"I swear you two just need to relearn everything you thought you knew about each other again, in my honest opinion."
"I know that's what you think, but how do think we'd end up?"
"By the end of the first month, either killing each other or friends again. We're hoping for the friendship to be rebuilt."
"You know what he did to me."
"I know, Sam. I saw and heard about all of it. There's still some things that I don't know or have answers for the questions I want to ask."
"Like what?"
"What made you run off like that? What REALLY happened? Why are you more guarded now than you were before?"
"All three questions require a single word answer-Nick."
"There's more to it than that and I'm not stupid."
"Papa, you have no clue how bad he did me."
"Samantha, I'm aware of how bad he can get sometimes. I've known him since he was twelve or thirteen."
"Not when it comes to what he did and said to me."
"Are we ever going to?"
"Most likely not."
"Why?"
"It's my fault for letting him in the way I did."
"Which is?"

I place my feet on the bottom of the lighting rig and walk my feet toward my upper body, stopping when I look like I'm laying face up in a fetal-like position. "Kevvy, it's just a really painful thing to talk about and I'm still healing. Justin's trying so hard to help me and he understands."
"You told him, but won't tell the four of us? We expected you to tell your cousin and his friend, maybe even tell Brian. You had to contradict what we thought you'd do."
"If I didn't contradict it, would I be me?" I point out, glum as I've ever been.
"Sometimes we wonder. If you ever want to talk to Brian, Howie or myself, we're here and will make time for you. We miss you."
"Now comes the guilt trip," I groan, my blue eyes rolling.
"No guilt trip," he sighs. "We care about you and let us know what your decision is three days after Christmas."
"Yeah, yeah, Kev. I'll let you, Howie or Brian know by Christmas."
I sigh heavily and let my legs slam onto the top of the speaker. "I will keep it between Brian and myself if you want."
"Just don't tell Nick or Howie because I want to surprise them."
"You have a mischievous tone, what are you thinking?" he asks, cautious.
"Nick and AJ love to pull pranks and Howie talks in his sleep. Howie finds out, Nick just has to talk to him while he's asleep and will get all info he craves from him."
"Heh, you haven't forgotten. Something that I should keep in mind myself."
"Jazz?" JC calls out for me. Dammit! 
"Papa, I gotta cut this short. I'll call you back later."
"One of them hunting for you?"
"Yeah, the daddy of the five."
"Just text me and we can finish this conversation."
"Thanks, Papa. I will. Love and miss everyone."
"Even Nick?"
"Not one bit."
He chortles and is probably shaking with laughter. "Right, you hate his guts. Talk to you soon."
"Definitely." I hang up and jump off the speaker, having jammed my cell into my pocket. I've been getting braver and braver, slowly getting over my fear of heights. I'm hoping by the time I'm thirty, I'll have enough gumption to jump from a plane 30,000+ feet in the air and parachute to the ground. The speaker I was on was ten feet easy, I had scooted my ass to the edge and jumped, effortlessly landing on my feet.

BAM! My feet hit the floor and JC spins around, looking like he's been frightened. "Jeeze, girl! Between you, Justin, Chris and Joey, you're all going to be the death of me," he confesses, his head shaking side to side. 
"Glad to hear that and to be of help," I remark, facetiously. 
"Why do you insist on doing that?"
"Doing what?" I ask, entirely confused.
"Wanting to help me die early? Consider going on tour with the Backstreet Boys? Taking enough college courses to exhaust a normal 18 year old and only going on 16 in a month and a half?"
"I don't want you to die early, I just love scaring you. Touring with them might help me bury the proverbial hatchet. The college courses are because I want to achieve two degrees by the time I'm 25 and I'm loca in the cabasa," I say, shrugging it all off.
JC rolls his eyes. "Justin's been looking for you for an hour, I've been calling your name for half that. You need to start telling one of us where you're going, shorty."
"Shut it, Chasez!"
"You found Smurf!" Joey yells.
I glare at them both. "You call someone 'shorty' when they're under five two and 'Smurfs' are about nine inches tall, I think, just an FYI-I'm five three," I inform them, tapping my foot and crossing my arms over my budding chest. I ever tell you that I hate being a girl? Well, I do-the tits, whole hips widening thing, the monthly issue and the staring boys. An hourglass figure and a mid C cup bust with huge (albeit awkward) hips. At least my coordination didn't shit the fucking bed, my skin hasn't gone haywire and I'm so bored I enrolled in college and I'll be chasing dance/theater and music degrees. 
They smile in sheer amusement and continue to tease me. "We won't stop calling you shorty or Smurf until you turn 18 or are taller than five six," JC tells me. He has the nerve to tell me that with a priggish look.
"Fuck you both. I'm 16!"
"Not for another seven or eight weeks!"
"It's November 23!"
"So how many weeks is that, smart ass?" James asks, coming out of what seems to be nowhere.
