McKenzie watched in awe backstage as Greg began strumming on his black guitar, words falling gently from his lips, caressing the ears and hearts of the theatre's packed crowd. Greg was a storyteller, any phrase coming out of his mouth made the children listen obediently, craving, killing inside for more of his exciting tale. She could see from his dancing fingers, surging voice, and bright smile that he was devoted to his work and loved every second of it. Greg was all smiles as the crowd jolted into a crazed frenzy, laying his guitar neatly on the side of the stage. He looked up at McKenzie who was sitting about 10 feet from the guitar drop-off.

"Hi," Greg whispered loudly, his smile aggrandizing as McKenzie rested her eyes on him.

"Hey," McKenzie slyly replied as Jesse came running to Greg, the sounds of cheers pushing him along quickly.

"Stop holding us up, man," Jesse jokingly demanded, pulling Greg by the collar of his sleeveless black shirt back to the sea of his fans, a tidal waves of roses and screams hitting them like a bullets from an automatic. Greg clumsily waved goodbye as McKenzie watched Greg intentively embrace the crowd with a loud, puncturing note, skidding on the floor like a car on ice fueled by adrenaline, the crowd screaming relentlessly against the boy's hot moves, the way it was meant to be.

McKenzie left the arena unescorted a few songs before the show ended, having already seen the show a week straight and promising she'd call Tricia that night before she slipped into bed. The short walk from the steamy theatre to the bus was rejuvenating, refilling her tired body with the addictive air of her limited freedom and sweet taste of midnight dew. It almost made her wish she never had to return home...almost.

Arriving at the bus, she hopped up the damp stairs, indicating to her that Pete, the bus driver, must have stepped out for a quick smoke or drink a short time before. McKenzie headed straight for Jesse's top bunk, the 2nd to the right. Her hand groped the bed blindly for his cell phone, her lips skidding across her lips with determination. Then she grasped it into her hand, and began to dial before she could even sit down at the table.

Mrs. Borg informed McKenzie that Tricia was out for the night. A sliver of dissapointment cut through her voice as she thanked Mrs. Borg and hung up. The cell was tossed back into Jesse's bunk. Not sure what to do before the guys got back, she veiled her hands around her elbows, peering out the window to the orange softball of a moon high in the black sky gawking down on her like Cyclopse's lone eye. Astounded by the magnificent color encasing the moon, she walked off the bus to get a better view. Her peepers attratced to the moon like a magnet, she slid down the side of the silver bus, the only thing appealing to her that moment was the eerie, genuine, celestial object the moon had transformed into.

A few minutes later, the soothing shield of silence surrounding her was abruptly shattered into tiny glass fragments, the laughter and gossip of 5 certain cuties cutting through the night's tranquility like sharp scissors. The boys suddenly came into eyeshot from the shadows, sweating perfusely.

"Nice show, boys," McKenzie told them, enveloping her jeans into her tanned arm.

"Like always," Chris stated like a true egocentric, raising his hand proudly to the center of his chest.

"Get your head out of the clouds, Chrissy," Matt belittled him, pushing him along to quicken his pace, "Who messed up incountable times during 'They Don't Understand?'"

"I'm sorry if I inhabited you and Greg's traits for one song," Chris sneered back, a fit of laughter exploding in the air from Frankie and Jesse's mouths. They filed onto the bus, Greg bringing up the rear as he glanced at McKenzie.

"Come here, Greg," McKenzie giddily called to him, unhastily rising from her comfortable position on the grey dirt of the parking lot. Greg's soul lifted because with the expression McKenzie wore on her face, he could tell she was pleased with her first glimpse of "Jennifer Goodbye."

"That was awesome!" McKenzie shouted, clasping her hands together, "I didn't know you played the guitar, too."

"I'm just so talented," Greg joked, bobbing his head and stuffing his hands in his silver UFO's pockets.

"Really," McKenzie said softly, the wind ruffling her hair as she hooked her arms around his neck. Greg tensed up, unsure of what McKenzie was doing. "So here's a good job kiss, you deserve it," McKenzie offered with a side of a half-smile, leaning up to him and linking her lips with his for a few blissful seconds.

Greg's eyes were budging out of their sockets when McKenzie released her lips from his. Only one question brashly bounced off the walls of his brain like a battered, silver ball in a pinball machine at the bowling alley. She stared at him curiously, backing away from Greg's shocked look.

"What?" McKenzie asked innocently, holding her hands up from her sides and shrugging.

"You just kissed me," Greg informed her blatantly, slowly inching his hands out of the depths of his pocket, his eyes still trying to leap free from his sockets.

"Oh, C'Mon Greg," McKenzie laughed nonchalantly, brushing his comment off like dirt and pushing playfully at his hand, "You've never kissed you girlfriends? I mean, girls who are your friends?"

"But you're...you're..." Greg stumbled over the words.

"That has nothing to do with anything!" McKenzie challenge, throwing her hands at the sky because of that unbelieveable comment. Steam began to pour from her ears, her eyes becoming those of a dragon; red, angry and destructive. "It meant nothing, Greg," she finished, collectively passing by his left in pursuit of the bus.

"No, it meant something," Greg retorted, grasping loosely at her arm, his face solid as stone, his eyes exploding with liquid honesty. McKenzie's head remained foward, then slowly rotated to his hand clamped on her arm, then up to his desperate eyes.

"Greg," McKenzie softly pleaded, wedging her fingers between the bond of his hand and her arm. She laggingly placed his hand at his side, then straightened her hunched body. "Please don't tell me that."

"Do you think I wanted to?" Greg heatedly whispered, bending down to her and weaving his hands through his hair.

"Then why did you?" McKenzie asked annoyed, shieling her eyes in fustration from his stabbing sight.

"Well, what did you just do?!" Greg questioned excitedly, holding his hands out to exclamate his point. "You kissed me, and I told you how..."

"I didn't know you felt that way about me," McKenzie cried honestly, stamping her foot angrily at the ground.

"Now you do," Greg whispered, slumping against the side of the bus, the orange glow of the moon trying to cheer him up, secretly knowing that even that confession wouldn't change her ways.

McKenzie jumbled her glance back and forth between Greg and the ground, her mind remonstrating about her awkward feelings. She felt so strongly for Tricia, a girl who had never been accepted or seen for who she was, a girl who showed her what a friend, and someone been more, could be like, could feel like; a girl who was a lot like herself, misunderstood. Then Greg comes into her life, probably no one more than a faint crush, if even that. Then why was her mind so confused?

"I really...like Tricia," McKenzie told him soothingly, lifting his downcasted, stagnant face to hers with her hand. An orange glow colored his face like fake sunlight, tanning lights. "We have something really special, but I don't know yet if it's love or not." Greg could feel a letdown coming on like a 6th sense. "You are a great guy," she continued, randomly picking words from her brain to let him down as gently as a newborn baby on a pillow. "Any girl would be lucky to have you, but not me. I don't...feel anything for you that we could act upon. Tricia holds my interest and heart now...and I know I'm young so maybe one day, that will change."

Her words slowly penetrated and paralyzed his emotions like a snake's venom. "Maybe one day," Greg painfully repeated, his insides tearing at every word she spoke.

"But not now," McKenzie finished, brushing her hand tenderly across his cheek. He turned away, obviously hurt. McKenzie's heart was crumbling like a rock. "I'm sorry." She proceeded to the bus door, cursing herself for telling such a wonderful guy, a wonderful friend she didn't want him.

Greg glanced up at the orange moon, sadness streaming through his puny veins and water welding up in his eyes. The tears dissapeared as a well-known quote danced into his head: "If it's meant to be, it will happen."