JC noticed that his Rolling Stone was missing three days before it turned up on his bunk, sitting atop freshly made sheets. The freshly made sheets told him something was up, because he never made his bed. He’d been annoyed because, while it wasn’t unusual for Chris or Justin to get bored and steal his magazine, they normally returned it sooner, and mostly waited until he was done with it.

He turned to the article he’d been in the middle of when the magazine had disappeared. Halfway through his resumed reading, he found a word highlighted: “music.”

He didn’t think anything of it at first, until he ran across another: “ignites.”

“Music ignites.”

He turned to the front of the magazine and found a j highlighted, then a c. Looking through the magazine, he found three more words, including “soul” in the middle of an article about Billy Holiday’s influence on modern musicians. The sentence said, “JC, your music ignites my soul.”

He figured it was a joke, something Chris did to tease him about “Space Cowboy” again. Or Justin with “Digital Getdown.” They seemed to pick songs to give him crap about, and those were theirs’. However, he didn’t know for sure and didn’t want to say anything because the potential for embarrassment was HUGE.

Justin complained that his Sports Illustrated had disappeared about a week later. He went so far as to make Chris and JC empty their bunks in front of him. Not satisfied with that, he spent the next several hours pouting on the couch, grumbling loudly about “fucking bus mates who can’t keep their fucking hands to themselves.”

Chris, who couldn’t stand the pouting after the first fifteen minutes, bought Justin a new magazine at the next stop.

Three days later, JC got on the bus to find Justin’s old SI in the middle of his bunk, again atop newly made sheets. This time, the highlighted message read, “your dedication is amazing and your passion makes me hot.”

Makes me hot?

Granted, the highlighter had to work with what he was given, but makes me hot?

JC ruled out the possibility of Justin or Chris playing a sick joke. He could only imagine what it really meant.

JC found Lance’s Southern Living next. Lance told them that every good boy growing up in the South appreciates Southern Living not for its gardening tips or recipes, but its inherent gentility. Justin never bought that explanation, since he’d grown up in Memphis and didn’t subscribe to it, but JC, Joey, and Chris, who all grew up in the northern half of the country, chalked it up to a southern quirk and moved on.

This message wasn’t a sentence, just a collection of words.

“Love, passion, color, life, gentle, fragrant, succulent, light.”

The poet in JC’s soul melted at the simple, beautiful message. The other half of him wondered what Joey was up to, because, honestly, the stain of Mama Fatone’s lasagna on page 42 was a little hard to miss.

Chris whined about his Seventeen missing next. He liked to take the quizzes to find out whether he was a rotten boyfriend, best friend, what have you. He could sometimes be persuaded to share the make up tips, but he mostly kept them for himself and Mariah, his favorite make up artist.

JC watched for it a couple of days later, always trying to be the first on the bus so Chris or Justin didn’t find it first.

He’d almost given up hope when it appeared, again on top of a neatly made bunk. This time the message read, “OMG! You’re so TOTALLY hot and I love you tons!!!”

JC laughed at the message and added the magazine to the stack under the mattress of his bunk.

On the next stop, a show somewhere in Oregon, JC snuck onto Joey and Lance’s bus. He dug through Joey’s stuff until he found Joey’s latest issue of Parenting. Sitting down with a highlighter, he quickly marked a message in his magazine before Randy, their driver, came back on the bus and told him he needed to get off.

After the show, JC asked Lance to switch busses with him for the night so he could talk to Joey.

Lance nodded wearily. “All yours.”

“Thanks, man.”

JC was the last out to the busses that night, giving Joey ample time to find the magazine. He climbed onto the bus, stomach twitching and a little shaky.

Joey was sitting on the leopard couch, magazine in hand. He smiled when he saw JC come up the stairs. “How’d you know it was me?”

JC folded himself carefully on the couch next to Joey, just barely touching but easily within reach. “Mama Fatone’s secret sauce found its way into Southern Living.”

Joey grinned and held his arm up, inviting JC to curl under it. “Oops.”

“Nah, not oops. I’m glad I know now.”

“I’d have told you eventually.” Joey flipped open the magazine. “This, however, is much better. ‘I love you too, you goob.’” Joey looked down at JC’s head on his shoulder. “You know, I really don’t think that writing in the word ‘goob,’ despite the inspired use of the pink highlighter, should count.”

JC sat up and pulled on the magazine. “You don’t like it?” he asked, an evil grin spreading across his face. “Give it then.”

Joey gave him a kiss instead and JC was just as happy.