Bob

When Dave walked in and didn’t say anything, I decided I would just go ahead and keep watching my movie. I tried, and couldn’t. I was too confused about whatever was up with him. He was grinning like a crazy man back there with the Hansons; I figured he was just thinking about some stupid joke he’d heard, maybe having a spontaneous sexual thought. But then when I asked him...And what was all that about Zac and me? That had absolutely nothing to do with anything. In my head, anyway. But obviously Dave was and I were not on the same page.

Why would he get so defensive about smiling and Hanson? Unless he was smiling at/for/because of Hanson...

Shiznitz...No way...Right? Was I thinking that my triplet had a thing for Hanson? That could not be possible. Oh my God.

”Haha, Bob. Haven’t you seen this before?” Dave was laughing at me why?

Oh yes, because I was staring blankly at the television with my mouth hanging open. The car scene. He probably thought I was a total freak. But that’s okay, because I wasn’t even sure what the hell I was thinking about him. “Oh, yeah. I was just thinking...” I sputtered.

Dave

Thinking about what? I raised my eyebrows. Bob had just totally spaced out on me for no reason. And he’d even stopped eating his popcorn; that was something. He’d had his hand in mid-air, just sitting there, staring at the screen. Could he have been thinking about the same thing I was thinking about? Was he thinking about a Hanson, perhaps? He and Zac had gotten along quite well...But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to believe that. And the look on his face was more of shock than fantasy.

Now he was making me uncomfortable. I had to get out of here. But if I left, Clint would come after me. Dammit. Maybe I could just sneak out really fast and hide in my bunk...

”Umm...I’m gonna go talk to Clint. Do you want to watch this?” Bob was asking me. Well, at least he’d be gone. And as a plus, he’d be distracting Clint for me.

”Sure,” I responded. If I said no and stayed in here anyways, what would I be doing. Well, at least they might stay out of my way...But what was up with him? I still couldn’t figure it out. “Why do you want to talk to Clint?” I knew my confusion was evident in my voice, but I didn’t care. I had finally said something naturally, not lying, not covering up.

”I...I just got a twin thing. I think he’s um...I think something’s up.” Bob left his popcorn on the table and left quickly, his eyes darting around like he was psychotic or paranoid or something. Okay then.

Taylor

Well, we’d finally met The Moffatts. When Scott introduced himself, the last name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. That’s when I remembered that the interviewers and fans had been asking us what we thought of this other band, “The Moffatts”, them since I could remember, and we’d always been clueless. I didn’t even know who they were besides another pop brother band with long hair. Of course, they didn’t have long hair now. But neither did we. Well, except for Zac. Either way, I’m guessing we’d all grown up quite a bit since our fan bases merged.

I sat back in my bunk with my headphones on, not really listening to the music, but letting my thoughts come and go as they pleased. I wondered how old they were. They all looked about my age or a little older, but if they were brothers, I knew they had to have a at least a little time between them. I sighed and pulled out my laptop. If they were going to be staying in our house, I wanted to know who they were.

I yawned as I waited to be connected to the internet, typed in a couple letters, and then I was off. “The Moffatts’ Official Website” read the link. Score. AOL rocks when you don’t get kicked off.

I busied myself learning about our newfound friends. (I knew we’d be seeing them/keeping in touch, just because Zac was totally hyped up on the drummer guy.) Bob, his name was. The middle triplet? Holy bijesus! So that was why they all looked the same age. The one I’d talked to, Scott, was the oldest; less than a year older than his brothers, and less than a month younger than me. Those were some busy parents.

After I was done learning who was who (I’m pretty sure I got it straight), I bounced my happy self over to the Columbia House website. I wasn’t really thinking about buying anything, but I looked up their albums anyway. Only one, and damn, that was an old picture. How funny that our name appeared below as another to check out “if you like The Moffatts...”

”Chapter One: A New Beginning” was its title. I stopped my CD and connected my headphones to the computer to listen to the segments posted. “Until You Loved Me” sounded vaguely familiar, like I’d heard it before. But then again, I’ve heard everything before. I am a self-proclaimed music freak. I realized why our fans thought of us as so like them, or vice versa; pop music, brothers, long hair, play instruments...It fit. I found their music to be much more guitar-driven than our own keyboard-based sounds, though. Misery sounded darker than anything we’d had on our first album as well...A dark and almost bitter love song. I clicked on a few more wav files and found them to be respectable artists. Yeah, pretty cool.

Scott

I sat at the table with my pen in hand, trying to write out lyrics. But nothing would come. I just kept thinking about Taylor Hanson’s aura; it was unlike anything I’d ever seen. He came off as so professional and so deep, like he saw right through you and knew everything about you when he shook your hand. He was so business-like for a teenage musician...Actually, for a musician in general, but hell. I kept trying to put a word to his disposition, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know if a word had ever been made.

I’d only spoken to him for about a minute, and yet, he’d had this amazing effect on me. I’m normally a pretty cocky guy, but he had this godlike presence that made even me feel inadequate and small. It was almost as if I was idolizing him after knowing him, not even knowing him, for less than five minutes.

There was no denying his musical talent, although I usually tried everything in my power to separate our image from that of him and his brothers. Taylor had this intense musical tone surrounding him that made me wonder where in the hell a senseless song like “Mmmbop” had come from. He seemed, to me, to be so capable of writing such powerful and influential lyrics, and he probably did, but it just didn’t fit with the image he’d shown the world with his first single.

Sitting and psychoanalyzing Taylor Hanson was definitely not something I’d ever thought of doing, but now I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t focus on my work, and I couldn’t look at my lyrics with pride, only because they didn’t seem deep enough for Taylor. It was like I’d made him my personal mentor without asking him, trying to work up to his standards, his excellence. It was not a time to write about love, and if it was, I couldn’t do it.