I will not scream when I meet them.

I will not scream when I meet them.

I will not…. Oh who the hell am I kidding? I’m totally going to scream when I meet them. I mean, it’s not like they’ll be all surprised or anything. I’m sure girls scream at them all the time. It’s proof of adoration or something, right?

I follow Johnny through the lot and do my best to keep up with his entirely too quick pace. And yes, I’m talking about Johnny Wright. He’s showing me around and I’m pretty sure we’re getting to be really good buds. No big deal or anything.

“Every morning before the shows, Angie, the tour manager, will drop off your access pass and itinerary. It’ll basically be the same as the guys’ schedule.”

I really wish he’d slow down. I’m pretty sure there are all sorts of interesting things going on around here and I’d like to see at least a few of them. The man has to be hopped up on speed. No one besides the road runner moves this damn fast.

“Outside the arenas at every show, fan club members are going to have tents set up. They’ll be holding contests, handing out stickers, posters, that sort of thing. There’s also going to be a comment and question box. Fans will be able to write down their questions and put them in the boxes. It’s going to be your responsibility to pick up the boxes. Then, on travel days, you can go through the boxes, pick the best questions and use them when you interview the boys. And you know… since you’ll be on the bus with them, it may not be a bad idea to have them pick out a few questions themselves.”

Boxes, questions, interviews.

I am all over this. Provided I don’t forget a box in some random ass city in Nebraska and you know, totally screw this whole thing up.

“There’s one more thing, and I know this isn’t in your job description, but it would be an enormous favor to me, but I’ll warn you… everyone else has failed miserably.”

Oh yeah, I’m doing uber important favors for Johnny Wright. Told you, we’re tight.

“I need you to keep Trace Ayala away from underage girls and liquor. I don’t care if you have to lock the little bastard in a bathroom somewhere. Just make it happen.”

Boxes, questions, interviews and keep someone named Trace away from jailbait and alcohol. I can totally handle this.

I think it’s safe to say that I’m like… master of the Nsync universe.

Well… not really, but you know what I mean. People here are going to depend on me in a big way. And I’m going to have all access passes to every single show. Really, the only downside to all of this is that every teenage girl on the planet is probably going to have a hit put out on me. But even that doesn’t change how undeniably awesome all of this is.

I’m pretty sure this is God’s way of saying, ‘Lea, you are a kick ass human being, and your reward is to tour the country with pretty dancing boys’

And to that I say, ‘Thanks God. You’re pretty kick ass too.’

And then we’d probably play dodge ball or something. Because I really feel like God would be a big fan of dodge ball. But anyway… I’m getting off topic. And probably sound like I’m stoned. So… back to the important stuff.

“Now, Lea… I need you to listen very carefully.” Johnny stops abruptly and I come within a spilt second of running into him. “And I’m telling you these things for your own safety. One… you are spending the next several months in a very cramped space, with five men in their 20’s. You will see and hear things that will disturb you like nothing else ever has, or ever will. But you need to ignore it. Two… the fans can be a bit… overwhelming. Do not go anywhere without security. And three…” He starts to ramble about how I shouldn’t carry a purse and I can’t help but tune him out.

I feel like I’m being prepared for some epic stealth mission and not gonna lie, it’s pretty freaking cool. I can totally get used to this being important stuff.

“Your bags have been loaded onto the bus and I think that’s about it, unless you have any questions?”

Oh I have lots of questions. Like, when exactly will it be appropriate for me to profess my undying love for Lance Bass, and then whisk him away to Spain so we can get married?

Why Spain, you ask? I don’t know, it just sounds neat. Who wouldn’t want to marry Lance Bass in Spain, seriously?

“Umm… I think I’m good.” I nod slowly. “Oh! Who’s Trace Ayala?”

“An ever enlarging pain in my ass. I’m sure you’ll feel the same exact way, roughly ten seconds after you meet him. Now, you better get going. The busses should be leaving shortly. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Have fun Lea.” He shoots me a weary smile before heading off toward the crowd of reporters waiting behind the fences.

I’m about to walk onto Nsync’s tour bus. Where I’ll technically be living for the next four months. It is oh so very good to be me at the moment.

I climb the stairs carefully, praying like hell that I don’t fall and bust my face open. Wouldn’t that be a lovely way to start this adventure? But then again… if I did bust my face open, Lance Bass could come to my rescue and I can get a head start on that taking him to Spain thing. So I still come out on top.

