When I was a kid, I was afraid to get on the school bus. That great yellow monster of a vehicle would come around every morning at eight oh eight sharp, and I would stand there trembling in my Reeboks, nervously shifting my backpack on my shoulders as I thought about how much I didn�t want to climb those three steps. Getting on the bus meant I would have to walk down that aisle, past all those kids already seated and staring at me -silently assessing my outfit, my haircut, my cartoon lunch box- until I found an empty seat, which seemed few and far between. Sometimes, I�d shuffle my feet on the way to the bus stop, hoping I�d end up late whereupon I could run back home to my mother, proclaim I�d missed the bus and proceed to hop into our little Honda for the drive to school, a ride where it was just me, my mom, and Jimmy Durante on the tape deck.

So, you can see why it�s hard to believe that I now walk past hundreds of people daily- with them silently assessing my outfit, my haircut, and my star quality- to board a bus that�s no longer yellow but silver, made up of shiny chrome with tinted black windows and air conditioning. I�ve always had a deep appreciation for irony, and when it crops up in my own life it�s even better.

You know, back in the day it was all about having the right brand of jeans, the shoes that were in, the shirts that were cool. I remember being embarrassed because my mom insisted that she pick out my school clothes every year, even long after I was perfectly capable of doing so for myself. I tried to reason with her, but somehow, she always won out and I ended up being the kinda dorky kid who wore button downs instead of standard issue tees. Things haven�t changed much. Someone still picks out my clothes for me, the only difference being that they�re a lot trendier now. Or, rather, they�re supposed to be. Sometimes I�m not sure because my stylist has a habit of dressing me in clothes that make me feel less like a regular guy and more like a vaudeville act in a cheap theater house in New York.

I guess part of the problem is, I�m not your average joe. I haven�t just stepped in off the street and I don�t often have the freedom to be out on a given street in the first place. It saddens me a little that I�ve had to miss out on slices of life other people take for granted - not that I�d change the way things are now. Not in a million years! But I�d be lying if I said it doesn�t get old, every once in a while.

When homesickness or loneliness or a raging case of self pity strikes, it�s best to nip it in the bud immediately. Most times, it�s Joey�s job to go around cheering us up whenever reality hits hard and we�re left in its wake feeling sorry for ourselves and the general state of our union. He�s a little like a one person happiness squad; chairman, refreshment committee, and entertainment crew all in one. Maybe it comes from his Brooklyn roots or his bawdy but loving family life, but Joey has never been able to just let one of us drown in a sinkhole of despair. On more than one occasion, he�s plopped himself down next to me, flashed a bright smile, and asked in the kindest voice I think I�ve ever heard, how�s it goin�?. Those three words are an open invitation to talk, and though he may seem a little oblivious at times, Joey�s probably the best listener among us. He nods his head a bit every now and then and stares straight at a person the entire time they�re speaking, so one never has to guess as to whether or not he�s paying attention. I like that about Joey.

The way I used to feel about the school bus is also the way I felt about the stage, at first. The idea of an audience of thousands watching me constantly for any length of time was enough to make me sick to my stomach. For a while there, we had to keep a trash can or a bucket backstage so I could heave a little before our cue. I never ate anything beforehand, so all that would come up was bile, but it burned my insides and I remember wondering how I was ever going to make it through another two or three years of this.

It was Chris that helped me claw my way past that obstacle. He sat me down after what must have been our seventh or eighth show, and told me to close my eyes. When I did, he asked me who I saw, which made me laugh, and I said, no one. He crowed triumphantly, then said, exactly, and suddenly I understood what he meant.

While I�d been going out on stage like a deer in headlights, thinking it best to stare my fear in the face, he was telling me to ignore it altogether. By closing my eyes as I sang, I learned to shut out the world in order to concentrate on what really mattered: me. I was accountable for my performance and the pitch of my own voice; I couldn�t control anything beyond myself, and that was okay. In fact, it was easier that way. I think I must have done our next show nearly entirely with my eyes shut, but I made more steps than I missed and my voice sounded louder than it ever had before because, for once, I felt more at ease. That confidence grew as I became comfortable with crowds, but to this day, I still close my eyes when I start to get nervous and pretend I�m back in Clinton, alone and singing into my hairbrush in front of the mirror.

