With the Sidereus contract signed, Abigail is forced to acquiesce to the demands of her new legal guardian- Mr. Atwater. While a twisted Hollywood adventure looms before her, Abigail resigns herself to spend every waking hour with Ethan- including her first Christmas. Finally, with the end of Abigail’s belligerence, her rise to pop stardom and the fulfillment of the Prophecy is all but guaranteed, however; a stranger reveals a weakness that could overturn the Prophecy, potentially ushering in a new age.
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From the author: Thanks so much for sticking around through what amounts to three medium-length novels. The outpouring of support for the story and most importantly the enjoyment I received in writing it has encouraged me to write again. I can’t say it will be as long as the Sidereus Prophecy, but this won’t be my last TG-themed story. Thank you again for reading.

This is the second last part. Next week, I will post part 9 and the epilogue.

DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Part 8

Chapter 61

“Oh my god! Abigail, what happened?”

I lay on the floor, still cradling my left hand. I had stopped crying openly before Amélie’s arrival. However, my body was still wracked by silent sobs. Chloe walked over to me and put her hand on my head, gently petting my hair. Then she stretched her arms out and hugged my body.

She looked down at my hand and said, “Daddy bobo?” I nodded, and she proceeded to kiss my hand. She smiled at me, “All better?” I nodded, but I couldn’t hide the grimace of pain.

Amélie moved to help me to my feet. She said, “We should get you to the hospital.”

Amélie picked Chloe up and took her out to the car. I followed her, but with my shoulders slumped, and still cradling my left hand.

Amélie asked worriedly, “So, what happened in there? Where’s Greg and Sandra?”

I said, “I signed it, Amélie. It’s all over. Now I’m going to have to go with him and fulfil the Prophecy.”

Amélie shook her head in disbelief, “What are you talking about? Signed what? I told you to wait for me.”

I covered my face with my good hand, trying to hide the tears that I knew would come. “Greg, he was Mr. Atwater, or he took him over. I’m not really sure. I told him I knew about the law, and contracts and stuff. He agreed to let me sign. I read through the contract, but there was extra stuff in it. A clause that invoked the Sidereus agreement.”

Amélie frowned, “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

I said, “Because I’m a fucking stupid kid. That’s why. And my dad was right about all of this. Your accident today, it was the Prophecy. It's obvious it was keeping you there on purpose, so I would sign and it caused your accident. Atwater even admitted it, and it’s just going to get worse.”

Amélie shook her head, “But you signed? And you aren’t stupid, Abigail. This is an ancient prophecy, you have to expect that they are going to try some dirty tricks.”

Amélie added, “Plus, I’m your legal guardian. That contract is void. In the eyes of the law, you are a minor. You had to sign in my presence.”

I cleared my throat, “He said it doesn’t matter. Plus, if you consider how old I actually am, I signed that contract knowingly.”

Amélie said, “I’m your guardian, Abigail. I’m not going to let him take you.”

I sniffed, “H-He is.”

Amélie hit the brakes hard, dead stopping in the middle of a busy Ottawa street. Motorists honked at her angrily. She looked over at me, and said with difficulty, “He’s w-what?”

I frowned, “Mr. Atwater is my legal guardian now. I’m so sorry. I should have waited.”

Amélie slumped down and lay her head on the steering wheel. “We’ll stop him. He’s not taking you. I’ll get a court order to gain custody of you again.”

I shook my head, “No, Amélie. I’m going with him when he comes for me. I’ve put all of you in danger for long enough. My dad was right. It’s just the status quo. So I become a vapid popstar for two years. The Sidereus Prophecy is fulfilled, and no one I care about gets hurt. Then I try to put my life back together when it’s all over, and the cycle continues.”

I said, “It’s what has to happen.”

Amélie said, “N-no! I don’t accept this. I’m not going to lose you that way. Mama Khalia, we’ll get her to help. You can’t give in. Because the second you do, you’ve lost everything that Darren Lawrence was. He would tell you to fight, Abigail.”

I held my hand up with my crushed and broken fingers. I said, “This is what happened when I fought. He basically said he was going to hurt Chloe if I disobeyed him again. I can’t risk it. I’m going to do as he says. I’m going to be his perfect little pop princess.” Amélie started the car up again and continued to the hospital. She didn’t say another word to me until we were in the waiting room.

Amélie said, “Even if you’ve given up, I won’t. You know that right?”

A tiny smile appeared on my face, “I know. You’re so stubborn.”

