“Oh my god.... check out the rack on that one, wouldja?” AJ whispered as he lowered his trademark sunglasses. “Mmmmmm, sweet Jesus, that is one hell of a mountian I’d like to climb on and su---ouch, why the fuck did you do that for asshole?”

“People can read lips and besides, you’re drooling,” Brian whispered harshly.

“Oh mister goodie two shoes don’t like me appreciating women?”

“Not the way you’re appreciating them.”

“But I am admiring God’s work dude.”

“Not the way He intended.”

“Nicky, you like the hooters on her didn’t you?”

Nick rubbed a sweaty hand over his eyes, mumbling.

“Huh? What did you say Kaos?” After waiting a few moments for a clearer response, AJ patted the side of Nick’s face. “Earth to... christ, you feel hot!”

“I told you I was sick,” Nick muttered, keeping his eyes down.

“Nick, you look like you’re attending a funeral instead of an award show, smile, people are watching you and taking pictures,” Lou Pearlman stated as he looked at the group seated at the round table.

“Nicky says he doesn’t feel good, again,” Brian announced, voice dripping with sarcasim as he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I think he’s got the flu or something,” AJ added. “He’s got the shits.”

Pearlman patted the young boy on the shoulder. “I’m sure it will pass.”

“That flu drink didn’t work, I got the flu anyways.” Nick mumbled.

Lou laughed off his concerns about Nick’s reaction to the laxative. “Maybe you took it too late.”

Kevin’s head snapped up when he heard the conversation. “What flu drink?”

“Oh, it’s nothing to be concerned over. This is between me and the boy, right Nicky?”

As Kevin was preparing to get to the bottom of the ‘flu drink’, dessert was being passed around the table.

“Better eat all of it Nick, you need to keep your strength up,” Lou advised before he turned back to his own table.

Howie, Brian, Kevin and AJ looked at each other with questioning eyes.

‘Eat all of it Nick?’ Howie mouthed; his face in shock as his eyes went from the slouched teen to the rich dessert that was in front of him to his brother’s eyes.

Each of them were in shock over the obese manager’s words to their young brother who was battling his not-so-private war against weight gain and the constant pressure of family and fans and being under constant scrutany.

Instead of picking a fork up and digging into the calorie laden dessert, Nick quietly shoved the plate away, groaning.

“Okay, you really must be sick,” Brian stated softly.

”AND THE WINNER OF THE BEST POPGROUP FOR 1998.... BACKSTREET BOYS!”

A blinding spotlight shone on the table that they were seated at, jerking the boys from their preoccupiation over their ailing bandmate.

“Nicky, we won! C’mon,” Howie urged as he nudged his little brother’s shoulder.

Nick looked around the table with a feverish gaze. The lights were beginning to hurt his eyes and he couldn’t stand upright if his life depended upon it. Howie instintively but an arm around the young boy’s shoulders; walking alongside him as the rest of the group bounded up the stage to accept the award.

Kevin took the usual role of spokesman for the group, accepting the award and then one by one each of the boys stood up quickly to the microphone to say thank yous. When Nick’s turn came, he made a small attempt at a peace sign and that wasn’t even held up for anyone past the second row of tables to see.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Howie leaned over to Nick as he walked off stage.

Spying a restroom, Nick darted away from his brothers and quickly slammed the door behind him. He didn’t care that he nearly knocked down one of the Spice Girls in his quest for relief. At this point he could have care less about running down anyone that stood in his way.

He made it to the toilet in the nick of time; gagging as his stomach churned and twisted, forcing what little was inside back out. His eyes watering from the pain and the fact that he was heaving so hard that he barely had time to take a breath.

Thousands of miles away from home there were only two thoughts that entered Nick Carter at this moment as he was heaving his guts out: 1) he wanted to be home in his own bed and 2) he wanted his mom.

“Nick? Are you okay?”

Shaking his head when he heard Kevin’s concerned voice muffled through the solid door, Nick wished he could disappear. He knew that Kevin was asking because he cared, but now Nick wondered how many other people would be standing outside the door when he decided he was ready to face the world again.

“I’m f-fi...”

Nick couldn’t finish his sentance because another wave of nausea hit him and he had to put his face back down into the porcelin bowl. Between his heaves he thought he heard the sound of the door knob rattling.

“Open the door!”

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, Nick flushed the toilet. He was at the sink washing his hards when his body announced a new and urgent need. Barely getting his pants undone and down, it came with such urgency, he knew that if he had been sitting someplace else other than at this backstage facility, he would have certainly shit his pants.... literally.

“Nick.... are you alright? Let me in please!”

“I’m sick,” he squeaked.

Kevin stared at the closed door, wishing he could will it open with his mind - telepathically. He heard the gagging from his little brother and he felt the ache in his heart knowing that this was one of the worst possible things that could be happening to the young teen at this moment.

Finally, the door slowly opened and a pale, sweaty teen emerged.

“They said we need to get into our stage clothes for the song,” Brian announced to the group quietly, his voice sounded apologetic as he glanced over at Nick when he spoke.

Nick’s eyes widened when he heard Brian’s words. “No, I c-can’t,” he mumbled. Suddenly he grabbed Kevin’s arm in a tight grip. “Please don’t make me do this,” he tearfully pleaded.

“Room 15, down this hall and it’s on the left,” a stage hand stated.

Kevin nodded his understanding and started off in the direction the stage hand pointed, motioning to the rest of the group with the back of his hand.

Nick burst into tears when they finally reached the room. The mixture of feeling sick was topped off when he saw Lou Pearlman sitting on the small couch inside of the dressing room.

“Nick’s too sick to be going out there for our set,” Kevin stated as he placed a comforting hand on the young boy’s shoulder.