That�s how it all started, anyway. I was listening to the radio one day, heard a song by this guy named Garth and thought, that�s what I want to do. So I joined my school choir. Already labeled a dork, that didn�t help my reputation much. If anything, it left me open to a whole new arsenal of jokes and such because what kind of guy liked to sing instead of play sports? Now, I�ll be the first to admit it�s not in very good taste, but occasionally I think about what I�d say or do if I were ever face to face with a couple of the jerks that used to tease me. I even have this fantasy where I drive up in front of my old high school in my fancy BMW with all the bells and whistles a guy in my position can afford -of course, they�d all still be there, standing out front- and say something flip, possibly borderline nasty, certainly well deserved. In my mind, their mouths all fall open and they stutter a bit trying to think of a reply, but I always drive off before anything intelligent comes out and they�re left coughing in the dust from my tires.

The funny thing is, I don�t think I�d ever really do anything like that because my mother raised me far too well, and because in order for the scenario to have any real effect, there�d have to be a hot girl in the passenger seat, maybe a model, and frankly...I�m just not into that sort of thing. At all.

I don�t know when I knew I was gay, meaning I can�t pinpoint the exact moment I realized what I�d felt since I was a gawky teenager. But I can tell you that it�s not like you wake up one morning and suddenly decide to be that way. I finally consciously admitted to myself what I�d known all along shortly after I joined the group, but before we�d made it big in America. I�ll never forget the look on JC�s face when I sat them all down and told them the Big News. He got this funny little half smile on his face, nodded his head once, and told me he�d suspected something along those lines since he�d first laid eyes on me. He spoke into the relative silence that followed my announcement, and when we all looked at him, he shrugged and explained that he�d known because he had a first rate gaydar - something he jokingly said came along as part of the package deal when one comes to terms with the fact that one is bi.

I�ll always be grateful to JC for sharing that nerve wracking spotlight with me. Though the other three took the revelation as well as I could have hoped, for me, knowing JC was in the same boat as I was made a big difference. I didn�t feel quite so alone anymore, and for a kid who�d never really had any close friends before, I felt like maybe I was the luckiest guy in the world. JC and I were nearly inseparable for a while after that, and when he started showing me his works in progress, I felt like I got to see a part of him that was sacred.

It�s too bad that you can�t keep the same fears you had as a child, as you progress into adulthood. It�d be a lot easier to deal with darkened bedrooms at night, or monsters under the bed, or big yellow diesel buses than to fall prey to fears which are more realistic, yet less easy to understand. The main difference between kid fears and grown-up ones, is that the latter usually have more to do with things like The Future, The Unknown and Being Prepared For The Worst.

I guess it could be said that I�m a slave to my fear, because I don�t think there�s ever been a time when I haven�t made plans to keep this ball they call Life rolling. Some people make plans to fall back on; not me. I make plans to go forward with. I have no intention of stepping off the virtual stage of celebrity when this crazy roller coaster ride we call NSYNC is done. Sure, I might be relegated to the edges of the spotlight, but I�ll always be there, whether waiting in the wings or standing on the sidelines. I know the others think I�m a closet nerd or something, what with the way I�m always working the night away in my hotel room by the blue light of my laptop, but my efforts are already paying off. I�ve got my own management firm and even a film production company because I figured if I�m not good at the actual acting, then at least I can keep a finger in the Hollywood pie by snapping up a position as one of those �behind the scenes� guys.

One time, when we were in Japan, a lady journalist asked me if I liked my life. I was caught off guard with her question and I know I must have given her a disbelieving look as I answered, of course I do. The truth was, I had never given the matter much thought before that, but ever since then I�ve been careful to pose that same question to myself each morning as I wake up. Miraculously, the answer is always yes, even on the days when I�m at my worst. The day that verdict changes, is the day I�ll cash out of the existence I�ve created, and move to a cabin deep in the Mississippi woods.

There are those who�re meant to be in the spotlight, however, and no matter what they do they�ll always end up coming back to it. Justin is one of those people. He�s long been declared the Golden Boy of NSYNC and though maybe there�re a few substantially buried animosities residing within the group over his effortless perfection, none of us mind so much that we come to blows or have words. The media portrays what they want to portray, and no matter how many times we say there is no �I� in NSYNC, they�ll keep printing what they want to print. Besides, I don�t think any of us can quite forget the sixteen year old boy who used to curl up in his bunk at night, crying because he didn�t want to be the front man, the one everybody looked at all the time. He didn�t think he could handle that sort of pressure all by himself, and he was right; so we help him handle it to this very day. Justin doesn�t let the situation bother him as much anymore, and he�s learned to adjust to living twenty hours of every day as essentially another person: one Justin Timberlake, pop star.

