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It was one of those perfect afternoons when the sun was shining, and everything felt just right. After I got off the phone with Michael Jackson's manager, I was buzzing with excitement. My mind raced with the possibilities—Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, inviting me to his house? It felt like a dream. I couldn't contain my energy, so I did what any kid would do: I ran straight to my room and put on one of my favorite records. The upbeat rhythm filled the house, and before I knew it, I was dancing all over the place.
I leaped onto the sofa in the living room, bouncing from cushion to cushion, doing silly dance moves I had seen in music videos. At one point, I did this awkward twist with my arms flailing, then transitioned into a robot-like movement, completely out of sync with the music. I cracked myself up. Then, I sprinted down the hallway, sliding across the floor in my socks like I was on a stage. My heart raced as I jumped on my bed, pretending like I was performing in front of a sold-out crowd. The bed squeaked beneath me as I bounced higher and higher, throwing my arms up in victory. I tried moonwalking like Michael, but it didn't quite work—I kept tripping over my own feet. No matter. In my head, I was killing it.
After a while, I got a bit too confident and attempted a spin on the hardwood floor near the living room. As I twirled, my feet slipped, and I stumbled into a table, knocking over a lamp. It didn't break, but it clattered loudly, making me freeze for a second. I quickly set it back in place and continued my "performance." The music seemed to fuel my every move, and the house became my stage.
Just as I was mid-jump on the bed, I heard the front door creak open. My eyes widened in panic. I knew that sound. Mom was home.
"JUSTIN!" she yelled from the front door, her voice echoing through the house.
I froze, still mid-air, before landing back on the bed with a thud. My heart raced, but not from excitement this time—from sheer fear of getting caught. I quickly hopped off the bed, ran to the record player, and turned it off. Silence filled the room. I stood there for a second, looking at the mess I had made. Pillows were strewn across the floor, blankets were piled in random heaps, and my bed looked like a tornado had hit it.
I could hear my mom's footsteps as she walked through the house. I scrambled to fix everything, trying to make it look like nothing had happened. I fluffed the pillows, straightened the blankets, and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in the bedspread, but it was no use. The evidence was everywhere.
"Justin, come downstairs, right now!" Her voice had that edge that told me I was in trouble. Big trouble.
I trudged down the stairs, my heart sinking with every step. My head hung low because I knew what was coming—a long, long lecture. Mom was standing in the living room, arms crossed, with grocery bags at her feet. Her face was a mix of disappointment and frustration. She took a deep breath before she started.
"For just one hour, I leave you alone, and you wreck the house? Really? Jumping on the furniture? Do you think this place is a playground?" She started pacing as she spoke, her words coming faster now. "What if you had broken something? What if you'd hurt yourself? I don't even want to think about what could have happened!" She gestured wildly at the living room, pointing to the sofa where the cushions were still slightly out of place. "This is not how you behave when I'm not home!"
Her words blurred together after a while, turning into that familiar rhythm of parental scolding. I nodded along, but my mind was elsewhere, counting the minutes until she would stop. After what felt like an eternity, she paused, placing her hands on her hips.
"And why exactly did you make such a mess?" she asked, finally giving me a chance to speak.
I hesitated for a second. Now you're asking that? I thought to myself. But instead of explaining the real reason, I decided to play it cool. I walked over to the couch, sat down, and folded my legs, crossing them like I had seen in movies where the hero acts calm and collected after getting into trouble.
"It's not that big of a deal, Mom," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's just... Michael Jackson's manager called and invited us to visit Michael's house this month."
Mom didn't seem to hear me at first. "Put that leg down!" she snapped, still focused on the fact that I was sitting like a boss in my moment of punishment. But then something clicked in her mind. She froze. "Wait… what did you just say?"
I couldn't help but smirk a little. "I said, Michael Jackson's manager called. He invited us to his house."
Her entire demeanor changed in an instant. She dropped the grocery bags on the floor and rushed over to sit next to me on the couch. "Did he say I could come too?!" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement as she grabbed my hand.
"Uh, maybe?" I teased, knowing I had her full attention now.
"What do you mean 'maybe'? Did he or didn't he?" She was almost shaking me with eagerness.
I sighed, deciding to drop the act. "Yes, Mom. Michael's manager invited the whole family."
Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. Before I could say anything else, she jumped up, pulling me with her. "Oh my God, Justin! We're going to Michael Jackson's house!" she exclaimed. In a flash, she had cranked the music back on, and suddenly, we were dancing around the living room together like two kids. She did this ridiculous dance move where she spun around with her arms out, and I couldn't help but laugh. We twirled and laughed, and I could tell how much this meant to her. Mom had always been a huge Michael Jackson fan. She was the type to buy his albums the moment they came out, no matter what. Even when the world was doubting him and the media was full of rumors, she stayed loyal, saying she didn't trust the gossip.
The next day, I was upstairs doing homework when the phone rang. I remembered that Michael's manager said they'd call with more details, so I bolted out of my room and ran down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. But Mom was quicker. She had been in the kitchen, and with the short distance, she reached the phone first.
She picked up the receiver and said, "Hello, this is the house of Justin's family! I'm his mother, Pattie. How can I help you?" She sounded way too formal, probably trying to sound important. I rolled my eyes as I got to the bottom of the stairs.
It wasn't the manager this time. It was Michael himself.
"Hello, this is Michael," his smooth voice came through the line.
Mom's eyes went wide, and she screamed into the phone, "Michael! I'm your biggest fan!" She said it so loudly and quickly that I'm pretty sure Michael had to hold the phone away from his ear. Her voice had that level of excitement that could rival a fangirl at an Eminem concert.
"Thank you," Michael replied, probably out of politeness. I could hear the amusement in his voice, though.
I walked up, frustrated that Mom had beaten me to the phone. "Damnit," I muttered under my breath.
Mom handed me the phone reluctantly, her face still flushed with excitement. "Hi, Michael," I said, trying to play it cool, even though my heart was racing. We talked for a bit, and he asked how things were going. After a while, his manager took over, giving me the details about the visit.
"By the way," I said, "can I bring a couple of friends? Mark and Jaden?"
The manager said it was no problem, so I told him I'd check with their parents and call back. After the call ended, I immediately got to work. I called Mark and Jaden's parents, who were thrilled about the idea and gave their permission. They even managed to get school permission for the boys to miss a week. We were all set to go.
Packing for the trip was an adventure in itself. I knew I was supposed to be packing clothes and essentials, but I couldn't resist throwing in some of my favorite comics, snacks, and a few toys. I figured, why not make the most of it? I ended up stuffing all my actual clothes into Mark and Jaden's bags when they weren't looking, making sure they had to carry most of my stuff. I knew they wouldn't mind, though.
Just before we left, I opened my bag to check everything one last time. As I glanced inside, I started laughing like a villain from one of my comics. "Zehahaha!" I cackled, imitating villain from my favorite show. But then I coughed mid-laugh, which kind of ruined the moment.
"Justin! It's time to go!" Mom called from outside.
"Coming, Mom!" I zipped up the bag, still grinning to myself, and headed out the door, ready for the adventure that awaited us at Michael Jackson's house.
A/u
Tomorrow I am going to drop king of hip-hop because Tomorrow is Saturday I will release 5 chapter together but due that I might release chapter late and don't worry I will drop this story. Give more support with power stone.
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