"Ms. Chasez?" my teacher called, and I realized that I had been daydreaming. Again.

I winced. "Yes Mr. Henricksen?" I asked casually, although I knew that extra homework would be my punishment.

"Perhaps you'll grace my desk with a 250 word essay on the importance of paying attention in class by classtime on Tuesday?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in an all-knowing way.

I sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said. "Now, back to my question."

"Um...what question would that be sir?" I asked, knowing the entire room was staring at me.

"Who was the Yugoslavian leader until the people's revolt in September of 2000?"

"Oh," I said. Luckily I had read the chapter that we were supposed to, and knew the answer. "Slobodan Milosevic."

"Correct," he said, then allowing me to regress back into my little world of solitude. It's not as bad as it sounds, really. Back to my original thoughts, maybe that's what makes me stand out. Where I received my dark hair and blue eyes from. I'm Katherine, and my dad is JC Chasez. Of the group *N Sync. Well, it's not really an active group anymore, they've settled down and got families and stuff. Obviously. There's me, right? Like I said, I don't know what makes me overly special. I'm just a mix of my parents. My friend and cousin, Melissa, says that between my dark hair and my mother's fair, clear complexion, I look like a ghost. Which inadvertently sticks me with the nicknames Casper and Ghosty, which even my dad uses every now and again. But that's another story.

Why have I mentioned nothing of my mother, other than her complexion, which is about the only nice thing I can say about her by the way? I don't know her. I know her name and even what she looked like, at least thirteen years ago. She just picked up and left my dad and me when I was five years old. I, of course, like a normal, naive five year old assumed that she would be back, even though I had gotten the vibe from my dad that she wouldn't be. And of course, he was right. She didn't come back. I looked at my ridiculously long list of homework, and this was only my third class. I added 250 word essay on importance of paying attention for Henricksen. I laughed. Lucky for me, the bell rang and Mr. Henricksen never got the chance to ask what I was laughing about. That man is crazy about giving extra homework.

I sat with a heavy thud, at a cafeteria table with my cousin Melissa later that day. But it wasn't me that caused the thud, it was the stack of college brochures that I had carried to the cafeteria with me. I had practically cleaned out the guidance office, the guidance counselor and I were almost on a first name basis. Melissa sighed. "Seeing all those brochures just reminds me of how much I'm going to miss you next year, Kat," she said.

"You'll survive," I said. I looked at the formidable stack of college brochures, looming before me like Mt. Everest. "If I'm not out in forty-five minutes, send a search party," I said.

"Will do," she said. She took a bite of the cafeteria's turkey surprise, which no one ever guessed at because it was better for all parties involved if it remained a surprise, and looked at me. "You still haven't decided where you're going to, have you?" she said.

I flipped through a UCF brochure and didn't answer her. It's not that so much that I didn't know where I wanted to go, I don't know what I want to do. Wait a minute, I know what I want to do, I just don't think that it's a degree offered by colleges. I want to sing, and do something with music. It's almost like I was born on the stage. (Actually, I almost was, but that's another story for another time.) But I don't want to teach music, because I just don't have the patience for that kind of thing, and I don't want to just come and go. I want to stay.

"Kat?" Melissa said, and I snapped back to reality.

"Huh?" I asked. I looked at the shrinking stack in front of me, and realized how many brochures I had looked through, but hadn't actually absorbed any of the information of.

"Kat, would you please eat something? You're a stick," she complained.

I pointedly picked up her chocolate chip cookie, and took a big bite out of it.

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you disgust me. You can eat and eat, yet you choose not to, not gain a milliounce, and I have to watch what I eat and work my butt off at dance three times a week. It's not fair I tell you," she said, shaking a Chee-to at me.

"Watch that thing, you're going to poke someone's eye out with that thing," I joked. "Given up on the turkey surprise have you?" I asked.

She wrinkled her nose, something that I will never be able to do nor explain. "Yeah. It's kind of icky," she said.

I grabbed her fork and took a bite. Let me say one thing: Rest in Peace. Actually make that two. Our school is on a highway, and I KNOW that thing wasn't turkey.

I was walking out to the parking lot with my stack of books for my ridiculously long list of homework, when I heard someone calling my name. "Kat! Katherine! KATHERINE CHASEZ WILL YOU SLOW DOWN?" the distinctive voice of Jessica was heard.

I turned around and saw Jessica running towards me, like the hounds of hell were after her. When she got closer, I saw why. "Jessica Grace Timberlake, what on God's green earth happened to you?" I asked.

She shrugged off her slightly silly appearance with a remarkable grace (please excuse the cheesy pun, it's been a long day) and started to speak. "Some seniors on the dance team caught up with me. But Melissa saved me."

"My hero," I mimicked with her. This isn't the first time that Melissa has saved her from my unrulry classmates. "So what do you want?" I asked.

"Can I have a ride home?" she asked.

"What about your dad?" I countered.

"He has a meeting. Please?" she begged.

"Begging is really above your standards hon," I said. "Get in. I'll take you home."

"Kay," she said. She climbed in the passenger seat, and I got in the drivers seat. I must say that I am a perfectly safe driver, no matter what anyone else might tell you. Just because I ran over one cat when I was driving with my dad, everyone thinks getting in a car with me is like a death wish. Not so.

"Buckle up," I said. She did so, and I turned on my CD player in my car. I absolutely cannot stand the radio stations. Twenty years ago, bubblegum pop ruled the scene, but then *N Sync and Backstreet Boys got married, Britney Spears got a zit, and Christina Aguilera went a little too far with the hair extensions. Now mainstream rock and hip hop ruled the scene, with a few people trying to bring pop back everynow and then, but getting shot right down with Eminem wannabes. I grew up on *N Sync (of course), Britney Spears, 98 Degrees, No Authority, Sting, and to my father's disdain, even a little Backstreet Boys and Eminem. I looked at Jessica sitting in the seat to my right, and spoke to her. "Jessy," I said.

"What?" she said back.

"How's Rachey?" I asked, referring to Rachel, her younger sister.

"She's still a brat," she answered.

"How's Morgy?" I asked, referring to her mother. Morgan has been like my mother for thirteen long years. She's a very sweet woman, with a blunt sense of humor that gets her remembered in every situation. I love her though, and what I love the best about her is she's like everyone's mother.

"She's doing great and if you even ask how 'Justy' is doing, I'm going to thrash you," she said. I held up my hands in defense, but before I got them six inches off the wheel, she said, "Both hands on the wheel thank you."

I sighed. "You worry too much," I said.

"You suck at driving," she said.

"I do not," I defended myself.

"You do too," she said.

"Who is graciously giving you a ride home?" I questioned her. She shut up. I reached her house, about across town from where I live, and she said, "Thanks for the ride. By the way, mom wants you to watch Rachel tomorrow night. Can you do it?" she asked.

"Why can't you?" I asked, letting the engine idle.

"I have a dance practice," she said.

I sighed. "Okay. I can do that. Tell her to call me," I said. "Bye."

"Bye," she said, slamming the car door shut. Morgan waved to me from the door, and I waved back. I backed out of the driveway to go to my house...and do my homework.