She smirked, “And don’t forget that. We’ll figure a way out of this.”

The smile disappeared. I replied, “Yeah.”

***

My parents met us at the hospital, and my mom left to take Chloe home. My phone had been ringing and vibrating like crazy. I knew I had messages from Ethan. Amélie eventually took the phone from me and turned it off. I hadn’t told Ethan, Alyssa or my band mates yet that I had essentially signed with a different label. I wasn’t even sure what to tell them. Maybe I could convince Mr. Atwater to let my band mates join in some capacity? Would they even want to though?

It was past ten PM when we finally left the hospital. After six hours of waiting, and then twenty minutes of medical treatment, my broken fingers were carefully splinted. I was told that it would take between four to six weeks to heal.

I looked over at Amélie as she drove home. She looked exhausted, and old. I couldn’t believe it, but I couldn’t fight that fact. The creases underneath her eyes had grown deeper, and she had put on more weight through this whole ordeal. God, I really was sixteen, thinking that thirty is old.

I asked, “Um, why did you guys leave Ethan’s last night? I know you came back to get me, but I just thought it was weird. I guess. I was kind of mad at you for not including me. I kept thinking about it today.” Yeah, and it made it hard to concentrate as I read the contract.

Amélie replied, “We were talking about rules. I was planning on going along. I still am. But mostly we talked about making sure you and Ethan were safe.”

I raised a brow, “What kind of rules?”

Amélie said, “Well just stuff we were thinking might happen away from home. The assumption was that you would be touring too, so we talked about the future.”

I asked, “How come you didn’t include me? That really hurt. You left me out of the discussion about my future.”

Amélie said, “Because we thought it would be best if the adults discuss things. Ethan’s parents don’t know who you really are. So we couldn’t include you. I’m sorry.”

I sighed, “I guess I understand.”

Amélie asked, “What are you going to tell Andrew and Steven?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know. I guess, the truth?”

Amélie nodded, “We’ll all get together, and you can explain it. We can talk about what we are going to do next.”

I said, “When he comes, I’m going. That’s it.”

***

Monday marked the beginning of the last week of school before Christmas break, but I didn’t go. Ethan and Alyssa showed up at my door Monday after school, but I stayed in my bedroom. I never even left my bed, simply waiting for the inevitable. I also hadn’t even turned on my phone.

Amélie knocked and said, “Abigail, everyone’s here. You should be part of this.” Amélie had called Steven, Andrew, and my parents to the house for a discussion on next steps.

I snapped back, “Yeah, just like you included me in the last one.”

Amélie knocked again and opened the door. She frowned as she saw me laying on my bed, holding my beige teddy bear tightly against my chest. “You’ve got a right to be there. These are your friends and family, Abigail. They want to help you. I still think we should contact Mama Khalia for instance. That’s what this is for. Throwing ideas back and forth.”

I shook my head, “You already know my decision.” Amélie sighed heavily and walked out of the room. Ten minutes later, I heard the doorbell ring. I figured it was probably Ethan or Alyssa again, then I heard yelling coming from upstairs.

“No! Absolutely not. Get out of my house before I call the police you fucking asshole!”

“Mrs. Grenier that’s terrible language to use in front of your daughter. I understand she just turned two. She’s a beautiful little girl.” My eyes widened as my heart started to pound in my chest like it was trying to escape. It was Mr. Atwater. I jumped out of bed, still clad in my pyjamas and ran upstairs.

Amélie screamed, “Get the fuck out! You have no right to be in here. There see, I’m calling the police.”

Mr. Atwater said, “In fact I do, I have the legal right to see the child that is in my custody.” He saw me, and a wide smile crossed his face, “And there she is.” I saw Amélie put down her phone. Steven, Andrew and my parents stared at Mr. Atwater in shock.

Mr. Atwater said, “I came here to discuss some arrangements with Abigail, but I’m thankful I got to meet all of you.” The smile never left.

He reached out to shake my father’s hand. “Let me shake the hand of the smartest man in the room. Abigail, you should have listened to your father. We could have avoided all this.” He motioned to my hand. I noticed that as he limped slightly as he stepped toward my father.

My father shook his head and stared menacingly at my tormentor, “You have some nerve coming here after all you’ve done. You should listen to Amélie. I’ll kick your teeth in for what your Prophecy has done to my son.”

Mr. Atwater raised his hands, looking momentarily disappointed, and said, “Fine, but it was his wish that enacted the Sidereus Prophecy. I only encouraged him to sign to fulfil the Prophecy.”

