The relief I felt when I locked my front door saddened me. Once upon a time, I’d been able to go for a run without worry, without even thinking about stalkers and bodyguards.

After setting and double-checking my alarm, I ran up the stairs, aching with anticipation. The only thing better than a good clarifying run was the hot shower afterward. I loved the water pressure in this place. Hotel room after hotel room had taught me to appreciate little things like that. This rental was magnificent, as far as that went.

A tune came to me in the shower, harmonizing with the chords I had dreamed up earlier. Lyrics floated in here and there, disjointed and meaningless. I captured them as they came, trying them on like shoes.

“Handed down hand-me-downs… Marker tattoos on plastic ponies… Hm, hm, hm…”

Lacey was on my mind, and had been since I took my barefoot break earlier. Growing up, I always sort of assumed that she would be the rock star. She had a way of taking the most mundane things and making magic out of them.

We had never been desperately poor, but we were definitely familiar with little penny-pinching measures. Hand-me-down clothes a decade out of style, breaking open the toothpaste to scrape the last of it off the insides, rinsing the dish-soap bottle with water until there were no more bubbles. It had made me anxious. It had made Lacey creative.

I still wasn’t entirely sure how I’d managed to get to where I was instead of her. She was just as talented as I was, maybe even more so. But drifting from one passion to another, she didn’t really seem to care. By now, three years younger than me at twenty-one, she had collected more skills and talents than I could keep track of. Paintings displayed in small-town galleries bore her scrawling signature. Her IMDB page listed three credits in small-time indie films.

Lacey’s talents weren’t limited to the arts, though that was where she excelled. She had taken a new job in a different industry every year from the age of sixteen, and learned them all thoroughly. Once there was nothing left to learn, she moved on. Spacey Lacey was her nickname, and she earned it. The more I thought about her, the more I wanted to talk to her. Somehow her chaos stabilized me, focused my attention.

Wrapped in a robe with my hair twisted into a towel, I punched her name in my phone.

“Hi, superstar,” she answered.

“That’s Paisley to you,” I said wryly.

“I saw you on that talk show thing last night. You look like hell, what’s wrong?”

“I do not! I saw the tape, I looked fine.” Didn’t I?

“Uh-huh. To the untrained eye, maybe. Or the unwashed masses, whatever. Seriously, what’s up?”

I’m a failure, I’m being stalked, and my manager thinks I need a babysitter.

“I’m having some issues with my new album,” I said instead as I spread moisturizer on my skin. “Serious writer’s block.”

“Of course you are,” Lacey said confidently.

“What do you mean, of course I am?” I demanded.

“Well, hell, Paisley, when’s the last time you did something crazy? Have you had an adventure recently?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she cut me off.

“Tours don’t count. They’re normal by now.”

Deflated, I stared at my toes and wiggled them. I could use a pedicure, I thought.

“It’s been a while,” I confessed.

“Mm-hm. And when was the last time you had more than two dates with the same person?”

I sighed sharply. “It’s not that easy.”

“How?” She laughed. “I’ve seen your artist page, Paisley. You literally have guys throwing themselves at you by the hundred, every single day.”

“Yeah, when I’m a fantasy,” I argued. “Do you know how hard this job is on a relationship? Nobody actually wants to date a celebrity.”

“Why not?” she asked, aghast. “I would. I can think of three right off the top of my head. Justin—”

“You think you want that,” I interrupted her, “but here’s the reality. Anybody who gets with me will have to suffer through my creative spells, when nothing matters but the music. My depressive spells, where nothing matters at all…”

“Easy. You’re not as hard to deal with as you think you are. A peanut-butter sandwich and some over-carameled coffee and you’re good to go.”

I laughed. It was nice to be known like that. My laughter quickly tapered off into a bitter sigh.

“I didn’t know it would be this lonely. I’ve tried, but…guys are generally jealous creatures. Me being sort of public property rubs them the wrong way. And if I have to go red carpeting when they want to stay inside and watch the game or something, it’s a fight. And if I just let them slouch and go on my own, it’s a fight.”

“How? They get what they want, you go to work. What’s the problem?”

“I guess they expect me to blow off an A-list invitation to wear sweats and crumb up the couch.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought.

“Seriously?”

“Two out of three times. The rest of them just wait until I’m about to go on tour before they get irrational. I don’t have time to build up any kind of trust before I take off, so they bite their nails at the thought of me being around all my adoring fans, and preemptively break up with me. Like I’m too weak and needy to avoid strange men while I’m working. Oh, and the ones that don’t care? They’re all after my money, or think I’m going to be their fast track to fame.”

“Okay, easy fix,” Lacey said reasonably. “Just date another A-list celebrity.”

“I don’t have room,” I said.

“What? You have like six rooms, I’ve seen them.”

“You need a minimum of eight for all that ego,” I told her with an evil grin.

