Rock Royalty (7 page)

Once again, Mitchie looked at her friends' faces, wondering if any of them were the magazine's “anonymous sources.” Tears filled her eyes.

“I didn't know it had gone to my head,” she said quietly, the tears falling down her cheeks and landing on the glossy pages of the magazine.

“You know how those things are,” Lola said, nodding at the magazine clutched in Mitchie's hands. “They exaggerate everything.”

“People get quoted out of context,” added Caitlyn, nodding.

Mitchie sniffled. “Yeah, sure,” she said, dropping the magazine to the floor as she stood to go. She suddenly felt like being alone. The wave of excitement she'd been riding had come crashing down, leaving her drained.

“I'll catch you guys later,” Mitchie said, heading to her cabin.

Once Mitchie was gone, Caitlyn turned to her friends. “Okay,” Caitlyn said urgently. “Who talked to the magazine? I know that Mitchie got wrapped up in the spotlight, but that's no reason to go to the press.”

“I didn't!” Lola said, wide-eyed.

“Not us,” insisted Barron and Sander.

“That's just weird,” Caitlyn mused. “Because
someone
was talking, and
Celeb Beat
was listening.”

C
HAPTER
N
INE

“L
ook, Brown, we have a mole. A very well-informed mole. It's
your
job to find out who it is before he—or she—does any more damage,” Tess demanded.

Shane, Mitchie, Caitlyn, and Dee were in Brown's office. At first, everyone started talking over each other. But, as usual, Tess had managed to make herself heard.

“It's true, Uncle Brown,” Shane said. “How else would
Celeb Beat
find out all this inside information?”

“But who would it be?” Caitlyn asked.

“I thought it might be you,” Tess said, nodding in Caitlyn's direction. “Until I read the rest of the article. You wouldn't say those things about Mitchie.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Caitlyn. “But the only people I was talking to were from camp.”

“Me, too,” Shane said. “Except for my publicist, my manager, and my agent. And Nate and Jason, of course.”

“How do we know it wasn't one of them?” Tess asked. She was getting more and more worked up. “What if Nate and Jason planted the information with a reporter so you and Connect Three would get more press?”

“Enough!” Brown interjected. “I understand this is frustrating . . . and frankly, I'm surprised
Celeb Beat
went ahead and printed those unauthorized photos and story in the first place.”

“Maybe . . .” Tess started.

“
But
,” Brown finished, cutting off Tess, “I will handle it.”

“Handle it how?” she scoffed. “By sending out a press release?”

“I said I'll handle it, Tess,” Brown said firmly. “In the meantime, continue as you would.” His message delivered, he ordered them out of his office.

“ ‘Continue as you would,' ” Mitchie mimicked, rolling her eyes. “Like that's gonna be easy, knowing that
Celeb Beat
has a journalist embedded here. I feel like someone's watching my every move!”

“And waiting to criticize it,” Tess pointed out as she, Mitchie, Caitlyn, and Shane walked down the front-porch steps.

I
nside, Brown turned to his music director. “You know, Dee,” he said, “this is the part of rock ‘n' roll that I never liked.”

“What's that?” Dee asked.

“All the hoopla and the celebrity that gets blown out of proportion—and the negative press. Why do we always want to build our rock stars up just to tear them down?”

Dee sighed. “Good question.”

“I guess I was just hoping that at camp, at least, these kids wouldn't have to deal with all that.”

“Maybe it's better that they learn about it sooner rather than later,” Dee observed, trying to put a positive spin on it.

It was Brown's turn to sigh. “Maybe,” he said. “But now we have a mole to find.”

K
nowing that
Celeb Beat
had its eyes and ears trained on them had everyone at Camp Rock on edge. At the Mess Hall of Fame, campers spoke to each other in hushed whispers. In the B-Note canteen, people talked about “safe” things, such as the weather or the upcoming Bonfire Jamboree. And in classes, everyone was superfocused. If a reporter really
was
at Camp Rock, he—or she—would be getting nothing but stories about dedicated, well-behaved campers.

Mitchie, however, still hadn't gotten over the sting of her fellow campers talking about her. Was it true what they said? she wondered. Had she been acting like a diva? She hadn't meant to. People were just offering her things and telling her ways to look good. When you were treated like rock royalty, it sure was easy to act like it! She couldn't help but sort of get why Tess was the way she was. But still—that wasn't her. She hated the idea of others getting that impression.

Since reading the article, Mitchie had decided laying low was the best option. So she had been staying pretty quiet. Now, in songwriting class, she broke the silence with Lola and Caitlyn.

“Hey, guys,” Mitchie said suddenly, as the three girls were puzzling over a word that rhymed with “bonfire” for the jamboree.

Lola and Caitlyn looked up from their notepads.

“I'm sorry,” Mitchie said, “if I was acting kind of spoiled before the concert . . . and during the concert . . . and after the concert. I just wasn't used to all the attention.”

Caitlyn smiled. “We know,” she said.

“Water under the bridge,” assured Lola.

Mitchie smiled, realizing how good the friends she had made this summer at Camp Rock really were. “Thanks, you guys,” she said, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

“Just promise us you and Tess won't start your own divas tour,” Caitlyn joked.

