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JC is a Teenie

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JC looks up from his Usher packet, goes to find Lance. Lance is alone, in a dressing room that looks like a converted broom closet, writing in a notebook.

JC considers not bothering Lance, because the only thing Lance writes by hand is music. Or, at least, that was true the last time JC saw Lance with a notebook, a year ago. Lance seemed to give up writing when he noticed that all of his songs were gay club music.

But Lance has lots of time to write whatever Lance is writing when they're touring, and JC's problem will be moot in fifteen minutes.

JC still hesitates until Lance looks up at him. "What do you want, C?"

"So, there's this thing I want to do." JC slides into the room, looking at his hands. He needs a new manicure. Maybe this time he would get colors: bright purple or sparkly blue. "And I don't think it's illegal. I'm pretty sure it's not illegal. But it's probably annoying."

"Yeah?" Lance closes his notebook; the cover reads '150 Leaves of Blank Piano Sheets'. "So, are you gonna do it?"

"I don't know. I just, I thought maybe you could help." JC glances up at Lance's face.

Lance has both eyebrows raised, but his mouth quirks up, so JC knows he's holding back giggles. "Help you do what, JC?"

"Make up my mind. If I should—because I don't mind so much if people do it to us, especially if it's from a distance, but Justin would. Not a lot, but he does a little, and I don't want to annoy him. But he's not Justin, which, you know, makes him a different person ."

Lance's chest heaves a few times, but his laughter is silent. He gets himself under control, then nods. "Yes, Jayce, being not Justin would make him a different person than Justin. But who is he, and what do you want to do to him?"

"His picture. Just, after he gets offstage, you know? Because I've got lots of publicity shots but they're." JC shrugs. "But I don't want to annoy him, either."

Lance leans back and crosses his arms. He's blinking rapidly, the way he does when he thinks JC is going to do something stupid and public. "Do you want to take pictures of Michael Jackson after his performance?"

JC shakes his head. "Why would I want pictures of Michael Jackson?"

"Because he's a famous musician and the reason we're here?" Lance has stopped blinking; now he's sniffing.

JC wishes people would stop thinking he was high. Well, okay, occasionally he did use marijuana. But he never smoked it. (Well, except for a couple of times he did, when he didn't have anything to cook it into. But usually he added it to baked goods.) But he never gets high before a performance, because he wants to be up for a performance, and weed makes him relaxed. And he's already relaxed all the time, because he won't let things bother him. (Except for the part where it's really annoying that people who know him think he's high!)

Suddenly he notices Lance waving his fingers in JC's face and calling out, "JC! Jayce! Yo, C! Wake up, dude!"

"I'm here. I was just thinking about how I hate it when people who think they know things do not know them and make shit up like it's real." He tries to glare at Lance like an annoyed Diane, but that sort of thing makes his eyes cross, so he stops before Lance notices.

Lance just shrugs. "So, dude. This picture you wanted to take. Why is it immoral? And who is the guy?"

"Usher. When he's coming offstage from his performance. I want to take a picture."

Lance's eyebrows shoot up. "Why? What is it with you and Usher lately? You had Jive do up a packet for you. You want to write a song for him or something?"

JC looks down at his fingernails again. Maybe he'll get something simple, like candy apple red. Or black with french tips. "He's just kinda—." JC swallows hard and whispers, "iwanttolickhim."

Lance blinks at him. Then he grabs his notebook and walks out of the room.

Slowly. So JC is pretty sure Lance isn't running off to tell Joey that JC is a teenage girl, but he doesn't know what Lance is up to.

Lance turns back to JC and points at the little monitor high up on the wall outside the dressing room. "We've got about two minutes to get in position. You wanna take this picture or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, I wa—I left my camera in the other dressing room, man!"

The two men take off running.