I stare at the screen in front of me and blink several times.

Nope. Still blurry as hell.

As excited as I am to be doing this, I’m quickly realizing that it’s a terrible, terrible idea. I’m just the girl who delivered the mail and made coffee. Under no circumstances should I be here. Call me crazy, but I have a sneaking suspicion this would be much easier for someone who’s, you know… an actual writer. Instead, they’re stuck with me, in all my awkward glory.

And believe me, I’m not complaining by any means. I’m just terrified of screwing the whole thing up.

Let’s face facts here, if I embarrass Rolling Stone magazine, chances are good I’ll end up living in a cardboard box in some seedy alley somewhere, and I’ll have to share breadcrumbs with rats. I’d even bet you that my only social interaction would be with said rats.

Oh god… I’d be the crazy rat lady. People would come from miles around to watch me talk to my rats. Mark my words… it could totally go down like that. All because I didn’t know how to write about Nsync.

And then, in a perfect example of irony, I’d be offered countless book deals, to explain how Nsync ruined my once promising life, and I wouldn’t even be able to write the damn book.

“Most people sleep at three am, ya know.”

“This is true. However, most people do not have online journal entries due…. Three hours ago.”

You know… something tells me being a smartass will get me nowhere, but… it’s three in the morning, I’m cranky and have no clue what I’m doing. Oh… and the very attractive boy band member trying to talk to me really isn’t helping what so ever.

“What… you mean those things have a deadline?” He chuckles and shakes his head slowly. “I had no idea.”

“Well Jc Chasez… now you do.”

“You know you can call me Jc, right? Or Josh. You don’t have to use my full name.”

Yeah… this is not going well.

We’ve been on the road for roughly seven hours, and I think it’s safe to say that my attempts at being one of the cool kids are failing miserably. Big shock there, I know.

As pathetic as it surely makes me sound, I had this idea in my head that the men of Nsync would be going out of their way to bond with me. Honestly, if things were going according to my delusional little plan, we’d all be participating in a giant sing-a-long right about now. Instead, the guys have been sleeping or playing video games while I’ve done nothing but screw around on the internet.

This whole tour thing better start living up to my expectations of greatness soon, otherwise I’m probably going to be bored shitless for the next four months.

“Or ya know… if umm… if that’s what makes you feel comfortable, then by all means…” He mumbles. I didn’t think it was humanly possible, but I do believe the awkwardness in this exchange just multiplied by at least a hundred.

“Sorry… I’m just… way out of my element here.”

“First big assignment, huh?”

“Umm… you could say that.”

“Ah… so you’re probably super nervous and have a shit ton of pressure on you, right?”

“Fairly accurate.”

“Just wing it. Don’t put so much thought into it. Just write about what a bunch of freaks we are, and you’ll be good. Trust me.”

“You two wanna stop yakking back there? Some people are trying to drive a god damn bus here, and have no desire to hear how miserable your perfect fuckin lives make ya.” Frank calls out and I cringe.

He may be small, but he’s scary.

“Sorry, Frank.” Jc sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about Frank, he’s really not… ok, yeah… he’s terrifying. Anyway… get some sleep.” He smiles as he slides out of the booth and heads back toward his bunk.

This is going to end badly. No doubt about it.

*****************

“You know… I’d like to know how you plan on delivering information about us when you don’t know us.”

I jump at the sound of a voice behind me and turn to face the source. He’s grinning at me, and despite my previous beliefs… his smile is sort of creepy. Like any second now, he’s going to pull out a knife, hack me into a billion pieces. Then he’ll probably put those pieces into one of the giant confetti canons they shoot off at the end of the show.

I’m going to be turned into confetti by a member of Nsync. I guess there are worse ways one could go out.

“I think that’s why I’m supposed to interview you.”

“And what if I choose not to be interviewed?”

“I’m pretty sure you aren’t allowed to do that.”

“Sure I can.” He shrugs and stands up. “Tell you what… I will grant you one interview, but I’m gonna need some incentive.”

“Uhh…”

“I’m not gonna ask ya to help me bury a body or anything. That’s worth at least six interviews.” He smirks and rolls his eyes. “I’ll start off small, I swear.”

“Chris! We got shit to do man! Get your ass up here NOW!” Justin bellows from his spot on the stage and Chris rolls his eyes.

He doesn’t move, but I can clearly see his gaze land on Frank, who’s seated at the edge of the stage, reading the newspaper.

“We’re going to prank Frank.” He nods seriously, his eyes quickly moving back to the stage. “And we’re going to blame it on Justin.”

“Wha-why? I mean… I don’t… I’m…Frank scares me.”

“Don’t be such a wuss kid. Meet me by the bus in 20 minutes.” He ruffles my hair and quickly jogs back toward the stage.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

I’ve had virtually no interaction with Frank, but I’ve already seen the man yell at least a dozen times in the 24 hours since we left Orlando.

He may be small, but he’s loud, and he’s always angry. It’s been my experience that those two things do not blend very well.

Somehow, I don’t think pissing off the bus driver is the best way to begin this adventure, but I’ve also got a feeling I don’t have much choice.

I think I know exactly how gang members feel when they’re initiated.

*******************

It’s been two days since project prank Frank began. I’m not exactly sure what result we were going for, but I feel like the silent treatment probably wasn’t it.

