Chapter One

There was this crazy guy that lived in my neighborhood when I was little. His name was Pete Carter, but the kids in town nicknamed him "Spacy" because of his fondness for staring out into space for hours at a time.

Spacy spent almost every day in the local park on the same bench with his peanut butter sandwich, clanging his dog tags in his hands like a deranged alter boy with a bell during mass. There was a running pool in my sixth grade class about what Pete thought about when he stared at the lopsided oak tree from his bench. Some said he was a murderer and he felt guilty about his crimes. Some were convinced that his one true love had died and he spent hours thinking about her. There were even some people who were convinced he was Spacy Pete by day and a superhero by night.

There was a local fascination with Spacy because no one really knew why he was the way he was.

My father told me that Spacy had been in the army and been stationed in hell. My father, an ex-army guy himself, told me that he saw a lot of guys like Pete. These guys simply shut down.

It seemed fairly reasonable to a ten year old and I avoided Spacy as much as possible.

One day right before my eleventh birthday, I had gotten halfway through the park when I realized I'd left my book in my classroom. I tossed my bike aside by the big, oak tree and ran back to the school. When I returned, Spacy was no longer sitting on his bench and the dog tags I used to watch him twirl around his fingers were in my basket. I spent months hypothesizing about the dogtags that he gave to me. Spacy disappeared, no longer haunting the bench, and no matter how many times I went over it, only more questions arose. Why did he give those dog tags to me? And what the hell happened to Spacy?

I created several different stories...and settled on a fantasy involving a best friend named Larry that my imagination molded into existence.

Spacy and Larry had been friends since grade school and, after graduation from high school, they had both enlisted in the army. They had that rare bond of friendship that was elusive to most people. He and Larry knew the ins and outs of each other's personalities: the quirks (like Larry's stutter when he got angry or Pete's habit of cracking his knuckles all the time), the buttons to push, and the way each of them interacted with people. No matter what, they always respected and cared for each other. They were different people, but they had certain traditions that they both enjoyed--like baseball games or poker night.

I could practically hear his imagined voice, "Melanie Jane, it's rare to find a friend that knows every flaw and loves you more for it. When you find it," he paused. His hand curled into a tight fist, "...you GRAB it and hold on for life."

Spacey then, of course, pulled his dog tags out, swung them in front of his face, dropped them into the basket of my bicycle, and, with a bit of ominous foreboding and prophetic marvel, stated, "Everyone deserves a friend that would give their life for you...these dog tags are to remind you of that."

Okay, so that was a bit over-the-top.

Humor me. I was eleven and had no idea why he left me those dog tags.

It was probably the random act of a crazy person, but I liked my version better.

After all, we all have best friends, right?

Even I, Melanie Jane Stanton, had a best friend.

Best friend...the word seemed so immature. The phrase "my best friend" creates an almost possessiveness to the situation and sometimes diminishes the intensity of the feelings and loyalty involved in a close friendship. By using a phrase like, "my best friend," I weaken the importance he held in my life and sometimes make our differences appear strikingly severe. No--best friend was okay to utilize when a person was eleven, but it lost its linguistic fervor when the person became older.

My best friend? We were polar opposites on so many things. My life was the epitome of plain. I had only lived in one place--one house--my entire life. I was the poster child for the smart, bookworm society. I was average height, still had the baby fat that most people lose at four, and had no exotic features--unless we were to consider dark brown hair and dark brown eyes exotic. Have I mentioned my 2-parent-youngest-of-three family? I was the baby. I didn't even get to be the brooding middle child.

I was boring incarnate.

Justin? If it was possible to be so completely enigmatic, so full of energy, that people clamored to be near you, that was Justin. Everyone loved him and it always seemed like he had people following him around. He was confident, sometimes overly so, good at pretty much anything he touched, and it was the general consensus that Justin was good-looking.

I still remember the first time we met. I had arrived home from my first day of some stupid recreational camp that my parents thought I needed and I saw him sitting on the steps of the house next door. I dropped my bike and stared at him, watching him bouncing his basketball on the steps and only stopping to blow hair out of his face. He reminded me of Kenny Whitman, the popular kid at my elementary school.

He smiled over at me and did that half-wave that we all do when we're slightly uncomfortable and on the spot. It's not quite fluid in its motion until it's acknowledged, but I didn't move.

I wasn't exactly the make-a-new-friend-on-a-whim type of girl. I usually stuck with what I knew and I had a feeling he was a bit different.

He didn't seem deterred though. He stood up and walked over towards me. He smiled again and said, "Hi."

"Hi," I replied.

He smiled again, "I'm Justin. Do you live here?"

I rolled my eyes, "No. I just like to hang out on the steps of other people's homes."

"I live next door to you."

"I kinda figured."

Justin smiled, "Would you like to play basketball with me? My mother had them install this basketball hoop and it kinda sucks playing Horse by yourself."

"I don't kn--" I stopped when I saw the look on his face. I knew that look--just wanting someone to give you a chance to get to know him or her. It was a feeling I was familiar with. I felt guilty and replied, "I guess. I'm not exactly a basketball player."

"I'll teach you."

He pulled me over to his driveway and took a shot with the basketball. It went in and he grabbed my hand and placed me in the spot he'd been standing, "Now you have to shoot from here."

"I said I wasn't a basketball player. It doesn't mean I don't know what Horse is."

"Okay, okay...So what's your name?"

"Melanie Jane."

"I like that name. Melanie Jane...long though."

"Huh?"

"Does everyone call you Melanie Jane?"

"Pretty much. My sisters call me Laney. Why?"

He tossed me the basketball, "Just wondering what I should call you, Laney...I'm Justin."

"You already said that," I said as I dribbled the ball. I looked at him, "Why aren't you down the street playing with the other boys, Justin?"

