September 1st 1996, 11:30am.

I wake up to the sound of an alarm clock I don't recognize. I groan and turn over to shut it off. The buttons feel different. I press around for a little bit until it stops. I didn't realize I had accidentally hit the radio instead until I heard the radio station presenter say, "Alright folks, you've heard it right here. The king of pop will be leaving for his HIStory world tour, starting off in Prague, Czech Republic next week on September 7th 1996."

I am utterly confused. 1996? I search for a light switch, failing helplessly as I knock a bunch of things over. I finally find one and turn it on, shocked to what I see.

"So sit back, relax, and enjoy this one hour special of-" I turn the radio off and look at my surroundings; this isn't my room. I turn the light off and open my window, it's a sunny day outside, but this isn't my backyard. I look in the mirror and notice I'm still in the same clothes I fell asleep in last night. I notice blood on the edge of the left side of my forehead. That must have been when I was hitting my head on the window last night, except it wasn't this window, because this is not my house. Then I remembered my mom.

Instantly, I run downstairs, "Mom! Mom, Mommy!" I call out. But she's not in the house anywhere. I'm running around in circles, I don't know where I'm going, this isn't my house. This is...Francesca's house. I recognize it even though I haven't been here since I was nine. I start making my way back upstairs but then bump into someone.

"Excuse me Carmella, you better watch yourself, young lady!"

I get up and I am in utter shock to what I see. It's Francesca. And she looks exactly like how I remember her when I was younger. Not that much different, she just looks 50 years old instead of 62 when she died. I start stuttering, I am beyond terrified. I don't know what to do at this point.

"I-I, I uh, I-"

"Silence child! Go and get dressed, we have to leave, now!"

"I-"

"Go!" she yells. "Wait!"

I stop in my tracks and turn back around. "Yes?"

"What is that on your head?"

"Blood," I say nonchalantly.

She tisks at me. "Clean it up, go!"

I attempt to find my way back to the room I was in when I woke up; I only remember this house ever so slightly. When I find it, I look around. I remember staying in this room when I was little. It was filled with care bears and cabbage patch dolls and there was a white rocking chair near the elegant white bed. Now, all I see are Backstreet Boys and 'N sync posters all over the walls, a light blue boom box and other random stuff I don't own.

I open my closet, only to see a bunch of clothes that don't look like mine. For one thing, I don't wear overalls, high waisted jeans, choker necklaces, or anything '90s themed. I reluctantly pull out a pair of overalls, colorful sneakers, and a choker necklace. I put them on and look in the mirror – this is so not me. I leave my dark, wavy brunette hair out and put my square glasses on.

I open my door just a crack and look around for a few seconds down the hallway until I hear Francesca scream, "Carmella! Down here now!"

I bolt down the stairs instantly, feeling a little frightened. I guess it's her powerful French accent that sounds like she's angry at someone all the time. I was never frightened of Francesca before.

"Put this on." She hands me a coat.

"Where are we going?" I ask as I put the coat on.

"Why Neverland of course, have you forgotten?"

"But I didn't eat breakfast."

She tisks again. "Breakfast? We're going to be late!"

We step out of the house and I see a black sleek limo parked in the driveway. "Get in, quick," Francesca orders. I step in, still feeling confused by this.

"What day is it?" I ask.

"It's the first day of September. Now, I want you to behave yourself, Carmella. No stupid little tricks and I mean it. I've had enough wit the spoiled brat attitude, alright?"

Even I will agree I'm not exactly the brightest child on planet Earth, but I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm a spoiled brat. To avoid confrontation, I just nod my head and don't say anything for the rest of the way there.

We arrive about half an hour later. The limo drives into the gates, and I look around in awe as I'm stepping out of the limo. The house is humungous from the outside, just imagine the inside. I crack my neck and back like I normally would to loosen up after being crouched in a car for too long. I look at Francesca and see her shaking her head at me. I don't get it, she never minded it when I did that before.

"Thank you," Francesca says to the driver and leads me up to a set of stairs to the – a, front door.

"Don't you dare embarrass me," Francesca says, eyeing me closely.

I gulp and nod my head, feeling a little nervous. "I-I won't."

She pulled a key out from her maid's uniform and unlocks the door. We walk inside to what looks to be the living room and I glance up and down the entire room as I'm mesmerized by the antiques, paintings, but beautifully furnished furniture, and other unusual and pretty items surrounding the room. I heard quite a lot of things about Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch before, but I would have never thought it was this beautiful.

I snap out of my daydream when I hear a quiet man's voice saying to someone, "Yes of course, Francesca should be bringing her soon. I'm excited."

"Michael thank you again for letting me do this, I hope you'll be back before the baby's due," says a woman.

"Of course Debbie," he says.