“Nonesence,” the manager growled. “He can do his job.”

Kevin’s mouth dropped open. “I’m telling you he’s sick. He was in the bathroom a few minutes ago heaving his guts out.”

Pearlman sized up the pale blonde. “Well, his color’s a little off, but he’s been through worse times. Just go do what you’re paid to do and then you can go back to the hotel and sleep until the meet and greet in the morning.”

“He needs a red card Lou,” AJ snapped.

“What more are you going to make this kid go through? He’s only human and you’re treating him like he’s here for your beckon call. You already disobeyed doctors orders and now he’s finally sick and you still won’t bother to look past your fat wallet!”

The manager narrowed his eyes when Howie’s outburst hung in the air. “That will be enough out of you! This is a business and in a business you do what you’re told to do. Period. Now get your stage clothes on!”

Looking over at the teary eyed boy, Howie shrugged his shoulders. “We tried Nick, I’m sorry.”

Nick numbly took the clothing off the rack. His stomach was growling and nausea was forming like a knot at the base of his throat. He didn’t know how he’d be able to pull of this show. He had been sick numerous times on stage, but those times were different. Tonight he was sick from both ends and he didn’t know how he’d be able to sing let alone dance!

To make matters worse, the tailor neglected to alter the costume that was chosen for tonight’s performance. Nick noticed that immediately when he stepped into the pants. The material hugged his thighs like a second skin.

Doing as best as he could, Nick drew in his breath as he tried to fasten the button over his sore gut. After several tries, he gave up and wanted to crawl behind something whe he knew that he probably looked like he had been poured into the tight fitting garment.

His dilemma hadn’t gone unnoticed. AJ saw the definate “love handles” that were riding the edge of the waistband and almost made a smart comment but kept his mouth closed. He didn’t want to cause anymore discomfort for Nick than he was already experiencing.

Grabbing the black shirt, Nick quickly slipped it on, praying that it would conceal the problem with his tight pants. He was thrilled when the material went past the waistband, unaware of how awful the shirt looked on him.

He didn’t notice, but everyone else did.

Pearlman cast his stone eyed gaze upon the sick boy, taking in his out of shape appearance. He decided that the measures he was taking for getting Nick back in shape was the right thing to do. If he had allowed the kid to have free reign on his eating, he surely would have grown to become the size of a Backstreet Boy and a half and wouldn’t be able to perform ever again, thus his money maker would make money for him no more.

A knock on the door told the boys that they were needed backstage for mirophone adjustments before heading onstage. Pearlman heaved his bulky frame off the sofa and followed the young men; keeping his eyes trained on the sickly teen.

Kevin kept glancing towards his baby brother while the headset was being adjusted. Nick’s almost appeared a shade of grey and his eyes didn’t look “right” to him either. He took his attention from Nick to cast a glare toward the obese manager. The site of the man grinning, made Kevin’s blood pressure sky rocket. He suddenly jerked away from the sound tech; his sound box dangling down his back.

“Sir... sir!”

“How can you stand there and smile? Nick is clearly sick! What is it going to take for you to realize you’ve pushed that kid too far? Does he have to collapse onstage?” Kevin became upset when the manager didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. “How about we just don’t sing, we’ll protest. What do you think about that?”

Kevin’s last words caught the manager’s attention. Lou Pearlman drew in a quick breath and replied in a low whisper, “You’ll never be in the enterainment industry again. I’ll make sure of that Richardson. Now be a good Backstreet Boy and get your headset on and your ass out there on the goddamned stage!”

It wasn’t the words that the man uttered that sent chills down the dark haired singer’s spine; it was the tone of voice the man used. There was something that he couldn’t explain that actually made him fear the man. Maybe this is what had happened to Nick when he was stranded with Pearlman after he lost his passport.

The sound tech timidly attached the headset sound box onto to back of Kevin’s waistband. The staredown between Kevin and Lou was broken only after the host announced the group. For a few tense moments, Kevin didn’t move. The rest of the boys wondered what was happening.

Breaking his stare, Kevin rushed toward Nick and whispered into his ear, “Are you sure you’ll be alright to do this?”

Fingering the mouthpiece on his headset, Nick managed a slight nod in reply.

Fear of failure?

Grabbing Nick’s hand, the group bowed, Nick only bowed the first time, the rest of the guys bowing the last couple of times.

Nick slid his sweaty hand out of Kevin’s grasp and bolted for backstage toward safety and more imporant to the bathroom. He had been fighting the nausea the entire performance, and the feeling in his stomach told him it was time to hurl. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it off anymore.

He was within 20 feet of the bathroom door when he was jerked back by a strong hand on his arm.

“Get back out there!”

Nick looked into the eyes of the stout man, shaking his head furiously, jerking the headset off.

“I said get back out there! The audience is still applauding!”

As Nick opened his mouth to ask the manager to let him go, the worst possible thing happened to him.

The humiliation that Nick felt at that moment when he stopped heaving, was turned into absolute panic when he looked at the damage he had caused to Mr. Pearlman’s expensive suit and shoes. To add to the embarrassement, there were several people milling around backstage that included his peers in the music industry as well as technicians. Out of nowhere, a white towel was thrust toward Lou. The stench of vomit hung in the air.

Blinded by his tears, Nick could only apologize over and over as Pearlman tried to dab the vomit from his clothing. He could have sworn he heard laughter, and the frustration of the moment caught Nick up in not recognizing reality from imagination. He was certain that everyone was laughing at him.

Everyone but Lou Pearlman.

He quickly fled toward the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, locking it. Sobbing, he sank to the floor.

Nick decided he had failed again. This time it was in front of everyone. He had only showed them that he couldn’t handle fame. In their eyes he had gotten sick from being up in front of people.

How could he ever face anyone again?