Camp Rock by Lucy Ruggles

CHAPTER ONE
    â€œM itchie, up!” Connie Torres commanded as she stepped through the piles of clothes and CDs on her fourteen-year-old daughter’s bedroom floor. “Last day of school!” She clapped her hands cheerfully before disappearing down the hall.
    In the bed, Mitchie stirred and groaned. Her hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed a CD labeled MITCHIE’S TUNES from the nightstand. Without looking, Mitchie popped the disc into the CD player and pushed PLAY.
    Instantly, the chords of a pop song filled the room. It featured vocals by none other than Mitchie Torres herself. As the beat intensified, Mitchie threw off her covers and jumped out of bed. She pulled her long, brown hair back, and singing the words she knew by heart, she opened her closet and peered in.
    What to wear? The jean miniskirt? She held it up to her hips. Nope. The skirt was looking a little too mini. Shorts? Nope. Same problem. Pants, she thought. Maybe? Grabbing a pair of capris from a hanger, she tried them on. Better, but not perfect. Then she spied leggings, and inspiration flared. A skirt, leggings, a T-shirt—the perfect, not-too-dressy, last-day-of-school outfit.
    In the middle of putting on a long necklace, Mitchie was hit with an idea. She hurried from her closet to her desk, where she grabbed a journal. On the front, in bold letters, was written “Mitchie’s Songs.” She furiously scribbled some lyrics on a blank page. Satisfied with the new verses, Mitchie smiled, put the journal away, and continued dancing out of her room, down the hall, and into the kitchen, where her mother had set out breakfast.
    Mitchie plopped down at the kitchen table, and began to scarf down an omelet. On the television, an entertainment show discussed the most recent antics of Shane Gray—musician and hottie.
    â€œThe pop-star phenomenon, Shane Gray,” the television reporter intoned, “may have gone too far this time when he stormed off the set of his new video after someone gave him a grande nonfat latte instead of his legendary Venti soy chai latte with extra foam. This final stunt cost his label thousands of dollars, but may cost him his record deal.”
    Mitchie sighed. Shane Gray had everything. Why would he want to ruin it?
    â€œThe message is clear,” the reporter went on. “He needs to clean up his act. And to give him time to do it, the Connect Three summer tour has been canceled.”
    The report was almost over when Mitchie’s mother sat down in the seat next to her.
    â€œLook what I found in the crisper,” Connie
said, tossing a colorful, glossy booklet onto the table. “A Camp Rock brochure. Or should I say another Camp Rock brochure?” she added.
    â€œHmm, look at that!” Mitchie said, faking surprise. She shoveled another forkload of omelet into her mouth. So maybe the hints she’d been dropping about going to Camp Rock this summer hadn’t been as subtle as she thought. But if she got in, all her dreams could come true.
    â€œSo, you have no knowledge of how this brochure got into the refrigerator?” her mother asked. “Or the one taped to the vacuum cleaner?”
    Mitchie shrugged.
    â€œSweetie,” Connie continued, “I know you want to go to this camp, but we just can’t swing it right now with Dad expanding the store and my catering business just taking off, and … I’m sorry,” she said gently.
    Mitchie’s mood deflated. Deep down she had figured Camp Rock was out of the question, but a girl could hope…
    â€œI know,” she said, standing to take her empty plate to the sink. “Well, gotta go. Last day of school. Don’t want to be late.”
    T he halls were abuzz with last-day-of-school energy. Students were joking with each other as they joyfully dumped old notebooks, tests, and quizzes into the overflowing garbage cans.
    Mitchie opened her locker to find a year’s worth of