He shrugged as I tossed the ball in the air and it bounced off the rim. He replied, "I tried. No one ever wants the new kid around...You've got an H."

"They're just giving you a hard time. I bet if you showed them how good you are they'd let you play."

He leaned in and whispered, "They're mad because I beat them."

"Huh?"

"They let me play and I kicked their butts all over the court," he grinned as he shot the ball again and it swooshed through the net, "I've got skill."

"Well cool," I replied, unsure of what else to say. I took a shot and completely missed the backboard. "I suck."

"That's an O, Laney Jane," he replied in a singsong voice.

"No wonder the boys didn't want to play with you," I commented. I tried to throw him the ball, but it went over his head into the street. I giggled, "...but I do suck."

"Have you ever played before?" Justin questioned, chasing after the basketball.

"No."

"Then you aren't going to be perfect at it right away."

"I don't think I'll ever be perfect at it."

"Why do you say that?"

I stared at him, "Because I don't even like basketball."

He laughed and shot the basketball, "So why didn't you say so?"

I put my hands on my hips, "Because you looked like you needed a friend."

"You did too."

"I don't need new friends. I've got friends. I'm not the new kid. You are."

Justin nudged my side as he slipped the basketball into my hands, "I didn't say you didn't have any friends."

"Because I do."

Justin nodded, "Because you do...do you want to show me around the neighborhood or something?"

"I guess. Let me just tell my sister."

"Okay cool. I'll let my mom know too. "

Wait, wait, wait! Wait a damn minute!

Laney always gets this story wrong. If I let her tell it her way, it sounds like I was some pathetic charity case she spent time with on a whim of kindheartedness.

Hardly the Laney Jane I know.

I recall things quite differently about the early stages of our friendship.

Laney reminded me of my cousin back home. I'm pretty sure that's why I hung around her in the beginning. She was almost familiar to me and, when you're starting over in a strange place, familiarity is nice. She showed me around and it probably could have ended there...if Laney had anything to say about it, it probably would have, but that familiarity thing made me somewhat protective of her.

Not to mention, once you got over the initial shyness Laney exhibits, she's fun to be around. She did this killer imitation of Smurfette that kept me in stitches most of my eleventh year on earth.

People have always asked me "Why Laney?"

I don't know. Why not Laney? She was smarter than most people I knew. She talked endlessly about every random topic in the world. Did you know that about 1/10 of the earth's surface is covered in ice? Or that New Jersey is the US State with the greatest number of hazardous waste sites?

Probably not, unless you happen to be Melanie Jane Stanton. Laney thrived on obscure trivia, but God forbid you ever ask her about what happened at her sweet sixteen party and expect her to remember. She could read a book and recite everything in it yet she was horrible with names, faces, and memories. In her own words, "I'm an enigma, Justin." Uh-huh.

Laney also liked to commend herself on keeping me literate.

Whatever. (If you can't visualize it, I'm rolling my eyes.)

I could be a brat and I've been known to go off on egotistical moments of self-gratification. Laney isn't afraid to call me on it, and where else am I going to find a girl that honest with me, especially now? Laney's a good influence on me, but I try to keep that fact to myself. After all, only one of us can have a big head in this friendship.

Doesn't that sound so movie-like? Laney would say I'm letting my creative side overrun practicality once again.

She's probably right, but whatever works.

So how did we meet? She had the basic information correct. I was sitting on my step, dribbling my basketball happily. I was fully capable of hanging out with any of the neighborhood kids if I had wanted to. I just didn't feel like it. I gave no longing looks nor was there any deep-rooted loneliness evident on my face. Oh, and Laney? She really did stink at basketball.

Laney does have a tendency to exaggerate things.

Besides, in my humble opinion, the day we met was merely that. A beginning. I consider the real day we became friends to be a few weeks later anyhow.

Laney Jane, you were my hero.

"Look, it's our very own Mickey Mouse freak!"

I rolled my eyes and turned back in the direction of the playground. A few of the other kids from the set of Mickey Mouse club were experiencing the same problems in their neighborhoods too, "Shut up, Kenny!"

"What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have a date with Donald Duck or something?"

"Someone's upset because they're a loser," I muttered just loud enough for him to hear me.

"I'm a loser?" Kenny replied in disbelief. He pushed my basketball away, "Don't they have playpens for you freaks? You aren't wanted here, Daisy."

"Daisy?" I replied, tightening my fist.

"Daisy Duck. Doesn't she love Donald?"

I was about to hit him when I heard a familiar voice, "An insult isn't all that good if you have to explain it, Kenny. Didn't you learn anything after you had that accident in your pants last year?"

Everyone started to laugh and Kenny turned to look at Melanie. He stepped over and said, "You would be the expert on insults, wouldn't ya, Melanie Jane?"

Melanie crossed her arms, "That's mature, Kenny. What's next? Are you going to pull my hair and run off?"

"Like I care what the dork squad thinks of me," Kenny looked back in my direction, "You two losers deserve each other."

Melanie walked over to me and commented loudly, "Don't worry, Justin. Kenny is just jealous because he auditioned for Mousercise when he was seven and was rejected."

Everyone started to laugh and Kenny stormed off. I stared at her in amazement.

I was going to marry this girl...or at least teach her how to play a game of HORSE. And I planned to let her know that too.

I punched her in the shoulder, "Laney Jane, remind me to stay friends with you."

She pushed me back, "We'll see about that, Daisy."

"He really isn't the smartest kid, is he?"

"Like you proved how smart you were when you almost started a fight with a guy twice your size."

"Were you worried about me, Laney Jane?"

"We're neighbors. I was doing the neighborly thing."

She started to walk off and I ran up next to her. I questioned, "Did he really audition for Mousercise?"

She giggled and we walked off.

It couldn't be anymore awww shucks if I tried.

