“Hon,” she says, peering at me closely. I don’t think I’m imagining the suspicion in her eyes as she looks at me. “It’s the middle of the night. There ain’t no tickets to Florida ’til morning. Besides, you got to get a bus to Tampa. It’s the closest stop we got. Don’t no buses go direct to St. Pete. First Tampa bus is at seven a.m., but it’s already sold out. Next bus ain’t till noon.”

I may have planned this poorly. The longer I stay here, the greater the chance I’ll get caught. Even though I’ve disguised myself, it’s not like I’ve brought along an invisibility cloak. Someone is sure to recognize me if they realize they’re supposed to be looking. I need to get out of New York as soon as possible.

“Is there, um, any bus leaving tonight?” I ask nervously.

“One,” she says. “The early-morning to Charlotte, North Carolina. Leaves in fifteen minutes, though. You want in? It gets in at seven-ten p.m. tomorrow. You can catch a direct bus to Tampa from there.”

“Yes, yes, please,” I say hurriedly. I hand her two fifties and a ten for the $101 fare, and she hands me a bus ticket and my change.

It isn’t until I’m putting my change back in my wallet and the agent has returned to her reading that I notice she’s flipping through last month’s Glamour magazine. The one with me on the cover.

A warm glow spreads through me as I realize she hasn’t had even a flash of recognition, hasn’t batted an eyelash at this strange, orangey-blond-haired girl in front of her, even though her nose is now buried in a magazine full of pictures of Star Beck.

For the first time, I realize that it’s very possible I can get away with this after all.

The bus is dark and dingy. As we pull away from the station, I slouch down in my seat and try to stop my heart from pounding so hard. I turn and watch as the brightly lit buildings of New York’s skyline, punctuated by the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, disappear behind us.

As the bus rolls on, heading south, no one else on board even glances at me. For once in my life, I’m anonymous. No paparazzi. No fans. No stares or whispers. I’ve done it. I’ve escaped. No one has followed me. No one knows. No one is looking at me, wondering if I’m Star Beck. I’m just a girl in a ball cap with weird hair, headed to Charlotte.

Who knew it would be so easy to disappear, identityless, into the night?

And finally, as the vibrations of the bus course through me and the other passengers gradually sink into silence, I fall into a troubled sleep.