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in the twenty-first century, right?”
    â€œWell, I figured they were just a passing fad.” Mac flashed a joking smile.
    Caitlyn laughed. “Are you on Facebook? Or MySpace? IM?”
    â€œI might consider it if you are,” Mac said.
    Caitlyn turned a deep shade of red. She had no idea what to say. And normally she was the first with a witty comeback! “Okay, Bob,” she said instead, speaking into a microphone to distract herself, “I think we’re all set here. Mac and I will start running wires down to the stage.”
    On the stage, there was a flurry of excitement. Mitchie and Shane had just arrived for their sound check, and both the School Rocks PR team and stage crew were bustling around them.
    â€œWhich angle do you think is her best?” someone shouted to a camera operator.
    â€œRed filters on the lights will look fabulous with Mitchie’s hair,” a stylist observed from the sidelines.
    The PR team had gone all out for the event, hiring everyone who was anyone in the business. When the event got press—and it would—School Rocks wanted its stars looking terrific.
    â€œOooh,” gushed a makeup person. “And I can put some pink highlighting around her cheekbones to make her eyes pop.”
    Listening to everyone talk about her as if she weren’t there, Mitchie stood, frozen to the spot. “I’m not sure I want my eyes to pop,” she whispered to Shane. “That sounds like it hurts.”
    Shane chuckled, but Mitchie was serious. She wasn’t sure how to handle all this attention. So she just stood still as people fluttered around her, touching her hair and her clothes, positioning her on the stage, and setting her microphone to the right height.
    Repeatedly, she shot Shane a look that cried, “Help me!”
    â€œDo you like the mike here?” an assistant asked Mitchie. He lowered the microphone two inches. “Or here?”
    Mitchie thought about it. “Um . . . here, I guess.”
    â€œShane,” someone else asked, “do you think you should be more upstage?”
    Shane looked at Mitchie. “What do you think?”
    Mitchie shrugged. “More downstage.”
    The more questions the “talent handlers” asked, the more comfortable Mitchie became with giving orders. By the time the actual sound check commenced, Mitchie was enjoying herself. It was a whirlwind, but she had to admit . . . it was kind of fun to be at the center of it all.

C HAPTER
F IVE

    T wo electric mixers, a blender, and three burners on the stove in the kitchen were going when Mitchie got back to camp. Once again, her mom was swamped. With the concert, she not only had to feed the camp but Brown had also volunteered her services to the School Rocks’ staff.
    Luckily, Caitlyn had stopped by looking for Mitchie and when she saw the chaos, offered to lend Connie a hand. Now she was chopping cucumbers at the large kitchen table as she told Connie about the changes to the school’s theater.
    They both looked up as the door slammed behind Mitchie. She looked at her mom and friend and shrugged sheepishly. She knew she was late, but the sound check had gone on forever.
    â€œSorry! Sorry!” Mitchie cried, warding off a scolding from her mother about being on time by giving her a kiss on the cheek and quickly taking a seat next to Caitlyn. Picking up a cucumber, she began to chop.
    â€œSo, how’d it go?” her mom asked. She had been thrilled when Brown made his announcement—despite the extra work it meant. Seeing her daughter happy was well worth it.
    â€œIt went really well,” Mitchie answered.
    Connie smiled broadly. She knew how Mitchie could get nervous performing in front of a lot of people. But Mitchie had been working on getting past that all summer, and it seemed to be paying off.
    â€œThat’s great, sweetie,” Connie said, wiping her hands on her apron, which was already splattered with