"Where Connect Three connected…"
"Shane." A woman's voice. "Shane, honey." His mother. "Wake up, babe."
His eyes opened. Shane Gray, fifteen. He was talented, and beautiful. Short black hair, the iris of his eye so dark they nearly matched the pupil.
"You're starting Camp Rock today, Shane. Did you forget?" She questioned.
Shane looked around, his bags, everything was packed already. He hadn't forgotten. He'd went the previous summer, and he looked forward to going this summer as well.
"No, mom, I didn't forget," he said, getting up.
His mother smiled, and grabbed a piece of paper. "Did you pack your toothbrush?"
They went through the list of essentials, and double checked to make sure Shane had everything he needed.
Shane and his mother joined Shane's brothers at the table. Shane had two brothers, Spencer, who was eleven, and Sammy, who was a year. Their father was in Iraq.
"Are you really leaving for camp?" questioned Spencer.
"Yeah, Spence, I am."
"Can I go?"
"You kind of have to be musically talented. You, my friend, have no talent with music. Stick to soccer." He didn't sound mean at all. He was simply giving advice. Spencer really did have no musical talent.
When their father leaves, Shane kind of feels it was his responsibility to step up as 'Dad.' His mother always sent him to some kind of camp for the summer.
Her brother worked there, he ran the camp. He let Shane camp for free, thankfully. Sometimes finance wasn't well for the Grays.
"By the time you come back, people will be begging me to join their teams," Spencer informed Shane.
"Glad to hear it," he replied. He looked at baby Sammy. "What about you, dude? How are you spending your summer?"
Sammy giggled, and said things in his language.
A knock on the door, and it opened. Shane's cousin, Morgan, who was sixteen, entered. "Hey, Auntie Sheila," she greeted. "Hey Shane. Spencer. Sammy!"
"Ah, Morgan," Shane's mom, Sheila, greeted. "Glad you're here. Shane, we can go now. You ready sweetie?"
Shane put his spoon in his bowl. "Yup," he replied. He took his carryon bag, the last that wasn't loaded, and him and his mother proceeded to the car, driving to Camp Rock.
Jason Sherwood was seventeen. He was awake, and going through everything in his bags, making sure he didn't leave anything behind. The last three times he went to Camp Rock, he always ended up leaving something behind.
Last year, it was his pillow.
The year before that, his Nub-Nub, a stuffed lamb that his sister gave him when he was a baby, he didn't sleep the whole summer.
The year before that, it was his socks.
This year, he wasn't going to forget anything. He was going to make sure of that.
His father entered the room. "You still have time to change your mind, Jason," he informed. His father, Lucas Sherwood, didn't quite approve of his son's wanting to go to Camp Rock. He didn't believe that Jason would get anywhere with music, even with the help of a camp.
"I'm not changing my mind, dad," Jason said, "I didn't last year, or the year before that, or the year before that. I'm not going to change it now."
"You're making a mistake, Jason," his father told him. "You'll never get anywhere. Doesn't matter how good you are, or how good you think you are. All that matters is your finance, and where you come from. You come from here, you're poor. You're going to stay here. You're wasting your money on this camp."
"It doesn't matter, it's my money," Jason said, standing up. Jason worked all year at the pizza joint, and didn't spend a dime. He had to provide his own way. His father wasn't doing it anymore, and his mother was poorer than his father. "And you're wrong. I'll get somewhere."
They heard the horn of a car, Jason's sister's car. She was giving him a ride. She was the only one that would. Jason would drive himself, but cars were not permitted on campus, for well, obvious reasons.
He grabbed his bags, threw them in his sister's trunk, and they took off. Jason felt bad for his younger sisters and his younger brother that had to stay home, and switch back and forth from mommy to daddy every week.
He buckled up, and they took off. "What's wrong, Jace?" she asked, five minutes down the road.
"Dad gave me the 'you're never going to get anywhere, so you mind as well stay home' bit again."
