Zac

Someone please tell me he is not going to wear those plaid paints to the premiere.

I loved Laundromats. I pulled my left foot into a spanking clean white sock, liking the feeling immensely. Dad and Isaac had visited one while we were at breakfast, thus providing us all with wonderfully clean socks and underwear. My clothes had all started to smell like my suitcase, which was not exactly a good thing. I wiggled my toes in their dry, soft confines, then stuck my feet into my Hush Puppies.

"Look at me, all ready to go, and Taylor's in a towel in the bathroom," I said, loudly, so Taylor could hear me through the closed bathroom door.

There was a pause. "Bite me, Zac," Taylor called back through the door. Oh, how satisfying.

Dad walked through the room putting his watch on and nodding when he noticed that I was ready sans tying my boots. He found it necessary to rap on the bathroom door.

"Tay, we're all ready to go," he said through the door.

"I'll be ready in a minute," Taylor replied from within the bathroom, no doubt working on putting that perfect It's-Always-Like-This appearance to his ponytail.

"Don't bother, Dad, you know that Taylor's fallen into the toilet again."

My, it's fun to be devious.

We exited from the back of the hotel, just in case, where our rental car was. Dad and Isaac took the front seats, while, naturally, the two children were perfectly satisfied with being carsick in the back. Well, at least Taylor wasn't driving.

Isaac was wearing loud olive-green pants with a white plaid design, accompanied with a white button-up shirt. It was so Greg Brady that Taylor would have passed off for Marcia in a heartbeat.

Taylor had chosen a worn pair of blue jeans that were just a little too feminine-looking for any other teenaged boy on the planet to legally get away with wearing and a very long-sleeved cappuccino-colored turtleneck, the really stretchy kind with ribs in the fabric. It clung to his skinny self, which I just hated. It was rather Barbie-like of him, to have such a narrow waist and broad chest. Not that it was horrible - I probably would have picked his body over mine if I was a drooling teenaged girl with a Bop subscription. His eyes were just a little too blue, a little too sparkly, face a little too sweet to resist. The shade of the fabric made his hair look all the more blonde.

I was wearing baggy khakis and a black tee-shirt with a star in the middle of the chest. Resist me, TigerBeat fans.

Taylor shot me a look as we drove there, and I perked my eyebrows.

"You didn't give Dave his necklace back?"

Why was he staring at me like that?

"No, not yet, but I'll give it back to him before we leave," I told him.

"Right."

Something about the way Taylor drew out the word made him sound like Dr. Evil. Unexplainably, I became immensely uncomfortable.

"What?" I demanded.

Taylor peered at me. "Hmm."

"I will!" I defended myself.

"Why do you have that in the first place?"

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I shot back.

That made Taylor look away, out the window at the impressive L.A. scenery. Whoops, I hadn't meant to sound so snappish, so defensive. But why should Taylor care? It's not like it was Scott's necklace or anything.

I decided to pass the rest of the time in the car by annoying Ike and dropping random facts about the Moffatts' upcoming performance in the foyer of the theater here and there to see if they cared. I couldn't really tell Dad's opinion of them other than they seemed like nice people. Now, Isaac, Dad, and Frank were the only ones who didn't know about the photographs, and it truly felt as if they were outsiders from the entire past three days.

Dave

Dad and Scott were in the midst of an argument, or rather, a drawn-out contradicting banter.

"Did not," Scott said with venom in his voice.

"You most certainly did," Dad replied with that annoying calm in his voice.

And that's how it had been going for the past ten minutes. Everyone, probably including them, had already forgotten what they were arguing about. It was a usual thing, so we basically ignored them.

We were in a Flower Films-provided trailer set up at the side of the theater, a foot or two away from the guarded, blocked-off side door, killing time and trying not to let Dad and the event coordinator who kept popping up and telling us every few minutes how much time we had left annoy us too much.

"I always have a vague sense of discomfort when performing for people who have no idea who we are," Clint was murmuring, messing with a bottle of water but not drinking it. Bob and I immediately knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I know. How are we supposed to go on stage and perform with a sense of importance when people are goggling at us like we're a sideshow . . ."

"Wow, you guys are so optimistic," Dad popped up when it wasn't his turn to be contradicting.

Bob and Clint closed their mouths, annoyed that Dad had chosen that moment to overhear their conversation. I was glad we weren't talking about anything secretive. I had been walking around in fear ever since we returned to the hotel from breakfast - I was afraid that Clint or Bob would slip and Dad would overhear about the photos, the threats, and somehow, the plug would be pulled from the secret held by me, Scott, Zac, and Taylor, however limited their actual knowledge of the whole deal was.

