does he know?" Sierra stood for the first time since Mitchie had entered the room.

The singer shook her head. "Nope."

"Are you going to tell him?" Sierra adjusted her glasses.

"Probably not." Mitchie shook her head again.

"Are you going to put it up for adoption?" Sierra asked.

"Maybe," Mitchie said, going to sit on Sierra's bed again. "If my parents let, I want to keep it."

"But why?" Sierra sat beside her friend. "If it can have a good life, why stand in its way?"

"And who says I wouldn't give it a good life?" Mitchie asked, slightly angry. "You know, I came over here to tell you something, hoping to get a little support." Sierra opened her mouth to say something when the sound of a car horn from the driveway cut her off. "That's my dad, I gotta go," Mitchie said, standing to leave.

"Mitchie, wait!" Sierra said, stopping the brunette in her tracks. "I'm sorry. I'm shocked, okay?"

"Everyone is," Mitchie admitted. "I don't normally mess up like this."

"No, you don't," Sierra agreed. "But I know you'll end up doing the right thing. You always do."

Mitchie smiled weakly. "Thanks." Another honk. "I have to go."

"Bye," Sierra said, hugging Mitchie lightly.

The singer pulled out of the hug and walked down the hall, out of the house, and to her dad's waiting truck, contemplating how much easier it was to talk to Caitlyn about these things.

"Wow, Sierra sounds like a social retard," Caitlyn said after Mitchie had explained the afternoon to her over the phone.

"Hey, she's my friend. Be nice," Mitchie defended, looking at herself in the mirror. "Should I dye my hair black?"

"That would be hot." Mitchie could hear the smile in Caitlyn's voice. "But can you dye your hair when you're pregnant?"

"Caitlyn, I'm pretty sure the dye won't seep through my scalp, enter my bloodstream, and end up harming the baby," Mitchie said.

"How did you know that's what I thought would happen?"Caitlyn asked, something resembling awe in her voice.

"Because I know you!" Mitchie exclaimed as someone knocked on her door. "Hang on a sec." She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Come in." Mr. Torres poked in head in the room. "Hey, Daddy."

"Can you come downstairs please, Mitchie?" Steve asked. "Your mother and I want to talk to you."

"Sure." She removed her hand from the mouthpiece. "I'll talk to you later, okay? My parents want to talk to me."

"Okay," Caitlyn said. "Bye, Girly, love you."

"Bye, Hun. Love you too." Mitchie hung up and looked at her father, who was staring at her oddly. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, then…" Mitchie muttered to herself, standing up to follow Steve out of the room. They descended the stairs together, entering the kitchen, where Connie was already waiting.

"Have a seat," she said to her daughter. Mitchie did as she was told, sitting next to mother at the same time her father was sitting down opposite her. "Your father and I have been talking, and we've made a few decisions."

"What's up?" She asked.

"We're moving," Connie said, wasting no time getting to the point.

Mitchie stared at her mother blankly for a few seconds, the information taking time to register in her brain. She was at a loss for words.

"We figured it was best for you to just have a fresh start somewhere," Connie continued when Mitchie didn't say anything.

"But I love Texas!" Mitchie exclaimed, finding her voice.

"And we do too, but let's face it," Connie said, "we're in the South, and it's very closed-minded here. The reaction to you having a baby wouldn't be very good."

"So, what, we're going to stay here until I have the baby, then run away like cowards?" Mitchie asked.

"No, it would be way too hard to move with a baby. We're going to move before you have it," Steve said.

"But why do we−" Mitchie stopped midsentence when her father's words hit her. "Wait… Did you say it would be hard to move with a baby?"

Steve nodded. "Yes."

"What does that mean?" Mitchie asked, looking back and forth between her parents, who were sharing knowing glances.

"Well, Mitchie, we decided that if it's really what you want to do, you can keep your baby," Connie said, holding her hands up to stop her daughter from interrupting her. "But we're still moving no matter what!"

"Really?" Mitchie breathed out, a smile etched on her face. "I can keep it?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Connie looked at her husband for confirmation; he nodded.

Mitchie jumped up and took turns hugging both of her parents. "Thank you!" Then reality set in on her. "Wait, I would be starting at a new school pregnant?"

"Actually, we were going to look into homeschooling," Connie said.

"How can we afford that, though?" Mitchie wondered. If they didn't have the money to send her to Camp Rock, then how could they hire a private tutor, because she knew her parents weren't qualified to teach her.

"Well, we're going to have some extra money from selling the house, the hardware store, and the catering business." Steve counted them off on his fingers.

"What?" Mitchie screeched. "I can't let you sell your businesses. You love them!"

"I love to cook," Connie corrected. "I can do that anywhere."

"And owning a hardware store isn't all it's cracked up to be," Steve said. "I only opened it because there was nothing else for me to do in this town."

"Well…" Mitchie shifted in her seat. "Where are we moving to?"

Connie reached across to the empty seat and picked up something from it. She opened it and placed it on the table. Mitchie recognized it at once as a US map.

"Close your eyes and pick a place," Mrs. Torres said.

"You can't be serious," Mitchie said, staring at her mother.

"I'm dead serious," Connie said. "Now pick a place before I do."

"Okay…" Mitchie shut her eyes and put her hand out, her index finger raised. She swirled it around in the air and brought her hand down, her finger making contact with the paper map.

"Well, where's our new home?" Steve asked, trying to see around his daughter's hand.

Mitchie opened her eyes and moved her finger ever so slightly to read the words.

"New York City," she breathed out, excitement and fear spreading through every part of her body.

This chapter was slightly difficult for me to write. It was more of a filler chapter to close up a few things and open new ones. But next chapter should be better. Here's a little hint what it's going to be about: You guys get to meet Alex : )

Review, give me something to come back to.