His sister shook her head. "You know dad. He just wants someone to stay home and take care of the younger's while he works. You'd be doing it for free. Now he has to hire someone. Don't ever let him stop you from chasing your dreams, Jace. Promise me that. Promise you'll have a good time here, too."
"I promise you, Catalina Catherine Sherwood, that I, Jason Elijah Sherwood, will do my best to have a good time at Camp Rock, and that I will never let my father get in my way of my dreams."
Loud noises and baby cries woke him up. Nathaniel Bruce Parker lived in a this madness of a home. Surrounding him was a bunch of little kids. Him, he was twelve, just old enough to get into the camp that he desperately wanted to go to.
"Get up, Nate," someone spat.
His eyes opened, and he sighed. He found the person yelling at him was his cousin, Wayne. Wayne was not a very nice person.
Nate's curly hair was a mess, but it was always a mess.
He got up, and went into the kitchen. His aunt and uncle were sitting at the table, smiling.
Neither worked, rather, they took in foster kids and accepted the check that came with the kid. They had five fosters in the home, with Nate, and Nate's three cousins.
Nate guessed five was their limit. They got money for Nate, too. His parents had died two months ago in an accident.
His brothers, Jamie and Kyle, got to live together, in peace at their grandparents house.
He didn't get to, though. He was forced to live with all these people, with no place, or time to mourn his parents, and being separated from his brothers.
"Ma'am, what are you so happy about?" He asked, miserably.
"We found this brochure, Nate," his uncle said, holding up the Camp Rock brochure. "Why didn't you tell us you wanted to go to this camp for the summer?"
"Because maybe I don't want to, sir," Nate said.
He'd been brought up right. He was always addressing women as 'ma'am' and men as 'sir.'
His aunt looked at him. "You're going. Bottom line," she said, strictly. "You can work on some music, make some friends, take your mind off Jamie, Kyle and your parents. We pulled some strings, and the state agreed to pay your commission."
"Your stuff is all packed," his uncle added.
"Yeah, the cab will be here any minute," his cousin said, angrily. Clearly, Wayne was jealous that Nate had talent, and got to leave, while he was stuck home all summer. "Jackass."
"Get ready, idiot!" Wayne said, punching Nate in the face.
Nate stumbled, but didn't' fall down. He was much smaller than Wayne.
He went in his room, and started packing.
Nate was so angry that his grandparents didn't want him, but he was angrier at himself for not being good enough.
He was angry at his aunt and uncle for taking kids for money, and he hated them for having Wayne.
All of his clothes, toothbrush, and other things he needed fit in one bag, besides his guitar, that he had to carry otherwise.
"Nate!" He heard his aunt's voice. "The cab is here!"
He went downstairs. His uncle hesitantly handed him the cab fare sent from the state. "Bye, Nate, see you when you get back!" He heard Juliana say. She was one of the fosters.
He waved, sadly. His eye was already bruised. The cabbie helped him with his bag, and then they both got in. The cab driver already knew where Nate was going.
Nate inspected himself in the backseat. He was bruised everywhere, most of it from Wayne. He wasn't going to let this get to him. He was going to camp, and he wasn't going to think about his aunt or uncle, or Wayne as much as he could.
"You okay, kid?" the cab driver asked, looking at Nate through the rearview mirror.
Nate realized tears were coming out of his eyes and rolling down his numb cheeks.
He wiped them away. "Yes, sir, I'm fine."
The cab driver saw the lies, but he wasn't going to mention anything further. He didn't want to step out of his place. After all, he was just giving the boy a ride.
At Camp Rock, Shane Arrives.
At Camp Rock, Shane Arrives.
Shane and Sheila are sitting in the car. "Another summer for you here awaits, baby," she tells him. "You better write me letters," she said, smiling. They hug before getting out, so Shane wouldn't be totally embarrassed.
He goes in the trunk grabs one of his bags, and his guitar. His mother grabs his other bag. They go into this big cabin, and a man with an accent appears.
