Mitchie was in the middle of a horrible dream—she forgot the words to one of her songs in front of conceited Luke Williams—when a warm beam of sunlight splashed across her face, waking her up.

She rolled over, pulling her soft sheet close, then bolted up. She was alone in the cabin. The other beds were made, and the girls were gone. What time was it? And where were her friends?

She hopped out of bed, put on a pair of shorts, a staff T-shirt, and grabbed a hoodie. Slipping her flip-flops on, she padded outside.

The porch, the path, the lake … empty. A flock of birds flew overhead as Mitchie looked around.

She headed up to the main stage area. Here they are, she thought, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. Peggy was rehearsing singers. Caitlyn, Sander, and Barron were working out a dance routine. Jason was practicing guitar parts with the Junior Rockers. Ella was zipping around with her measuring tape, taking measurements for costumes. Another group was poring over set and lighting plans.

“What’s going on?” Mitchie said, dumbfounded. This was the kind of effort she’d been trying to achieve all week long.

“You were right,” Ella told her. “It shouldn’t be all up to you. And we do need to step it up.”

“But, how—?”

Caitlyn hopped down off the stage. “Shane got everybody up before dawn,” she explained, tugging on the hem of her tee. “He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be.”

A wave of gratitude—then guilt—swept over Mitchie. She looked around, spotting Shane with a group of other musicians.

“Mornin’,” he told her, handing her some papers. “Sleep well? Here, I don’t think you’ve seen a copy of the new arrangement yet. That song really needed a lot of work.”

Mitchie looked at the papers in her hands, trying to process. “Did you do this?”

“Yup. I hope you like,” Shane said with a smile.

Mitchie met his gaze, her heart thumping. “I already know I love it.”

Later that afternoon, Mitchie and Shane were watching Caitlyn and a few other campers practicing a dance routine on the stage. They were pretty good, Mitchie thought, but something was missing…

“No,” Shane said, hopping up on the stage and shaking his head. “You gotta work that stage like you own it.” He grabbed a mike and did a classic pop-star strut, looking directly into a pretend camera with a confident glare.

He’s such a natural, Mitchie marveled. That’s what had been missing from their show—stage presence. That sure-of-yourself attitude that all successful performers needed.

“And guys,” Shane called over to some campers on drums, “you’re playing, but we gotta see you play. Nate?”

Nate hurried over with a couple of drumsticks. “Not like this,” he told the drummers, playing the set quietly. “Like this.” And he whaled on the drums, making a show of it.

“Jason,” Shane said, motioning for his brother to step forward. “Show ’em how it’s done.”

Jason nodded. “Not like this,” he said, lamely playing air guitar with zero energy. He waved his Junior Rockers over and they swarmed around him. “Guys?” he prompted. “Like this!” And they all broke out into some total instrument thrashing and killer rock-star poses.

“Woo-hoo!” Mitchie yelled appreciatively. The practice sessions with Jason had brought out their inner rock stars!

Caitlyn, however, wasn’t so thrilled. “Well, that’s easy for you guys, but we’re not all rock stars,” she told Shane.

“But you can be,” Shane insisted, pumping his fist and grabbing an imaginary mike stand.

Being a rocker was so much more than just hitting the notes or knowing where your cue was, Mitchie had discovered. Playing a song perfectly was nice, but if you couldn’t own the stage or put all your heart and soul into a performance, the audience wouldn’t stay with you.

That was what rock and roll was all about.

And Mitchie loved every second of it. a little while later, Nate walked along the path that led to his cabin, humming a song that he just couldn’t get out of his head. Then he struck a pose and pretended he was onstage, rocking out. Check it out, he thought, jumping onto a bench and leaning back as if he was playing an incredible solo.

“Hi, Nate.”

Nate spun around so fast that he lost his balance and toppled over into a nearby bush. He would have never acted like such a goofball if he’d known someone was there. Such as Dana!

“Dana. Hi,” Nate said, covering. “I didn’t… What are you doing here?” he blurted out, scrambling to his feet.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“You came to see me?” Nate tried, hoping that was the case.

She smiled. “Good guess.”

“Well … here I am,” Nate told her, spreading his arms wide. But his words didn’t exactly elicit the reaction he was expecting.

Dana stared at him, an annoyed expression on her face. “That’s it? I came all the way over here in a canoe, risking my father’s wrath, and that’s all you have to say to me?” she exclaimed.

Nate gulped. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say,” he said. His palms were beginning to sweat.

“There’s nothing you’re supposed to say,” Dana retorted, her eyes flashing. “Every day I see you looking and waving, and I’m all, that’s so sweet, I so like him.”

“You do?” Nate said. She did like him! “That’s really what you say?”

“But then …” she began, shaking her head.

“But then,” Nate repeated, feeling like a balloon that had lost its air. “That’s never good.”

“How can I really know if I don’t know anything about you?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I guess I thought you were different.”

Nate had to say something to turn this conversation around. “I am different,” he said. “My brothers tell me that all the time.”

Now Dana looked angry. “No, you’re not. You’re exactly like every other sixteen-year-old boy in the world.” She made her voice sound dorky. “Uh, I don’t know,” she mimicked. “Have you ever asked me a question or told me anything about yourself—you know, other than you like canoeing?” she demanded to know. “What’s you favorite holiday? Do you like to read? Waffles or pancakes? Are you afraid of the dark?” She took a deep, ragged breath. “And it’s Thanksgiving, yes, neither, and no, in case you’re interested,” she added, answering her own questions.

No one had ever spoken like that to Nate before. He blinked. “I don’t really like canoeing,” he confessed, shrugging. There, that was something. Right?