I didn’t really have any expectations for the bus, expect maybe complete and total greatness. But, sadly… I just feel like I walked into a very large mobile home.

Long black leather couches line each side of a very small walkway. At the end of each couch, is a small booth, with benches big enough to sit three people on each side. A tiny refrigerator and stove are behind the booths, while cabinets are built into the walls.

A heavy red curtain separates the middle of the bus from the front. Beyond the curtain, three incredibly small bunks are stacked on top of each other on either side.

Great. I’m going to spend the next four months sleeping in a coffin. The awesome factor here just dropped about 30 points.

I pass the bunks quietly and stop in front of a wooden door. Ok… secret tour bus room, you’ve helped gain back approximately five awesome points.

I reach for the doorknob, but stop when I hear voices in the secret room.

“So, she’s like… alternating between crying and screaming, right? And I’m like… just standing there, trying not to laugh. I didn’t know if I was supposed to give her a tissue or put a gag in her mouth. And you know, her wearing a T-shirt with my giant face on it didn’t help at all. Like, what makes them think that does them any favors? Am I supposed to be like, ‘oh yes… I’d like to reproduce with you, because you managed to find a shirt with the biggest picture of my face on it. And then our kids can wear shirts with my face on them, and hell.. Why don’t I just wear one too while I’m at it?’ Where the hell do these chicks come from man?”

“You know…. I think I prefer the ones that write my name on their forehead. I feel like there’s a little extra edge of crazy in that. I can respect that sort of insanity.”

“Bottom line is, they’re all god damn lunatics.”

You know… I’m beginning to think wearing my Nsync shirt here today probably wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made. And I am going to change. Immediately.

I duck into the ridiculously small bathroom, rummage the first decent shirt I can find out of my bag and throw it on, making damn sure the Nsync shirt is at the very bottom of my backpack. I may have to torch the thing at some point. Or just find a very, very nifty hiding spot.

I sincerely hope they won’t be offended by the New Kids On The Block sheets though. Cause those aren’t going anywhere, except on the mattress of my bunk, and that’s that.

I step out of the bathroom and smack into something, or someone rather, much shorter than myself.

“Oh…oh…oh crap… I’m sorry!”

“Chill. I’m pretty sure I’m going to live.” He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Website girl, right?”

I have a nickname. Not a very good one, but it’s a nickname none the less, and it was obviously given to me by a member of Nsync. I’m oddly ok with this.

And hey look… I’m not screaming! Good things are happening here people!

“Umm… yeah. Lea.”

“Chris.” He nods and glances around quickly. “Did anybody give you a tour or anything?”

“Not really. But, it’s totally fine… I can’t really see myself getting lost in here.” I laugh…. And oh crap… I definitely just snorted.

“Umm… yeah. Well… the guys are all in the backroom. We’re probably leaving here soon. So… good to meet you.” He nods again and heads for the front of the bus, yelling for someone named “Frankie Baby.”

One beyond awkward encounter down, four more to go. Rather than embarrass myself further, I take a seat on the couch and wait. If we’re leaving soon, I can only assume the other four will be filing off the bus to say goodbye to their friends and families. That way, I won’t interrupt whatever they’re doing in the secret room and prove what a complete awkward freak I am.

“Alright assholes…. Everybody up front, right fucking now.”

Oh Jesus Christ…

A very tiny, very angry looking man boards the bus quickly, and I’m 99 percent sure he’s here to rob us. And when he opens my bag to take my money, he’s going to find my Nsync shirts and my cd’s and my super awesome adventure will come to an end before it’s even started.

Damnit.

The door to the secret room opens and four men, various ages and heights, all amble up the small walkway. And because I am secretly still 13 years old, all I can do is sit here with my mouth hanging open.

Justin.

Joey.

Jc.

Lance.

Chris.

Yep… the gang’s all here.

“Alright… you little pricks listen up, and listen good.” The tiny angry man begins and I get the feeling I’m the only one who’s mildly terrified of what he’s about to do to us. “We ain’t having any funny business this go round, understood? No whoopee cushions, no fake snakes, no smoke bombs. Not on my bus. And so help me god, if you little fuckers replace my cigarettes with birthday candles again, I will drive this bus off a cliff with all of ya’s in it. And there ain’t anybody in the world who’ll blame me. “

“Umm… Frank… that vein in your forehead is popping out again…”

“Off. A. Fucking. Cliff.” Frank repeats before stomping to the front of the bus and taking his seat behind the wheel.

I’m going to die at some point within the next four months, I just know it.