“No. She’s going to tell Chloe. I know she will. Usually they’re conjoined at the hip.”

“Maybe she isn’t as bad as you think.”

I snort. “Yeah, and Darien Freeman can act. Which reminds me that I have to write a new blog post.”

“About Darien’s acting skills?”

“His inability to stay out of trouble,” I reply. “He and Frank have that in common. You move your fat butt from that cushion ever again and you’re going in a fritter, you hear me, Frank? A fritter.”

“That wouldn’t be very vegan,” Sage mutters, but then she flashes a grin. “Hey, maybe you should text that guy your blog.”

“Dream on!” I’ve had that blog since practically before I knew how to spell. The very thought of Car reading it is mortifying. “Besides, he works so much, he doesn’t have time to read my silly little blog.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sage sweeps the jacket over her shoulders to wear like a cape. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

“YOU’RE RIGHT. WHOEVER’S WRITING THOSE BLOG posts has a serious crush on you.” Jess hands me back my phone as we pull into the hotel. Three scheduled “dates”—i.e., us eating food in the same restaurant to the soundtrack of camera flashes—down, one more to go.

I ease us into the carport. “I think you mean has a serious vendetta against me.”

Jess makes a tsking sound. “No one is that vicious without some feeling behind it,” she says. “And I think she has some fair points. I mean, it’s not like she’s one of those white dudes saying you just got cast because you’re not white.”

“One, that’s ridiculous. And two, if they even watched the show, they’d know that—wait, how do you know it’s a she?”

Jess arches an eyebrow. “Seriously? Read it again. I’m totally right.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But no one should be that vicious, period. She’s like a Dalek with a blacklist. Absolutely relentless.”

I open the passenger door for her and toss the keys to Lonny, who’s squeezing himself into the driver’s seat to go park. I wrap my arm around Jess’s waist and start for the hotel lobby, paparazzi following like a swarm of bees. Between the constant barrage of flashbulbs and questions, I’d take my fans over this any day.

“Are you two dating?” a paparazzo barks at us.

“What’s she like? How about your old costar?”

“Jess! Hey, Jess! What about Carla? Cheating on her now?”

Jess falters a step, but I think only I can tell. Carla?

“How do you feel about the other girl he’s texting right under your nose?” someone else asks. I whirl around, but Jess yanks me by the arm to the end of the lobby, where they barrage us with questions at the elevator. After an eon, the doors open to reveal a strawberry blonde bouncing on her toes—Gail, because of course she can sniff out trouble like a bloodhound.

I corral Jess into the elevator as Lonny catches up, pushing through the paparazzi like butter.

“Dare!” Gail says, squeezing into the elevator with Lonny. He towers in the corner like a great imposing shadow. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. There’s messages at the front desk—”

I ignore her and turn to Jess. “Carla?”

Jess jabs the button to her floor, staring straight ahead into the shiny brass doors, her jaw set. “Please don’t ask. Please.”

“Darien.” Gail touches my elbow. She looks agitated. “There’s this guy calling you. He keeps leaving messages with the front desk.”

“A guy?” Jess asks. “What guy?”

Lonny tenses. “Is he a security threat?”

“An ex-boyfriend?” Jess adds.

“No, no,” Gail says. “It’s just someone talking about the con—”

The elevator doors ding open and I make a break down the hallway before Gail can answer. Jess and Lonny follow, but they don’t keep pace. Gail, however, does.

I swipe open my door with the magnetic key and faceplant onto my bed.

“Dare, I know you don’t want to handle this right now but—”

“Isn’t handling things your job?” I say into my pillow.

“You know what I mean.”

I roll over, staring at the popcorn ceiling. “Okay. Messages. What did they say?”

“Just that—” Gail falters, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Just that you should look out for him—whoever this guy is. At ExcelsiCon. And that you should want to talk to him.”

“That’s it?” I sit up. “Gail, honestly, it’s probably just this angry blogger. They’ve been posting for weeks about how terrible I am as Carmindor.”

“But how did he find the hotel?”

“Well…dunno,” I admit. “I mean, how did the fangirls find the set? These internet people are crazy. They’re probably swapping location info on Tumblr right now. Here.” I pull up Rebelgunner on my phone. “This is what I’m talking about. These people are pretty ruthless—well, Jess thinks this girl has a crush on me but—”

“Girl?” Gail looks up from the blog.

“Or guy,” I amend. “I mean, I don’t know who writes it. But I bet you they’re just some bitter fan with an ax to grind. So he’ll come and tell me off. Big deal.”

She hands back my phone. “So you don’t think it’s someone you know?”

I give her a blank look, waiting for her to clarify.

“You don’t think it’s Brian?”

I blink. I haven’t heard that name in months, too busy with training and the shoot and all of the tabloid stuff and…Elle. Elle helped me forget. “Nah. He wouldn’t dare show his face around here. Besides, what would he be doing in Atlanta?”

“You’re right,” she agrees quickly, and paces. “Well, maybe it’s best if you don’t do the contest. You’ll be right there with all those fans. Something can easily go wrong.””

“Wrong?” I echo. “Like what?”

“We don’t know who left those messages. It could be any crazy person. After what happened on the roof…we can beef up security. We can make sure you feel safe and—”

“I’ll be fine, Gail,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to be some aloof star in this fandom.”

“But this is your life, Darien.”

“You really think I’m in danger?”

She throws up her hands, turning on her heels to pace the other way—but then she stops and falls with a thunk onto the bed beside me. She heaves out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I should tell Mark—”

“No.”

Gail goes silent, and I study her. The way she fidgets with her hands, digging the dirt out from under her bitten fingernails. Her plaid shirt is half-untucked from the waistband of her washed-out boyfriend jeans, about as put together as she normally looks but she’s missing her earrings. Purple studs. She gets scatterbrained when she’s under pressure.

“What if this guy really wants to hurt you, Dare?” she asks softly. “You can’t be just a fan anymore.”

She’s right. I don’t know what these people are capable of. Jess’s joking about the blogger is all fun and games until one of those fans starts to use more than just words to hurt me. Who knows what the guy on the roof would do if he cornered me again. Take more than just a few bad photos?

I can’t take that risk. But I can’t avoid the con, either.

“Tell you what, Gee,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “Just double-check that I’m not doing anything one-on-one—no signings or anything. Okay?”

Gail nods. “Okay.”

“Perfect. See? Problem solved.”

Gail is silent for a moment and puts her head on my shoulder. “And if anyone does mess with you, they have to go through Lonny,” she says.

“I pity the fool,” I reply, trying to pretend like I’m not scared. She laughs and rolls her forehead against my shoulder. Just act like everything is okay. It’s my job. I should be brilliant at it.

WHEN I GET TO SAGE’S HOUSE the next night—the last night we’re working together—I kick off my shoes and dump my bag at the door, just like I would at home. Sage’s house is weird like that. It feels like home.

“I want to be back at a reasonable hour tonight,” I tell her. “I don’t want Catherine to start getting any ideas.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re paranoid. We’ll get you home at the same time we have every night.”

“But what if she begins to suspect something?”

“Then I’ll call and say that you were here, dear!” Sage’s mom emerges from the living room, all sixties goddess supreme in a tie-dye sarong and bracelets that jingle like new-age maracas. “Don’t you worry.”

I smile. “Sorry Ms., um, Wynona, but she won’t go for that. My stepmom just doesn’t…”

“Have feelings,” Sage finishes for me. “Or, like, know how to mom.”

“Oh, Elle.” Sage’s mom puts a hand to her chest. “You know you can always come here if you need some mothering. Just ask Sage. I’m a natural.” She winks.