Useless blob of fat. If there's anything that makes this mission
half-acceptable is that at the end that overgrown bozo will be where he belongs, behind bars. And that he won't be hurting more teenagers with dreams.

      Timberlake heard a rumor that Pearlman was forming another band. And his mom is helping form an all girl band for Transcon. Withoutsense or something like that. And of course, Kirkpatrick didn't want to hear a word about it. I think it is because if he accepts that Pearlman is doing to him what he did to the Backstreet Boys, then he ruined his friendship with Dorough for nothing. I could have told him that, but it's not part of my role. So I just watched in silence as Kirkpatrick played with his hair. He's been talking about braiding it, or wearing dreadlocks and I wonder if the guy was hit on the head when he was younger.

      Chazes is still in a word of his own. I sometimes wonder what will it take to make that kid take a good look at the world around him. But other times, I don't even want to know. To think that that kid can just brush everything off makes me think maybe I could do
the same, and forget that instead of being in the field like I should be, I'm babysitting a bunch of kids.

      We're supposed to go film a new video before going back to America. That means hours and hours of make up and dressing and that once again my face is going to be plastered all over the country.

      And Europe. And Japan. And Australia.

      If I'm lucky, I might be able to get a job undercover somewhere in the Antartica.

      Unless they too get M-fucking-tv.

      I look over at the big mirror, wondering when they will start noticing that they're about to drop dead. They can't go on like this. Nor Kirkpatrick, Timberlake, Chazes, Bass or Fatone.

      Not me.

      I hate this.

* * *

"So? Any ideas?" Chris said, sitting down in the big table they used for meetings.

"What about we don't do it?" Lance asked, tiredly. He had big black bags under his eyes, and rubbed his forehead constantly. JC looked at him, worried. "I mean… why do we have to do 'I want you back' again?"

"Because it's our first single." Justin answered, picking up a chip from the bag they had bought earlier. "And because at least in 'Here we go', 'For the girl' and 'Tearing up my heart' we do kinda look like we do right now."

"We don't look that different…" Joey grumbled, pointing to the t.v where they jumped and danced in a weird computer created background. "I don't think…"

"You cut your hair, Chris and JC let it grow, I bleached it and Lance looks like an Albino." Justin countered, not letting Joey get a firm grip in the discussion. "I say Lou's right. No one is going to recognize us if we do not do a new video."

"Why 'I want you back'?" JC insisted. "Why don't we do something different? 'You got it'? 'Giddy up'? … What's wrong with 'I drive myself crazy'?"

      It was as if a dark cloud suddenly came to Chris's face, as the older man got up from the chair and walked towards the window, refusing to look at JC in the eye. "Lou wants to re-record that one. He wants you to start it instead of me."

"WHAT?!" Everyone jumped to where Chris was standing, but it was Joey the first to reach the other, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was just a friendly gesture, but it was what was needed to make Chris turn around.

"I don't care how much money Lou invested on this, I'm not doing it." JC said, crossing his arms. "Drive Myself Crazy was written for your voice, Chris. The girls go nuts when you sing it here."

"But Europe is not America." Chris whispered, half defeated. "I… I think Lou is right… I mean… you should re-record it, J."

"Then we won't do a video of it." Joey said, strongly, ending any discussion of the theme. "We all sang first voice there, even if it was just for a line. If it's not the original version, we don't do a video and that's it."

      They all nodded and returned to the table, Lance first, Joey last. For a long moment no one spoke, as they took in each other's faces, seeing the tiredness, seeing the haunted looks of knowing that suddenly they didn't had all that control over their lives.

"So? Any ideas?" Justin finally broke the silence, fishing another chip. It was as if the whole discussion had never happened.

"Can we not have girls on it?" Joey joked, rubbing his cheek. "I had enough with that ball bouncing on my face…"

"Then it would be pretty much us and no one else…" JC wondered. "Without back up dancers or anything…"

"That could work." Lance whispered, his head hung down. "That way we wouldn't look like a boy band…"

"If you didn't dye your hair that shade, it could work…" Chris joked, and for a moment, it was as if everything was fine again.

* * *

      Someone upstairs finally noticed I talk about myself in third
person during the reports. I still don't know what possessed me to handle a dossier on the fake identity I'm sporting when I handed the reports on the group. Maybe I wanted them to know how much this is affecting me.

      The point is, it is not really affecting me. I am not letting it affect me. I am Agent Jonathan Barr of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am part of a delicate undercover mission to uncover Transcon's real business, posing as a member of a boy band. I am not one of those teenager' dreams, even when I lend my face to one. The dossier they gave me, with the fake id, the fake name and the fake past… that guy is not me.

      It was not me the one who suggested that crazy idea of the water pool in the video, nor the one who said 'let's just hang around'. I was not the one who cared for the others' feelings when the blob started making changes on us, or when he brought the female dancers to 'spice' the video. It certainly wasn't me the one who threw a diva fit until the female dancers were out of the final cut.