I knew it was better that they knew, too. But perhaps now I was understanding how Scott said he felt - foolishly, I wished they didn't know. It didn't concern them, not really. It was way too private, this new and delicate thing between Scott and Taylor. I was glad that I knew about it, but the information could not go beyond the four of us. And I sure as hell knew I didn't want Scott and Taylor finding out about Zac and I experimenting and playing around like we had been. I could just see any number of reactions from them about that - it was stupid, and dangerous because of this T. Hanson, and we didn't know what we were doing . . .

Zac, flushed and amazed, laying on his back and looking at me with a look that made my entire body experience shock waves . . .

I snapped back into reality to Scott raising his voice in argument and the realization that Zac and our shared activities had entered my thoughts for the umpteenth time that day.

Dave, you have really got to get ahold of yourself.

I willed my heart to slow. Yeah, I had no idea what I was doing with Zac. But I did know that I liked what had happened so far, and wanted to relive it again.

"You look nervous!" Bob spoke up, appearing beside me and catching me off guard.

"Oh," I faked, "I was just thinking about what you and Clint said."

Bob, a half-grin on his face, lamented, "Oops. Sorry, Dave. Didn't mean to make you nervous with all that."

"It's okay." I looked at my hands as if they were the most interesting things on the planet.

"Yeah, it is. It's okay."

I glanced up at Bob, amazed. He offered me a brave look, then suddenly went to go take Clint's water from him before Clint did something a little too odd with the bottle. I shook my head slowly. Sometimes I don't give my brothers enough credit. God, I just hoped they didn't know more than they let on. I couldn't, I really couldn't, decide whether my other two brothers - my triplet brothers - knowing about these photos was a good thing or a bad thing. In either case, thank God the news of Scott and Taylor hadn't gotten past me, Zac, and Mr. Shutter-Happy.

"DID NOT!" Scott suddenly brushed past me in a whoosh of blond streaks and light blue sweater.

"Uhh . . ." Whatever.

"The Moffatts?" A geeky teenaged boy in the theater uniform peeked through the door at us. I took a great calming breath of air in. Time to go. The Hansons would be out there, watching us. Hopefully, Scott wouldn't make an ass of himself. That was asking a bit much, though.

Zac

After doing a few smiles for the press that were crowded by the theater, I pinched Taylor's arm and pointed to a makeshift stage that was set up in the lobby. A drum set, keyboard, and three microphones adorned the tiny stage that was blocked off using those flimsy little red ropes on gold stands. There were already several people waiting impatiently in front of it, and it seemed to all be made up of girls wearing Moffatt tee-shirts and holding disposable cameras.

"They're all here to drool over your man!" I told Tay. He glared. At the girls.

"Hey, Taylor!" Ike nudged Tay's other arm. "You want popcorn, right?"

"Sure," he replied distractedly.

"You know what I want, right, Ike?"

"Yeah, Zac, I'm familiar with your I'll-Take-One-Of-Everything order." Ike grinned and walked towards the concession line.

"Man, I feel bad," Taylor expressed to me as our older brother walked away. "Usually Ike and I are pretty close, but at the moment I feel like he's completely alien."

"I've always known Ike is a complete alien," I grinned, but my eyes told Taylor I understood, far more than anyone else did.

"I assume you want to watch your friends play," Dad said, clapping us both on the back suddenly. We started a bit.

"Dad, when you assume, you make an ass outta you and me," I said, and Dad just sighed and followed Isaac.

"Jeez, Zac, why do you always say things like that?" laughed Taylor.

"Tay, it's my job," I replied solemnly. "Did you bring a hat or sunglasses or anything?"

"Yeah, my sunglasses." Taylor pulled them out and slid them on, well aware of the fact that we were bound to be harassed by teenies any moment, though at the moment all the teenies present in the room were Moffatt fans. I studied him.

"If we got you a padded bra-"

Taylor punched me in the shoulder.

"OW!" I grimaced. "You're a lot more buff than you used to be."

Someone bumped into us from behind, apologized, and rifted by us.

"Hey, it's getting pretty crowded in here," I realized.

"It must be almost time for the showing." Taylor eyed the stage.

"You wanna get closer?" I asked.

"No." Taylor blushed.. "Probably not a good idea."

"Oh, pssht, Tay, please, you only live once."

I started to pull his arm towards the thickening crowd of girls and random curious people. There were a couple of theater workers up on the stage now.

