The year was 1997 and I was 18. There were five of us: Cassandra Dale (Cassie), Christina Saylor, Amelia Roberts (who I call Amy because Amelia is a mouthful), Emily Rose (me), and Melissa Rankin. We had just graduated from high school in a tiny town in eastern Kentucky, with the exception Melissa, who was a year older and finishing up her freshman year at the University of Kentucky. We’d been close friends since elementary school and the prospect of going our separate ways after graduation was a little unnerving, so we’d driven to Orlando, Florida, much to the chagrin of our worried parents, to spend the two weeks following graduation. A brochure for Disney’s night club, “Pleasure Island” boasted an ad for open mic night, and we jumped at the opportunity-- mainly because we thought we were so cool to be able to get into a nightclub now that we were 18. Of course, we’d had to wear those brightly colored paper bracelets that announced to the world that we were underage, but we still thought we were “it.” We’d been singing and harmonizing together since late elementary school, and had competed in (and won) several talent competitions throughout Kentucky over the years. That night seemed like a good “last hurrah.”

We’d gone at it a capella, and the song we’d chosen--well, I guess that was fate. I remember the five of us lounging in Amelia’s living room and giggling over this music video on MTV that featured five attractive and near-topless young men singing and dancing in the rain. While we felt their demographic was going to be a bit younger than us, we couldn’t help but realize that A.) They were hot, and B.) They were pretty good. Of course, we had to fantasize just a bit about what might be if we ever encountered them. There were five of us and five of them, and we were about the same age as some of them, a little younger than the rest of them. We were all 18 (and 19) though, so there was this tiny sliver of hope that our dreams could become reality. On the 13 hour drive down, we’d even staked our claims on which Backstreet Boy would be ours.

I was the more mature of the five of us, and the second oldest by about a month and a half. I was the tallest (though 5’ 6” didn’t seem like much of a feat), and a dancer with a dancer’s body (albeit a bit more curvy), which I’d finally started to embrace and feel less awkward in. My curly, light brown hair was fell around my shoulders in long layers, and I’d finally given up on trying to straighten it, especially in the Florida humidity. “18 going on 28,” my mother would always say, which made my father cringe, particularly since I’d tended to date older guys. As a freshman, I’d had my heart broken on more than one occasion by one particular senior boy. Naturally, Kevin Richardson was the one I was attracted to.

Melissa (or Mel) was the oldest, and the shortest. She was loud, dramatic bundle of energy (and still is). Her petite figure was often overshadowed by her big personality, and she’d gotten a headstart on her Broadway dream as a theater major at UK. She’d chosen Howie as her “Latin Lovah.” Ha!

Amelia is the one I was always closest to, which was probably a result of the common bond we shared not only in our similar first names, but also in having the same middle name and similar interests. She, Amelia Michelle Roberts, and I, Emily Michele Rose, had first met when we were only a couple months old (I am about 6 weeks older) in a local restaurant. Our parents had been acquaintances who discovered the name resemblance while they were discussing how neat it was that they had daughters so close in age who would probably grow up together. Amelia, like me, was a bookworm, and both of us played trumpet in the high school band. I’d always been second chair to her first, which I didn’t mind, because I was more interested in singing and dancing while she’d had the bigger interest in music in general. As a trumpet player and accomplished pianist, she’d planned to go to college and major in music education. Emily was eclectic in her taste and of course chose AJ.

Christina was a classic beauty, inside and out. She’d always been the tiniest girl in our class until she hit a growth spurt around freshman year. Her mom owned a boutique in Beckley, West Virginia where they’d moved to in 8th grade after her dad had been laid off from his job as a mining engineer in our dwindling coal town. She was always well dressed, well groomed, prim and proper, but had a hilarious sense of humor, and knew how to let her hair down and have fun. She chose Nick.

Cassie had been a cheerleader/gymnast who transferred to another high school that had a national champion cheerleading squad, but hurt her ankle freshman year, competed anyway, and never did quite get her range of motion back. She was shy, but fiesty, and through no fault of her own, spoiled. We’d spent much of our time in the past years consoling her after she’d fight with her demeaning mother, then having to turn around and remind her that not everyone had a closet full of “Tommy” jeans and old pageant dresses. She chose Brian, whose gentility seemed to balance her. A few years later, we’d see just how true our choices turned out to be.

The performer in front of us finished up his acoustic version of “Tears in Heaven,” and the five of us made it onto the stage. We crowded around two microphones--Christina, Amelia, and I on one and Melissa and Cassie on the other. Amy counted us off quietly and we began to snap our fingers to carry the tempo. “Even in my heart, I see that you’re not being true to me.....” I started with the first line, followed by Christina. We each sang a few lines, joined all five voices for the choruses, and one of us would occasionally ad lib some harmony with whoever was singing the melody. We sounded good. This was something we’d decided to do just for fun, and the five of us had been singing together for so long that it just came naturally. The crowd cheered loudly as we exchanged excited smiles and scrambled off the stage. We could have never expected what happened next.

           A rotund older man in a gray suit approached us within the next five minutes. ‘Excuse me ladies. Allow me to introduce myself.” He held out a hand, and Mel hesitantly reached out to shake it. “I’m Lou Pearlman.”

