I crept cautiously through the narrow hallway, passing several drab wooden doors on either side of me until I finally stopped at one with a large golden star plastered on the front. Never in my entire life would I have expected to be in a situation like this. I mean, if I were a bubbly teenybopper with cherry lipgloss and a subscription to Tiger Beat magazine, all of this would seem completely normal. As it is, I am a single, 17 year-old male deadbeat, standing outside the dressing room of Disney starlet Selena Gomez, my palm moist with anxious sweat as it clenched the laminated backstage pass hanging from my neck. Granted, this was no accident; for months I had pined for Selena, sacrificing my self-respect and sense of manhood to marvel at her sassy repartee each time Wizards of Waverly Place would happen to come on TV. I couldn't help it; Her billowing tides of brunette locks, her squinted, deep brown eyes always sparkling with mischief, her hearty chuckle accented with the most endearing rasp...everything about her was intoxicating to me. And here I stood, about to realize an encounter that teenage girls everywhere only dream of.