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I screamed, "Nick!" while running into his room. He was changing into his shorts. I turned the TV. "What? What's wrong?!" he said. I pointed at the TV as the reporter on ET On MTV spoke . . .

"Up Next: Pictures of Backstreet Boy Nick Carter and his New Underage Girlfriend, soon after the break."

His jaw dropped. "Oh, shit," he whispered.
"Nick, do you know what this means? You're probably gonna have to go to court," I told him.
The phone rang. He picked it up immediately. "Yeah? Yeah, I know, J. I just saw it . . .Uh-huh. Yeah.
Alright . . . Thanks, bye."
"What happen?"
"It was J. I'd never thought I'd do this again, but I gotta make a meeting . . ."
"With the press?"
"With the press."

After the commercial, all 3 of us watched what proof they had. They had photos of me and Nick at the rock on the beach, kissing, pictures of us running to the boat, playing tag, me on his back, and a picture of us at the mall, shopping for my dress. Throughout the show, Nick held my waist tightly. It was as if he was telling me "I won't let anyone hurt you," or something like that. I saw in his face that I gave him a force of confidence. After the show, I stayed upstairs with Nick in bed, just like relaxing.

"So what are we gonna do about the press?" I asked him.
"I gotta teach you all the stuff about being a celebrity, babygirl."
"I'm ready. Try me."