“Maybe,” Nick says. “But I think that at least part of it is that she didn’t want you getting hurt. And even though her priorities are screwed up, she does care about what happens to you.”

“How would you know that?” I ask.

“I don’t think anyone can fake being that upset or that sorry,” he says. I look at him questioningly. “In the press conference she gave this morning, I mean.”

“She gave a press conference this morning?”

“Yeah,” Nick says. He looks at me. “You didn’t hear about it?” I shake my head and Nick continues. “She was crying in front of all the cameras, and she said she had screwed up. She said she loved you and that she had made a ton of mistakes with you.”

“She did?” I’m incredulous. I can’t imagine my mother admitting she’s wrong about anything. Especially in public. Nick looks at his watch and stands up, pulling me with him.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I bet we can catch it on the news at noon if we hurry. It starts in fifteen minutes.”

We jog into a burger joint near the park at 11:58, and Nick orders two Cokes and asks the bartender to change the TV to channel eight, the local NBC station.

“Star Beck’s mother apologized to her daughter in a tearful press conference this morning,” the female anchor says after the newscast starts. Nick asks the bartender to turn the TV up a bit. He does so and glances at the TV, which is showing a picture of me while a reporter in the field recaps the fact that I was found last night in St. Petersburg and that I’ve disguised myself with short blond hair, a Dodgers cap and glasses.

The bartender looks back at me. I’m not wearing the glasses, but still, he does a double take. “Hey, you aren’t Star Beck, are you?”

I nod.

“Holy crap,” he says, his eyes widening. “Dude. Can I have your autograph? No one will believe me.”

I nod and distractedly scribble my name on a cocktail napkin while on-screen, the reporter finally calls up video from the press conference this morning.

My mom is standing outside the Hilton a few blocks from here, wearing the same rumpled clothes she was in last night when she materialized at my door.

“It’s all my fault,” she says, tears flowing down her face. I stare in disbelief. I’ve never seen her cry. “I’ve tried to be a good mother, but I haven’t always been. I’ve been selfish and mean, and I haven’t let Star be herself. I’ve tried to control her.”

“Oh my God,” I murmur to Nick. He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. On the TV, my mom continues.