“You know, normal moms try to get their daughters to dress less sluttily,” I pointed out to her the last time I asked her why I couldn’t perform in some less revealing clothes. Like maybe the cool cargo pants Fergie wears. Or the black pants and pretty dresses Kelly Clarkson gets to rock out in. But Mom just laughs.

“We’ve never been normal, Star,” she says, wrinkling her nose like normal is a bad word. “You know that. You have to look perfect. You have to be perfect, Star.”

“All I really want is you,” I sing as I dance onto the stage, shielding my eyes for a moment against the glare of the spotlight and waving to the packed arena. A giant roar rises from the crowd again. Just as I hit the third line of the first verse, blindingly bright white fireworks shoot off from each end of the stage, and the audience collectively gasps. Two giant video monitors rise behind the band, and scenes from the video shoot for “You’re the One” start pulsating to the tempo of the song.

I belt out the chorus. Kick-step. Kick-step. Shake butt. Jump-turn. Stage-wink at boy in audience. Kick-step. “Even if you’ll never love me. You’re the one, you’re the one. And it’s breaking my heart to know.”

The lights dim slightly, more pyrotechnic flashes explode in time with the music, and the crowd screams at the top of their lungs.

While the band finishes the song and the crowd roars, I close my eyes for a second and breathe deeply, taking it all in. “Thank you all so much!” I yell into my microphone. “You’re a great crowd! I love . . . New York!” Another roar rises from the crowd, none of whom noticed, apparently, that I almost forgot where we are.

In the past seven days, we’ve played Philadelphia, D.C., Pittsburgh, Boston and now here, New York, the last stop of a thirty-city tour. It’s really hard to keep track of where we are. I live in constant fear that I’ll one day yell out the wrong city name and the audience will stare at me, like What’s her problem?

But as my on-tour psychologist says, I probably worry too much about what other people think anyhow. And yes, I have an on-tour psychologist. Just one of Mom’s many brilliant ideas.