I yelled, “Right! By making Chloe sick for her birthday, causing Amélie to lose her job, and causing a car accident. Not to mention what you did to Alyssa.”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “Young lady, you will not raise your voice to me. Understand?” I backed down, but I was still seething. I stomped up the stairs to stand next to Amélie.

Mr. Atwater said, “Good girl. Now, as I was saying. The Prophecy chose Darren Lawrence. I am simply the instrument that ensures the Prophecy is fulfilled. I do what I must, as I have done for nearly a thousand years.”

Andrew, always the voice of reason, chimed in, “But can’t you just stop it? Can’t you break the cycle here? What’s stopping you from ignoring the Prophecy? You said you weren’t the one who started this.”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “An astute question. Put very simply. My time as the associate is nearing its end. Abigail will be the last, and then I can finally rest. Another will take my place, and the circle will continue. If the Prophecy is not fulfilled, I will never have my respite. Selfish perhaps, but I am bound to the Prophecy as much as Abigail is now, having signed the contract. I think after nearly one-thousand years of carefully monitoring the influence of popular culture on the world that I deserve a little vacation.”

We all stared angrily at Mr. Atwater, but it only caused him to smile. I shook my head, “If you aren’t here to take me, then can you just say whatever you have to say and leave?”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “I wanted to have a discussion concerning Abigail’s career.”

I said, “You say that like I have a choice in the matter. Are we really going to have a discussion? Because I have some things I’d like to see happen if I agree to go with you.” Mr. Atwater nodded, seemingly eager to hear what I had to say.

I said firmly, “I want you to leave Alyssa alone. Fix what’s wrong in her head. Stop those nightmares. Amélie’s job too. I want you to fix that. And anything else that was affected by the Prophecy. Véronique and Alexandre. I want you to help them. Make Véronique and Alexandre how they were before the Prophecy got hold of them.” Those around me nodded their heads in agreement, while Mr. Atwater simply said, “Anything else?”

I nodded, “I want Steven and Andrew to still be in my band. And Ethan too.” Despite my strong words of support, Steven and Andrew looked conflicted.

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “I apologize for the confusion. You seem to think you have bargaining power here, Abigail. You have nothing. But, I can say that once the Prophecy is fulfilled and the magic is completely expended, those changes caused by the Prophecy will be reversed. As for these two.” He looked at Steven and Andrew and shook his head, “Absolutely not.”

He motioned to Andrew, “This one is fifty pounds overweight and nearly bald. And while the other is more aesthetically pleasing, well he’s too old. Teenage girls aren’t going to be screaming for them. They have very little marketability. The optics are just all wrong. Grown men in a band with a teenage girl? It’s frankly disturbing. Ethan, however, is an option. He is part of the Sidereus agreement you signed, but it’s your choice if you want to include him in this.”

Amélie shook her head, “I think it’s time for you to leave.” Amélie took a step towards Mr. Atwater, but he didn’t relent.

Mr. Atwater said, “I need to have a five minute discussion with Abigail. I have the legal right to see her as her guardian.”

Amélie replied, “See that’s the thing. We may not see Abigail as a sixteen year old, but in the eyes of the law, she’s a child. You cannot be her guardian because she can’t legally sign away her rights like that. We will fight you in court over this. There’s no way that you can take her to Los Angeles. You’d have to get permission from Judge Richter, and I highly doubt he will grant it, especially when he finds out that you’ve harmed the person you are supposed to protect. Not only that, but while Mrs. Warner didn’t like me, I’d imagine she’ll like you even less. I’d rather Abigail become a ward of the state than have her to go anywhere with you!”

Mr. Atwater adjusted his suit jacket, “Are you quite finished Mrs. Grenier? Remember that the magic is not expended until the Prophecy is fulfilled. Anyone who interferes with the fulfilment of the Prophecy will suffer a similar fate as yourself, your daughter and Miss Moore. Now, are you going to let me say my piece to Abigail? I promise you, it will be no longer than five minutes.”

I said, “Just let him say whatever he’s going to say so he can leave. I’m sick of him opening his arrogant mouth.”

Mr. Atwater narrowed his eyes, and again, the smile disappeared, “Abigail, if we are to get on amiably, you must respect me. Now, I want to speak to you privately. In your bedroom.”

