The last place in the world that I wanted to be was in his head.

I couldn’t believe that he was telling me the things that I was hearing. Past girlfriends; school problems; trouble with his parents; monetary stuff. The room was spinning, and it wasn’t because I had drunk some beer.

Honestly, I didn’t have that much. He had bought it for me. And I was stunned that he’d chosen me out of all of the people in the large, noisy club to come and sit down with. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen me at the table until he sat down, but then had to cover up for it. Or maybe he could just tell that I wasn’t like the other girls in the club. And I don’t mean that in a vain way, I just mean that I was about 5 years younger than the rest. Well, except my friends.

Adrienne, my 5’6, blonde hair, blue-eyed, token bimbo friend, had managed to coerce her half-sister and friends’ ID away from them. Kelly and I didn’t ask questions. We stopped asking Adrienne questions a long time ago. Well, at least since she got us backstage for a Madonna concert. It was cool and we totally vowed to never ask questions of Adrienne again. Then we found ourselves here.

At first, Kelly was less excited about going to a club than I was. Kelly’s 5’4. She has short, brown ringlets of hair that seem to have a mind of their own. And she hates it. While we were getting dressed to come to the club, Kelly vowed that she was going to shave her head. Adrienne and I looked at her, all dressed-up, and then laughed. She looked all of twelve years old. So Adrienne put Kelly’s hair up in a clip.

From the table I was sitting at, I could see Adrienne, looking at least 21 with red lipstick, high-heeled shoes, and a tiny black mini-skirt, dancing with Kelly, who managed to look more like 17 out there. Or perhaps it was because Adrienne had refused to let Kelly wear her Pooh jumper-dress and had forced her into tight, black slacks, and a purple and silver, spandex shirt.

Like I said, at first Kelly had been more upset about coming here than I was. But then we walked in the door. Adrienne and I were still giggling about how easy it had been to get in, and Kelly was standing there preparing her, "I’m so disappointed in us," speech. But before she could say anything, this gorgeous guy approached her and asked her to dance. And then she was gone.

Adrienne and I found the table. Adrienne wanted to get a drink right away, but I told her to wait. Then she saw Kelly out on the dance floor and took off. I told her I’d wait at the table.

So I sat in the rickety-wooden chair that looked to be a reject from the city dump. I pulled the hem of my jean skirt down, trying to make sure that I didn’t get a run in my mom’s hose. She hadn’t known that I had borrowed them, and I was hoping that she wouldn’t find out. Of course, that’s how all of the stories go. And of course the mom always finds out. But I had sworn to myself that it wouldn’t happen it to me.

The denim skirt only covered a small portion of my legs, and I felt, as soon as I sat down, the panty hose run shoot down my leg. Oh well. At least I had gotten it out of the way early.

I had decided to wear my pink sweater to the club. It was fluffy and I thought it looked the best with my skirt. Actually, it was the only thing that I had that actually looked club worthy. Not that I know really what to wear in clubs; it just looks like what they wear on TV. Now I was regretting the sweater idea. Adrienne had told me I was going to be too hot. But I didn’t listen to her. So, basically, I found myself sitting, alone, in a club, sweating profusely in a pink, wooly sweater when my best friends were out there dancing, and having a good time. But I couldn’t go out there. I had a run in my hose. And I’m 5’8. Everyone would see the run.

Just as I was replacing the butterfly hair clips in the long strands of my sweat-soaked brown hair, JC walked up and sat down. He looked over at me, as if he hadn’t seen me at first, and smiled. I knew who he was instantly, but he reached his hand across the tiny table to introduce himself.

"Hi," he began, his tenor voice a little strained due to the musical noise in the club. "I’m Josh," he said.

I was stunned. I thought about telling him I knew who he was. Then I thought about pretending that I had no idea who he was. I knew it didn’t matter what I said to him. He wouldn’t care.

I mean, who am I? I’m just a gangly, 16 year old, who sneaked into in a club. And I was still sweating. I shook his hand and then apologized for my sweaty hand.