      I refuse to look at his actions as something I would do. Because I wouldn't. I wouldn't answer the questions those magazine ask with those words, I would never say some of the things they say and… and I would never, ever think of this kids as nothing more than kids. Even when Kirkpatrick is older than me, as well as older than the guy I'm pretending to be, he's just a kid. He hasn't seen what I've seen. I hope he never does.

      I handed my report. In short words: Timberlake: star baby; Bass: curious ; Chazes: innocent; Fatone: troublesome; Kirkpatrick: crazy. That got me in trouble. I shouldn't have added my own insights on my fake identity, I shouldn't have told my boss that I thought the five were nothing but pawns, because he looked at me with a weird expression on his eyes, before ordering me to call Vicks.

      The psychiatrist.

      Now, with everything I already have to do, I have to find a way to get to see Vicks without anyone finding out. At least, it could get me out of the nightmare if I'm declared mentally unfit for the mission.

      But that would mean even more desk jobs.

      And In Sink is having a good reception in the States. The new version of the video was a smash hit, and the other older videos have a good rating too…

      The group doesn't need a scandal over a crazed member.

      Fuck.

      Since when that has mattered to me?

      This sucks.

* * *

      Reflecting back on it, it had been worth it just to see Lou's face when Chris finally show everyone his new look.

      He had been letting his hair grow, and had even started the process to braid it. The result had been really interesting in the photo shoots for the new cover of their first album, giving Chris the look of a rebel without a cause.

      The dreadlocks, or what everyone jokingly called the 'Pineapple look' after being dubbed that way by a german magazine, were a subject of much discussion from Lou's part, because *N Sync wasn't a reggae group.

      Lance thought that Lou would have a heart attack the first time he saw Chris sporting his long braids, all tied together in a high ponytail, just like a pineapple. Especially when Chris insisted that he was going to wear it in public, now that they were almost ready for their tour.

      And Lance wasn't sure, but he could bet that Lou would try to make Chris use a lot of hats. Except that Chris had this rebel streak on him and every time that he was told to use a hat, he ended up with really weird things on his head, or simply hats that wouldn't look right in anyone but Chris. Like the one he had used during the shot of "For the girl who has everything"

      But it was good. The dreadlocks, the blonde dye that Joey was wrestling out of JC's hands right now. His own platinum blonde hair… It was a way to be different from all the other boy band groups, from Backstreet Boys… So they would stop being a 'boy band'.

"What are you doing, man?" Joey sat down next to him, trying to look at whatever he was writing on his laptop.

"Just a little research." Lance answered, smiling widely before showing Joey the screen. It was just a contract, pretty much like the one they had signed when Pearlman had offered to back them up.

"Why?" Joey didn't seemed to get it, but Lance could see that his friend's eyes were moving in lines, as if he was reading the contract very quickly. "You think… you think Backstreet was right about Lou?"

      For a long moment, Lance seemed startled by those words, and he turned back to the screen, almost blushing. "No… nothing like that, Joey… I… he has helped us a lot, hasn't he? I… I was just browsing around."

"Whatever. Hey, Chris and I are going to hit the clubs. Have you seen JC? We want to invite him…" Then, Joey trailed off, as if he suddenly realized he was alienating Lance and Justin.

"Don't worry, Joey. Curly and I are way too young for going." The blonde said, reading his friend's thoughts. "And JC must be somewhere near, maybe in the bus. You know him… It's as if he lived in a world apart."

"Yeah… Well, see ya then."

      It was pretty much like every other night, really. The group's dynamics were like that. Justin and Lance were the cute kids, no matter how much both hated the label, Chris and Joey were the party animals… and JC… JC was always there, with his head in his music.

      Suddenly, Lance didn't want to work anymore. He shut off his computer and went to search JC. Then, when he was sure that JC was not walking around like a zombie, then he could get some sleep.

      He was really tired.

* * *

      Vicks hasn't pulled me out of the mission yet.

      I don't know if that's good or bad, though. She said that it was 'unhealthy' to try and separate myself from my cover… But she doesn't see that doing the opposite would be worse. I cannot be part of the group. I can't let myself care for them.

      She did said that I have to stop doing it. That I must not hurt my psyche by creating a second personality. I told her that it was stupid, that I wasn't the one who created the second identity, and that part of my job was to do that, to become someone I am not.

      Then she told me that I had to stop denying that Mr. Pop-star
was part of me. So I laughed and told her that the group was no
where of being a sensation.

      And she just smiled at me.

      I hate her.

      As far as I know, she put a commendation on my file. And the boss told me to ease up. To try and enjoy the good points of the mission.

      What good points? The screaming girls? The fat blob controlling every single movement we make? The way his eyes shine when he smiles, the way he is about to burst from fucking happiness when he's singing…

      Fuck.

      That's not good.

      Those are his thoughts, not mine. I couldn't care less, I don't like guys. I am not a faggot member of a boy-band.

      Fuck, Fuck, Fuck… FUCK!

      I really, really need a vacation.