You're so famous that the white, bright, blinding lights that flash are stars revolving around you.

You're the center of their universe, the sparkling shimmering shining sun that everyone stares at even if you blind them.

Everybody loves you. (Mom only lets you call her TJ now, and so what if you haven't heard from her in a few months anyways and Shane only kisses you in dark corners when she isn't around and Caitlyn stopped taking your calls after Nate started looking at you with puppy dog eyes.) But for quite some time now the adoring fans and the obsessed media and the Oscars, Grammys, and Golden Globes have been keeping you company. You insist it's the next best thing.

The first time you starred in a film, a real film with positive reviews, box opening hits and nominations, you run into Mr. and Mrs. Grey (the Brad and Jennifer of Hollywood) at the premiere. Mitchie comes over, squealing in excitement, kissing your cheek and proclaiming congratulations. She's always been too nice for your taste. Shane leans in a little too close, hand in the small of your back, whispering congratulations and mygod you think the jolt of electricity might just kill you. His lips linger a little too long on your ear, and somehow you know there's no going back now.

Two days later you're fucking him in the back of his brand new SUV with the car seat for baby Aiden Trey Grey. Instead of guilt, all you feel is pleasure and happiness and ecstasy. Somewhere even deeper down you imagine instead of Aiden Trey with brunette locks and sunshine smiles, a little girl named Ava Isabella with blue blue eyes and dimples.

And Jesus, you know he's going to break your heart as usual, but if Angelina could get Brad then what's wrong with your chances?

Somehow, you've become a part of their group. Jason, Nate, Caitlyn, Mitchie, and Shane. You know he hates it, that it makes him feel dirty and wrong when you come over to play with two year old Aiden and coo over newborn Lilly.

But sometimes you don't give a shit what he thinks, considering what he puts you through almost every day. Still, the endless dinner parties where you're placed next to Jason, of all people, and the countless "You two would be so cute" is starting to grate at your nerves. And really, dinner parties? You're a superstar, you should be out partying at a club, getting your latest fix, stumbling around drunk.

It's at one of these parties that you find yourself listening to Jason's newest "joke", downing vodka like it's water and stealing glances at Shane, when you notice Nate Black staring at you with those intense eyes.

He stares at you like you stare at Shane. And oh man does that do things to your head and your heart and everything else. You know it's sick, twisted, and awful, but you wink at him and smile as seductively as you can. His hand curls tighter around Caitlyn's, but his mouth drops a little and you can't help but giggle.

Deep down you think you just might be sick because if that's how you act around Shane then you are disgusted with yourself.

It's your three year anniversary with Shane so you bought a gorgeous new black dress with to die for lingerie underneath. You wait and wait and wait in front of the door but your mascara is running and the perfumes fading and ohmygodohmygod he forgot.

You crumple a little bit, but you are not crying. There is no way you aren't getting something when you look this hot, and fuck Shane and his perfect little wife and two kids, so you take out your phone and dial someone you know will want you.

When the doorbell finally rings, you don't even have your dress on anymore, and Nate doesn't stand a chance as he stares you up and down. Still, his fingers grasp his wedding ring and he rocks back and forth on his heels and you're making the goddamned first move again but boy oh boy does he give in.

He's touching and feeling and kissing and as you tilt your head back and run your fingers through his hair, it really isn't that important that they're so so so curly and not long and perfect and straight.

And you do not cry.

The next week in US Weekly there's a picture of Nate arriving at your house and leaving again the next morning in the same clothes.

Caitlyn calls and screams and screams and screams until you're pretty sure she's actually sobbing and the only thing you have the energy to do is hang up. You have enough decency to feel guilty, considering Caitlyn was the one who held your hair back so often all those years ago. Mitchie rang the doorbell once, but like hell were you going to answer for that. Nate comes by a few times, hanging around the door, probably asking you to run away with him or something ridiculously romantic like that now that he's fucked things up with Caitlyn. Shane doesn't call, text, or email and that's the worst of all.

It's safe to say you've escaped from all those damn dinner parties.

The lights in the club are bright, white, and blinding and you don't think you've ever felt so at home. The music is loud and pulsating and the latest dance remix of your hit single "One Night Stand". You're wearing something short, and tight, and sparkly but its yellow not pink. Mitchie wore the same dress once upon a time, and you're just proving how much hotter and more worthy you are.

But it gets later and later and the text comes

can't do this anymore, with mitchie, don't bother waiting for me to show up. maybe you should call nate.

It's not fair that he throws that in your face because he's married and he won't leave her so he's not allowed to be jealous. Your heart is beating louder than the bass and the half Greek salad you ate for lunch and four Sex on the Beaches are about to come right back up and your ears are ringing until- "one new message" and you beghopeplead that it's Shane.

audition tomorrow. try to keep your shit together for one night.

Fuck your nightmare agent and all her bullshit. She's just jealous anyways. But that means that Shane was serious and it takes you a few seconds to remember how to breathe. You need to talk to him, now, right this instant, and so what if Mitchie's there? You're better than her anyways.

So you stumble out of that stupid club with the obnoxious music into the lights, you scream at the valet and get into your white Mercedes SL600 and drive away with a screech of your tires and –

The car is just spinning spinning spinning until you think you might vomit and you know that this isn't going to be good.

The last thoughts that go through your head are: ShaneShaneShaneShaneShaneohmygodIdon'twantto-


"This is a breaking news report from E! News. Tess Tyler, one of the most talented superstars in our generation, has tragically passed away in a fiery car crash this evening. She was last seen exiting the club, Tangerine, and had been drinking. Another tragic young star passing away before her time."

Shane throws up and Mitchie cries and Nate screams and Caitlyn stares at the screen and Jason doesn't know what to do.

Kurt Cobain was right when he said it was better to burn out than fade away.

The worlds that previously revolved around you are shattering into a million tiny little pieces just like you did a month ago.

Shane has been self-destructing for the past week and he showed up at your funeral drunk with tears in his eyes and the words "I loved her" on his lips. A part of you thinks, he deserves this, but the bigger part of you wants to kiss him and hold him and love him until you're exhausted. TJ writes a screenplay about the life of the fabulous Tess Tyler starring herself of course. But you did catch her crying into her fishbowl sized martini one day. Caitlyn comes to your grave once with baby Madeleine Tess Black on her hip, but she doesn't cry and you don't think she forgives you either.

But from wherever you are, you smile. Because the lights are still white and bright and blinding and everything is still about you.

AN: So I hope everyone liked my first Camp Rock fic. Tess Tyler is just so much fun. Thanks a million to Bonnie for helping me perfect it with her superior correcting skills. Please please leave me a revieww!!!