"Mr. Brown from tinsel town," his mother joked. "How have you been?"
"Excellent, Sheila," Brown replies. "Hello, Shane. Nice to see you again."
Shane smiles, "you, too, Uncle Brown."
"This is it," Catalina told him. "Another whole summer without my baby brother. How will I cope?"
"You'll manage," Jason smiled. "I'm only a phone call away, Catty, okay? If you ever need me, give me a call."
"I will. I'll call you even when I don't need you. That's how good of a sister I am, Jace." She smiled.
Jason smiled back. He hugged her, and she left. He sniffed the air, and fixed his guitar on his back. He grabbed his bag and went over to some friends that he saw.
The cabbie helped Nate with his bag, and his guitar. Nate handed the man the fare, but the man shook his head.
"You keep it, bud," he said, sympathetically. "Keep it for emergencies or something, okay?"
Nate nodded. Hey, he wasn't going to turn down money that was waved in his face. It was his.
"Have a good time here, okay?" the cab said.
"Okay…" Nate was slightly confused, but hey, take whatever niceness you can get.
He slung his guitar over his shoulder, and looked around. He saw people that he didn't know. He felt smaller than everyone else.
He took his other bag with his left hand and started over to the stage.
A woman was up there, talking about Final Jam. He found himself standing next to a tall kid, looked about fifteen, maybe sixteen. "Hey," he said to the younger boy. "I'm Shane. Gray," he added his last name for some reason.
"Nate Parker," Nate said. His voice hadn't been quite developed yet.
"You play guitar, Nate Parker?" Shane asked, noticing the guitar.
No, genius, I just have a guitar for humping reasons, Nate thought. "Yes, sir," is what he said, though.
Shane smiled at being called 'sir.' "Cool, me, too."
Room assignments, Jason Sherwood was planted in Cabin 17, with two other guys. Shane Gray, assigned to Cabin 17. Little Nate Parker, Cabin 17.
Shane entered the cabin. "Hey," he said to the other guy that was already in there. "I'm Shane."
"Jason," he greeted.
They started to settle in, Shane taking out his guitar.
"Awesome guitar!" Jason exclaimed. "That's a Les Paul, right?"
"Yeah," Shane said. "You play?"
"Yeah! I've only got a Ibanez," Jason said, taking out his guitar. A black Ibanez, not bad at all, but nothing compared to the Les Paul.
The door opened. Nate Parker entered.
Jason's head went crooked as he stared. "Isn't there, like, an age thing for cabins?" he asked, "or at least a height thing?"
"No, nothing," Shane said, shrugging. "It's no big deal."
Nate put his bags on the bed that the boys hadn't occupied.
"Hey," Shane said, "Nate, right?"
"Cool," Shane smiled.
Nate was sitting on his bed, strumming his guitar with his open songbook in front of him. Shane and Jason were both eating.
Food hadn't really appealed to Nate much, recently. Water had been his only friend for the past few days, well, of course, Shane and Jason.
He played some chords, and thought of some lyrics.
Time for me to fly, time for me soar.
Time for me to fly, time for me soar.
He thought his songs had no meaning. He sighed, and closed the book just as Jason and Shane entered.
"Hey, Nate, what are you doing?" Shane asked.
"Nothing important," Nate shrugged.
"Look!" Jason said, holding up a wooden mess. "I made a birdhouse." (So, the insanity begins!)
"Dude, it's awful," Shane said, honestly, shaking his head, but the way he said it, made it funny.
"It is pretty atrocious," Nate added.
Jason sighed, happily, "you guys are just jealous because I can make an awesome birdhouse."
"You're right," Shane said sarcastically, "you're absolutely right. Nate and me, we just…oh, we're so jealous that we can't make a birdhouse that looks like tree vomit."
"I know," Jason said, completely ignoring the sarcasm and criticism. He put the birdhouse under his bed.
A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it's too long, so now it's a two-shot.