American Honey by evergreenwriter83
Chapter 1 by evergreenwriter83
Chapter One

"Miami, you've been an amazing audience tonight. One year ago tomorrow you guys made this song number one on the Billboard Charts. I have the best fans in the world!"

The audience cheered, and the music started. I grabbed the microphone and walked away from the stand. This was the part of the evening I liked the best. The last song. The feeling of accomplishment.

Absolutely no one that knows me better
No one can make me feel so good
How did we stay so long together
When everybody, everybody said we never would


I looked behind me. As always, dad had snuck up on the drums for the last song. I flashed him a smile and he beamed.

And just when I start to think they're right
That love has died...


There you go making my heart beat again
Heart beat again, Heart beat again
There you go making me feel like a kid
Won't you do it, a do it one time?


I twirled around. I pretended to rope in my guitar guy. He stumbled towards me. Then we leaned back to back.

There you go pulling me right back in
Right back in, Right back in
And I know I'm never letting this go
I'm stuck on you.


Woah, stuck like glue, you and me baby we're stuck like glue!

I was all over the stage. Stuck Like Glue always reminded me of why I loved being a singer. I leaned down and grabbed some of the hands waving in the air. A couple girls squealed.

When it was finally over, the curtain lowered, and I ran backstage. It was a warm March night and my hair clung to my neck and back like wet snakes. I took out my earpieces and shook my head.

"You rocked it, superstar."

I turned around. Dad still had the drumsticks in his hands. He wrapped me up in a huge hug. I laughed.

My name is Brooke Carter and I had just finished my first U.S. tour. I was so happy that I just wanted to go tearing back onstage and do it all over again.

It had all started a year and a half ago. My dad, Nick Carter, one-fifth of the famous Backstreet Boys, had secured me a record deal. I had wanted to be a singer just like him ever since I was little. I still remember freaking out when he told me that I was going to get to record a whole album.

Of course, I had never expected for my album to hit it big. Dad always said that people who made music to get rich weren't real musicians. You had to love music to make it your life. That was a pretty deep statement to explain to a young kid, but I knew exactly what he meant. I ate, slept, and breathed music.

The other piece of advice dad had given me was in the form of a warning. He told me that fame was a strange thing. When or if it ever hit, it came and went fast. The most important thing that you could do was to enjoy it while it lasted but not fall apart when it left.

For me, fame had hit faster than lightning.

My first single, Stuck Like Glue, had been one of the fastest rising songs on the Billboard charts. It was a remake of an old Sugarland song that we had tweaked to make it my own. It hit number one on my fifteenth birthday. While I was blowing out the birthday candles on my cake, the phone was ringing off the hook.

Things had snowballed after that. Dad had gone on the road with me for tour. We had done twenty five dates. The last one was here in Tampa. I had spotted my entire family in the crowd along with my best friend Kayleigh.

I knew that the music executives were going to be clamoring for a second album before I even had a chance to unwind.

But all I could think about was the big 1-6.

My sixteenth birthday.

"Well Boo, you ready to head home?" dad said. I smiled.

"I'm so ready to head home."

I headed off to the showers. I peeled off my jeans, shirt, and beaded vest and stepped underneath the spray. I closed my eyes.

For the past year, I had been on the cover of every single magazine I had read since I was little. It was a startling thing to see your face plastered everywhere.

And it was even harder when the stuff that was printed wasn't true.

Mom constantly complained that I was being compared to Britney Spears. I had watched her True Life story enough to know that my life was nothing like hers. But, the media had a mind of its own.

According to the media, I was a wild party girl who liked to sneak into clubs and drink. I had been to maybe four clubs in the past year and that was either with my parents or with friends. The clubs that I went to with friends didn't serve a drop of alcohol.

And then there was the endless string of so-called 'boyfriends.' Every other week, I was linked to one guy or another. Besides my 'party-girl' image, I was also supposedly a sex fiend.

Considering I've only had two boyfriends in my life and I've done nothing more than kiss, that rumor probably annoyed me most of all. It was making it impossible to actually find a boyfriend. The guys I met lately must have been reading the same magazines I had. They were looking for an easy one-nighter.

I wasn't that type of girl.

I turned off the shower spray and grabbed a towel. I grabbed a second towel for my hair.

Some people would say that my hair was way too long, but I didn't care. I loved my hair. I didn't care that I was the hair and makeup squad's worst nightmare. I savored the feeling of my soft hair floating down my back. I was never going to cut it. I blamed my uncle for that.

Even though my life has been pretty perfect, I had experienced one tramatic event in my life. A few days before my seventh birthday I had been kidnapped by my uncle. He had held me captive, kicked me, and cut my hair off with a dirty knife. I had developed pneumonia and would have died if my grandpa and dad hadn't practically bulldozed their way through two countries to get me back.

And ever since then, I had shuddered at the thought of cutting my hair. Long hair reminded me of happiness.

Short hair reminded me of being away from my family.

As a daddy's girl, being away from family didn't work well for me at all.

I couldn't wait to towel off, get changed, and meet my family.

I was ready to go home.


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