They were down south somewhere, Georgia, perhaps.  They weren't in Tennessee or Mississippi, at any rate, that's for sure; the two Southern boys would have whooped it up had the bus crossed into either of their home states.

As it was, they were roaming the deserted aisles of yet another Target or Walmart at 3:30 in the morning, looking for ways to stay sane.  Chris and Lance had wandered away to the section that offered affordable office supplies to executives on the go.  Had it not been pitifully endearing, Justin would have rolled his eyes at the two young millionaire CEOs squealing in delight at bins of discounted markers, ledgers and dayplanners.

JC bumped his hip.  "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."  They walked together slowly, and Justin nibbled a nail, trying to decide whether to check out shoes or toys first, or see if they had some boxers he might like.  "Where you headed?" he asked JC, bumping their hips together again.  JC looked over and smiled.

"Eh, thought I'd check out CDs and videos and stuff.  I'm in the mood for something new."

The huge store was practically empty, but out of habit, Justin dropped his voice and glanced quickly around before speaking.  "If you're headed toward Health and Beauty, we need lube."  Their arms brushed together, briefly, and Justin's skin warmed.

JC laughed.  "I'm not buying that here, baby boy.  I'll get some of that lotion we like."  He waggled his eyebrows.  "Wanna break that silly 'no sex on the bus' rule when we get back?"

"Hell, yeah; you have to ask?"  Justin planted a hand on JC's back and pushed.  "Now wiggle that fine ass on down the aisle so we can get out of here."  JC laughed, and Justin watched him amble away, narrow hips swinging gently as he walked.

Yes, JC had a mighty fine ass, and God, he loved watching him move.  Justin realized that he was standing in the middle of Walmart-or-Target, getting a hard on thinking about his boy's body. OK, back to business.  Toys, shoes or boxers?

He changed his mind when a bright yellow Frito-Lay display caught his eye.  He hurried over, trying to think of everything he'd craved the last couple of days.  Cheetos, definitely.  Potato chips.  Tortilla chips.  Salsa. He moved down the rows of shelves, grabbing the biggest sizes of the colorful, crinkly bags.

"Say there, young fella."

Justin turned.  An elderly black man stood a few yards away, smiling at him.

"Need to borrow your legs, there, if you don't mind."  He seemed friendly.

"Sir?"  Justin looked around for a store employee.  "I don't work here.  Do you need help?"

The old man pointed to a shelf over his head.  "Don't know why they stack things out of reach.  Friendly store, my ass."  He looked mildly annoyed, but smiled again.

"Sure, hang on."  Justin jogged down the aisle and looked where the old man had pointed.  "These?"  He reached up and easily pulled a bag of pretzels from the high shelf.

"Thank you, son."  The old man nodded when Justin handed him the bag.  "You look a little familiar.  Where do you go to church?"

"Oh, I'm not from around here," Justin replied, plucking a bag of pretzels for himself.  I'm from Tennessee, originally.  I'm just - visiting."

"Tennessee?"  The old man's eyes brightened.  "I got folks in Tennessee.  Who're your people?"

Justin smiled, eyeing the snack bags again.  "My last name's Timberlake."  He'd bet his bank account that the old man wouldn't know who he was.

"Timberlake?"  The old man cocked his head and looked thoughtful.  "No, don't know any Timberlakes. Unusual name."

Justin nodded, agreeing.  "Yeah, it is."  Aside from the millions of young girls who signed their fan mail 'The future Mrs. Debbi/Sarah/Ashlie Timberlake,' he and the members of his family were the only ones Justin knew of.

" - what's it like?"

"Pardon?"  The old man had been talking, but Justin had been thinking about his family and missed the first part.  "I'm sorry," Justin apologized.  "I travel a lot and haven't seen my family in a while.  I started thinking about them when you asked."

The old man nodded, a sympathetic look on his face.  "That's my answer then.  I was asking what it's like to pass."

"Pass?"  Justin's fingers tightened on the pretzel bag.  "Hunh?"

"I'm pretty light myself, but you're damn near," the old man continued.

Light, bright . . .

He'd overheard a couple of stadium security staff once, discussing a light-skinned black girl they'd found wandering backstage without a pass.

. . . damn near white.

Incredulous, Justin's eyebrows shot up, and his jaw dropped.  The old man thought Justin was black, passing for white.

'High yella', the old man would probably call him.  Justin had heard the stadium guys say that when one had asked the other if he'd seen a "high yella girl in a green dress" walking around, and when he saw her, Justin had understood.  Now, at 4:00 in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, after all the times he'd heard himself dissed as a wannabe, Justin choked back his laughter.  He opened his mouth to answer, but heard JC, a couple of aisles away, calling his name.

"Over here!" he responded.  "Looks like I have to go," Justin said, turning and offering his hand for the old man to shake.  "It was nice talking to you."

"I'll let you get back to your friends," the old man laughed.  "Thank you, again."

Just then JC appeared, holding a red shopping basket piled high with CDs and videos.  "Gotta roll, dude," he said to Justin, and nodded and smiled at the old man.  "Hi."

"This is JC," Justin said, by way of introduction.  "A friend of mine."  Suddenly his eyes widened, and he had to fight a lump in his throat.  He motioned with his head to JC.  "I'll be there in a minute, OK?"

JC looked from Justin to the old man, and back again.  "OK.  Don't be too long."  He gave a little wave. "Nice to meet you."  He headed back the way he came, and disappeared around the corner.

"You want to know what's it like?"  Justin asked the old man.  "It's hell.  It's hard.  You wouldn’t believe how many people I have to hide things from, and it's."  He blinked and swallowed.  "It's hard."  He met the old man's eyes, and could tell, though he didn't say anything, that both of them knew this wasn't about skin color.  "It's really, really hard," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, son," the old man offered softly.  "Maybe one of these days folks can love who they want no matter what they look like or what they are." He touched Justin’s elbow, gently.  "You have a nice visit, hear?"

He hadn't cried in ages, but that single touch loosened something in Justin's chest, and he wiped at his eyes.  "Thanks," he said, and he tried to smile.  "I will."  He clutched his snacks and started down the aisle.

'This is JC.  A friend of mine.'  Just once, he'd love to be able to say, "This is JC, he's my boyfriend." But he couldn't, because that might ruin everything.  He had to play it straight.  He had to be the heartthrob.

He really was passing, after all.