A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, i had like half of it done and then didn't know how to finish it (: read and review!

Chapter 8

"Guys, I'm so, so sorry, I had no clue that you were dating," Mitchie apologized, assuming what I wished was true. As soon as she said dating, both Nate and I froze up, and I started blushing profusely.

"Mitchie," I stuttered. "We're not…We don't…"

"We're not together," Nate managed to spit out.

"But what was that?" She asked, apparently clueless of how uncomfortable we were. She stared at me, asking me to answer her question before suddenly becoming aware of how awkward the situation was. "Oh my god, you don't have to answer that. I'm so sorry, I'm totally invading your privacy. I mean, you can date whoever you want to date…or whoever you don't want to date, for that matter. I'm sure that whatever I saw--"

"Mitchie," I interrupted her, grabbing her arm to stop her from making the ridiculous hand movements she had been making previously. "Why don't you leave us alone for a little bit?"

As she walked away, Nate sighed and sat down, head in his hands, and I took a seat next to him.

"That was…" I trailed off, unsure of how exactly to describe what had just had happened.

"Yeah. I know," Nate agreed, wordlessly assuring me that he felt the same way I had.

"Well, at least she won't tell anyone," I assured.

"How do you know?" Nate asked. "All people want to know is what--or who--celebrities do. We didn't exactly look squeaky clean."

"Because I know her. She'd be too scared to let anyone know," I rebuked, unsure why I was even defending Mitchie.

"We better hope so," he semi agreed, and we started walking towards his limo.

Later that day, I ran into Mitchie during one of the classes. "Hey," I ran up to meet her.

"Hey," she smiled back tentatively.

"I'm sorry for being a little rude this morning," I apologized. "I was just…taken off guard. But Nate and I definetly aren't dating."

"Bet you wish you were, though," I heard her reply under her breath.

"What?" I asked in disbelief. Mitchie Torres going outside the box? Who would have thought.

"It's just that…from what I've seen, it looks like you like him. But I don't know, it's just an outsiders point of view," she answered, horrified that I had heard her.

I wondered whether I should be nice, or be a jerk. "Yeah, well…you've got one thing right," I sighed, choosing the first option.

"Well, at least it seemed he felt the same way, too," she offered.

"Yeah, sure," I replied, skeptical.

"Well, I've got to go. But don't worry," she added quickly. "Your secret's safe with me. Both of them."

The rest of the day flew by uneventfully. I waited impatiently for classes to be over so that I could finally call Nate. I didn't know what I was going to say, but I just wanted to hear his voice.

As soon as classes ended, I got out to my phone to call him. "Hey," I said once he picked up.

"Hey," he replied. "This morning was…interesting."

"Yeah," I agreed. "But Mitchie assured me she won't say anything, and I believe her."

"Good," he sighed in relief. "The last thing we need right now is more press."

"Yeah, totally…" I replied. I guess the old saying about all press was good press wasn't so true after all.

"Anyways," he sighed. "I started looking into the investigation. I actually managed to get the police report from the night."

"Wow," I interjected, amazed at how quickly he worked. "What does it say?"

"Well, it just has the interviews from witnesses, pictures from the scene, and the autopsy reports. Apparently the guy who hit your mom ran a red light and hit your mom as she was crossing the street in her car. They both died on impact," he told me reluctantly.

"Is their anything about the other guy?" I asked.

"Just his name…I'll do a background check on him then call you later."

For the rest of the day, I couldn't stop checking my phone. Had he found out anything? Who was the driver? Was there any lead? It was consuming all of my thoughts. Stop, I had to tell myself repeatedly. You're at a music camp, not some detective academy.

So when I saw Shane lounging around the dining hall, I decided to go talk to him about my idea of producing a song for them. I hoped it would get my mind off of the case.

"Hey," I said, plopping down next to him.

"Hey," he sighed back. "What's up?"

"Well," I started off, but then didn't know how to proceed. How do you tell the biggest pop star in the world that you want to produce for them? "I was talking to Nate about your music."

"Yeah," he sighed. "It's just stupid, record label crap."

"Sounds familiar," I agreed, gaining confidence. "Anyway, I told him that I thought you guys should write a new song, produce it here at camp."

"Let me guess, you want to help," he smirked as I turned red. As I started to argue, he added, "It's ok, we don't know anything about that stuff. And I do know that you're only doing it for Nate."

"Oh," I said, still flaming red with embarrassment.

"Well, I've got to go, but I've been working on a couple of songs. When I finish one, I'll send you the lyrics," he said, standing up from the table and walking off. "And tell Nate that the next time he comes to visit, he should at least say hi to me."