“Star Beck hadn’t been seen since last Wednesday, a week ago today,” says the solemn-looking reporter for the local NBC affiliate on the eleven o’clock news. She’s standing outside D’Angelo’s, talking live to the anchors, and there’s a sea of media behind her. “Her mother, Laura Beck, insisted that Star was in seclusion, recuperating after her tour, and most reports had her in rehab at Lovesdale, in upstate New York. But tonight, in a strange turn of events, Jesse Bishop, Star’s longtime boyfriend, found her, disguised with glasses and a short blond bob, working at D’Angelo’s Ristorante on Fourth Street in St. Petersburg.”

Footage of my shocked reaction in the kitchen begins to roll, and I switch rapidly to another channel.

“No one knows why Beck, a two-time Grammy winner, would run away and disguise herself . . .,” the reporter on ABC is saying. I flip again.

“Who would have thought she’d wind up in the Tampa Bay area?” the reporter on CBS is saying. I flip back to NBC and see Jesse outside the restaurant with a bank of mics stuck in his face.

“I just love her so much,” he’s saying. “And I’m so relieved to have found her safe and sound.”

I groan and turn off the television. I flip on the radio, but of course the deejays are talking about me too, so I turn it off. Well, so much for anonymity. At least no one seems to know I’m staying at the restaurant. It’s probably only a matter of time before Jesse figures that out and blabs it to the media too.

I try calling my father, but no one picks up. I leave a message asking him to call me, no matter what time it is, as soon as he gets the message.

I call Nick’s cell, and he doesn’t answer. So I wait another five minutes and call him again. Still no answer. It’s not until I’ve dialed his number eleven times (okay, so perhaps I’m bordering on stalkerish here) that he finally picks up.

“Nick!” I blurt out before he can hang up. “Don’t hang up.”

His voice sounds weary. “Look, I really don’t want to talk right now. Don’t you have Jesse Bishop to make out with?”

“Come on. I’m not dating Jesse. I promise. I’m furious that he came here and did this.”

“I want to believe you, but that’s a little hard when you two are plastered all over the news kissing.”

“I swear I’m telling you the truth,” I plead.

“Like you did when you said your name was Amanda? And made yourself out to be just an average person?” Nick asks.

I blink back tears. “That was different,” I say softly. “And I told you the truth about that.”