And he is trying. He really is. Do you see what I put up with? Do you see why I have, on several occasions, tried to distance myself from Justin Timberlake?

The guy is a walking movie in his mind. Don't get me wrong. I love movies--but I like them black like my coffee. What do I get instead? I get Justin's rendition of the Odd Couple as an explanation for our friendship.

I don't think it's that simple.

I guess to an outsider, we have so little in common that such a comparison appears pretty on the mark.

I shy away from being the center of attention while Justin thrives on it. I'm satisfied with the ordinary while Justin wants things extraordinary.

So how did we stay friends?

Besides our highly-developed banter, Justin makes me laugh, annoys my older sisters, and he bought me a car (okay, so he never bought me a car, but wouldn't that justify my friendship with him? In fact, shouldn't he go buy me a fully restored mustang convertible right now?). Seriously though, we have this thing...and when he's home, we still do it.

Get your minds out of the gutters, perverts.

The common denominator that held us together in the beginning and became the fabric to our relationship is film.

That's right. Don't you feel dirty and cheap for thinking bad thoughts?

Justin would say I was projecting and shouldn't have let my parents send me to Catholic school for even just two years.

Anyway, we both love movies. We love the offbeat, quirky, sometimes even artsy movies that play at the independent film house downtown.

We don't just love movies. We love to talk about movies and dissect each scene and relate it to the world. And, like a bad rerun of Siskel and Ebert, we have arguments about each other's understanding of those movies and how they correlate to our self-involved lives. Before his schedule became so insane, we used to make it a weekly date--every Saturday afternoon we went to the movies. Since Justin has become famous, we've even gone as far as to choose a night to call each other and discuss a movie over the phone. Let's just say my father was none-too-pleased with the phone bill, and my oldest sister sulked for weeks because her boyfriend couldn't get through to her.

Our mutual love of movies is what stands out about my friendship with Justin. It's not all we do, but most of the memories (Despite what Justin seems to think, I do remember things. He simply has trouble differentiating between what really happened and what he thinks happened.) of our relationship, most of the strongest feelings I have for him, are tied up in our movie-going experiences.

"How could you say that The Usual Suspects was predictable? It wasn't predictable at all," I commented as we walked out of the movie theater.

Justin rolled his eyes, "You're just saying that because Kevin Spacey can do no wrong in your eyes."

I crossed my arms, "Justin Timberlake, do not tell me that you did not like the Usual Suspects! That is grounds to end this friendship!"

"I liked it. I'm just saying it was predictable. The gimp is always the bad guy. Remember that, Laney Jane. The gimp is always the bad guy," he stated slowly, placing his hands on my shoulder.

"Words of wisdom from Justin Timberlake?"

He grinned smugly, "You could say that."

"I could," I paused and started walking again. I looked at him and called, "Or I could tell you the truth and say that you're never right about anything, especially movies."

"That's not true," Justin pouted, catching up with me.

"Justin, the end of Clue stumped you."

Justin seemed embarrassed by how loud I had gotten and I couldn't help but think he should be. Clue was not a hard movie to understand. He put his hand over my mouth and whispered, "Laney Jane, I am not the one who cried at the end of Say Anything. I'd hate for people to find out that...Ouch." Justin bent over and moaned, "I can't believe you hit me. I think the popcorn from the theater is now lodged in my throat."

I smiled, "Oh darn. And for the last time, I had something in my eye."

"You're a girl. It's okay to cry."

"What's your excuse?"

His eyes widened, "Laney Jane, if I had known four years ago how evil you really were, I'm not sure I would have befriended you."

"You befriended me? How quickly we forget things when we're hot stuff in Europe," I commented, batting my eyes.

"What can I say, Laney. Girls love me," he said, winking at me and smiling. He took my hand and pulled me down the street.

It sounds lame. It probably is, but that's my relationship with Justin. Lame.

I really take offense to the lame comment. Laney is so negative sometimes. It's not like I'm a walking bundle of sunshine, Laney, but give our relationship a better adjective than lame.

And movies? The girl is a walking encyclopedia and the smartest person I know and she says that our relationship is based on movies? I always thought our common ground was not fitting in. It's hard to explain, considering I'm adored by millions (Yes, I'm sure this is what Laney is referring to as my ego "problem.") but, especially in the beginning, neither of us really belonged in our schools.

Laney will inevitably argue that she enjoyed being the outsider and that it only added to her mystique, but no. No one wants to be the outsider and, once there is someone to share it with, you aren't really an outsider anymore.

I really am a smart guy. Feel free to let that bit of info circulate through the rumor mills.

I know it was hard for Laney when Nsync started to work out. Sixteen? It's not a fun age. It's especially not fun being separated from a close friend for long periods of time. I'd be gone for months at a time in Europe and, for some reason, Laney was convinced I'd forget her. Laney was certain that I'd forget our common ground.

I didn't. In fact, I think I was more worried that she had made new friends and moved on than she was. Not to mention, there is nothing like popularity to further ostracize a teenager from people his own age. Guys hated me because I was popular and girls either screamed in my face or assumed I was a jerk. Besides, I wasn't about to go out and hang in the crowds of our European fans and say, "Wanna hang out with me? Wanna know what makes me tick? Let's get a sandwich and talk."

Yeah. That would make me appear irresistible to women. Oh, and let's not forget that my German was about as sharp as a spoon. It would have sounded like, "Eat? Now? With me?"

No wonder I couldn't keep a girlfriend.

The movies played an integral role in our relationship, but in my opinion, it wasn't what kept Laney and me friends. We did--our verbal assaults on each other, our talks about not understanding most people our age, and our faith in each other's abilities.

Yeah, it's true. Laney and I aren't exactly a match made in heaven. I can't even say that our differences compliment us all the time, but we relate to each other. We both come across as older than we actually are and we both know what it feels like not to belong.

