He sat me down. Not like I wasn't going to do that anyways, but anywho, he gave me the basic steps that would need to be followed in order to acheive what I was aiming for. "First," he started. "You're going to need to find a manger. And then he or she is going to help you tape a demo, which will be sent out to record companies. Then, this is where we get into the hopefullys, hopefully someone will like it and sign you, and then, if someone signs you, you will record an album and release a single, and so on and so forth, and hopefully, people will like it. If the people like it, you'll tour with it, and do appearances and so on and so forth," my dad said, counting it off on his fingers. I was almost afraid that he was going to run out of fingers and have to use his toes. Yikes.

"You make it sound so easy," I said with mock admiration. "If we get a checklist together, I bet we could have this done by next Wednesday."

He laughed. "No, not even with a checklist. But, first things first. Manager."

"Do you know anyone?" I asked. It seems like my dad knows everybody. Compared to him, I know nobody. I would guess that he knows a sizable percentage of the American population.

He chewed on a fingernail. (Maybe that's where I get the habit. Except I either run out of fingernail or skip it altogether.) "Not anyone who would take a risky project like you," he said honestly.

I rolled my eyes. "You make it sound like I'm a disaster area," I said.

"Like that room of yours?" he said. "You could have a Grammy in there already and you wouldn't know it," he said.

"Right," I said, laughing a little. "Anyways, back to business," I said with mock seriousness.

"Mm," he said. He thought for a minute. Or maybe it was ten minutes. I don't know. He looked like he was seriously deliberating something. "We'll talk more tomorrow," he said, looking at the clock. "You have school tomorrow."

"Dangit," I said. I stood up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him, "I love you."

"Love you too," he said. "Good night."

That night I could not sleep. I kept thinking...and thinking...until I finally had to get a couple tylenol and that knocked me out.

I got home the next day from school, and my dad was home. That was unusual, because he's usually at the studio part time, until about four or four-thirty. He was talking to someone on the telephone, because I couldn't hear any answers to his questions or what he was responding to. I found him in the living room talking away on the cordless. I flashed him a peace sign as I walked by the door on the way to my room. He waved back. I put my backpack by my desk and laid on my bed for a minute like I do everyday, just taking a rest.

I took what was supposed to be a fifteen minute power nap, but was really about forty-five minutes, and then went back downstairs where my dad was still yakking on the phone. You look at the stereotypical teenage girl, always talking on the phone, then look at my dad. You tell me who talks more.

"Who's that?" I mouthed, holding up a "phone" composed of my hand, middle three fingers folded in, to my ear.

"Lance," he mouthed back when he was done with his turn speaking. I gave him a thumbs up sign, knowing he was talking about Lance Bass, who was now...a manager.

I sat and drummed my fingers on the armchair to an imaginary beat, watching my dad chat with Lance. "Yeah...she's here...okay," he said. He covered the receiver with his hand. "He wants to talk business with you," he said. I froze. Business is the only class that I've ever failed besides sixth grade Language Arts.

He handed me the receiver and I put it to my ear. "Um...hello?" I said, somewhat nervous.

"Katherine?" the voice asked.

"Yeah, that would be me," I said. Grr. I couldn't even sound coherent.

"Kat! You sound so different!" he said.

"Telephones kind of warp voices," I said.

"Yeah," he said. "So your dad tells me that you're going to try to start a new trend."

"Just never accuse me of trying to run with the crowd," I said dryly.

"So true," he said. "And you need my services as a manager, is that not correct?" he asked.

"Well...yeah, that's pretty much it," I said. "So what do I have to do?"

"Well," I could hear the rustling of papers in the background, "Technically I should audition you in person, but we can do it over the phone if you want," he said. "If you need to talk it over with your dad-"

That was all the invitation I needed. "Dad," I hissed. "He wants me to audition over the phone."

"So do it!" he said.

I took a deep breath. "Okay," I said into the phone receiver. "What do I have to do?"

"Just sing into the phone," he said.

"What should I sing?" I asked.

"Whatever you want," he said. "Something traditional, or something else you know."

So I started in on the only song that I could think of right off the top of my head, that's how nervous I was. "Oh say can you see..."

