Justin Bieber - Justin Bieber: First Step 2 Forever: My Story

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How can I begin to thank you for making this journey possible? Every one of you is My Favorite Girl for a different reason, because each of you is special in your own way. Everywhere I go, whatever I do, I try to connect with as many of you as possible. If youre up front at a concert, I might reach out and hold your hand. If you show up outside the arena after the show, you might get soaked in one of our epic water fights. You might just be talking to your friends on Twitter saying you have a one-in-a-million chance of reaching me and now Im following you. My dreams used to be a one-in-a-million chance as well, but as I said in the song, never say never. I never forget that none of this would have happened without you. Thats why I want to share this story with you: so you can experience the journey with me, all the highs and lows, the laughter and the tears. You were there from the beginning. Now, as you see what I saw and feel what I felt, I hope youll believe that big dreams really can come true. Im living mine every day. Thanks to you.

LUV YAH, JUSTIN

R olling into the XL Center, I feel like I ought to have skates on my feet.

Hey! I elbow my grandpa in the ribs. Cant you just smell the hockey?

He laughs. Oh, yeah.

In less than forty hours, the XL Center will be jammed to the rafters with almost twenty thousand screaming fans, but right now the venue is just begging for a Zamboni.

A Zamboni is that huge tank-like thing they drive around to even out the ice during halftime at a hockey game. It melts the top layer, which almost immediately refreezes as smooth as glass. But I cant believe I have to describe what a Zamboni is. Its like describing something youve known since the day you were born.

A lot can change in three years... its unreal

Being a Canadian, hockey is our thing. We have it in our blood.

Sometimes they let a celebrity guest a war hero, beauty-pageant winner, local news anchor, or whatever ride in the Zamboni. And, until three years ago, that was my definition of celebrity: somebody who gets to ride around in the Zamboni. My definition of a rock star was somebody who gets to ride around in a tour bus.

A lot can change in three years.

When I was twelve, my manager, Scott Scooter Braun, saw a YouTube video of me performing in a local talent show. When I was fourteen, we joined forces with the recording artist Usher, who was not only one of my heroes but helped introduce me to the world. A few months after my fifteenth birthday, my first single dropped. Now Im sixteen and about to launch my first tour as a headliner.

ITS UNREAL.

The My World Tour will hit eighty-five cities in the US and Canada connecting with almost two million fans all in less than six months. My backup singers, Legaci, my dancers, band and a huge crew are all on the ride with me. It takes eight buses and a whole fleet of eighteen-wheelers to move all the people and equipment.

WOW!

The My World Tour will hit eighty-five cities connecting with almost two million fans all in less than six months

I make my way across the bus garage with my grandparents, Bruce and Diane Dale, and Kenny Hamilton, personal security ninja and frequent victim of my Xbox 360 powers of annihilation. My mom, Pattie Mallette, teeters along behind us, rocking skinny jeans and high heels. Mom is a trip and she sacrificed everything for me.

Scooter has already been at the venue for hours, shooting hoops with the roadies and backup dancers between frantic cellphone calls. Scooters the mastermind behind the operation and he and the team wrestle all the details into place: media stuff, like interviews and photo requests; logistical stuff, like whos going where in which bus; and of course crucial life-dependent matters, like making sure I dont eat any pizza the day of the show (singers arent supposed to have dairy before a show, but we all know Im a rule breaker. Pizza is just so good!). Scooters always strategizing he treats life like chess, always eight moves ahead. The dudes a beast.

With a quick fist bump wassup to Kenny and hugs for me and Mom, he leads us through the backstage catacombs to the arena where the tour riggers are craning in a huge steel-framed hot air balloon basket.

Nice. Kenny and I nod our approval.

This thing is designed to fly me out over the crowd during the song Up, starting upstage about thirty feet in the air, then floating out over their heads, gliding on waves of energy and noise, dipping not quite low enough for them to touch, but close enough for me to see all those beautiful faces. I really hope my fans are gonna go crazy when they see it. But then the gondola makes a noise like a Chevy grinding through a guardrail. It lurches to a halt. Jerks to the left. Wobbles to the right.

Im like, Whoa, dude! Thats not supposed to happen.

High in the catwalks, the fly riggers debate back and forth on their walkie-talkies in hushed voices. Not cool. But, just when I start to experience some talkback from the big breakfast in my stomach, I feel a reassuring arm around my shoulders. Scooters girlfriend, Carin, is standing beside me. Carin is helping out on tour but really she is here to help me and Scooter navigate this crazy time in our lives. Shes a major part of our support system, and always has my well-being at the front of her mind.

Dont worry, she says. Itll be cool. Safety comes way before special effects. You know that.

Yeah, I know, I tell her. But I dont want to have to cut any of the tricks. The show is so awesome. I just want it to go perfect.

It will, says Mom. Its going to be amazing.

Totally amazing, Carin agrees. Look. I think theyve got it.

The steel gondola recovers its balance, soaring smoothly again, along with music from the soundboard.