“Girlfriend?” Bev asks, turning to look at me again. I don’t think it’s my imagination that her face doesn’t look quite as sympathetic as it did a moment ago.

I open my mouth to protest, but Jesse puts an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you don’t know that the press calls us pop music’s prince and princess!”

Nick’s eyes flash. He turns and strides quickly out of the kitchen.

“Wait! Nick!” I call after him. But he doesn’t turn back. I start to go after him, but Jesse grabs my arm.

“Let him go, Star,” he says softly. “The media’s out there. It’ll just create a scene.”

My heart sinks. I stand there for a moment, looking in the direction Nick disappeared and feeling hopeless. Everything feels like it’s unraveling.

“Jesse, what are you doing here?” I demand, finally turning to him. “And why did you have to do that whole girlfriend thing? I really like that guy who just stormed out of here!”

I glance at Bev, who’s looking at me as if I’ve sprouted another head. “I really like Nick,” I say, turning to her. “And I swear, Jesse Bishop is not my boyfriend. In fact,” I say, turning back to Jesse and glaring at him, “I kind of hate his guts right now.”

“I see,” Bev says slowly. “Well. I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“But Bev . . .,” I say, hating that she’s about to walk away without giving me a chance to explain.

“We’ll talk later,” she says, shooting me a look. She turns to walk out of the kitchen. “Max!” she calls over her shoulder as she goes. Shooting me one last look, the cook drops his spatula and scampers after her too. Jesse and I are alone.

“Jesse,” I say after a moment. He’s standing there smiling proudly at me. But I know him well enough to be able to read the guilt in his eyes too. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Aw, Star, you don’t belong here,” he says. “You don’t want to be normal.” He reaches out and tries to take my hands in his, but I yank them away and glare at him. “Fine,” he says. “Be that way.”

“Jesse,” I say. I don’t even know where to begin. “I like being normal.”

“Oh come on, Star,” Jesse says with a laugh. “You’re going to tell me you want to be a waitress instead of a pop star, and date some guy whose parents own a restaurant?”

I stiffen.

“What’s so wrong with that?” I ask.

Jesse laughs.

“For God’s sake, Star, what’s in this pizza sauce?” he asks, gesturing to an uncooked pizza sitting out on the counter. “Crack? Did you forget who you really are?”

“Jesse,” I say. “Maybe this is who I really am.”