I continued on the song, and didn't screw up once. I even did the version where on "free" you go up really high. I was afraid that I would unintentionally disconnect the phone with that note, but it didn't happen and I got a response of silence...both from my father and on the other end of the phone line. My dad had the same expression that he always did whenever I sang. Like a mixture of awe and admiration. "Hello?" I asked Lance on the other end of the line.

"Wow."

"Is that a good wow?" I asked.

"It's an excellent wow. Let me talk to your dad again."

I drew in a breath and handed the phone back to my dad. He gave me a thumb up and I gave him a thumbs up back. I went to the kitchen to start dinner, and believe me, that would be more than enough to keep me busy.

I was busy trying to keep the spaghetti from boiling over when my dad came in. I didn't even notice that he had come in, until he touched my shoulder, to which I was so startled that I screamed and wielded the metal spaghetti server.

"Hold on there Kat," he said, backing away and holding his hands up in defense.

"Oh sorry," I said. There was a hissing noise as the boiling water hit the red hot burner, and dad carefully reached over and turned the burner down. "Oh so that's how you do it," I said.

"Yeah," he said, wincing against the heat of the steam. "I swear that God may have blessed you with many things, but cooking ablity isn't one of them."

"I can cook," I defended. "Just not anything that you can't serve in ten minutes. Minute rice, now there's a mean dish."

"Right," he said, switching the spaghetti pot to another burner. I started to stir the spaghetti with the spaghetti server thing. He turned to me. "Not that this conversation isn't fascinating, but I think that you have a manager," he said.

I stopped stirring the spaghetti at those words. I smiled with satisfaction. It felt good. Like a back rub after a hard day's work. "Say that again," I implored him.

"I think you may have found a manager. He has to give the recording-"

"He was taping the phone conversation?" I asked. "Isn't that illegal or something?"

"Kat, just leave it," he said. "He has to give the recording to the other people, and they're going to make the decision, but if it sounds half as good as it just did, you have the first check on your checklist," he said.

To say I was happy would be an understatement. I threw the spaghetti server over my shoulder and jumped into my father's arms. I think he was a little strained under my weight (even thought it's really not a lot), but he held up nicely. "Katherine, get down."

I set my feet back down on the linolium floor. "Oops. Sorry dad. Got a little carried away."

"I'll say," he rolled his eyes. "Let's eat."

I rang the doorbell and winced when Jessica opened the heavy oak door. She smiled evily. "I'm so glad you've come. Won't you walk this way?"

I stepped inside and shed my jacket. "Jess, I'm here to dance, not have a major surgery performed on me," I said.

"Are you sure?" she said. "You haven't eaten anything in the last twenty four hours, have you?"

"Yes I have. Come on Jess," I said.

"Okay, okay. Come this way," she motioned. She lead the way through the kitchen to go to the basement, but I didn't go through without stopping to say hi to Morgan. "Hey Morgan," I said. "Save me!"

Morgan shook her head. "No can do. You asked Jessy to help you with dancing, and by God, that's what your going to get," she grinned.

"You're evil," I said, being dragged to the finished basement by Jessica.

"Yes I am, nice to meet you," she grinned. "If you're not out in a couple hours, I'll send a search party."

I whimpered as Morgan disappeared from my sight and all that was the kitchen. "Stop whining, it won't be bad," Jessica said.

"Yes it will," I said. "I haven't danced since I was twelve and you want me to do the stuff that you do?" I asked.

"Do you want to stand up there on that stage and bust a move so all the people who came to see you will think that you're spectacular?" she asked. I had let her in on my little scheme to become the pop princess, and she had offered to help me with my dance.

"I'd rather not bust anything," I said.

"Katherine, dance is stimulating to the eye and more than that if you do it right. It makes the audience interested and keeps their focus on you," Jessica lectured. "Now you stop and listen to me now."

"Okay," I said meekly.

For the next couple hours, I danced like a maniac. Jessica taught me some of the dance team's routines, and basic moves. I was having fun, but Jessica is a grueling teacher. Whenever she went and switched the CD's around on the stereo, I took to opportunity to lie on the cool, carpeted floor. She nudged me in the ribs with her foot. "Get up," she said.

"No, I'm going to lay right here," I said. "You can drag me upstairs," I compromised.

"I don't think so," she said, leaving me in the basement. I heard her walk up the stairs and shut the door. Then the light turned off. I was left in the dark.

"Jessica?"