Laney brings out the best in me...and she swears I make her the envy of all the ten year olds she babysits for.

I don't know what it feels like to give birth or be on methadone (feel free to insert a drug of choice), but it must come close to the feelings I have for Laney. Head-to-toe buzzing and ringing. Strange but interesting. A high. Sometimes excruciatingly painful, but so worth the torture in the long run.

See, she's not the only one who can turn an almost-insult into a compliment. Yeah, that's right. Who's the man now, Laney Jane?

In simplest terms, Laney and I were two wrongs that made a right.

I walked off the plane and noticed everyone hugging their families and Joey laughing with his friends. He always had an almost gaggle of people waiting for him with balloons and posters. It was like an Olympian returning to his home state with the Gold medal.

I saw my mother and then I laughed when I saw Laney standing there looking extremely uncomfortable and, was it possible, happy to see me.

I hugged my mother and then turned to Laney. I kicked her in the leg lightly and asked, "Are you going to let me maul you in public, Laney Jane?"

She yawned. Nice touch, Laney. "I guess if you must."

I laughed and hugged her. I enjoyed the moment of quiet, although I was surprised by Laney's sudden bout of amiability. The biggest myth about Melanie Jane was that she was quiet. It's quite an honest mistake. I, myself, was fooled by her reserved nature. But the girl has something to say about everything--usually disagreeing with every word out of my mouth.

"Jesus Justin, were you locked in a small closet with men doused in Gigolos' cologne or something? You stink."

I spoke too soon. I smiled, "No matter how big I become I will always have you to remind me that I smell like a European discotheque."

She fanned the air in front of her face, "Sorry to burst your bubble, Fabio, but if you continue to smell like a European discotheque, I'm running the other way. Forget our friendship."

I shot my mother a do-you-see-what-I-put-up-with look and she walked off ahead of us shaking her head and undoubtedly questioning her only son's sanity to choose this girl as a friend. Laney was infuriating.

I pulled on Laney's arm and she fell back into my chest. She glared at me and I ignored it and dug into my book bag. I handed her a small package and said, "Happy birthday, Laney."

"My birthday was last month."

"I know that, but I wasn't here to give you a gift."

She shook it, "Seems too light to be a bomb, although that would be a nice way to avoid the SATs next month...Doesn't sound like some gag gift..."

"Just open the damn box," I said, starting to rip at the package myself.

She glanced at me cautiously again and I have a feeling I should've been insulted by her assumptions. She opened the box and giggled, "Nice touch, Justin."

She held it up and I clutched my chest, "A pen. I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen."

She shook her head, "You're not even close to John Cusack. And that line--that line in Say Anything is just so...so--"

"Laney, did you just sigh? A real sigh?" I looked around and questioned loudly, "Okay, who are you and where is Laney? Speak up alien!"

"I can't believe you bought me a pen."

I leaned in, winked at her, and replied coyly, "To remind you that I know all your secrets, Laney Jane."

Laney patted my arm patronizingly, "Sure."

"There is also another gift, but I'm holding it hostage until you give me the details of your birthday."

"You're such a girl."

"I've had nightmares that began like that. The dream usually involves Cindy Crawford and me in an ugly green dress," I retorted, tossing my bag back over my shoulder.

I noticed Laney staring at me blankly and I questioned, "Was that sharing too much?"

Laney's face scrunched up like someone forced her to suck a lemon and she replied, "I'm serious, Justin. Sometimes I forget which one of us is the guy in this relationship..."

"Oh no. Laney Jane Stanton, you did not question my masculinity in the middle of the airport. I'm hearing things. You've missed me SO much that you're taking cheap shots as revenge. That's what it has to be."

She shrugged, "I didn't know guys cared so much about the details."

I pulled out a package of gum and shoved a stick into her mouth. She scowled in my direction before chewing on the piece. I popped one into my mouth and explained, "Usually I don't care about the details. I'm just hoping for some blackmail--like a freak accident with the cake and your face perhaps?"

"Keep holding your breath, Justin."

"Come on. Or maybe," I smirked before questioning, "How is 'Oh Alan' Briar? Did he try to kiss you? Did he gross you out with his sweaty palms and stinky breath?"

I knew Laney was trying really hard to be furious with me, but what can I say? I'm a charmer, "Details Laney."

"I don't think so. What about you? I mean it must be hard to be," she raised her hand to her forehead and swooned, "...in love with Veronica."

I pulled her ponytail, "And you call me dramatic!"

"There's a difference. I'm doing it on purpose, you do it quite unintentionally."

"I'm an actor."

"I've seen Mickey Mouse Club, Justin. You're giving yourself a lot of credit with that statement."

"Hey, the money I made on that show kept me in Gap clothes and pizza for two years," I quipped. I took her hand and quickened my step, "Want to catch a movie?"

She smiled her perfect Laney smile--slightly goofy and very mischievous--and replied, "Aren't you tired of sitting?"

I shook my head, "I'll even see Titanic again if you want."

She scoffed, "Sure. Act like I was the one who liked the movie, Justin. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I started walking off ahead of her and she ran up, jumping on my back, and questioned, "So what's this other gift, Justin?"

That, my friends, is what Laney and I are all about. (Oh, and in case you were wondering, I managed to locate a rare Gene Kelly poster in London for Laney's birthday gift. I later found out it caused many a fight between her and her sister, Dana. Go figure. I rock.) It may not seem like a lot and sometimes I wonder if Laney even knows how much it means to me, but well...I like fighting with her. I like our talks. I like spending time with her.

It's probably not the healthiest type of relationship and I'm sure some shrink would have a field day with the almost-security blanket our friendship can sometimes be.

But I'm a firm believer in whatever works and Laney and I? We work.

