“Okay, now you’re being overdramatic,” she says. “This is all you’ve ever known. You’re Star Beck. We’re going to put this behind us and move on, just like we always have.”

“No,” I say. I take a deep breath. “This is different. This is the final straw. I don’t even know how often you’ve lied to me. The Jack and Jill shoe thing? The Melonball soda thing? The nose job? Letting the Dial reporter listen in on our lunch without telling me? Those things are all true too, aren’t they?”

Mom blanches. “But everything I do is for your own good, sweetheart,” she says, not denying any of it. Her voice suddenly sounds pleading, whiny. “You have to understand that.”

“I’m done.” I take one last look at her. She’s staring at me in surprise. I know I’ve said everything I need to say.

I’m so mad that I can’t even stand looking at her anymore.

“Done with what?” she screeches as I walk away. “What are you saying? You can’t mean this! Your life is—”

I slam the door to the suite behind me, and her voice, thankfully, disappears. I close my eyes and take a breath. I realize suddenly that I have nowhere to go. The lobby is probably still filled with my fans. I can’t go two feet outside the hotel without someone recognizing me. And I’m sure not going back to my mom with my tail between my legs.

Great. That leaves me what? The hallway? I can’t pace the hallway forever. Besides, eventually, Mom will come looking for me. And she’s the last person in the world I want to see.

I stand there for a moment, feeling completely displaced. I bang my head against the wall in frustration a few times. Then, with my forehead aching, I suddenly realize where I’ll go.

“Well, come in, kiddo,” Ben says, holding his hotel room door open for me. “I was just about to go work out.” He’s wearing a faded gray Beatles T-shirt with a hole just under his right armpit and a pair of black workout pants with a white stripe down each side.

“Oh,” I say, and hesitate in the doorway. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“I hate working out anyhow,” he says with a shrug. “Lifting weights is boring. And I actually fell off the treadmill last week because I was so busy watching The Office that I didn’t notice when the speed changed.”

I laugh even though I’m miserable.

“So actually,” he concludes, “you’re pretty much saving me from myself. What’s up, Star? You okay? Come on in.”

I follow Ben inside. The two beds and the chair are covered with clothes and shoes and guitar strings and general Ben stuff.

Ben swipes a giant pile of clothes off the edge of each bed. “Have a seat.”