In the beginning, the two of us were close if only because we were the youngest. Joey, Chris, and JC were sometimes hard pressed to stand us, especially when they wanted to go clubbing or pick up girls, so Justin and I hung out instead. That�s not to say the other three were unaccommodating or uninclusive - not at all. In fact, JC was so used to having Justin omnipresent at his side, that on rare occasions when Justin was not, JC would have difficulty feeling at ease until he�d checked to see that his curly haired shadow was alright.

At first, Justin�s mother, Lynn, traveled with us and periodically my mother as well. Though we protested their presence, we sorely missed them once they�d gone. Justin and I used to lay in each other�s bunks together and stare up at the pictures of home we�d taped on the ceiling. We took turns between his bed and mine because then we both had a chance to reminisce out loud to the other, about all the things we missed and the people we wanted to see. It was during one of those times that Justin first asked me what it was like to be gay.

�I mean,� he had said, �doesn�t it get lonely?�

�Sure. Don�t you feel that way, sometimes?� I had asked right back.

�Yes, but I don�t think it�s the same kind of lonely.�

�What do you mean?�

�Well, if I really want a girl, I can get House or Lonnie to take me down to the lobby and like, pick one out. Just like Joey. But you...can�t. Can you?�

His tone had been so serious, and he had a point, so as great as the temptation had been to just laugh him off, I didn�t.

�No, I guess I can�t,� I�d said hesitantly. �Or, I haven�t tried. But like, there aren�t any guys down there anyway. And the one or two there might be probably like you the best anyhow.�

Justin had grinned up at the bottom of JC�s bunk, giggling a bit, before he suddenly grew very quiet. �Am I attractive like that? To guys, I mean?�

I felt my face redden at his words because I didn�t know how to answer. So I opted for honesty, no matter how embarrassing it might turn out to be. �You�re... um. Very. Attractive. Justin,� I told him haltingly as I plucked at the hem of my tee shirt.

�Really?�

�Well, yeah.�

�You think I am?�

I sighed heavily, a little annoyed. �Do you think we�re so different, then? Attraction is the same thing, whether you�re gay or straight or bi. What draws you to one particular person may very well be the same trait that draws another to you. And you look in the mirror every,� I checked my watch, �oh, five minutes, You�re well aware of what people see.�

Justin slapped my arm lightly, but we laughed a little together and then he rolled over on his side and looked down into my face, his eyes solemn again. �Tell me what it�s like,� he whispered.

�What what�s like?�

�Kissing.�

I think my heart stopped beating and when I realized he was dead serious, it started to pound again double time. I laughed nervously. �Um. Haven�t you...�

He shook his head. �I just haven�t found, like. Someone I want to do that with, I guess. I want the kiss to be special and I don�t know these girls we meet at parties and stuff. I wanna know her.�

�I thought you and Brit had done it before. On the mouse club.�

�Yeah,� he admitted. �But those were kid kisses. No, like, tongue or anything. At least, not really.�

�Oh,� I said, because what else was there to say? �Well, it�s not like I have much, uh, experience either. I mean, there�s only been one or two girls and I really don�t think I�m the one to ask about whether or not they�re nice because, well. For obvious reasons.�

�Then, what about guys? You�ve kissed them, right?�

�How come you�re not having this conversation with Joey or JC?� I demanded. I wasn�t sure I wanted Justin grilling me about my sexuality and my experiences all in one sitting.

�Because Joey would laugh at me, give me a condom and send me on my way. JC would spend ages thinking about the right things he�s supposed to say and then take, like, forever trying to say them. Come on, Lance.�

I had never been able to resist that whine. �No.�

�No, what? No, you won�t tell me, or-�

�No, I�ve never kissed a guy.�

�Huh?� Justin�s eyebrows shot up, then furrowed low. �But I thought...�

�Justin,� I sighed wearily. �I grew up in Mississippi. Do you really think there�d be any willing guys around for me to kiss? Not out in the open like that. Besides, you don�t have to make out with a guy to know you�re gay. You just know. And maybe I�m waiting for the right one, okay?�

�Okay,� he�d quietly accepted. A moment later-

�But...what if we like, you know. Uh...�

And then, suddenly, he was leaning half across me and his mouth was mashed against mine. Justin�s mouth was wet and mine was dry because he hadn�t given me any warning; that didn�t seem to matter though. As soon as contact had been established and we�d grown used to it, he began to really kiss me. His lips were inexperienced but to be fair, so were mine. We fumbled a little at first, our noses collided and his elbow dug into my right shoulder, from where it lay against the mattress supporting him. But before long his tongue began licking at my bottom lip and it was only instinct for me to part my lips.

