“But how am I going to do that?” I protest. “What, just walk in and go, ‘Hi, Dad, remember me?’”

“It’s what you came here for, isn’t it?” Nick asks.

I shrug. “I guess so.”

“Then you have to do it,” he says. “Or you’ll regret it. He’s your dad, Amanda. And if he’s been writing to you for the last six years, he still loves you. He’ll want to meet you.”

“I guess you’re right.” After all, what point is there in this whole thing if I don’t approach my dad and tell him who I am?

“Amanda?” Nick asks after a minute. “What did you mean a minute ago when you said your dad had seen you all the time in pictures since you were a kid?”

I don’t know what to tell him.

“Was your mom sending him pictures or something?”

I hesitate. I could say yes and avoid the whole issue. But I realize I don’t want to.

“No,” I say slowly. “He could have seen me anytime. On TV. In magazines. Wherever.”

“What?” Nick asks, obviously thoroughly confused.

“This isn’t what I usually look like,” I explain, watching Nick’s face. There’s still no glint of recognition. “I had to change my look to come here or people would have recognized me.”

“Who?” he asks, looking concerned and confused. “Who would have recognized you?”

I think about stopping here. I think about smiling and saying I was just kidding. After all, I’ve done such a good job of blending in. I’ve been so good about being the real me by taking on a fake identity. I almost don’t want to give it up.

But I want Nick to know who I am. I don’t know why. It just feels important.

“Everyone,” I finally say. “Nick. Imagine me without the glasses.” I take off my glasses and look at him. He’s still staring at me in confusion.

“Imagine me with more makeup on.”

Still nothing.

“Imagine me with red hair,” I say. He looks at me blankly.

“Long, curly red hair,” I prompt, waiting for the spark of recognition.

Instead, he’s still just staring at me. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says finally. “I think you’re pretty the way you are, Amanda.”

“My name isn’t Amanda,” I say softly. “Not anymore.”

“What?”

“Nick,” I say. “I’m Star Beck.”

Chapter 17

You don’t see me crying, do ya?
You don’t see me walking away.
I’m here now.
I’m here now.
I’m here to stay, to stay, to stay (hey, hey).

—“I’M HERE,” STAR BECK
ALBUM: STAR LIGHT

Chapter 17