Mitchie laughed. “Cross my heart,” she said, using her finger to cross her chest. The girls fell into a comfortable silence. Even though she had apologized, something was still weighing on Mitchie. She finally spoke up. “I just keep wondering if people really said those things about me.”

Lola shrugged. “Maybe they did, maybe they didn't,” she said. “If they did, it was probably because they were a little jealous that you got to perform at a really cool concert. Either way, you can't worry about it.”

Just then, Tess wandered up. Ella and Lorraine were, for once, not trailing behind her. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“We're just talking about the article,” answered Caitlyn.

“And how
not
fun it is to be put under a microscope,” Mitchie added.

They all were expecting Tess to make some flippant remark, but instead she grew serious. “It's not easy being famous,” she said. “People write things about you that aren't true . . . and some things that are true but that are nobody's business. My mom's stopped reading magazines altogether.”

“Really?” Lola asked, surprised by both Tess's honesty and the idea that T.J. Tyler
didn't
read about herself.

Just then Mac walked up, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“What's up?” he asked.

“We're just talking about that article in
Celeb Beat
,” Mitchie answered this time.

“Ya know,” Caitlyn said, thinking about it, “if I ever get my hands on the reporter who made up that story . . .” She narrowed her eyes and made a motion with her hands like she was wringing someone's neck.

“Oh. Well . . . I better get back to my boys,” Mac said, nodding toward Colby and Andy.

“Liar!” Caitlyn suddenly exclaimed.

Mac's face turned ashen. “Huh?” he asked.

“Liar,” Caitlyn repeated. “It rhymes with ‘bonfire.' Can we use that for the next verse?”

She had turned her attention back to the lyrics on the notebook in front of her.

“Oh, right.” Mac chuckled. “That would work. See y'all later,” he said nervously and quickly headed over to the table where Colby and Andy were sitting.

Shrugging at his speedy retreat, Caitlyn, Mitchie, and Lola got back to work.

“W
here did that thing go?” asked a confounded Colby. He was on his knees, searching under the dusty bunk beds in his cabin for his last guitar pick. He should have known to bring more than one box to Camp Rock!

“I thought I dropped it between the bed and the wall,” he was muttering when Mac walked in.

All Mac could see was Colby's rear end sticking out from under a cot. “Hey, roomie,” he said.

Colby bumped his head as he withdrew from under the bed. “Ow!” he cried, rubbing his head as he stood up from the floor. “Have you seen my tortoise-shell guitar pick?” he asked.

“Nope,” Mac said, grabbing a fresh shirt from his trunk. Dance practice had left him sweaty. “Sorry. But you can borrow one of mine if you want.”

“Thanks, man. Are you sure?” Colby asked.

“Yeah. Of course,” replied Mac, sliding an old concert T-shirt over his head. “They're in my trunk. Help yourself. Gotta run.”

Without thinking about what he'd just done, Mac dashed out of the cabin. He was supposed to meet Caitlyn down at B-Note for a producing lesson in five minutes and didn't want to be late.

Colby pried open the lid of Mac's trunk. Inside, next to the box of guitar picks, was a tape recorder. The kind reporters used.

“Hmm,” Colby said to himself, picking up the minirecorder. He pressed PLAY.

Suddenly, Colby heard the voice of a girl he recognized as Ashley speak: “I'm not sure why only Mitchie gets to perform. She hasn't even won a jam yet.”

It was the quote from the magazine article! Only Ashley didn't sound ticked off or jealous the way the article made it seem, just genuinely uncertain.

Colby gasped. It took him a second to register what he was hearing. Then he noticed another thing in Mac's trunk—a reporter's spiral notebook, small and skinny and lined. Colby leaned down to read the writing on the front page. In Mac's familiar handwriting it read, “T.J. Tyler demanded that Tess perform.”

Colby straightened up. He and Mac had become pretty tight since they'd arrived at camp. As a new kid like him, and a Southern guy to boot, Mac knew what it was like to feel out of place sometimes at Camp Rock, surrounded by kids who'd been there since the first session and who grew up in places like Los Angeles and New York.

But it had all been a lie.
Mac
was the undercover reporter! Maybe, Colby thought, I don't know my cabinmate as well as I thought I did.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

A
fter making his discovery, Colby had decided there was only one thing he could do—go to Brown's office and tell him about what he had found in Mac's trunk. Colby didn't want to believe his friend was secretly covering Camp Rock for
Celeb Beat
magazine, but he had to admit the evidence was overwhelming.

“Now, you're sure?” Brown asked once Colby had stated his case. This was not good—not good at all.

“I'm sure,” Colby assured Brown. “The recorder and notebook were right there in his trunk next to the guitar picks.”

Brown shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I'll just have to see what Mac says for himself. Thank you, Colby. You did the right thing by telling me. I know it's hard when a friend hasn't been truthful with you.”

Colby nodded gloomily and headed to his guitar class.

Picking up one of the walkie-talkies Dee had gotten them so they could communicate across camp, Brown called her up.

“Dee?” he said into the walkie-talkie. It crackled.

“Yes, Brown. Over.” Dee's voice came through the yellow walkie-talkie.

“You don't have to say ‘over,' Dee. I can hear you just fine.”

“Okay. Over. Oops! Sorry.” Dee apologized.