Usually.

The problems started when Laney was nearing the end of high school and after the Disney concert had catapulted Nsync into the spotlight. Laney began to act like she couldn't stand to be around me. Our playful barbs turned into hostility and, at times, Laney's insecurities about our friendship pissed me off.

The thing was...I saw how fame destroyed certain relationships for the other guys and I didn't want that to happen with Laney. She was my friend, my buddy.

I knew there were several reasons that friendships fade away, especially when one of them is in the public eye. For some people it was jealousy. Other people simply wanted more time then an entertainer could offer them. Hell, there were even people who just fell to the sidelines because of scheduling. The problem (or blessing) was that Laney didn't fall into any of those categories.

It drove me crazy.

Almost as much as the fact that she truly believed that our common ground was--

My God! He's doing it again. If Justin Timberlake could please take his head out of his ass long enough to notice that not everything I do is about him, I would drop dead from shock.

These stupid, shrieking fanatics have ruined him. They have built him up as this perfect male and sometimes I think he almost believes it.

I had a very logical reason for why I tried to distance myself from that boy (besides the way he dressed and talked like he was raised in the wild by ghetto fabulous apes). If a certain person allowed prudence to reign in his consciousness for spurts of more than five minutes, he wouldn't find this concept so hard to understand. People grow up and they grow apart.

I hated growing up. I hated adolescence. Just that word--adolescence. It sounds like a bad B-movie starring Corey Feldman and an old guy.

The part that Justin doesn't get is that while he was off producing fits of frenzy in countries caught up in the trends of dish bowl haircuts and motorscooters, I was forced to tackle high school on my own.

Let me repeat. I had to handle high school on my own.

High school was not the happiest time for me. I wasn't an outsider, but I wasn't exactly running with the popular crowd either. I was in all the honors classes, trying to handle the pressures of college applications and SATs, and often being referred to as a "nerd". I still hadn't lost that damn baby fat and some idiot on our football team nicknamed me "Very plain Melanie Jane." The travesty of that situation was not that a football player made fun of me in a very five-year-old manner, but that our football team hadn't won a game in three years and they were the laughing stock of our school. I was one-upped by a gorilla in padding that no one took seriously. Not to mention, I was starting to embrace my inner-bitch, as my friend, Steph, put it.

My friends from high school--friends that I had more in common than with Justin--all asked me the same questions over and over.

"We love you, Melanie, but do you really think Justin Timberlake of Nsync cares about a high school nerd? What do you have in common?"

It was a question I asked myself too. It was quickly followed by, "Is Justin Timberlake the type of guy I would be friends with?"

If we'd met in high school, I know the answer would have been no.

Maybe it's a good thing we didn't meet in high school then, huh? I can't believe I'm about to say this, but even at that time, I cared about Justin. He had wormed his way into my heart and there was no one with whom I argued better. The dilemma was that it was becoming harder and harder to decipher the difference between Justin "I-like-bad-romantic-comedies-with-Sandra-Bullock" Timberlake and the Justin that everyone thought was real.

Maybe his media persona was real. Maybe I had always managed to ignore that side of Justin's life--the stage, the cheesy smile for the cameras, and his alter-ego as "Mr. Please Everybody."

But it was becoming impossible to pretend. By my senior year, Justin had lost his anonymity in the United States and it was...how do I put this? How do I say this without seeming like an insecure bitch that turned on her friends?

Justin had joined a world I wanted nothing to do with.

I hated getting my picture taken. Imagine being seen in public with a member of popular music group. It was a flash frenzy every time we tried to share a bag of popcorn. No one that he cared about or spent time with was free from speculation. I suddenly felt bad for saying horrible things about Winona Ryder when she dated Matt Damon.

And I was just his friend.

No. His life, his professional world, was not one that I was comfortable in and it was getting harder to disassociate my best friend, Justin, from the hoopla surrounding him.

Now, I know what you're thinking. It wasn't fair to Justin, but life isn't always fair. Becoming an adult is partially accepting the shit that comes with reality and practicality. Growing up makes us face certain truths and the biggest one for me was that, as the football player so articulately stated, I was "Very plain Melanie Jane."

Justin would yell at me whenever I suggested that maybe friends grew apart. He even went as far as to assume that I had a crush on him. (And please? Does he look like Matt Damon? No. Is he as acerbic as John Cusack? Hardly.)

And I was supposed to tolerate this because...could someone remind me again?

By the middle of my senior year, I had made a decision. Justin and I would not be friends anymore. It wasn't an easy "I'm a big bitch who hates scrutiny" decision either. I actually cried, I mean shed real tears, over the resolution I had reached, but in my mind, it couldn't be avoided.

Easier said than done. My best friend was infamous for his stubborn streak. His skull was almost as thick as his curly mop of hair and, for some inexplicable reason, he deemed me important in his life.

"Laney Jane, I know you have this loner-bitch-chick image that you've been sporting lately, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me. So stop acting like you aren't free and get your ass over to my house."

"J, has anyone ever told you that you don't know when to quit?"

"I'm not a quitter. I don't give up and I'm definitely not about to give up on you."

"One could be so lucky."

"Laney, I'm getting really--"

I cut him off and offered, "Obnoxious?"

"Not the word I would have gone with."

"Would you prefer annoying?"

He laughed, "Laney, you don't want me giving up on you. Who else would you torment?"

"We're different now."

"We've always been different."

"You're a pop singer, Justin," I replied in exasperation. This wasn't difficult to grasp. People grew apart all the time.

"Did I suddenly come down with amnesia?"

"It was one thing to be the freshman in high school with a close friend who was in a music group. It's entirely different to be a senior in high school, whose friends make fun of her relationship with an International superstar. I don't want to be the girl that clings to her friendship like some fame whore."

