Camp Rock.2 -

“Easy for you to say. You’ve written, like, a hundred songs.”

He shook his head, smiled against her hair. “For the dock. Later. If you’re free.”

“I don’t remember—”

“The feeling. Not the notes. The feeling.” camp rock.2

“He’s trying to help,” Mitchie said, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. That night, Mitchie couldn’t sleep. She walked to the old fire pit, where the embers of the night’s campfire still glowed. Someone was already there—Rosa, the Junior, crying into her hoodie sleeves.

He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “Find any?”

“For the camp?”

“Hey,” Mitchie said softly, sitting on the log beside her. “You okay?”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “With respect, Shane, I’m teaching them professionalism. The music industry doesn’t reward ‘heart.’ It rewards discipline.”

A whistle cut across the lake. Tess Tyler—now Tess Parker, married to Jason, of all people—was waving from the dining hall porch. “Meeting in five! Final concert run-through!” “Easy for you to say

“Heart,” Shane said, leaning against the doorframe. “You can’t program soul, Liam.”

She looked up, shielding her eyes. Shane Gray stood behind her, guitar case in one hand, sunglasses pushed into his dark hair. He wasn’t Connect Three’s brooding heartthrob here—just Shane, the guy who still got nervous before the final campfire.

“And ninety of them were trash.” He grinned. “But the ten that worked? They started exactly like this. You, a dock, and the guts to not settle.” The feeling

“Music isn’t fair,” Mitchie said. “It’s honest. And honesty is messy. But it’s the only thing that’s ever worked at this camp.” She looked at Rosa, who was clutching a crumpled piece of paper. “Who wants to go first?”