I met Chris by the bus, just as he instructed. He went into the bus alone, while I stood guard. When he came back out, I figured he hadn’t succeeded. Needless to say, I was wrong.

Believe it or not, Frank is apparently quite sentimental. He’s driven for the boys on all three of their major US tours, and it’s safe to say the guys know him pretty well. According to Chris, all through every single tour, Frank had a pair of dog tags hanging from the rearview mirror.

Naturally, anytime someone questioned Frank about the mysterious dog tags, he told them to, and I quote “eat shit and bark at the moon.”

I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean, and I didn’t even bother to ask, but apparently it’s the absolute worst thing Frank can say to you. I beg to differ, but what do I know?

Needless to say, Chris’s brilliant idea was to steal the dog tags, and plant them on Justin. Unfortunately for Chris, I’m beginning to think the dog tags don’t really mean all that much to Frank.

Number one, he hasn’t sad a word about their disappearance. Secondly, they obviously aren’t military issued dog tags. One is simply engraved with the name Arnold. The other, is a date- 02/16/90.

Yeah… it makes no sense, and obviously… our prank isn’t going to work out as originally planned.

But, I’m totally fine with this. I got to conspire with Chris Kirkpatrick, and we officially have an inside joke. Life is good.

I’m sure you’re not interested in any of this though. So, I’ll just stick with the stuff that you want to actually hear about.

Today, is a travel day, and rather than hang out and do awesome, top secret boy band stuff with the guys, I’m stuck sorting through the fan box from the first show. I don’t know what the hell Johnny Wright thought I was supposed to get out of this thing, cause so far, I’ve got roughly 63 marriage proposals for Justin. 38 offers to have Joey’s children. 19 naked pictures for Jc. 27 ‘I love you Lance’ notes and 44 dog toys for Chris.

I’d say this box stuff is a bust.

“Alright assholes… we’ll be at the hotel in about five minutes. Get your shit together now. I’m not fighting off those psychotic little girls for long.” Frank’s voice carries throughout the entire bus and I shudder.

He scares me. I can’t help it.

I gather my things and head to the front of the bus, lining up behind the boys. Frank gets off the bus first and begins unloading the bags with the crew members. The assembly line of luggage they have going seems quite efficient, until Frank stops suddenly. He looks around quickly before his eyes finally land on the windows of the bus.

And he’s downright furious.

He says something to the man behind him, before he stomps back onto the bus, a dark green duffel bag in his hand. The door to the bus slams shut behind him and I swallow hard. I don’t know what we’ve done in the last five minutes, but it can’t possibly be good.

“Alright you ghetto fabulous fuckhead… front and center. NOW.” He glares at us, nostrils flaring.

You know how in Disney movies, the villain has that moment where they totally flip their shit, and turn into a dragon? I’m positive that’s exactly what’s about to happen here.

Also… I don’t know who the ghetto fabulous fuckhead is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not me. So that’s something I can be thankful for.

“J… I think that’s you.” Chris mumbles and elbows me in the side. He nods excitedly and it finally dawns on me.

I do believe Frank has just found his dog tags. In Justin’s bag.

“Yeah?” Justin slides past Joey to stand in front of Frank, confusion written all over his face. “Something wrong Frank?”

“Explain.” Frank holds the dog tags directly in front of Justin’s face and Chris stifles a laugh.

“Umm…. Aren’t those your dog tags? The ones that are on the mirror all the time?”

“Don’t have to hit you over the head with a fuckin brick, do I?” Frank mutters and shakes his head. “Why were they in your bag?”

“What?” Justin squeaks, his face turning a bright shade of red. “Frank, man… I swear… I never touched em!”

“Bullshit.” Frank seethes and grabs Justin by the collar of his shirt. “I found them. In. Your. Bag. You think you’re fucking funny? Huh? You think I’m some asshole here for your god damn entertainment? Guess what kid… I’m gonna make the next three months of your life fucking miserable. I’ve put up with more than enough of your bullshit over the years, but this is it.”

“Frank… I swear to fucking god… I never touched them!”

“I’m gonna be watching you, you little prick. And so help me god… you piss me off in the slightest… you will pay dearly for it.” Frank’s face is mere inches from Justin’s, and if I’m not mistaken… Justin Timberlake might actually piss his pants right here and now.

“I didn’t take them! I’m telling you… I don’t know how they got there…somebody… I… somebody set me up man!” Tears are quickly forming in Justin’s eyes and Chris is doing his absolute best not to laugh.

“Oh, so now it’s a god damn conspiracy, eh? You’re a real fuckin comedian kid.” Frank snorts. “You took em. I know ya took em. Be a fuckin man and admit it.” Frank shakes his head and releases Justin. “You know what… I think I prefer you lying. Cause if you admit ya took em, I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll do to your scrawny ass. Get your shit and get in the hotel.”

“Frank… I didn’t take your dog tags!” Justin wails defiantly and as much as I hate to admit it, even I’m having a hard time not laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I’m the god damn Queen of England.” Frank snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, and I’m calling your mother, Ghetto Fabulous. Be prepared for that one.”

“Frank… you can’t!” Justin cries, tears streaming down his face now. “She’s gonna fuckin kill me!”

“Better her than me,” Frank shrugs and heads off the bus, Justin following him the whole way.

Well…. On the bright side, I’ve finally found the subject for my first journal entry.

How to make Justin Timberlake cry.