I could hear him grinning on the phone, "International Superstar? I like it. Can you remind people that I want it to say that on my tombstone one day? Justin Timberlake: International Superstar."

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to reach through the phone cord and punch him in the face. Anger management, Laney. Think anger management. "Stop."

"You're not making any sense."

"I make perfect sense. We're from two different worlds."

"If this is some hillbilly from Tennessee joke, I swear I'm taking pictures of you from last summer and hanging them up all over your high school!"

"I would KILL you, Justin."

He cackled, "So get over here already."

"You're blackmailing me?"

"Or better, I'll pick you up. I'll be there in five minutes."

My mind was still stuck on the picture and I questioned, "You're blackmailing me into coming over to your house?"

"Laney, for Chrissakes, you make it sound like it's a chore for you to hang out with me. it seems like we go through this every six months now and every six months I remind you that I plan to keep you as a friend."

"Maybe I don't want to keep you as a friend," I muttered. I hated when I lost an argument before it was finished. I could feel myself caving. It's the worst feeling in the world next to getting the one public bathroom stall without toilet paper.

"I don't believe you."

I groaned, "You're impossible."

"And you love me."

"Stop grinning. I can just picture you sitting on your couch, watching some bad Jennifer Love Hewitt movie, and grinning smugly."

"It's a Neve Campbell movie actually. She was kinda hot in the first Scream movie."

"Neve Campbell? Oh that's it. This friendship is definitely over."

"Laney Jane, please come over. I haven't seen you in nearly two months."

"College applications are killing me."

"Please?"

"J, I'm telling you that I'm not someone--"

"Melanie Jane Stanton, do NOT start this conversation again. I have enough people telling me what to do in a day. I'm not about to start taking orders from you," he paused and laughed, "...especially when you know I give the orders in this friendship."

"I hate you."

"I'll see you in five minutes."

"I really hate you."

"Could you gather up some food with absolutely no nutritional value? My mother has stocked the cabinets with yogurt and raisins. I feel like I'm five years old."

"Yeah. Anything else, your majesty?"

"A smile on your face when you see me would be acceptable too. Maybe even a hug."

I sneered and grudgingly replied, "I'll see what I can do."

For some strange reason, Justin always chose me. He passed on parties to see the newest independent movie with me. He missed some club opening to take me out in celebration of my college acceptance. It was insane. He was insane.

It was like Brad Pitt choosing Janeane Garofalo. It wasn't that Janeane wasn't cool or beautiful in her own right, but she was hardly the type that Brad Pitt would choose, not when he had a Jennifer Aniston or Gwenyth Paltrow to pick from. Janeane Garofalo was real and Brad Pitt symbolized the unattainable. (If Justin hears me comparing him to Brad Pitt, I'll never live it down. It would be yet another flattering comment he's caught me saying about him and it would take a tow truck to get his head anywhere.) Brad Pitt and Janeane Garofalo were not supposed to happen. It was a cosmic mistake. Justin and I were a cosmic mistake--a bad joke played by the universe.

She's doing it again. Let me guess...she pulled out the Brad Pitt/Janeane Garofalo line of defense which makes her appear even more chemically unbalanced than anyone ever thought possible.

I love the girl, but sometimes I wonder why I care so much.

Sometimes I think everything would have been easier if I had let her slip out of my life. I even tried to let that happen. The lovely little phone conversation that Laney and I had (where once again, I feel the need to point out--I was not forlorn nor so pathetic that I needed Laney to come over. I wanted Laney to come over.) came about a week after I had actually gotten home.

She knew I was coming home. She knew the exact minute my bus pulled back into the lot at Transcon, but if I left it up to her, she never would've acknowledged my return.

And I am a guy. I have my pride.

I have my pride and then some.

Instead, I spent some time with my mom, allowed Joey and JC to drag me out to the arcades and jet skiing...and I pretended like I hadn't noticed Laney wasn't around. I mean, if she could pretend like our friendship--nearly seven years together--was dispensable, I could do the same.

It lasted about six days before I finally gave in and called her. Her sister, Dana, forced her to talk to me after the twentieth call. During the first few calls, Dana yelled me for about fifteen minutes about the harsh realities of the entertainment industry and that Laney was too smart to get caught up in the choices I had made for my life. The next few calls she simply answered the phone, "You're a jerk, Justin, and my sister can do much better." (She made it sound like I was proposing marriage or something.) It then moved on to Dana answering the phone, "I knew there was a reason I never liked you, stupid. Laney isn't home. What don't you understand? She's...not...HOME!"

Cellphones had advantages. By the last few calls, I had parked my car in front of Laney's house (It's not as creepy as it sounds. Trust me.) and noticed her dancing around her room to music. I knew she was home and, once again, began to barrage Dana with a non-stop ringing of the phone.

Wait a minute! Excuse me? Justin saw me dancing around my room?

Laney, this is my story now. Wait your turn.

My best friend, the voyeur. I don't believe he watched me. If I wasn't...Nineteen years old...eight and a half years of friendship and you think you know someone.

Ignore her and hopefully she'll shut up long enough to allow me to tell the true story.

Highly unlikely.

I'm going to kill her. I really am. The girl was put on this earth as a test of my patience. I can handle her insecurities. I can handle her fear of being exposed to the press and public because of her attachment to me. I can even handle her weird need to abandon me before I can leave her. But the girl needs to wait her turn. All she ever does is interrupt me. Why the hell do I put up with her? If someone could answer that question, I would be eternally grateful.

Where was I?

Right. So yes, I could see Laney in her room. I was not a pervert hoping to catch a glimpse of a naked girl. I was walking up her driveway and I saw her through the window. I'll admit I did watch the show for a few minutes, and that was when realized that I was not ready to let Laney go. I'm a selfish prick that needed her.