"And never look back again," Tay groaned, letting himself be dragged.

"You are such a dork, I swear, why do I do these things for you?" I muttered, weaving between people and gently pushing my way through the girls. I could have sworn I heard some faint chatter about us as we passed, but it could have been paranoia. I always think I hear my name when I really don't.

"You're gonna get me killed eventually," Taylor responded, edging after me as we slowly pushed into the crowd.

That was the last thing we heard before a voice rang out over the microphone,

"WELCOME!"

The screaming was nothing compared to what we'd experienced before, but then, we'd never been in the thick of a crowd of fangirls before, as part of the fan crowd. Taylor winced, and I plugged onwards. It was getting a bit more difficult now that attention was centered around the stage.

"Drew Barrymore is proud to present . . ." drawled the announcer, in that asshole voice that loves to tease screaming fangirls, " . . . straight from the soundtrack of Never Been Kissed . . ."

He had to pause between the screams, and I groaned,

"Just get on with it already!"

Taylor was standing on his toes. "Jeez, I hope our concerts aren't this suspenseful."

"The hit pop rock group . . . The MOFFATTS!"

And in the heat of a white scream, our four new friends took the stage.

Scott

"Remember, Scott, no stripping, guitar-licking, pelvic gyrations, or cussing at the crowd," Dad reminded me.

"Oh, please, they already put us on the damn soundtrack," I spat.

"Don't be an asshole, Scott!" Clint nudged.

"Smile, Scott, our friends are out there," Dave leaned in and whispered.

I forced myself to take a calming breath. People piss me off easily right before we go on stage. And Dad seemed to thrive on arguing with me. He felt the intense craving to just piss me right off so I get all full of adrenaline and feel like running around on the stage being stupid. But Dave - Dave, I know, has my back.

The man announcing us was taking his sweet time. The crowd gathered in front of the little stage and "held back" by nervous-looking ushers and a row of red ropes was already freaking out. I scanned the crowd, but all I saw were girls in pigtails and baby tees. I tapped my fingers on my guitar impatiently.

Bob jumped up and down a little behind me. "I," he sang, "never knew what love was, until Drew Barrymore . . ."

Dave and I turned around and snickered at him.

He grinned.

We never heard the announcer actually introduce us, but Dad was pushing my back and the scream was piercing, so we all hopped onto the stage and smile-smile-smiled as we plugged in our instruments and took our places. I was supposed to introduce us. I coughed a little before stepping up to the microphone.

"Well, hello," I said into it, and was afraid the ushers would be killed for a moment. From the looks of it, there were a few ultra-rabid fans in the front of the group. Clint and I glanced at each other. When I looked back at the sea of faces, I suddenly spotted, wearing sunglasses, a taller, slim figure, looking straight at me. A stupid grin formed on my face and I stared back at him.

"Hello," Clint's voice echoed, then I snapped back to reality and realized that I'd been standing there like an idiot staring at Taylor.

"Welcome. Thank you for coming," I breathed.

"We're the Moffatts," Clint was filling in for me.

"And this . . . is for . . ."

You, Taylor.

"Drew Barrymore," Dave interrupted me before I could say something stupid. The crooked grin remained on my face as we almost mechanically began the song. A grin was forming on Taylor's face, too. Oh, I loved him. I was so in love with him!

I spent the entire song peering out at Taylor, hopefully making no mistakes, remembering to even thank the crowd as we walked back offstage and handed my guitar away to Dad.

"Lovey cloud much?"

Dave appeared at my side with a silly grin to match my own.

"Much!" I replied.

Out of nowhere, a yelling mass of khakis with blond hair crashed onto Dave and knocked him onto the floor. I flinched and backed away, right into Bob and Dave. A fangirl?!

"Punk rock Moffatts! You are more like the Skaffatts!!!"

It took me a second to realize that it was Zac who had pummeled Dave into the tile floor and was proceeding to roll around with him.

"ZAC)!@%*!" Dave's muffled voice was laughing.

"Oh, you KNOW it! I can't resist a hardcore rock star like you!"

"Zac . . ." I nudged him with my foot. "Zaaaaac."

"Stop it, Scott." Zac was giving Dave a noogie.

"Did you bring Taylor?" I asked hopefully.

"He did," said a voice . . . the voice of my dreams. The squirming rolling mass on the floor was forgotten as Taylor stepped to my side, smile warm, filling me with brimming feelings.

"Great job," he said, and I could only grin my idiotic grin.