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever. You’ve got five minutes.” There was no opposition from my friends or family, but as I scanned their faces, it was clear each one of them wanted Mr. Atwater out, possibly bloodied and beaten.

I returned to my room and sat on my desk chair. I crossed my arms underneath my chest. Mr. Atwater said, “I want you to begin studying the press conferences of Ms. Spears. The ones very early in her career. Forgo all other study. Focus specifically on her responses to the media, and the type of questions that are asked. Memorize her answers.”

I rolled by eyes again, “Why? So I can spout pop star gibberish? Is this really the way you want to end your tenure? You’ve done this for one-thousand years. Don’t you feel bad for what you did to society during all that time? Don’t you have any remorse for all the lives you’ve ruined? What if there’s more to life than the status quo that the Prophecy brings? Help me stop it.”

Mr. Atwater smiled, but there was a measure of humanity to his expression. “I was forced into this position. I once lived a proper mortal life, but it was so long ago, I barely remember it. Now, I have the chance to finally be free of this burden, and to have my final rest- and you want me to shirk my duty?” I nodded my head sternly.

He laughed, but the usual grating and obnoxious tone was absent. “It’s a shame that the Third Reich turned out so poorly, because you would have made a very influential and idealistic leader, Abigail. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Even if I did want to help you, the Prophecy itself was designed to be independent of the associate. It would stop me, just as easily as it would stop anyone else.”

He added, “There’s nothing we can do but go along for the mad ride. Plus, I must admit to my own selfishness. I really do want to finally rest. I’m sure you would do the same in my position. For now, this isn’t going to be terrible, Abigail. It doesn’t have to be. Just go along with what I say. You might even come to enjoy yourself. Ms. Spears eventually did. That’s why she chose to remain that way. Look at it this way too, the Sidereus Agency takes no royalties. Everything you make is yours. You will be able to provide for your family in a way no teacher or lawyer could.”

He added, “You’ll be loved by millions.”

I sighed, “And hated by just as many.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “Possibly. You may well be a polarizing figure.”

He asked, “Will you do as I say?”

I shrugged my shoulders and started spinning in my desk chair. “I guess. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “Good girl. The Prophecy’s magic will do what it takes to ensure it is fulfilled. You don’t want to stand in opposition to the Prophecy. You’d be wise to warn Amélie to avoid meddling also.”

I nodded slowly, “She kind of does what she wants. I don’t have a lot of control over it.”

Mr. Atwater said, “I had hoped that my last run through the gauntlet that is the Sidereus Prophecy would be smoother, but the Prophecy does not choose those who are weak.” The human smile appeared again.

He asked, “Before I go, do you want Ethan to come along with you? And Alyssa? I can certainly make this happen, even without the magic at my disposal.”

I shook my head, “Why the hell are being so nice now? I’m not sure why I should trust anything you say.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “Because you’ve surrendered to me. There’s no reason for me to use a heavy hand in dealing with you. If I asked you to go now, would you go with me, Abigail?”

I nodded, “Yes, but only because of the Prophecy, and the fact that it might hurt Chloe or someone else I care about if I didn't. I’ll never forget what you did to ‘encourage’ me to sign the contract. And you- almost broke my hand! Now I’m just supposed to pretend none of that ever happened? No fucking way!”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “I had hoped that by explaining the unenviable position both of us share with regard to the Sidereus Prophecy that we might- find some commonalities. However, I see that I’m speaking to a young girl again, instead of the young woman I thought you were.”

I shook my head angrily, “Just get out. Now.” Mr. Atwater raised his hands in surrender and slowly turned to exit my room. Before leaving he said, “Remember what I asked. Study the press conferences. I want you to have the answers rehearsed. I’ll be very cross if you don’t.” I watched him exit the room, and then I heard the front door open and close.

I was amazed at the humanity that Mr. Atwater had shown during our conversation, but as he warned me about disobeying, I also saw glimpses of his old self. While his eyes did not possess the fear-inducing power any longer, he was still a frightfully dominant force. Still, with the modicum of humanity he had shown, it was clear we did have commonalities, as he had suggested, and perhaps, I could use that to my advantage.

***

“Man, that guy who came to my place last night was super chill. Was that the rock god you were talking about? Said his name was Atwater though.”

Ethan added with a slight frown, “What’s going on too? Why have you been avoiding me? And what happened to your hand? Can you still play? ”

It was Tuesday at lunch. It was time to come clean with Ethan- sort of. I wasn’t surprised that Mr. Atwater had visited Ethan’s last night. He was still trying to show me he wasn’t the devil incarnate, and simply a man bound by the burden of the Sidereus Prophecy.