Her laughter bubbling over the line tugged at my heart. God, I wanted to go home. I just wished I knew where home was.

My parents had relocated since I moved out, into a large comfortable farmhouse. That didn’t bother me. I bought it for them, after all. But it didn’t feel like home anymore. Neither did the road, or this rental, or anything.

“I feel lost,” I told Lacey quietly. “I’m not just stuck on this album; I’m stuck all over. I don’t even know what to do about it.”

“Throw a couple planks down, hammer ’em in, and throw it in reverse,” she said.

“My life is not a truck,” I laughed at her.

“Same basic principle,” she said.

I could hear the shrug in her voice.

“You’re going to have to break that down for me.”

“Okay, so you need something to hold onto. I suggest a man. Even a temporary man. Someone to get you outside yourself. Then back it up. Pull back from the tours and the albums and everything that goes with it, crawl back the way you came until you hit solid ground.”

“Then what?” I asked, amused by the analogy.

“Gun it.”

“Well when you put it like that, it seems almost doable,” I said with a smile.

“Of course it’s doable. Now what else is bothering you?”

“Who says anything is bothering me?”

“I do,” she said cockily.

I never had been able to keep anything from her. She had the sharp eyes and quick mind of a youngest child, one who had spent her entire childhood eavesdropping for the good stuff.

“It’s Jude,” I sighed. “He’s all paranoid about me being out here all by myself. He had a bodyguard call me today with no warning, completely out of the blue. Guy tried to convince me that I needed him, and made me all paranoid. I couldn’t even enjoy my run properly.”

A long moment of silence answered me, and I looked at the screen to make sure I hadn’t dropped the call.

“Lacey?”

“I’m here,” she sighed. “It’s just… I know you want me to sympathize.”

“But?”

“But… And don’t get me wrong. You’re my big sister, of course I want to believe that you’re invincible.”

“But…?” I prompted again, impatiently.

“Well, it’s just that I keep an eye on your pages and stuff. So do Mom and Dad. You get a new creep every day, and tons of guys who may or may not fall on the creep scale. Every time you’re on TV, Dad has to take blood-pressure meds. Think about it for a second, Paisley. You’re a gorgeous twenty-four-year-old with a killer voice and a bangin’ bod. Your songs have people falling in love with you before they even see you.”

“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” I asked uncomfortably.

“Sure, but think about it. If anybody isn’t safe out in the middle of nowhere, alone, it’s you.”

“I’m not in the middle of nowhere,” I argued. “I can see the Memphis light pollution from my bedroom.”

“Awesome. That’ll give the stalkers light to see by,” she said sarcastically.

“Come on, Lacey,” I said plaintively. “Would you want some big hulking dolt following you around everywhere?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Which is exactly why I use my initials on my art and stick to indie films. Last thing I want is to worry about people watching me all the time.”

“Then you understand,” I breathed, relieved.

“Sure, I understand. That doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

“What?”

“I am deliberately out of the spotlight, Pais. You are firmly in the center of it. The rules change when you hit that level of fame.”

I sighed heavily. She had a point. They all did. But I couldn’t make myself believe it, not yet. I wanted—needed—just a little bit more time with myself before I bit that bullet. Once I had personal security, it was official. I was no longer my own person; I was the property of the masses.

“You could avoid it, though,” she said thoughtfully.

“How?” I asked, eager for an alternative.

“Get yourself a boyfriend. A big, scary boyfriend who will go with you everywhere and act as a sort of bodyguard stand-in, one that you’ll actually want to be around.”

“Is that your answer for everything?” I asked her affectionately.

“Hey, never underestimate the power of a good man in your life. Seriously.”

“You talk like you know. So what’s your love life like right now?”

“Oh, you know what? I hear my paints calling. Gotta go.”

“Don’t you dare,” I laughed. “I gave you mine, now give me yours.”

“Sorry! They won’t be ignored! Call me later. Love you!”

She ended the call with a smack of her lips, and I blew a kiss back against the black screen. Talking to Lacey had made me feel better while she was on the phone. Now that she was gone, I was alone again, in a house that had gone dark with the sunset while I sat in the bathroom. My bedroom was just down the hallway, but so was the light switch.

“I should have used the master bath,” I sighed at myself.

Heart pounding, I scuttled through the hallway as fast as I could, ducked into my room and flicked on the light, slamming the door behind me.

“Stupid,” I muttered. “You are way too old to be afraid of the dark.”

But I was afraid. The dark, the big empty house, the big empty bed. This life that I had carved for myself was full of space, all of it empty and cold. I never considered that achieving stardom would pare down my dating options so dramatically, or make sleeping beside someone such a far-off, fanciful dream.

I curled up in my mountain of pillows and hugged one to my chest. The heavy, lingering sadness pressed me deep into the mattress. The thick comforter wasn’t nearly enough to warm my chilled heart.

I fell asleep with tears on my pillow.