I don�t know how long we kissed, and now that I think about it, it couldn�t have been for any great length of time. But kiss we did, his first real French experience and my first encounter with a boy.

When he pulled away, he looked a little sheepish but not regretful, which I took as a good sign. I�m not sure how I must have looked to him, but I remember my face being hot and probably a deep shade of red. We looked at each other in silence for a good minute or so, then Justin rolled on to his back next to me with a soft, �thank you, Lance,� and that was that.

To this day, we haven�t spoken of it. Sometimes I catch him watching me, and I wonder if he�s thinking of our kiss right then. I don�t know why he�d think of it in particular, but I know I do and part of me hopes he does as well.

These days, Justin spends a lot of time on his cell phone with Britney. He claims they aren�t an item, but I know they must be. Why else would he rack up the long distance hours, international charges not withstanding? It�s not really any of my business, but I can�t help but think that his world would be complete if the two of them got together. I mean, people who turn to gold in the spotlight tend to seek out those who�re made of the same burnished tones. At least, I�m pretty sure that�s the way it works.

As it stands now, I don�t know if I�ll ever find the �right one� I�ve been waiting for all these years. It�s not like I�ve been saving myself for the impossible; I�ve had a few liaisons since the interlude Justin and I shared. There was a male waiter at one of the industry parties not long ago, and a young actor whose movie premier Joey and I attended. The most recent not-quite-affair occurred with another young male singer who served as one of our opening acts for four shows during the last tour. But of all the men I�ve tried to like, I have loved none. Neither physically, nor emotionally. Call me old fashioned, call me a prude, but I just can�t fathom having sex with someone just for the sake of getting a feel of that post coital glow I�ve heard so much about. No, for me, my first time is going to be with someone I love, and though it might not happen with the guy I currently want, another just as wonderful and bright and shining man will come along, I know it.

�Hey, Lance.�

I jerk a little as Chris startles me back to the present. I�ve been sitting here staring at the screen of my laptop for God only knows how long, and now someone�s finally noticed I haven�t been paying attention to the movie...not that they usually buy my claim that I can work and follow a movie by listening at the same time. But since I haven�t been clacking away at the keyboard or clicking the mouse, I guess that makes me fair game for a wake up call.

�Yeah?� I say, taking my glasses off the bridge of my nose and rubbing my eyes, which have started to blur.

�Just who do you think you�re foolin� over there, boy?� Joey asks, an undercurrent of suppressed laughter in his voice.

�Nobody, Joe. We all know nothing gets past you,� I arch an eyebrow sardonically and replace my glasses.

�You know,� JC says, pausing the movie, �you really should take a break. You�ve been at that thing so long I think it�s put you in a state of trance.�

�And not only that,� Joey grins, �but with those glasses and that computer and your lower lip tucked in your teeth the way you do when you concentrate, you look like a friggin� nerd or something.�

Chris slaps the bulkier man�s arm, hard. �Hey, who you callin� nerdy, thank you.� He asks this as he peers through his own pair of wire rims, and Joey has the decency to sigh and ask what Chris would rather be called, a geek or a dork, if he finds �nerd� so offensive.

�Dork, definitely dork. What do you think, Lance?�

I grin and slip out of my place at the table to come join the others in front of the television. �Dork.�

�There you have it,� Chris says solemnly, to which Joey gives a sage nod before turning back to the movie and hitting the play button on the remote he stole from JC.

�You know, I think those specs make you look smart, Lance. Real intelligent,� JC contributes with a kind smile and I sit next to him on the couch.

�Absolutely,� Justin agrees from his spot in the over stuffed armchair. �Kinda...dorky-adorable.�

�Hmm,� I playfully pretend to consider this. �I think I can live with that.�

We exchange smiles and as I turn my attention to Bruce Willis and Sam Jackson on the TV set, I swear I can hear Justin mumble, �Good. Because dorky-adorable is just my type.