I am standing next to Britney Spears. Close enough to see the whites of her eyes, and the whites of her teeth, which are even whiter. She is dressed in what might be termed Britney Casual: baseball cap, teeny T, and a pair of low-slung, hip-hugging jeans which, if they were slung much lower, would be hugging her knees. Every now and then, Britney gives her waistband a little tug upwards, as if not quite at ease with the exposure. But then, during a lapse of concentration, she hooks her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans, and for a brief, tantalizing moment, her plunging waistline plunges dangerously, dangerously low …

Ahem.

Strictly speaking, this day isn’t about Britney Spears, nor even about her hip-huggers. We are at Camp Wingate-Kirkland, in Yarmouth, to watch 125 kids, ages 11 to 15, perform the acts they have learned while attending the Britney Spears Camp for the Performing Arts. There has been little in the way of potholder-making at Camp Britney. For the past 10 days, the kids here have undergone an intensive showbiz training regimen — song-and-dance numbers, spoken-word routines. Tonight’s show will mark the culmination of that training, and anticipation crackles in the air, not least because the 20-year-old pop diva herself will be in attendance. These kids, as they never tire of saying, love Britney.

It’s not every day that Britney Spears finds herself in the middle of a Cape Cod forest, and no one is taking any chances. There are strips of tape demarcating no-go areas, armed police wandering the trails. As my girlfriend and I roam the camp in the hours before Britney arrives, we are continually approached by people asking if they can "help" us (i.e., "What the hell are you doing here?") It’s a good question: what are we doing here? Well, we are here to see Her. And we’re not the only ones. When a black, Britney-bearing limo glides into the camp, cries of shrill delight echo through the pines.

I’m sure there are people who can hang out with Britney and be normal. There must be people who can say, "Britney, grab me a soda!" and "Britney, want to catch a movie?" Her large bodyguard, three cell phones clipped to his belt, certainly seems unfazed by the singer’s presence, as does her ponytailed assistant and various other members of the Britney retinue. And then there’s the mosquito which, during a press conference, buzzes about Britney’s head for a while before — in search of more substantial fare, perhaps — flittering away. If only it had known.

Earlier this year, Fortune magazine named Britney Spears America’s most powerful celebrity. Watching her here today, chatting, smiling at a couple of toddlers playing at her feet, it’s hard to imagine why. In truth, Britney seems no more remarkable than any lovely young woman you might encounter at any mall in America — or at this camp, for that matter. But celebrity fuels itself, and it becomes all the more remarkable to watch her being so normal, so much like us. Which may explain why the British tabloid the Sun recently published a photograph of Britney leaving a store with a tube of Crazy Glue in her hand.

As showtime approaches, parents of the kids start milling through the camp. The police presence is kicked up, and staffers skitter about with renewed urgency. The question, it becomes clear, is how to keep people away from Britney. As the singer emerges from her cabin, you can hear the swoosh of a hundred video cameras swinging around to face her. And, despite a cordon of police and bodyguards, the crowd swarms Britney-wards with alarming vigor. It’s like the evacuation of Saigon. And Britney cannot get away from this. She cannot even buy a tube of glue without someone sticking a camera in her face. Despite the $34 million she reportedly earned last year, the life of Britney must be a strain.

But the kids up on the stage don’t know that. As they perform, they gaze down on their idol with unadulterated longing. And when she joins them to sing a song, the sense of barely contained chaos returns. But the singer is indulgent. She answers questions, poses for photographs, and smiles her patented Britney smile (those teeth). And then she has gone. The kids say their goodbyes, the parents’ SUVs lurch out of the parking lot, and the crick-crick-crick of crickets fills the air. The camp’s small lake, before which Britney Spears had stood a few hours earlier, reflects the star-filled sky without a single ripple.