I said, “I didn’t really know how to tell you. I decided to go with someone other than Geffen.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, “Really? But the other options kind of sucked. It’s weird, that Atwater guy, he said he was from some agency. So that’s who you signed with? I think you made the right choice, guy is really cool.”

I blinked, “Really? Because I think I made a huge mistake. I think I completely sold out.”

The snow crunched under my boots. We were headed to our old make out place in the park. I had opted for my winter jacket, but Ethan still wore his leather one. Ethan reached over and tried to grasp my hand, but I pulled away. He frowned, “What do you mean you sold out?”

I said, “The deal I signed, it doesn’t include Andrew or Stephen. Only you. I completely sold out, just because it meant getting the music out to more people.”

Ethan’s frown remained, “So the band, it’s done?”

I nodded sadly, “Yeah. I’m sorry. All the work we did, all the songs. I don’t think they’ll let us play them in this new arrangement.”

Ethan shook his head. He turned away from me and sighed deeply. “I’m really surprised. You said you were gonna get the deal you wanted, not only for you, but the band too. Why’d you do it, Abby?”

I said, “Because this agency has had on their artist roster some of the biggest names in history. They are also taking no royalties, meaning everything I make, it’s mine. I can support my family, help Amélie. Well ours actually- if you decide to come along.” I reached out and put my hand on Ethan’s thigh, “You don’t have to. I can’t promise that it’ll be the kind of music you’ll like.”

Ethan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t take my hand either. Eventually, I retracted it. “But I don’t get it, Abby. You’ve always said that the message is the most important thing in music. So now you can’t play the songs you wrote, with messages you care about. Why?”

I said, “I told you. I made a mistake. I guess- I guess I got greedy or I just wasn’t thinking. I signed and now I’m stuck with this contract for two years. I know that I did what I said I’d never do, but they just gave me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”

Ethan said, “This Atwater guy, he said I’d be playing guitar in your band. So I guess it’s your new band then?”

I nodded sadly. Ethan said, “What about like side projects? Could we still write together? I feel like you guys wrote most of the songs without me. It’d be sick to see what you and me could come up with. Like we could still write on the road. That’d be sweet.”

I blinked, “Wait, you mean, you’d think about coming, um, even if I’m kind of likeapopstar.”

Ethan said, “Huh?”

I sighed, “A pop star. They want to make me a pop star. This agency, it thinks I can be the next Britney Spears. That’s how I’m going to be marketed.”

Ethan looked at me in shock momentarily. “Like, you’d wear outfits and stuff? And sing shitty pop music? Would you dance?”

I replied, feeling like I must be displaying absolutely mortification on my face, “Yeah, um, probably. All that stuff.”

I said, “I’ve always wanted to get my music out to as many as people as possible. I guess that factored in my decision too.”

Ethan said, “But it’s really not your music. Pop music shit doesn’t have the kind of lyrics you usually write- you know deep stuff. Pop’s all garbage.”

I shook my head, “Katy Perry and Lady Gaga write their own lyrics. Most of their songs are really heartfelt and meaningful. And even if I can’t sing my own lyrics, I can still put my personality into them. You know scream a chorus. I’ll sing it my way.” I was trying to convince Ethan as much as trying to convince myself.

Ethan said, “Britney’s stuff isn’t though. It’s all mindless dance crap.”

I nodded, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come. I mean- it’s you selling out too.”

Ethan looked at me seriously, and with a maturity that I saw rarely. He looked deeply into my eyes. I felt my right hand begin to tremble, but dressed as I was, it wasn’t because of the chill in the air. He said, “I’m not like Stephen- I don’t think pop music is like a disease or something. It’s still some of the worst stuff out there though.” I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

He said, “But, I mean, I don’t think I can be away from you for two years. I think I’d like explode or something. Like not all blood and guts, but in the head, you know? It sucks that we can’t play the music we want, but, um, I- well- I love you, Abby. I think I’d probably go with you if you were singing in a polka band or something. Hardcore gangster polka rap.”

Before Ethan’s admission, I felt a constriction in my chest, almost like my air was cut off. My fingers tingled in my gloves, but as he said the ‘L’ word, I felt like two massive cinder blocks had fallen from my shoulders. I immediately reached out for him, pressing my body against his, as I whispered back, “I love you too.”