A few weeks later we found ourselves in a recording studio owned by Jive Records. Next door was a “boy band” who seemed awfully similar to the Backstreet Boys that they were calling N’Sync, and down the hall, a 15 year old named Britney.

My dad had been furious. In retrospect, I can’t say I can really blame him. It’s not every day you see the valedictorian (me) and salutatorian (Amelia) of a graduating class decide to forgo college to chase dreams of making it big in a pop group. Fourteen years later I know I made the right choice, but there were so many times I had my doubts.

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“Ok ladies, this time let’s try Christina on lead. Amelia, can you try dropping down to alto 1?” This was a common problem as 4 of 5 of us were natural sopranos, but we usually could make it work. Christina and I switched microphones and she began singing.

“Oh baby baby how was I supposed to know....”

Months later, while we were deciding which tracks to include on our first album, the label told us they thought that particular song would be better suited to a solo artist.

That day in the studio was long and hard, and towards the end, we were so wrapped up in our work that two young men slipped into the sound booth relatively unnoticed.  “ That’s a wrap for today girls, but Lou and Johnny (Wright, not only our manager, but also manager for the BSB, N’Sync, and Britney Spears) want to meet with you in the lounge down the hall.” We put away our headsets and filed outside. I led as we began to pass into the sound booth and stopped dead in my tracks. Mel ran right into me and bounced backward into Amelia who subsequently stepped backwards onto Cassie’s toes. It was like an old slapstick comedy.

“Ouch!” Cassie exclaimed.

“What’s going on up there?” Christina asked.

My eyes were wide and my breath caught in my throat. Kevin Richardson and AJ McLean stood just 10 or so inches in front of me. Kevin crossed his arms and winked. I swooned. I leaned forward and whispered, “Do you know who you are?”

They both laughed. “Yeah. We know who we are.” AJ chuckled.

“Just checking.”

“We hear you do a mean version of ‘Quit Playing Games’.” Kevin said.

“Oh that was just a bunch of little girls playing around.” Amelia said quickly.

AJ’s pulled his glasses down below bridge of his nose and his eyes roamed up and down my body. I blushed furiously. “I don’t think I’d call any of you little girls,” he laughed.

Amelia stepped out from behind Melissa and stood in front of me. She looked up at him and smiled nervously. “Nice to meet you, but we, ah, have a meeting.....I’m sure you understand?” She placed a hand on his bicep and gently pushed past him. He turned and watched her rush away.

Cassie hurried to catch up with her. “What are you doing?! Those are Backstreet Boys back there!” she hissed.

“I know,” Amy said through clenched teeth. “But this meeting...this is our career we’re talking about.” She led us into the lounge and we all sat down nervously. AJ and Kevin sauntered in behind us. Kevin sat down beside Mel and AJ plopped onto the empty spot between Amelia and Christina on the couch.

Mel’s eyes widened and she jerked her head around to face Cassie and me. “What in the world?” She mouthed. I shrugged.

Johnny Wright and Lou Pearlman marched in shortly thereafter. “Ok ladies, we have lots of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. These gentlemen,” Lou took off his glasses and motioned to Kevin and AJ. “...like what they hear.”

“And see,” AJ muttered under his breath. Amelia rolled her eyes.

“They have a short European tour coming up in 4 weeks and we’ve decided to make you the opening act.” We all gasped in excitement. “But there’s a lot of work to do to get you girls ready. You’ve been working with a personal trainer to get you in shape for the stage, but you’ve done very little choreography. We don’t even have a set list. You can do a couple covers, but you need to be doing your own songs, too. Oh, and you don’t even have a name yet. We’ve noticed you have this cute little ‘Friends Forever’ thing going on, so we’re thinking ‘4-Ever’.” He emphasized the “four” as Johnny wrote on the dry erase board behind him a number 4, a hyphen, then ‘ever’. I crinkled my nose in disgust.  Fourteen years later, I can tell you that Kevin probably did the same.

“Mr. Pearlman,” Amelia said politely. “Don’tcha think that’s a little corny?”

“I don’t know if you’re noticed Miss Roberts, but corny’s what we’re selling here.”

AJ snorted in the background. “Um...there’s five of us.” Mel said. “4-Ever,” she held up her hands and made quotation marks with her fingers. “Isn’t going to make a lot of sense.” The rest of us nodded in agreement.

“Fine. Just ‘Forever’ then. I know you ladies thought you were done for the day, but there’s a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in. You’re meeting with a stylist in 15 minutes,” he glanced at his watch and rushed out.

“See you in the morning ladies. Fatima will be here at 7, and she expects you to be warmed up before then.” Johnny followed Lou out. Amelia crossed her arms and fell back against the couch exasperatedly. Dancing wasn’t her forte....at all.

AJ eyed her and winked. “I like her. She’s sassy,” he thought to himself. He stood quickly, using her knee as a boost.

“Watch it McLean,” she growled. I looked over at her and smirked. She put up a good front, but I knew she was trembling with excitement at slightest touch of her favorite Backstreet Boy.

“Welcome aboard ladies.” Kevin stood and began shaking our hands. Was it just me, or did he hold mine a little longer than the rest of them?