Rock Royalty by Kathryn Williams Page B

aren’t true . . . and some things that are true but that are nobody’s business. My mom’s stopped reading magazines altogether.”
    â€œReally?” Lola asked, surprised by both Tess’s honesty and the idea that T.J. Tyler didn’t read about herself.
    Just then Mac walked up, catching the tail end of the conversation.
    â€œWhat’s up?” he asked.
    â€œWe’re just talking about that article in Celeb Beat ,” Mitchie answered this time.
    â€œYa know,” Caitlyn said, thinking about it, “if I ever get my hands on the reporter who made up that story . . .” She narrowed her eyes and made a motion with her hands like she was wringing someone’s neck.
    â€œOh. Well . . . I better get back to my boys,” Mac said, nodding toward Colby and Andy.
    â€œLiar!” Caitlyn suddenly exclaimed.
    Mac’s face turned ashen. “Huh?” he asked.
    â€œLiar,” Caitlyn repeated. “It rhymes with ‘bonfire.’ Can we use that for the next verse?”
    She had turned her attention back to the lyrics on the notebook in front of her.
    â€œOh, right.” Mac chuckled. “That would work. See y’all later,” he said nervously and quickly headed over to the table where Colby and Andy were sitting.
    Shrugging at his speedy retreat, Caitlyn, Mitchie, and Lola got back to work.
    â€œW here did that thing go?” asked a confounded Colby. He was on his knees, searching under the dusty bunk beds in his cabin for his last guitar pick. He should have known to bring more than one box to Camp Rock!
    â€œI thought I dropped it between the bed and the wall,” he was muttering when Mac walked in.
    All Mac could see was Colby’s rear end sticking out from under a cot. “Hey, roomie,” he said.
    Colby bumped his head as he withdrew from under the bed. “Ow!” he cried, rubbing his head as he stood up from the floor. “Have you seen my tortoise-shell guitar pick?” he asked.
    â€œNope,” Mac said, grabbing a fresh shirt from his trunk. Dance practice had left him sweaty. “Sorry. But you can borrow one of mine if you want.”
    â€œThanks, man. Are you sure?” Colby asked.
    â€œYeah. Of course,” replied Mac, sliding an old concert T-shirt over his head. “They’re in my trunk. Help yourself. Gotta run.”
    Without thinking about what he’d just done, Mac dashed out of the cabin. He was supposed to meet Caitlyn down at B-Note for a producing lesson in five minutes and didn’t want to be late.
    Colby pried open the lid of Mac’s trunk. Inside, next to the box of guitar picks, was a tape recorder. The kind reporters used.
    â€œHmm,” Colby said to himself, picking up the minirecorder. He pressed PLAY.
    Suddenly, Colby heard the voice of a girl he recognized as Ashley speak: “I’m not sure why only Mitchie gets to perform. She hasn’t even won a jam yet.”
    It was the quote from the magazine article! Only Ashley didn’t sound ticked off or jealous the way the article made it seem, just genuinely uncertain.
    Colby gasped. It took him a second to register what he was hearing. Then he noticed another thing in Mac’s trunk—a reporter’s spiral notebook, small and skinny and lined. Colby leaned down to read the writing on the front page. In Mac’s familiar handwriting it read, “T.J. Tyler demanded that Tess perform.”
    Colby straightened up. He and Mac had become pretty tight since they’d arrived at camp. As a new kid like him, and a Southern guy to boot, Mac knew what it was like to feel out of place sometimes at Camp Rock, surrounded by kids who’d been there since the first session and who grew up in places like Los Angeles and New York.
    But it had all been a lie. Mac was the undercover reporter! Maybe, Colby thought, I don’t know my cabinmate as well as I thought I did.

C HAPTER
T EN

    A fter making his