"One day short of seven," I say, matter-of-factly with as much attitude as I can muster toward the three of them.

Justin and Chris are MIA right now, making me worry about what they could be planning or setting up or talking about. 
"You're counting down to the day?"
"Forty-eight, but who's counting?" I shrug and smile.
"Obviously, you." Joey glances at me.
I laugh. "Sixteen is a huge milestone back home," I explain. "Most sixteen year olds are still in high school and have yet to get their license, never mind a car. I'm set for both, done with high school, going into college, and my mom is allowing me to be an emancipated minor with attached stipulations for two years."
"That doesn't surprise me," JC vocalizes. "She already talked to me. When you're with us, you're under James and my care and when you're with the Boys, you're Kevin, Howie and Brian's responsibility. She had posed this to me a year and a half ago."
"I knew there was a reason that Ma kept in touch with those three Boys and you two," I comment, motioning with a finger toward James and JC.
"That's why she kept in touch with us, but I'm not exactly sure why she kept in touch with the other three," James relinquishes the information carefully.
"Either way, I get to have fun, be around good friends, see the world and accomplish things I thought I wouldn't be able to."

"Until it has to do with Nick," James, JC, Joey and Chris utter in unison. When and where did Chris appear?
"I can overlook that fact and go on with my life," I tell myself more than I do them, knitting my eyebrows together and swipe my hand in front of me as if I were erasing something on a chalkboard.
"You've been saying that since you came running to us," JC reminds me, attempting to say it gently.
"You've only gotten closer to Justin and I don't think that was the best choice or way to do that, Jazz," James says, looking at me like he used to when I was little and had friend troubles.
I turn away, my back facing the four of them. I feel a very familiar body come close to mine and hug me from behind, smelling like Irish Spring soap and my favorite cologne, Chrome, which has hints of cedar wood and jasmine. "Sam," he whispers. I sniffle and pull my right shoulder away from under his chin, he just puts it there again. "I know you're hurting, I understand. You need to tell JC."
"No," I defend, sniffling and tears forming.
"You can't keep it all in," he reinforces, wiping tears from my cheek.
"I can't tell anyone else."
"Sometimes you have to."
"I'll think about it. I have to talk to you."
"Sure, come on." He turns to the other four members. "I'm going to talk to her about some shit and I'll make sure not to be late."
~~~~~

I help James with getting the sequence of steps down between the show we did yesterday and the one they have tomorrow, proving the lounge is too small. Since we got to the next city and into hotel rooms, we're sharing one. James and I start the playback and have our own little rehearsal in our room, laughing the whole time. I go to do the flip for 'I Want You Back', misjudge my landing and injure my ankle. "Fuck!"
"We can go to the ER," he offers.
"Or make a private appointment to avoid paparazzi and fans." 
"I take it you're more partial to the whole private appointment option, seeing as you suggested it?"
"Yeah, see if Justin or JC is willing to go and we're taking Derek, Tiny or Lonnie."
"Let me go talk to to them," he says, turning to run and I yank my cell out of my pocket.
"I got this. Ah! It fucking hurts." I find Lonnie's number and call. "Nie, I need you."
"Crazy fan?"
"Nah, screwed up my ankle, hospital."
"Be there in a minute."
"Thanks."
"No prob."
"Grab Justin or JC?"
"Justin might be the wiser choice since..."
"I know."
"Thanks."
"Anytime."

We hang up and I see James pulling up the bottom of my left pant leg to check the injury. "It's swelling pretty bad and bruising."
"Guess I haven't kept my borderline anemia in check since coming with you guys."
"You're still borderline on that?"
"Yeah." I hiss in pain as he checks the severity of the damage, touching and pressing on it. "Keep fucking touching the damned injury and I'll cause you a head trauma!"
He stops messing with my ankle when someone knocks on the door. "Dude, open the damn door!" I hear Justin yell through the door. James opens it, allowing Justin and Lonnie in and Justin picks me up, handing me to Lonnie in less than a second. The three of us book it to the van and head for the hospital, James on the phone with a sports injury doc and Justin trying to keep me as calm and pain free as possible while Lonnie drives. The minute we pull up, Justin and James assist me in getting into the hospital and the doctor's office to check in, only to be pulled into an exam room immediately. 

"What's going on?"
"These two are known pretty well here in Kentucky and you seem to be associated with Backstreet Boys," Lonnie informs us.
"Who said that?" I ask.
"Huh?" Justin grunts in confusion.
"What?!" James replies, completely shocked.
"The security guard on the way in the building," Lonnie surrenders the little tidbit as Justin and James help me sit on the table.