Francesca and I walk into the kitchen as she greets...Michael Jackson. I look up at him, feeling quite shy being in the same room as he is. How could anyone not be?

Michael looks down at his watch and says, "12 pm? You're here a little later than usual." He laughs.

"Aye yi, yi, this girl wouldn't wake up," Francesca says motioning to me. My cheeks turn red.

Michael just smiles at me and giggles. I smiled back, feeling awkward standing there and looking around. "Is that Carmella?" asks Michael.

All three of them snap their heads in my direction, and I instantly feel my cheeks burning again. "Ah, yes, this is her," says Francesca.

I was a little confused as to why she didn't introduce me as her granddaughter. I wasn't expecting her to, but that's who she would normally introduce me as to her, since Carol doesn't have any kids; Francesca was always a little angry about that. I'm also confused as to why I'm staying with Francesca, where is my mom?

"Oh I'm so glad you came," Michael says in a sweet voice as he approaches me and bends down to my height to give me a hug; I hug him back. It feels so good, he gives a gentle hug, yet it's so warm, and I can smell the cologne on his neck. It's like a flower valley scent, like Neverland.

I didn't realize how long we've been hugging for until he pulls away and says, "I'm leaving for my tour in a week, so it's nice to have you here."

I just casually nod my head and squeak out a, "Thanks." He smiles and gestures for me to sit down on one of the couches. Being the shy kid that I am and always have been, I sit down pleasantly on one of the long sofas with my hands in my lap trying to avoid anyone's gaze for the sake of my red cheeks.

"So how old are you?" Michael asks as he takes a seat next to me and strokes the top of my head. I start feeling embarrassed again.

"Twelve and a half," I respond.

"Twelve? You're a very pretty young girl," says Debbie.

"Yeah I know, she's beautiful," Michael says, revealing his white teeth.

It's situations like these where I hate being shy because I don't know whether to thank them, or to just smile, but if I do that I'm afraid I'll come across as not being polite, or if I do say thank you, it sounds very quiet and I'm embarrassed to even just speak. I go with the classic, just smile and mouth, almost whisper a, "Thank you."

As Michael was looking at me, his eyebrows furrow and he stares at me for a split second. "Did you hit your head?" he asks in his sweet voice, sounding concerned.

I touch the left side of my head, remembering last night; it stings a little. "Oh, yeah, it's-it's nothing," I say, wanting not for anyone to make a big deal out of it.

"It doesn't look like nothing. Come, follow me."

He gets up from out of his seat and motions me to follow him. I inwardly groan, thinking about how much more embarrassed I can get.

"Don't move," Michael says as he dabs ointment onto my cut in his bathroom. He is incredibly close to my face, which makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I wince in pain a little bit, and then he says, "Hey, it's okay. Look, it's getting better." I smile a little, and he finishes taking care of my cut.

"There, all done," he says.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Come on." He takes my hand and leads me downstairs, and I notice his hand is warm. Francesca taught me this thing when I was little that depending on people's hand temperature, you can tell that if they're hands are warm, they normally like you. If cold, they dislike you. I never believed it, but when I'm holding someone's hand and it's warm, I can't help but smile. We make our way back downstairs and see Francesca and Debbie talking.

"When will they get here?" Debbie asks Michael.

"Today. I wanna have some fun before I leave for a year," Michael responds with a sigh.

"Who?" asks Francesca.

"The children that will be over to play of course," he says as if we should have known. "My friends."

"Oh, right. Carmella I think you'll love them," says Debbie.

"And they're about your age, so I think you'll have fun. We all will," Michael adds.

I look over at Francesca who is awkwardly smiling at them, and giving me a look that says, please-don't-embarrass-me.

I find it slightly odd why a man over here would have children over at his house to play with him, when he looks like he's got a lot of work and preparation to do for his upcoming HIStory tour that is starting in Prague, as I've heard on the radio this morning. But I decide not to question it since I've only known him for about ten minutes.

Just when I think I should say something, the doorbell rings and I hear all this chatter from outside. Michael gasps like a little child and runs to the door and opens it.

"Welcome, come in please," he says.

At least ten children scatter around the living room, and I'm surprised by their enthusiasm. I keep my hands inside my pocket overalls, trying not to look like there's anything wrong since people tend to get me confused with being depressed, when I'm actually just shy. One kid then looks up at me and says, "Hello, I'm Brett. Who are you?"

I smile and respond, "Carmella." He sounds Australian; he's probably one of Michael's kid friends.

"Let's go now!" one of the kids yell.

"You guys go ahead, I'll be there in a minute," Michael says to them all. They scatter off outside and he turns to me. "I just wanted to tell you that since I won't be back here for a long time, maybe you'd like to see the whole ranch. How about a tour?"

"Yes, that'll be nice," I respond.

"Good, let's go."