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Chapters (28)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Epilogue
  27. About the Author
  28. Copyright Page

When I get back to my dressing room, my grumbling stomach and I are a little disappointed to see only a basket of fruit, a veggie tray and six diet sodas. Not that this should be a surprise. A few years ago, when I’d toured with the boy band Six Degrees of Separation, those guys had a dressing room filled with candy bars, chips, sandwiches and every kind of soda you could imagine. But noooooo. Not my dressing room. Mom always makes sure to explicitly request that my dressing room at each venue be stocked only with “healthy, calorie-conscious options.” Yuck.

“You don’t want to get tubby,” my mom says, as if reading my hungry mind, coming into the room behind me, dressed in a flowy white designer dress, her blond hair done up in a tight twist and her makeup thick and dark. She kisses me on the cheek and then swats me lightly on the butt. “No one likes a fat pop star,” she adds cheerfully.

“Right,” I mutter. I reach resignedly for a celery stick and a can of Diet Sprite.

Yeah. As if a few M&Ms would make me fat after I’ve spent almost two hours dancing under 120-degree klieg lights. But I live in a diet dictatorship run by my mom.

“Off to bed within an hour, Star,” she says sternly after I’ve eaten three more celery sticks, a carrot and a piece of cauliflower. Did I mention she threw out the ranch dip too? Seriously, I can see it in the trash can. She can be really cruel sometimes. “You have your date with Jesse tomorrow. You want to be on.”

“Yeah,” I say glumly. “Heaven forbid everything not be perfect.”

Chapter 2

Seems like everything’s
the same with you and me,
Locked in a game, days on end.
I look around,
I look around,
We’re picture perfect, baby,
yeah, yeah, yeah.

—“PICTURE PERFECT BABY,” STAR BECK
ALBUM: THIS LIFE

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Chapter 2

I love my mom, but we don’t exactly have a typical mother-daughter relationship. Most sixteen-year-olds work a part-time job or get an allowance from their parents. I work full-time while my mom sits around in spas and hotel suites and lawyers’ offices all day. She controls me and my money because I’m only a minor and she’s my guardian.