"What?" he yelled back to me over the noise. I tried to say it again, but it was no use. He couldn’t hear me. So he got up and moved over next to me. My heart was racing. What would I do with JC sitting next to me? What if I threw up on him? What if I proclaimed my love for him a little too quickly?! What if I smelled bad?! Worst of all, what if he got next to me and I found out he wasn’t really JC??

He sat down beside me, pulling his creaky, dump-rejected chair up next to mine. "You smell good," he said, loudly, and directly in my ear. I winced, partly because of the yell and partly because it had surprised me. "Now, what did you say again?" He was still leaning over to my ear, but wasn’t yelling quite so loudly.

"I said I was sorry that my hands are sweaty."

He laughed. At that point, I was absolutely certain he was JC. Then all common sense left my brain. I heard myself saying, "Hey. You’re JC Chasez. Why are you lying to me about your name?" I instantly regretted it. I knew that he was going to get up and walk off. But he didn’t. He just smiled at me.

"Well," he smiled, "You just passed my first test." I scowled. For some, unknown reason, I wasn’t trusting my favorite, JC. I know everything about JC. And now here I was sitting in a club with him, he’s talking to me and I’m trying to scare him off.

Why wasn’t I screaming? Why wasn’t I pawing all over him like all of the women do at all of the concerts. I had cried myself to sleep so many times just wishing that I would be given one chance to, at the most, have JC make eye contact with me at a concert. Now, I was sitting in some dingy club on the outskirts of Orlando talking to JC. And I was inexplicably mad at him.

WHY?

"A test?" I asked, not meaning to sound so malicious; it was just that the place was so loud. "You have tests for your fans?"

"Well," JC shrugged. "When you’re a popular musician, you kind of have to figure out who’s going to be your friend or who’s just trying to get to your money. Or your car. It’s kinda scary," he shouted over the music. Then he rubbed his head and looked around the room. He leaned even closer to me. He was wearing that cologne Happy. And he smelled good.

I took a deep breath when he leaned over. He looked straight at my eyes and smiled. Then he frowned. My heart returned to its frantic beating.

"I never got your name. Like I said, or rather yelled, my name’s Josh," he winked, "while I’m not out with the guys."

I couldn’t help but return his smile. "I’m Amy."

His smile got bigger. "Oh good. At first I was afraid you weren’t going to tell me."

"So," I began, rather daringly, "why are you going by Josh?"

"Well. Joshua is really my first name," he said, making the mistake of thinking that I didn’t all ready know that. But I didn’t say anything. I nodded.

"Plus most people would ask me if I was JC when I was out at clubs. It makes it easier to say, ‘No. I’m Josh.’ Then they think, ‘Oh shit’—oh, sorry for the cuss word—but the people think, ‘I made a mistake. This isn’t JC.’ Then they turn around and leave me alone. It makes me feel better because it’s not like I’m really lying to them. I’m just stretching the truth."

I nodded again. I understood.

"Plus," he continued, "it’s rough when you walk into a club not knowing one person and they all know your name. That’s the scary part. That’s why I kinda have conversation tests. I don’t want someone to hang out with me because I’m famous; I want them to just like me."

"Oh," I said, fully understanding everything that he had said. But it was too easy to feel sorry for him. "I guess I shouldn’t talk to you then. I don’t really like you." Then I started to stand up.

The look on his face was priceless, and I was about to laugh and tell him I was just kidding when the damn chair I was sitting on stuck to my hose and toppled me and the chair over.

JC didn’t know what to do. I had just (jokingly) brushed him off, but he hadn’t known it was a joke. I couldn’t decide if I should laugh about the whole thing or cry.

So I laughed and looked up at him and he was peering down at the crumpled Amy that lay on the floor in a short, denim skirt, and burning hot, pink, fluffy sweater.

"I was just kidding," I said. And it sounded pathetic. He stood up and I thought that he was getting ready to walk off and leave me laying on the floor, groveling after him. Instead, he bent down and helped me up.

"Are you all right?" he asked. As he was helping me stand up, he yelled, "What did you say just a second ago? I’m sorry. I can’t hear anything."

I stared at him blankly, surprised he hadn’t heard me.

There was a few moments of silence, if you could call it that in such a loud club, between us. JC smiled. "Do you need a beer?" he asked. I’m going to go and get one. You like Miller?" I shrugged. "I’ll be right back."