At that moment, I didn't care about what she felt or how true it probably was. I've since learned that being my friend is not an easy task. Sometimes it's downright scary, but I didn't know this at the time. I was just the guy who knew what the sparkle in her eyes meant when she argued and that she was not the dainty little priss that some people thought she was. I was her friend. Her movie buddy.

So, after the phone conversation, Laney finally talked to me and things went about as they normally did. We rented movies and fell into deep conversations about nothing and everything.

Then she got accepted to NYU and I was sure I had lost her.

I could pull the "Just Justin" explanation out of my ass and work it. I could even point out that Laney was always the most fun person to be around. Both of those could serve as clarification for my "all-Laney-all-the-time" mentality when I was home, but neither was true.

Have you ever expected something--like maybe a grandparent who was sick and the fear of their death lingered in the air--and tried to overcompensate for it?

Laney makes it sound like I was so damn self-sacrificing giving up parties and premieres to spend time with her. I wasn't really. I was trying to remind her of all the fun that she and I had together. I wanted to hear the confidence in her voice when she was saying things like, "I'll have you know there are only three words that begin with dw. Do you know what they are?" (I told you that she knows the most obscure pieces of information.) I was trying to keep her from giving up on us as friends.

I was doing all this insane crap because I needed her.

"Laney, what do you want to do tonight?" I asked, laying my head on the armrest of the sofa and resting my legs on her body.

She pushed me off, "Wasn't JC talking about a party that you guys had to go to tonight? Something for Transcon?"

I rolled my eyes, "The other guys can go without me."

"That's real professional, Justin."

"Whatever. Since when do you care about my profession?"

She shrugged, "I don't really. It's just...well, wouldn't it be more interesting than hanging out with me at a movie theater surrounded by about fifty girls trying to catch a glimpse of their boyfriend?"

I raised my head slightly, "Am I supposed to let them keep me from having a life?"

She smiled, "You haven't so far...how is...what's the flavor of the week's name again?"

I kicked her in the leg, "Kylie."

"Kylie? Didn't she remake the song, 'Locomotion'?"

"What the hell are you talking about? And I take offense to the flavor of the week comment, Laney."

Laney smirked. The first smirk of the evening is essential to heated debates about nothing--or so Laney says. She commented, "If it walks like a duck...so how is Kylie? And where did you meet her again? Barbie camp?"

I pretended like I didn't hear anything after how is Kylie and replied, "She's good. She wanted me to tell you that you had to take care of me while she wasn't around. So it's like your duty now."

"My duty? Have you been watching Lifetime again, Justin?"

"Laney Jane, I do NOT watch Lifetime. Joey does. He has a thing for Melissa Gilbert."

"Sure buddy."

I sat up and stared her down. It was our usual non-verbal exchange of barbs before the real fights began.

I loved fighting with this girl.

"Laney, must I remind you which of us likes the movie, Buckaroo Bonzai? Possibly the worst movie ever made."

"It was supposed to be bad, Justin. It's a satire."

I arched my eyebrows, "How come when you like a bad movie, it's a satire, and when I like a bad movie, it's just bad?"

"Because you have terrible taste in movies. I dread your turn to choose."

"I don't believe you. I think you happen to like my movie choices," I replied, standing up and hovering over her. I shook my head, "I think I'm going to be forced to utilize my secret weapon?"

"Secret weapon?"

I smiled, "You know what I'm talking about."

I walked casually to the bookshelves where my mother kept our photo albums. As I reached up, Laney tackled me to the ground. I groaned and stared up at her, "What the hell was that for?"

"You are not pulling that picture out, you oversized man-child!"

"You shouldn't have posed for the picture if you didn't want it saved for posterity...and your leg is not in a safe place, Laney."

"Ohhh...is that a fact," she questioned with mock-ignorance. My eyes widened and, for the first time, I did not enjoy the classic smile of mayhem on her face, "Justin, I'd say that your secret weapon has left you in a very precarious situation."

I narrowed my eyes on her, "You wouldn't intentionally hurt me, Laney. I know you."

"So you know that I would, indeed, hurt you if you were about to pull that picture out."

I managed to squirm my hands free and flipped over. I stood up and yanked her off the floor as well, "Now what was it you were saying?"

"That was unfair."

"And like tackling me to the ground wasn't?"

"I'll kill you if that picture--"

I pushed her loose hairs back, holding on to her wrists, and smiled, "Laney, if I had wanted to show that picture to someone, I would have done it already. It's for my own personal enjoyment."

She wrestled against me and muttered, "You're a pervert."

My eyes widened and my face reddened, "I didn't mean like that. My GOD! What did they teach you in that high school of yours?"

"Kill, kill, kill..." she sang out.

"What the--"

"It's our fight song for the football team. They resorted to violence when they couldn't win a game against the peewee football team from a neighboring town."

When I started to laugh, Laney got free and shoved me aside. She looked at my bookshelves and shook her head, "All these great books and I'm betting you have yet to read any of them that don't have Tom Clancy's name on the cover."

"Do I have time to read?"

"Justin, I wouldn't use that as an answer. It makes you look stupid."

I crossed my arms, "Maybe I am stupid."

"Oh yeah. Right. I'm so likely to stay friends with a stupid person. It so sounds like something that I would do," Laney responded. Have I mentioned I love her idea of a compliment? It's almost inspirational.

"You've been trying to cut me out of your life for months, Laney," I countered. I was surprised by my own anger about it. I mean, yeah, I was furious with her for acting like our friendship meant so little to her, but I also knew Laney.

She ignored my comment and fingered one of the books, "This is a personal favorite of mine."

"I always thought that you preferred Hemingway."

"Hemingway makes me gag, Justin. Jane Austin? She's a classic. This book is great."

"I've never read it."

"Figures. Seen the movie?"

"I don't think we have...it's the one Clueless is based on right?"

