Zach’s face brightens, and he looks thrilled to have been asked something he can answer.

“Yep!” He beams. “We’ve gotten a ton of requests for her stuff lately.” He lowers his voice and leans forward, like he’s about to tell me a secret. “Do you really think she’s in rehab?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I say as casually as possible.

“Yeah, it’s probably just a publicity stunt. Celebrities can never get enough attention.”

“Um . . . right,” I agree.

“Anyhow,” Zach continues, “Mr. Mecham always keeps a good amount of her sheet music in stock.”

My heart skips a bit at this. “Why?” I ask tentatively. Zach looks at me like I’ve sprouted a third eyeball. Because he loves her, I imagine Zach saying.

“Duh,” he says instead. “Because she’s so popular?”

“Oh,” I say dumbly. “Right. Of course.” Don’t be stupid, I chide myself as Zach leads me to the pop music section. It’s not like your dad goes around announcing who his long-lost daughter is. That would be weird.

As we round the row of pop music scores, Zach gestures to a bin of sheet music labeled STAR BECK in big, bold letters. I gulp back a lump in my throat and squeak out a thank-you to Zach who finally, thankfully, gets the hint and walks away.

I turn to face the stack of Star Beck music, my music, which makes me feel better than anything else since I ran away. It means my dad has never stopped thinking about me.

“I totally love her, don’t you?” The voice snaps me out of my daze. I turn my head to stare at the girl next to me, who looks like she’s about twelve. Her hair is up in twin French braids, and she’s in a maroon plaid skirt and a white oxford shirt with the name ST. RAPHAEL’S embroidered over the right breast pocket.

“What?” I ask in confusion, not even sure that she’s talking to me.

“Star Beck,” she says excitedly, gesturing to the sheet music I’m holding dreamily in my hands. “I totally love her. Don’t you?”