Stunned, I sat in my chair that he had helped me into and watched JC, the greatest guy in the world, walk up to the bar to get me a drink. I was confused. What had happened? What the hell was going on?

"What the hell is going on?" Kelly and Adrienne were yelling at me. They had suddenly appeared on the run-side of me, and Kelly was pointing at the run. "What have you been doing?" Kelly asked, giggling.

"Hey," Adrienne shouted. "I saw you over here with a guy. Are you still talking to him?!"
I nodded, half wondering if they had noticed who he was, and if they were waiting for me to tell them. But they didn’t seem to suspect.

"What?!" Adrienne yelled. "You with him still or not?!"
"Yes!" I returned. "Now get out of here before you blow my chances with him!"

Then they both laughed and Adrienne hugged me. "Way to go!" she yelled in my ear. "Let us know when we can meet him."

Kelly laughed. "Or do we have to wait until the wedding?!"

"Get out of here," I shouted, seeing JC coming back over to the table. Thankfully, my friends were gone by the time he got back.

He handed me my beer. "Thanks!" I yelled. I took one drink of the beer and wanted to spit it out. It was disgusting, but I didn’t let on. JC was too busy drinking to notice the face I made with my second gulp of beer.

By the time I was attempting my third swig of beer, JC had all ready finished his whole bottle.

"I should have gotten two for me while I was up there," he said, gazing down into the empty bottle. He didn’t look too happy, and I wondered if he was mad at me.

"Here," I said, offering him my beer. "You can have mine. I’m not really too thirsty."

JC smiled. He nodded thanks and took the beer out of my hands. I was relieved that I wasn’t going to have to drink any more of it. I watched JC as the bottle, that had just been on my lips moments before, met his mouth. I was almost jealous of the bottle, but then I realized that was sick. I continued to watch him drink. His strong jawline was accented by how he tiltled back his head so that he could empty the contents of the beer bottle. His eyes were closed. He looked better sitting there in a crowded, noisy club than he ever did on any stage. I was mesmerized by him.

When he opened his eyes, he looked at me. He placed the now empty bottle on the wobbly table with a hollow thud.

It seemed that small talk with him was going to be impossible. What could I say to him? So where are you from? What do you do for a living? Is Lance also as good looking in person as he is on TV?

JC was still looking at me; he wasn’t smiling. He was almost scowling.

I panicked. I thought I must’ve been staring too hard. Maybe he was contemplating leaving.

"So," JC leaned over to me, that same beautiful voice still struggling over the blaring music. "Where are you from?"

I smiled, almost laughed, pleased that he had started the small talk, delighted that he wasn’t thinking about leaving.

"Orlando," I said.

He nodded. "You an actor?"

"No," I loudly responded, my voice not sounding as good as his did at such a loud volume.

"You should be," he said, reaching his hand over to run his fingers through my hair. "I like long, brown hair," he said, absently, not realizing he was still playing with my hair. "You should be," he repeated. "You’re so beautiful."

I blushed, and my all ready hot sweater got hotter. Then I freaked out. And it’s times like these that I really hate myself. I mean, there I was with JC and I started worrying if he might be drunk. What if he tried to hurt me? I was managing to successfully scare myself. And it didn’t help any when JC leaned closer to me. He still smelled so good, but my heart was racing and I had worked myself into a frenzy. I felt like I was going to cry. I looked around, frantically, for Adrienne and Kelly.

"Do you want another beer?" he asked, suddenly backing away.

"No," I said, still afraid. "I’ve got to find my friends. I’ve got to go."

He frowned, looking hurt. Then his look changed to concern. I could see it dawn on him when he realized why I was trying to leave.

"No. I’m sorry." He stuttered. "Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry." He shook his head. "I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you. I’m sorry," he kept repeating.

It was sweet and I immediately felt guilty for thinking a bad thing about him.

When he finally stopped apologizing, he stood up and told me he was going to get another beer. "You’re going to be here when I get back?" he yelled into my ear.

I couldn’t see Kelly and Adrienne anywhere, so I nodded yes.

When he came back, he only had one beer. And I was glad.

