Hark! The tape. The guys are watching themselves and having a good hard guffaw. They congratulate each other on hitting notes, and clench fists in pride. "I thought the dancing was good!" Jacob cheers. "But those harmonies...I blew that my first time singing." Everyone laughs, and I actually appreciate his modesty. Ikaika chips in that he didn't feel connected to the real reason for being in O-Town until he got onstage in front of the fans. "People are screaming and they don't even know me!" Ikaika marvels. Maybe they're screaming because they don't know him. Jay enjoys their celebration; then, like the bitter and weedy little snipe he is, ruins the fun by telling them it'll be wildly different when they see the video through the staff's eyes. "I saw some minor detail mistakes," Ikaika says mildly, and Jay acts surprised that he didn't notice anything more lethal. Jacob defends them by pointing out that it's their first time, after just two weeks as five. "Visually, the dancing was tight compared to what we've been putting out in that rehearsal room," Erik says. Bryan Chan calls the studio. "I thought I warned you not to put out in the rehearsal room!" he scolds Erik. TyJuan, standing outside the studio door, tells the camera he's pretty certain the guys will confuse a cheering crowd with a good, technically polished show. "That high will be killed once the professionals come in and tell them what's wrong with the show," TyJuan grins. He pretends it's a hassle, but I think he digs taking overconfident, under-talented nitwits down a few pegs.
Back at their O-bode, Jacob's lying shirtless in bed. Trevor's under the covers, with an actual flesh-and-blood female -- so, not the inflatable variety -- sitting next to him. It's Trev's friend Amy, who's appeared out of nowhere. Hi, nice to meet you, you're not scandalous, get out. "That was the worst singing I've heard in my life from myself," Jacob laughs. "But as a whole I was pleased, and that's a hard thing to say." Trevor comments that the performance was the first time he felt 100% part of a band. "From twenty-five to eight living in the house, to the first performance as the five in costume with an audience," Jacob says, tracing their progress. "But the performance that really matters is Friday." We see five stools on a dim stage, looking out in to a pitch-black crowd with just a few stage lights reflecting eerily. This performance, Jacob says, is in front of a bunch of record executives who'll be tougher judges than middle-school girls. In theory.