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Waiting for Jonas



I glanced anxiously at the cell phone beside me. My hands were restless and ready for the grab while I recited aloud my carefully crafted lines. Would he ever call? But my phone remained idle with no signs of glowing, ringing, or vibrating to life any time soon. I had been waiting patiently all afternoon for this one crucial phone call, hoping to hear a voice say, 'You're on with the Jonas Brothers; ask them any question you'd like."

This famous teen-trio features brothers Nick, Joe, and Kevin Jonas, ages 15, 18, and 20, respectively. Recently, their latest single, "When You Look Me in the Eyes," has enjoyed repeated airplay on Top 40 radio. Their third album is scheduled for release this summer, not to mention their forthcoming feature-length film and a television series, J.O.N.A.S., to appear on the Disney Channel this year.

My phone did ring - only fifteen minutes after the conference call had already begun. But it wasn't Nick Jonas' voice streaming from the other line; it was an apology from Live Nation saying that Style Weekly's participation request had slipped through the cracks.

So there I was, stood up - by three teens with more money, fame, and date offers than anyone could hope to attain by their mid-life juncture. Never in my life had I waited so long for a call from a teenage boy -- or three for that matter. Even that clueless Brandon Mills from tenth grade had more courtesy than that, and he didn't even own a cell phone.

In all actuality, it was the Jonas Brothers' management who gave me the slip - like sending a mutual friend, or in this case a smaller, music representative, to break the news so they wouldn't have to deal with the messy disconnect.

As a parting gift, Style was emailed the transcript, but not until nearly a week later and accompanied by a tactless request from the publicist to cover a new band of theirs. Sure, I said, I'd be happy to try to write something for you - a feigned alliance that was dropped as soon as the email materialized in my inbox.

So I missed out on the phone call, snubbed and left out to dry. Even a laughable but poor excuse would have sufficed - something came up, I forgot about band practice, mom won't let me talk on the phone to girls. But instead, after endless phone calls, hair pulling, and many proactive measures, I got only a weak apology and a script that had been floating in the sea of Richmond arts news for over a week.

And really, Jonas Brothers, no hard feelings. A Richmond infestation of teenage girls still awaits you, doodling your name in all of their school books. As for you, Mr. Management, I thought you were different. I trusted in you, believed in you, but obviously meant nothing to you. Don't call me. I'll call YOU when I feel like talking.

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