"I think the thing that annoys me the most about fame," he began, unprompted, "is that everyone has all of these preconceived notions about me. ‘He doesn’t say this. He doesn’t wear this. He doesn’t do this.’ And that really gets to me.

"Absolute strangers approach me at the grocery store and say, ‘JC. You’re not supposed to like zucchini’ or whatever. Why the hell do they care? Oh. Sorry about the language again.

"And everyone’s always telling me what to do. Don’t you hate that?" he asked, looking straight at me with those gorgeous blue eyes.

I nodded. "My parents are always trying to control me," I said, then remembered that I was supposed to be 21.

JC laughed. "You’d think that once we turned 18 they’d leave us alone. But we just can’t get away from them, can we?"

I laughed, trying not to act too relieved that he hadn’t caught on that I still live with my parents.

JC continued on. He told me about everything. It was almost as if I was his psychiatrist. He was confiding in me. And I loved it. I tried to give some advice, but mostly just listened.

As I sat there, in the noisy, smoky dance club, watching and listing to him, I realized that I didn’t really know anything about him. I realized that everything about him on the web isn’t accurate. And that he doesn’t have the perfect life that I had imagined. How could I have ever claimed that I loved him? I didn’t even know him. The man sitting beside me, still yelling over the pounding music, was smarter, sweeter and more fallible that the JC that I had thought I knew. And at that moment, I was struck with the urge to reach over to him and lightly touch him.

When I put my hand on his shoulder, he looked up from his empty bottle and smiled at me. We sat there quietly, looking at each other for a few, beautiful moments. Then his smile turned to a grin. "Don’t hurt me," he said, motioning to my hand resting on his shoulder.

I laughed. "Don’t make fun of me!"

JC was laughing too. "No, honestly," he said, trying to be serious, "You had every right to panic. Every girl should be careful; you never know when something bad could happen." He stared hard at me for a few moments. "I hope that wasn’t your preconceived notion of me—that I was one of those types of guys."

I laughed and shook my head no.

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Do you even like ‘N Sync?"

"Of course!" I said, way too enthusiastically. He didn’t notice, though, for all of the other noise in the club.

"Who’s your favorite," he asked, concerned.

"Lance!" I said, teasingly, then smiled.

He nodded, looking pensive. "Yeah. Lance is my favorite, too. I have all of his posters!" He smiled. Then he looked over my shoulder. Through all of the other ruckus in the club, I could still hear Adrienne and Kelly. They were coming towards us.

JC began to stand up. "Maybe we can hang out sometime," he said, hurriedly.

"Sure," I said, just before Adrienne barged in to our little oasis. I looked at her, with her sweaty, blonde hair sticking to her cheek. Kelly’s face was bright red and she was still breathing hard from the dancing.

"C’mon, Amy! It’s 11 o’clock! We were supposed to be home an hour ago!" Adrienne yelled, not even noticing JC.

"My parents are going to kill me!" Kelly said, too busy looking at the small rip in her slacks to even notice my new friend.

"OK," I said, knowing that my parents would probably kill me, too, if they found out I had been at a club instead of spending the night at Adrienne’s.

JC touched me lightly on my arm. "It was nice to meet you, Amy," JC said. "Call me sometime." He took my hand and gently squeezed it. Then he turned around and walked off.

I was too busy trying to follow Adrienne and Kelly out of the club to even read the piece of paper he had just slipped into my hand.

It wasn’t until after we had snuck back in to Adrienne’s and the two were asleep that I finally got a chance to read the note. My fingers trembled when I saw his number on the paper. My heart was racing when I read, in his beautiful writing, "Thanks for listening. Next time I’ll listen to you. Love, Josh."

That was a week ago, and I haven’t built up the courage to call him, yet. I told Adrienne and Kelly all about talking to Josh, but I didn’t tell them that he was really JC. I think that they’d freak out if they knew. And he wouldn’t like that.

Kelly and Adrienne keep telling me to call Josh, but I’m also afraid that he’ll find out that I’m only 16. But I don’t want to lie to him either. So maybe I’ll just call him when I’m 18.

At least he taught me an important lesson. Nobody’s simple. We are all complex creatures, and I like JC and all of his complexities.