I have never seen so many girls, glitter, or cell phones in my life, as I have seen on Newport Drill team buses, but I know this trip will set a new record. Im sitting here, staring at my packing list. I think its pretty decent, I mean... I did write it didn't I?! Only, I never thought about the fact, that I have to pack most of the stuff. I get off my bed with a sigh and walk to my closet. My closet is, well... organized. I work my way to the back, where all my suitcases, duffles, and trunks are. I tug at a Newport drill duffle and walk back out, laying it on the bed. First thing's first. Clothes, that are regular. Jeans, and Jax's tee-shirt. Socks... Now, Newport shorts, and.... lemme see. Im gonna need pajamas....

By the time I finish packing my bag, its fat, I mean, its a really big bag now. My total items include;

Jeans- (2)

Shirts- (4, you never know with those girls)

Newport shorts, and shirt

Practice clothes- (like, stuff you can do flips in)

Socks- (18 pairs)

Towels- (2)

My uniform.

And of course, my over night bag.

I also have, a deck of cards, my ipod, my laptop, my phone, snacks, my water bottle, the whistle, the megaphone, the role list, pillow, blanket, two pairs of shoes one for routines one regular, the CD, our lesson plan, and a few DVD's. I have to sit on the bag to get it to zip, and once it does, I realize, that I need to get all the paperwork together. I stride over to my desk and grab my clipboard. I clip a pile of papers to it. Role sheet, instructions, registration, basic plan, contact info, and just about every other piece of paperwork floating around. I grab two pens, one goes in the metal part at the top, the other goes on the side. If I lose my pen again, I will be royaly pissed off.

I lay the clipboard down neatly on the desk, and place my bulging red duffle next to the desk. Then I remember, the whistle. I grab it and put it down on he clipboard. I cannot forget that. I shake my head and pull my hair into a bun, flopping down on my bed and popping my earbuds in. I grab another routine plan I've been working on for a while and begin to try and work it out as Michael Jacksons 'Thriller' blares from my ipod. I begin to sketch it out trying to think how to form our lines differently, but so that all 110 people fit nicely. This took me forever to figure out in the first place, and I hate to go through it every time we have a routine, but I dont have a choice. Im team captain.

After an hour and a half of working on my routine between bites of chocolate cake (yes chocolate cake, Im a size zero, and Im eating chocolate cake, its a crime), I set it down and grab my camp packing list. I sink back into my orange and red tie dyed pillow and scan the list. I have no idea, how many bags Im going to need for this list, but it's definetly going to be over three. I bite my lip. I should probably email people and ask what they are planning on bringing so we can coordinate. I log into my email and find a new message from Thomas. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, but I role them anyway. Delete. I am not talking to him. He's a jerk. Hmm... Lets see, an email from Donna.... Nope nothing interesting. I click on my adress book, and find the camp friends list. The email reads something incredibly dorky, because Im sending it to all of them. Im trying to make it sound original, but I don't have time. The best I manage to spin up is something cheesy, but they are my best of friends, so I know they'll understand.

What next. I've finalized the packing list for this weekend, sort of at least. I have called ahead and booked a hotel in case anything falls through Sunday. My skating finals don't take place for like, another week. And camp... well thats forever from now, no need to worry about something thats going to be that far in the future, even though I sort of am. I have to take practically my entire house. With hardly any energy, I find the easiest thing to do on my list; alphabatize my magazines. Blah, I hate doing it, but I can't not. Too perfect a person I guess. I sit down on my huge black shag carpet and begin to flip through magazines. Times, Fitness, Sports Illustrated, Vogue... Who ordered all these? I hardly read anything that isn't like.... well, informational. Although, Ill admit the Vogue was mine... whatever, everyone reads that stuff at some point. I start to think about the competition Sunday, and get so lost in my thought, that pretty soon, I have a stack of magazines almost a mile high next to me. I raise my brow, that was fast... thirty minutes for 55 magazines. Not only are they alphabetical, but each different magazine, has the issues in order by date. Sometimes, I even impress myself. I pick up the glossy magazines and put them on various polished wooden tables in my room that I use for my magazines. After fanning all of them out, I realize, that was like, the thing on the list that was the least important thing I had to do. Naturals not in it suddenly comes on, and I realize, Im late as hell.

