The next day at the recording studio was about the same as yesterday. Nick was getting it from Kevin for not sounding like how Brian- I- normally sounded. When I went into the sound booth as Nick, he glared at me the entire time, assuming that I was doing an impression of him.

Which I was, but it wasn’t in a malicious way. They wanted Nick’s vocals on the CD; at the moment, I was the only one who could give that to them.

We weren’t speaking, though. I was mad about my jeep still, but I’d been ready to come in here and get to work. Nick, however, wasn’t letting go of what I’d said to that girl.

When I came out and asked him to move over so that I could get to my seat, he ignored me. I shoved it aside.

Howie was the first to pick up on our fight and, after seeing this interaction, apparently decided it was time to say something. “Is everything okay?”

Nick and I both said “yeah,” but not very convincingly.

“What the hell? You guys just made up! We’re back to this again?” AJ joined in the conversation.

We both shrugged.

“Well I don’t really care what your little problem is,” Kevin said with authority. “Get over it. We have an album to make. If you two want to act like little kids, there’s an elementary school down the street. Go enroll there, and send some ten year olds in your place. I’m sure they’ll be able to handle the responsibility better than you guys are.”

Nick rolled his eyes. Not for the first time, Kevin looked between the two of us. And not for the sure time, he was probably wondering when “Brian” had been the one to give him so much attitude.

“Seriously,” Howie said. For once, he looked almost as annoyed as Kevin. “You two aren’t the only ones in the group. We’re a team. Don’t you think the fans are going to notice if two of the Backstreet Boys can’t stand the sight of each other?”

Nick shrugged. “We’ve hidden stuff from them before.”

AJ laughed. “Like my drug and alcohol problem? Yeah, that never got out.” He was trying to lighten the tension.

Nick said, “Yes, but not until we announced it. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t worry, Howie. We’ll go out there and do our jobs.”

I secretly agreed with Howie, though. I hadn’t forgotten my thoughts from the other day. The Backstreet Boys weren’t couldn’t function with both of us anymore. I couldn’t go out there and pretend like everything was okay when it wasn’t. I’d wait until we got the body switch sorted out and then…

I couldn’t even finish that sentence. I’d deal with it when the time came.

“That’s not good enough,” Kevin said simply. “We have fans who have been waiting a long time to hear our music and see us in concert again. We aren’t giving them anything but the best.”

We weren’t in the studio much longer after that. Everyone’s moods had been affected by Nick and me not speaking.

“Where are my sunglasses?” AJ asked Nick.

“Uh,” Nick looked at me.

“Did you forget them, Brian?” AJ looked at him.

Yes, I had. Nick glanced at me and saw that answer on my face. He scowled, thinking it had been on purpose.

“I’m sorry, AJ. I meant to grab them.”

“Fine, we’re going to get them,” AJ said. “Come on, let’s go to your place.”

Crap. Nick looked at me, and I realized I had no choice but to give him my keys. He’d be driving my jeep two days in a row.

Kevin had been the first to leave the studio, rather angry and not speaking to anyone. Howie had followed him to try and calm him down.

A man walked in who I didn’t recognize, and I saw Nick’s eyes widen.

“Nick? You haven’t been calling me back this week!” he scolded me.

I looked to Nick, not knowing what to say. He pointed to the man in the business suit and mouthed “manager.”

“Um, yeah. I’m really sorry. Some things have been going on this week.”

“Well, I don’t care. You have places you need to be today.”

“Martin, I- uh, he- told you that he’d have to reschedule,” Nick joined the conversation and the man looked confused. He was also probably wondering how “Brian” knew his name.

He ignored him and turned back to me. “You have obligations. I know you’re back with Backstreet now, but you’ve been flying solo. You can’t bail out on your appearances alone.”

Nick had scheduled appearances? Seriously? I didn’t see how he could love himself anymore. So now I was going to get to spend the day doing what? Probably talking about myself and my first solo album, even though it had been out for quite some time. Oh, joy.

“But…” I started.

“I don’t take no for an answer. You should know that by now. You’re ride’s out front. You’ve got five minutes, got it?” Martin left without waiting for an answer.

“Nick! You didn’t tell me…”

“Weren’t you listening to him? I’ve been ignoring him… well, trying to. Then I told him no.”

“Great.” I started.

AJ looked confused. “Why would Brian be handling your business with your manager?”

“Long story,” Nick said quickly.

“Guess I’m not going with you guys afterall,” I said, mostly to myself.

AJ looked even more confused now. Afterall, why would I be going to “his” house when the two of us were fighting?

“AJ, I’ll meet you at the car, okay?” Nick said.

AJ took one last glance at each of us, but nodded and told me goodbye.