She glared at me. Not her normal don't-be-stupid glare, but a scathing glower, "Justin, sometimes you should stick with simple yes and no answers."

"Is that a fact?"

"Emma is a great book. It's got it all. Comedy, drama, romance."

"And what's it about?"

"Romance when romance was written well," she replied cooly, fingering the pages of the book before shutting it.

"I had no idea you were a romantic, Laney."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she countered, shoving the book into my stomach and adding, "Read the book, Justin."

I nodded my head, dropped the book on the coffee table, and smirked, "Laney, I love you," I placed my hands on her shoulders, "And it's really okay that you're a girl."

She pushed my hands off her arms, "Justin, go to your party. Have fun."

"I want us to hang out."

"We can hang out anytime."

"You leave next month for college," I whined.

"It's not like I'm moving to Afghanistan or something. You make it sound like you're never in New York and that phones don't work there."

"You say that now, but when your new roommate is refusing my phone calls because you don't want the stigma of a popstar friend, we'll see how that holds up."

She blew on the loose tendrils of her hair and said, "We're different--"

"And we don't make any sense. Yada, yada, yada. You've said this before."

"And?"

"And you're being a pain-in-the-ass, Laney Jane," I snapped.

"I think you're being naive about our friendship, but I'll trust you on this."

I looked at her skeptically, "That was too easy."

"I'm trying to get you to leave me alone for the night," she explained with a wink.

"Nice Laney. Really nice."

"I thought so."

"You could always come with me?"

"To a party?"

"It wouldn't be the first time a guy brought a girl to a party."

"Justin, there will be cameras and stuff--"

"It goes with the territory, Laney. You have to get used to it," I told her. She did. She had to get used to it because the other option was not an option.

"J, you go and have fun. I'll call Steph and she and I can--"

"No. I want you to come to this party with me. Do you realize that you've never gone to one of these parties with me? Not a one..."

"Oh no. What a monumental travesty!"

"C'mon Laney. Please?"

"Justin, it's not my...would you not...what the hell are you doing?" she turned to look at me pulling her hair out of its bun.

"I think you should wear your hair down and I'm sure you've got a nice outfit in that closet of yours."

"And what's wrong with this outfit?"

"Nothing if you were staying in to watch movies."

"I am staying in to watch movies."

I smiled, "Not anymore."

"I swear to God--"

"We're going to have fun, Laney."

She sighed and questioned, "Justin, do you ever wonder why we're friends?"

"That's a stupid question."

"No, it's not. You're inviting me to a big party and any other girl would probably kill to go. It's not--"

"Laney, some things don't have to be so damn explainable."

"Shouldn't a friendship be though?"

"Do you trust me, Laney?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe me when I say that I like having you around?"

She hesitated. I can't believe the girl hesitated, "I believe you."

"Good. Then drive home, change, and trust that we'll have fun, Laney."

"Justin, this seems like something made more for you and Kylie--"

"Laney Jane, I don't want to fight about this. Please, just for once, go with it. I know that you happen to love parties--"

"Without cameras and celebrities and glam--"

"You love parties and you love me. The answer is simple."

She rolled her eyes, "You sure have a high opinion of your importance in my life, Justin Timberlake."

"Yeah. Well, people have always said that I'm cocky."

"And obnoxious. Don't forget obnoxious."

I pushed her to the door, "Go change. I'll be over in about twenty minutes."

"You suck."

"Uh-huh."

"The things I do for you, J," she replied, not moving off my front step.

"Do I have to carry you to your house and change you myself?"

She muttered something under her breath and started to walk off. I don't know what possessed me. Laney would say it was one too many movies that had brainwashed me. I called out to her, "Laney?"

She turned to look at me and it was strange to see the look of hesitation she was trying to hide. I never thought that she had to hide anything from me and I was starting to see that there was probably a lot about one of my best friends that I didn't know. It shut down my head for a moment and I just stared at her, wondering why we had to grow up.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming with me, Laney."

Laney smiled, "Yeah well, I survived a date with 'Oh Alan' Briar. I think I can survive a party with you."

"Um...yeah...sure," I said with a smile. I shook my head, "Find something to emphasize those curves of yours."

Laney pushed her hair back and complained, "I don't think my curves need any more emphasis, thanks. And I still state that this is a job for your girlfriend."

"She would want you to help me out here. I think you're the only girl she trusts to be around me."

"Because she knows that I know you and would kill myself before anything would ever happen."

"Ha, ha, HA. You're a real comedian, Laney. Go change."

Did the girl go to the party? Yes. Did she have fun? Hell yeah. Will she ever admit it? No.

But that's part of Laney's charm. A stubborn streak that not many people see and her fear of becoming a clingy type of person.

So where did it leave us? I'm still trying to figure that out. I'm still trying to figure out how we got from being eleven with the world at our taking to almost twenty and following such separate paths.

World at our taking? World at our taking? Excuse me while I projectile vomit all over my oldest sister, Meredith's Prada handbag. The guy really does have a flair for the dramatic that would put Shakespeare to shame.

He couldn't just say that things were only going to get more difficult. He couldn't simply say fast forward to almost two years later and Justin and I were as messed up as ever.

All these years I've hypothesized, sometimes even obsessed about those damn dog tags that Spacy left for me. I bet Spacy never had to deal with insane zealots lusting after Larry or finding pictures of himself on webpages.

Things were about to become...Justin probably would say that it was the "storm before the rainbow" or some other overly sentimental cliché.

I honestly wasn't sure what to call it. Some sort of mix between confusing and surreal. Oh, that's even worse than Justin's "storm before the rainbow."

The guy has worn off on me in the worst ways possible. Next thing you know I'll be sporting sleeveless shirts that say "Pornstar." Can someone please tell me why I care about him again?

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