“So I really know nothing about you,” Dana said, frowning.

A long awkward moment of silence hung in the air.

“I still don’t know what to say,” Nate mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. When he was onstage he felt so self-assured, but when he was face-to-face with a girl he really liked? Hello insecurity.

“It’s okay,” Dana replied. “I think you just did.” And she brushed past him and headed down the path.

“Idiot,” Nate muttered, shaking his head. But he didn’t stop her.

The next day, Mitchie couldn’t keep the smile off her face when she saw Shane coming down the hill toward the lake. She had the boat ready to go, and soon they were rowing across the water.

“Are you sure you have the time?” Shane asked, half serious. His foot jostled a picnic basket packed with goodies.

Mitchie nodded. “You make time for what’s important,” she replied, smiling. After watching Shane and his brothers inspire the campers with their passion for music, she’d taken a step back from things for a moment. Although saving Camp Rock was at the very top of her list, there was room for something else at the top, too. Someone else—Shane. So this morning she’d given her mom a note to pass along to him when he stood in the breakfast line.

Meet me at the lake at 11.

I miss you.

-Mitchie.

p.s. I’ve got lunch covered

The rest of the afternoon was just about as perfect as it could be. Shane wasn’t the best oarsman—they crashed into a cluster of rocks not once, but twice—and then he’d actually lost his paddle.

But that was okay. Mitchie couldn’t think of anyone else she’d rather hang out with and talk to—or eat her mom’s egg salad and pickle sandwiches with. And when they were together, it was okay not to talk, too. They spent a half hour floating quietly along the lake, the only sound an occasional splash as birds dove for fish.

Mitchie let out a contented sigh as she sat next to Shane with her legs dangling in the water. If there was a better way to spend a summer afternoon, she didn’t know it.

Later that afternoon, Nate was enjoying a good old-fashioned mopefest in his cabin when Shane came walking by, a lovesick grin on his face. “I take back what I said about girlfriends,” Shane said, poking his head in the cabin window next to Nate.

“Too bad, because at this rate I’ll never have one,” Nate grumbled.

Shane’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m an idiot,” Nate declared. “You can agree.”

Shane hesitated. “You’re not going to hit me?”

“No.”

“Then I totally agree,” Shane said, smiling.

Nate was too depressed to even react. “There’s this girl,” he started.

“I kinda figured,” Shane said.

“I really like her, but I’m having trouble telling her how I feel,” Nate admitted.

Suddenly Jason’s head popped into view through another cabin window. “Dude, you’re a rock star. Use it.”

Nate let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t think she cares. She wants to know all of this stupid random stuff about me,” he explained.

“Not random stuff,” Shane corrected him. “She wants to know you care enough to let her know who you really are.”

Nate let that sink in for a moment. It made sense. “But what if I don’t know?” he asked miserably.

The more Nate thought about what Shane had said, the more Nate knew he had to do something. So he paddled over to Camp Star and hid behind a cluster of trees, waiting for Dana to appear. When Axel, Tess, and Luke came out of the main building, Nate couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“I just think if I was more center stage for the second verse …” Tess was saying, hurrying after Axel.

“Every single time I finish the note, I’m behind her big head!” Luke was yelling.

“Enough!” Axel cut off their bickering. He turned to the stage manager. “We’re going to run it again in three minutes. And this time, let’s try and remember that it’s not amateur hour!”

“He means you,” Tess grumbled to Luke, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Just then Dana came out of the building. Nate jogged forward. “Hi, Dana.”

She spun around, looking surprised to see him.

“Kind of makes you jump, doesn’t it?” he said, forcing a laugh to try and lighten the mood.

Dana wasn’t smiling. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know, but I couldn’t wait,” Nate told her, straightening his shoulders.

“Wait for what?” she asked.

He handed her a wrinkled sheet of notebook paper on which he’d written a list. A really long list. “It’s a list of things nobody knows about me,” he said, feeling better about himself than he had in a long time.

“Two minutes!” the stage manager called out.

Dana looked torn. “I really gotta go. I’m sorry.” As she turned to go back to the main stage, Nate reached for her arm. “Wait! You still have two minutes.”

Since he had been having so much trouble talking about his feelings, he’d decided to express them the best way he knew how—through a song. Nate picked up the guitar he’d brought and began to sing. It was a song he’d written for Dana—about himself. He called it “Introducing Me.” Instead of a lot of empty words about love, he’d worked hard to write a song that would have real meaning for her.

He felt kind of embarrassed, at first, singing about liking cheese only when it was on pizza and confessing that he was trying to grow a mustache. But if she wanted to know about him, he was going to show her the real him—not the cool pop star that shined onstage but the person behind all that.

And so he sang about loving old guitars, superheroes, the sound of violins, and making someone smile. If he was going to let Dana into his world, he wanted to show her everything. He wanted to let her know what he thought and how he felt.

It may have been more than she ever wanted to know, but he was done trying to impress her by acting cool.

As he finished, he saw her face burst into the biggest smile he’d ever seen.

And Nate was grinning right back. He’d done it! But before he could say anything, he heard the sharp, angry voice of her father.

“Dana!” If Axel Turner had been a cartoon character, smoke would have been pouring from his ears. He stood there, fuming. “Everyone’s waiting.”

“It was my fault,” Nate said, swallowing.

“Why don’t you save the theatrics for the competition,” Axel told him. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said to Dana.

“It’s okay. Go. And, Nate?” She reached over and took the piece of notebook paper. “Thank you.” As she hurried away with her father, Nate pumped his fist.

Who knew telling a girl you only liked cheese when it was on pizza could feel so awesome?