"So, Macey, what're you doing in my neck of the woods?"

I looked down at my sneakers, which were wet from sloshing through puddles. I looked pitiful. Here I was in this gorgeous neighborhood, standing on the porch of this beautiful mansion wearing a navy blue raincoat and mud-splattered jeans. I needed a plausible lie.... and fast. "I was just going to a friend's house," I explained. "And she wasn't home, so I was going to wait for awhile. Well, thirty minutes went by and she still wasn't there, so I decided to go to someone's house and call my mom, and I decided to come on down here. It seemed like a nice enough house, so...." My, how confident that sounds.

"Come on in, then. You're drenched."

I walked in, still shivering a little. I polietly took off my muddy sneakers and left them near the door. I removed my coat, and hung it on the coatrack.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Mr. Randall asked as he ran his fingers through his mess of curls. "Hot chocolate, maybe?"

I nodded. "Most definately."

He smiled, and for the first time I noticed how his eyes sparkled when that happened. He probably was very handsome when he was young. He reminded me of an older version of...

It can't be.

There was no way that Mr. Randall... he couldn't be. But the address had said so. It'd read "Justin Timberlake, 8431 Fishborne Lane, Hyperion, Conneticut". There was no other street in this town called Fishborne Lane, so I had to have the right house. Maybe Justin had moved out or something.

"Go ahead, Macey, make yourself at home," Mr. Randall instructed, leading me into the living room. In the room was a black leather couch and a matching recliner, two white end tables and a white coffee table, and a black entertainment center. A white grand piano sat in the corner. It was amazing, and so different from the broken in comfort of the living room at my house. I felt slightly uncomfortable here. I was scared I would break something, or make it dirty. I sat on the couch, and waited as Mr. Randall went to the kitchen to get my hot chocolate.

As I waited, my eyes scanned the room. Lots of pictures adorned the mantle of the fireplace. I got up to get a closer look of them. They were pictures of children, ranging from baby photographs to more recent pictures. Above the mantle hung a family portrait. There was Mr. Randall with his wife (a pretty woman with light brown hair and brown eyes, and an easy smile), and three kids: two girls and a boy. The girls had long, dirty blonde hair, and the boy had a mess of wild blonde curls that reminded me of Justin's.

"So that's your family?" I asked when Mr. Randall came into the room with the hot chocolate.

Mr. Randall smiled softly. "Yeah. That got taken about six months ago. There's my wife, and my kids, Alicia, Julianne, and Justin."

His son is named Justin, Macey! my mind screamed. Wake up! You're in Justin Timberlake's house! "That's nice."

"Yeah. They mean the world to me."

"So, who's this?" I pointed to a framed portrait of a young girl with brown hair.

"That's the love of my life, when she was sixteen. That's when I met her. We were good friends for a long time, then eventually I realized that she was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

I allowed myself to sigh aloud. "That's so romantic...."

The doorbell rang. "I'd better go get that," Mr. Randall said. He walked out to the door. As soon as I heard him open the door, I quickly snuck out of the living room to investigate the house to see if there was any other proof of a former international pop star living in the house.

I opened doors, silently. I found a study, and also a guest bedroom. Besides those rooms, the living room, dining room, and kitchen, nothing else was downstairs. I would have to go upstairs to further my investigation.

I gulped, uncertain of what to do now. Should I go upstairs? Or should I abort mission?

You promised yourself that you'd find out what happened to Justin. So go ahead and do it, dammit.

With little hesitation, I climbed swiftly up the stairs. My heart was pouding so loudly I could hear the steady beat echoing in my ears: thump thump thump. I was terrified to death, and as soon as I reached the top of the stairs I stopped to feel my knees shaking uncontrollably.

"It's alright, Macey, it's okay," I whispered to myself. I looked around, trying to pick which room to look in first. I decided to start with the rooms to my left. I headed down the hallway, and walked to the partially opened door. I peeked in, and discovered that it was the master bedroom. No luck there. I'd snoop around in any other room, but not in Mr. Randall's bedroom. So I went to the next room, and discovered it was Justin's room.

The next two rooms were apparently Alicia and Julianne's bedrooms. And there was also a bathroom and a linen closet. The last room was at the far right end of the hall. There had to be something down that way.

I walked and felt a knot grow in my stomach. What would be in there? Would I run into another dead end? Or what if I found out something horrible about Mr. Randall? I drew in a deep breath, more than ready to face whatever I saw in there.

I placed my hand on the door, and gently turned the knob.

Creaaaak.

The door squeaked so softly, yet it terrified me silly. With little hesitation, I slipped into the room, and closed the door. I then fumbled around for the lightswitch. As soon as the lights in the room flickered on, my breath was caught in my throat, in complete awe.

I'd walked into the award room, most definately. Dozens upon dozens of awards were all over the place. There were platinum records on the walls, and miscellaneous other statuettes and such dotted the shelves in the wall. I walked around, completely awed.

As I continued to look around, I felt my heart stop. There was a Grammy on one of the shelves, and I-being curious-stood on tiptoe to reach it. I held it in my hands as they trembled. I was holding a Grammy, granted it wasn't mine, but it was someone's. I stroked the smooth metal. I quickly put it back, and examined the rest of the room.

One of the platinum records caught my eye. I went over, and looked at it. It had the cover of *NSYNC's first US album. I'm in the right house... Quickly I bolted downstairs, in disbelief of my findings.

As soon as I reached the foot of the stairs, I nearly collided with Mr. Randall. "Macey! I was wondering where you were. Why were you upstairs?"

I swallowed. "Uhh, I was looking for the bathroom, so I headed up there to see if I could find one. And I did."

He gave me a blank look, and I silently prayed that he didn't know I'd just lied. "Um, I'm going to go in a little while... I'll just take the bus," I said quickly. "Thanks for letting me in... I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"Oh, that's alright, Macey. You can come by anytime you want. And if you want to, stay for dinner. Carly wouldn't mind."

So Carly's his wife... I mused. "Well, I shouldn't. Mom would probably want me home. Thanks again."

He smiled warmly, and I saw the resemblence there. "Sure. Don't be a stranger now."

I took my coat and umbrella, and let myself out the door. As I stood on the porch, I deeply exhaled and absorbed every bit of information I'd gained that day. First of all, there was no way that a janitor could have bought that house. There had to be some sort of nest egg to provide that money.

Secondly, the family resemblence was very strong, especially in Justin. Third, the platinum albums and awards... definate proof.

I exhaled again, and a woozy, eurphoric feeling swept over me. I was still in slight disbelief. I found Justin Timberlake. I found him.

Now I just need to find out how the group broke up.

chapter 11
back to main