I run up the stairs and throw on my back dress. Its a strapless black cocktail dress thats pretty form fitting. I pull my hair down from the bun, and tie it back again, this time in a sloppy bun, that makes it look like i may have spent some time on my hair. On goes Chanel number 19 perfume, and rasberry flood lip gloss. Now... where are.... THE SHOES! I find the pair of four inch glittered red heels. I shove my feet in them and race down the stairs grabbing for my purse and throwing open the front door, practically panting. If I don't make it on time, Donna will murder me this time. I swore I wouldn't be late... And hey, it only took three minutes for me to get ready. Thats my record. I have no choice but to walk, or rather, teeter downtown. I make a face, and run back in the house. I grab the first pair of runners I find, a pair of Nike's. I jam my sock-less feet into them, pick up the heels, cram them into my purse, and begin to run down the street.

After ten miles of running, Im still not there. I bet people are wondering why Im going flying down the sidewalks of downtown Portland, but I don't have time to stop and think about the people staring at me. As I get closer to where Im meeting Donna, I kick off one runner, still slightly running, or hopping at this point, and shove it in my purse. Then, I pull out one of the heels and put my foot in it, pulling it over my heel. I do the same with the other side, having to wrench the heal out of the bag, because its stuck. I realize when I pull my hand out of the purse, as Im running down NW 23rd street, in a black cocktail dress, and four inch red heals, that there's something sticky on my hand. Of course. My lotion cap got loose and blew over the inside of the bag. I glare down at the purse and ignore it, I have no more time left. I come up on the side and slow down, stopping in front of Donna, who's wearing a snakeskin kind of dress... or... something that was supposed to be a dress, but looks about the size of a hankershief.

"Finally, god, I've been waiting for ever. Darling, what are you wearing? You actually look... presentable. Your.. vexing, fabulous." A sly look spreads across her face as she purrs, "This way, and if your smart you'll get rid of that bag, I've told you before, bags make you look like a mommether." I can tell she's had something to drink, because, she slurs the words a little bit. I follow her into the restaraunt, an expensive looking, dimly lit place, with food that looks well... untouched. Doesn't anyone eat anymore? She leads me towards a table with a bunch of editors that I recognize. Not again. Really.... I know Im good at skating, I know, I do, but, I hate these dinners. Whatever, at least its not a club. I smile at them all, and take the glass the waiter offers me. What I don't realize of course, is that, the waiter handed me wine. What kind of waiter hands a minor wine? I take a sip, without thinking, and almost chock. Blech. Revolting taste. I cough a little bit. What is in this... mouse poop? Donna looks over at me and rolls her eyes, from her icy cold stare I can tell shes trying to communicate a, "What the fuck Eleanor, can you try for once, I know your 12, but, you don't know what your doing, now Im going to have to save your ass now aren't I?" message. I put the glass down. "Can you excuse me a moment please? I just came from Marquees, and I need to freshen up a little." I give a sort of flirty smile, Donna will be pleased. Marquees is impossible to get into, and, no, I didn't just come from there, but I was there last night.

I find the bathrooms and walk in, wishing I hadn't ditched my purse per Donna's request. I blink at myself in the mirror. Wow. For three minutes, its really not that bad this time.. I turn and catch something in the corner of my eye. What is on the heel of my shoe? Oh my god. I look down at the heel, and there it is. A glob of lotion, and Im talking, huge. I blink and lean down wiping it off. No way, these are 300$ shoes. No, I am not letting them get ruined, even if they do kill my feet. Once I fix them I roll my eyes. I hope they didn't see that.

By the end of dinner, Im so stuffed. And Im not talking about food either. Oh no. Not with Donna around. I mean with questions and bookings. Skate here this day, dance here this day, do an add for, go on this show, you should enter this competition. As we exit the restaraunt Donna saunters towards her black car. She opens the door and slides in. No goodbyes included. I walk back up the hill and to my house. This night is not even near being over.