"Fuck!" I scream, hitting my thighs. "How did that happen? I was so fucking cautious!" I weave my fingers through my hair and grip handfuls of it. "Always wore a cap, hoodie or something like that and kept my head down. I did everything to hide my full identity-letting them call me 'Lynni' in public, tucking my hair in my cap or hood and anything else you guys taught me," I list off and become increasingly irritated. 
"Sam, relax," Justin tells me.
"I was so careful and somehow the paps still found out!" I'm in total freak out mode, tears and all.
"Sam, chill out," James reiterates.
I'm pissed as hell and frustrated, tears falling from my eyes rapidly. It's a girl thing I guess. "How can I chill out when all your fans and all the Backstreet Boys' fans know who I am?!?!?!" Justin walks over to me, stopping right in front of me and I don't realize it because I'm spacing and freaking out right now. "I don't feel safe anymore. How long have they known? Will they attack me? Hate mail I can handle, but not being put in danger."
"It's a few cities and the European fans love you, you've met some," Justin reminds me, cupping my face in his hands.
"The US fans are a whole other ball park!" I argue.
"Not as far as we've seen," James reassures me.
Justin rests his forehead on mine, his baby blue orbs looking into my turquoise ones and dropping his voice to a barely audible level. "Baby, calm down. We can have PR deal with this, say something like you're our friend and theirs. We can figure this out, don't worry about it."
"According to the media and the fans, you guys and Backstreet are rivals. I don't want to be in the midst of a war because I'm friends with the nine of you and Aaron."
"Aren't there ten of us?" Justin asks, almost sure he's right.
"I'm not exactly what most call 'friends' with Nickolas Gene Carter, duh!" I retort, putting my forefinger to my temple and quickly pointing toward the door.
"Samantha Charpentier?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Dr. Anthony Knowles. What brings you here today?"
"Her left ankle," James answers, lifting my left pant leg again.
Dr. Knowles' eyes bug out at how swollen and bruised it is. "Do you have any conditions that could cause this reaction?"
"Borderline anemia," I relinquish voluntarily, without any thought.
"How long have you been aware of this?"
"Since I was about five."
"Ok, what happened to cause the injury?"
"We were dancing and I tried to complete a flip. When I landed, I had misjudged it and lost my balance. I think it's twisted or sprained."
"We'll do some x-rays and see if you're right, just as a precaution to ensure a correct diagnosis."
I nod as he touches and presses on it, wincing in excruciating pain. They bring in a portable x-ray machine, take films and develop them. They wrap my ankle with an ace bandage and give me a prescription for motrin to manage the pain. "What is it?"
"A sprained ankle. From the looks of it, you've done it multiple times," Dr. Knowles comments.
"Yeah, I'm only 15, oh, and accident prone."
"When you want to be," James mutters under his breath.
"What, James?" I ask, cupping my hand around my ear. I've been given 800 mg of motrin and I'm feeling great, plus I know how to care for it. I'll be on my feet in about two or three weeks, I've done it enough.
"Nothing, Jazz."
"I'll get you yet."
"She seems fine now," Justin points out.
"Kind of like herself, just more of a smart ass," Lonnie realizes.
"Yep, my ass is smart! Thanks for noticing!" I chirp. 
"It's the motrin they gave her half an hour ago, it's kicked in," James confirms. "I should've remembered this from... what I was told by her cousin," cautiously remarks.
"Ixnay on the upidstay, Amesjay!" I scream.

"Either of you understand what she just said?" James asks.
Justin laughs. "Oh, yeah! That was pig Latin. She said to 'nix the stupid, James'," he quickly and thoughtlessly translates.
"Níl an oiread sin ba mhaith liom é a insint Preab agus Sleepy, Scoop, ach níl a fhios agam conas a. Tuillte acu ar an eolas faoi ár stair. Léir i gceist agat an méid sin dom, ciallaíonn Frack an chuid is mó, agus tá an dara gar Preab. Thug mé Frack gach rud a bhí agam agus tá Preab sásta a bheith acu ar a bhfuil sé. Preab tá sé i bhfad níos mó a glacadh agus grámhara. Frack bhí douche i mo láthair agus thug mé fós dó níos mó ná fiú sé! Is fuath liom mé féin agus mo chás agus go bhfuil mé a dhéanamh ar an rogha seo! Just a fucking shoot dom! Bheadh anois iontach! " I complain.
"Sam!" James yells, shocked I even said all the things that have been bogging my mind since a year and a half ago.
"How do you understand what the hell she just rambled off?" Justin inquires, crossing his arms over his taut pecs and Lonnie nods in agreement.
"My best friend's grandma taught me some Irish from the time I was 11. I picked up a great deal of it and understand more than I can speak," he confesses. "His little cousin always spoke to me in it, it was her code. I always answered in English when she would speak in Irish," he continues, nearly blowing our cover.
"Yeah, yeah. Enough about your friend's cousin, how about we get back to the hotel so I can get some damn sleep?" I snap, covering our tracks again.