“Look, I know you could care less about any women I’m interested in. But could you possibly handle my career with a little more care? Seriously.” He looked stern.

I rolled my eyes, in a very Nick-like fashion. “Whatever. We’re going to get all of this straightened out, then we won’t have to deal with each other anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, sensing the severity in my tone.

“It means that the group isn’t big enough for the both of us. You bailed last time. I guess it’s my turn.” With that, I headed out the door to meet up with the driver and figure out what I was supposed to be doing today.

This was crazy. I had to make an appearance as Nick Carter?

At least the ride didn’t take too long. I spent it wondering what ridiculous thing I was going to. An autograph signing? Because how could Nick deny letting fans adore him and beg for his signature?

Please.

I felt especially immature today. I was mad, that was true, but I didn’t really have the right to be this mad. He had tried to get out of this. And he genuinely didn’t know that his manager was going to show up.

But I didn’t care. I was just mad.

“Where are we?” I asked when we stopped.

Martin turned around from the passenger seat. “Nick, the playing dumb thing is really getting annoying.”

He doesn’t have to play it, I thought.

We were at an elementary school, oddly enough. I followed them inside. We headed to an area of the school that said “third grade” over one of the doors.

“Hi, I’m sorry we’re late,” Martin told the teacher standing by her desk at the front of the classroom. “Nick, you remember Mrs. Charlton.”

“Of course,” I lied and shook her hand, smiling and trying to figure out what was going on. There was a news reporter and camera man standing in the back of the classroom, interviewing two students, a girl and a boy.

“Nick, I’m so glad you agreed to do this. When Marissa told me she was writing you a letter… well, to be honest, I didn’t think there was a prayer of you actually writing back.”

“Aw, well, I can’t always. I do when I can though,” I said vaguely. I started listening to the news reporter, hoping for a clue. Luckily the kids in the classroom were focused on the newscaster, too, so they hadn’t noticed my entrance.

“… Charlton’s third grade class decided to take matters into their own hands when the school board decided that they could no longer fit the music program into the budget. They decided to turn trash into money. How? The area was also in need of a recycling program. Trashcans were donated, and the students spent a Saturday painting them and setting up a recycling center outside of the school. The community has shown an overwhelming support for this program since it started last week, and although each can is only worth a few cents, every little bit helps. Please show your support by bringing not only your soda cans but paper and plastic bottles as well.”

The newscaster saw me, smiled, and signaled to the cameraman to follow the lead. “Who was it who donated the trash cans that could be used as recycling bins? Not to mention got the attention of the program that agreed to donate for every can and bottle. You might recognize the name and face of Nick Carter.”

Suddenly I was in the eye of the camera. The kids turned around and there was some “oohing” and “ahhing.”

“Yes, one of the Backstreet Boys took the time to respond to a little girl’s letter. Do you want to tell us why you stood behind what some might consider an unimportant cause?”

Oh, right. Time to speak. I tried to think like Nick.

“Well, I’ve always cared about the environment. And as a musician, I obviously think music programs are important. As a kid, I loved music, and without those programs, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I want the next generation to have the same opportunity. When I got the letter from Marissa, I was really impressed with her idea and wanted to support it in any way I could.”

“The class wanted to thank Mr. Carter personally,” the newscaster smiled to the camera, though her voice never left its professional inflection. “Marissa, would you like to give it to him?”

She was the little girl who’d been on the camera a moment ago. Although she hadn’t been shy then, apparently the thought of meeting Nick was too much for her.

I dropped down on my knees and smiled reassuringly, and she slowly walked over. She presented me with a crayon-colored picture that I assume she’d drawn herself. There was a tall blonde figure and a little girl with the same pigtails that she had. The whole class had signed the picture.

I smiled again. “This is for me? Thank you so much.” I held it up to the camera.

The reporter turned back to the lens one last time. “This is Kaitlyn Stevens. Have a good evening.”

I spent an hour with the students, letting them show me the trash cans. One had the handprints of each student. On another, they’d painted flowers. Each one was artsy and beautiful in a way that only children can capture.

I was stunned. Nick didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d respond to the letter of an eight year old. Then again, what I’d told the camera was true. Music programs and environmental awareness were both issues that he an interest in.

I took a group picture with the class and eventually climbed back into the car with Martin and the driver. The only thing left on my agenda as Nick Carter today was a business meeting. But I’d sit through it, and I’d play the part well. I couldn’t get the little girl’s smile out of my head. Nick had really come through for Marissa, as well as the elementary school.

I’d long since forgotten what a good guy he could be when he put his mind to it. I walked into the meeting prepared to be bored out of my mind, but I was going to do it with a smile nevertheless.