Fellow Claymates and I have anxiously waited weeks for Clay to make his appearance on American Idol. Word had gotten out that he'd be performing 'Solitaire' on St. Patrick's Day. I had intended to just watch it on television, but when I heard fellow fans were flocking to LA to see the show live, I had to follow. I grabbed an early morning flight out there, rented an ugly red Honda, and sped over to the studio. When I arrived Claymates were already rabid outside. I pushed my way through the crowd of crying, screaming, over-hormoned female fans... and 3 guys having sword fights with light sabers. I marched right up to the backdoor. A girl hit me over the head with a Clay bobble-head doll and yelled "No cuts, no butts, no coconuts!" I grabbed her bobble-head doll and slapped the security guard with it, stunning him long enough to allow me to sneak through the door.

I breezed down the hall of the studio throwing open door after door in search of The Aiken. When I discovered a pink dressing room, I was sure it had to be Clay's. I stepped in and quietly shut the door. I spun around, whipped off my top, and yelled "Baby, I'm here!" I turned smack dab into an open jawed Ryan Seacrest. I screeched and threw my top back on.

He closed his gaping mouth and smiled at me. "Hello there, firefly. What's your name?"

"Ew. Shut up."

"You're sexy when you're angry."

"You don't even know me, dude!"

He smiled slyly and stroked his stubble. "Do you want me to get to know you?"

"Uh... no. The only one I want to get to know is Clay Aiken."

"Hey wait! I know you. You're the girl who's after Clay's cherry. He told me about you!"

"Why is he telling our business?"

"How about after you deflower him, I deflower you?"

"I've already been deflowered, but thanks for the offer."

He leaned in close and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "In that case, I'll reflower you and then deflower you again."

I shoved his hand off my hair. "As tempting as that isn't... I'm gonna pass."

He gently traced his fingers along my jaw line. "So precious."

I grabbed his finger and twisted it. "Hands off, Seacrest!"

"I love it when you call me Seacrest. The way your lips curl up."

"Look, I've got work to do."

He opened the door and motioned me out in front of him. He winked as he shut it behind me.

I headed back down the hall to check the rest of the rooms. As I rounded a corner, I bumped into a stony John Stevens. Just then a brilliant idea hit me. I would infiltrate the spot of one of the contestants! And John Stevens it would be. I lack his height, deep voice, and robotic personality. But I've got the red hair. I could also wear a dress shirt if the situation calls for it.

I lured John into the custodian closet with Frank Sinatra tunes and a lollipop. I tricked him into removing his clothing my showing hints of my bra strap. As soon as he was undressed, I tied him up with said bra strap. I took his clothes and ran out of the closet, locking him inside. I ran around the corner and dressed quickly in the hallway. I saw Ryan poking his head out, a giant smile plastered on his face. I shook my fist at him and ran off.

I bumped into contestant Matt Rogers on my way to the stage. "Who are you?"

"Matt, it's me. John Stevens."

"Oh, hey John! You look different today. You look shorter."

"Uh... I have a cold... and I lost my shoes."

"But you're wearing your shoes."

"Actually, these are your shoes."

I followed him out onto the stage and sat in John's designated spot. The show began and I waited anxiously while Ryan dragged the show on and on for what seemed like days.

Finally, my Clayton came out and performed a most beautiful rendition of 'Solitaire'. His voice was magnificent. His tone pure. He was a delicious looking man-child. Beauty at it's best. I held tight to my seat to keep myself from charging the stage and hugging him... and then having my way with him on the floor. I imagined myself walking up behind with a pair of scissors and cutting that blasted demi-turtle neck off. I hate those. I don't know who started them, but it has got to stop.

After he finished his performance, Seacrest took to asking the contestants questions. I was too busy watching Simon gazing lovingly at Paula to realize a question was being directed at me. "John." Ryan stopped and looked deep into my eyes. He gulped and became suddenly shy, "You look very dashing this evening, John." He blushed a dark crimson red when Simon told him to try and get a date after the show. He regained his composure and redirected the conversation back at me. "John, do you have any questions for Clay?"

This was it! This was my chance! All eyes turned to me, including a pair of striking emerald gems. As soon as they made contact with mine, my face froze into a contorted smile. If you watch the tape back in slow motion, you can see the exact second my heart stopped. Clay blinked and held his gaze. My heart started up again. I was sure the entire studio could hear its hideous beating.

Ryan's concerned voice barely broke through the noise. "Are you okay, John?"

"John doesn't seem like himself today. Almost like he's someone else." Matt Rogers piped up.

Note to self: Don't vote for Matt Rogers.

I spent the rest of the show sitting silently in my chair. I prayed they wouldn't make 'John' get up and sing. Lord knows I couldn't have pulled that off.

I made it through the rest of the show with ease. As soon as it was over, I rushed out of the building and into the parking lot. On the way to my rental car, Ryan cornered me with a rose and a promise of nights of wild passion. He asked if I was related to John Stevens. I said I'd never even met him, even though I was still wearing his pants. I kindly refused his rose and said I had to get going. I was too glum and disgusted to shoot him down roughly. I had blown yet another chance to meet The Clay.

Ryan took my hand and kissed it. "We shall meet again, my precious."

"Um... not really."

I returned my rental car and took a flight home. And now here I sit, refusing all phone calls and wiping away my tears. My brother had taped the show and I've done nothing all day but watch my foolish moment over and over again until the tape broke and jammed the VCR. Sigh. And on top of all that, I'm down one bra.

Damn you, John Stevens! Damn you!