We kissed, our hot breath once again warming our chilled lips, and then the boy just held me there. We stayed well past the lunch hour and into the afternoon. I knew this was love, no matter what Amélie or anyone else said.

***
It was Friday morning before school, and I was on Amélie’s laptop. I opened her internet browser to complete some research on Britney’s press conferences. Amélie’s homepage was the website for a local newspaper. Before leaving the page, I noticed a sensational headline, “Social worker accused of falsifying hundreds of reports- faces ten years in prison if found guilty” I immediately clicked on the article, and a video opened showing a reporter standing in front of a court house.

“Allegations like this are very rare, but another case, in 1993, involved Celina Gaston, a social worker who was charged with fraud. The accused, Mrs. Gina Warner, is charged with fourteen counts of fraud. She is alleged to have falsified hundreds of family profiles over her fifteen year career. These profiles are used by members of the child protection board to decide if a child requires protective custody, becoming a ward of the state. Court documents show that the accused used “exaggerated” or “misleading” statements to lead board members to remove dozens of children from their homes and place them in protective custody.”

I yelled, “Amélie! Get in here!” Amélie hurried in and sat next to me on the couch. The video continued playing.

“The accused volunteers for a number of different community outreach programs, including an adolescent substance abuse program. Mrs. Warner’s co-workers describe her as stern but wholly professional. Due to the nature of the charges, all of the accused’s open files will be reassigned and the profiles will be redone. The director of children’s aid has already stated that a full investigation into all of the accused’s files will take place immediately. She was not willing to say whether previous board member decisions would be overturned. This, however, could potentially return dozens of children to their parents.”

“This is the first allegation of the kind against the accused. If found guilty of the charges, the accused could be sentenced to ten years in prison and face a lifetime ban from the profession. Jeremy Stevens, CTC news.” I stared at the screen in astonishment. I turned to Amélie, and she wore an expression of disbelief.

I said sternly, “What did you do?”

Amélie ignored me, continuing to stare at the screen. I put my fingers in front of her face and snapped. I asked again, “What did you DO?”

Amélie, who still looked dumbfounded, replied, “I went to Mrs. Warner’s office on Tuesday morning. I told her what happened, that you had signed your rights away, and that this Mr. Atwater had tricked you. I basically spun it like he was going to offer you a record deal, and he lured you there. I also told her about the abuse you suffered, your broken fingers. She was understandably shocked. She said she was going to speak to her director about it, and possibly involve the police.”

I sighed and looked at Amélie disapprovingly. She said, “What? You think this is Atwater? I thought he lost those funky powers he had. I’m not surprised that Mrs. Warner falsified reports. She was a power-tripping bitch.”

I said, “It’s the Prophecy. It’s protecting Mr. Atwater’s guardianship over me, and it continues without Mr. Atwater and his ‘funky powers’. He explained that he is just a tool, and the Prophecy can act independently from him. Amélie, you ruined this woman’s career, and possibly her life.”

Whatever words were on Amélie’s lips tumbled away. She tried to form them again, but failed.

I said, “Now do you see why I have to go with him? There’s no winning here, only a long line of broken lives. I told you not to try anything! Don’t fuck with the Prophecy! It’s going to go after you, or my parents, or even Chloe if you keep meddling. It’s too strong. Now I really need to fulfil it because even Mrs. Warner doesn’t deserve that! I need to fix it all.”

Amélie said, “I-I was just trying to help. I thought we could use real world law to-”

I said, “You guessed wrong.”

Amélie said, “Look, I just- I was trying to help you. So you wouldn’t have to go. I know all about Britney, and how she started out, and where she ended up. I was a huge fan. You remember I saw her in concert? She’s not the same person she was when she started out. She’s like a shell. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. She almost died before her breakdown.”

I said, “I’m grounded though. I’m not going to get caught up in this celebrity excess or anything. I’m the last person to say I hung out with a Kardashian or some other brain dead socialite drain on society.”

Amélie reached out and hugged me, “I-I’m sorry. I just- I was trying to help. I don’t want to lose you.”

I hugged her back, “Same here. Look, we’ll figure out an arrangement where I can come and visit a lot. And I mean, I’ll be making a lot of money too. So I can fly you guys out to see me. It’ll work out. You’ll see.”

Amélie smiled softly, looking to be on the verge of tears, “I-I love you, Abigail. Never forget that. I always will.”

I nodded, “Me too.” All I could think about was Ethan, and how much I wanted to be with him.

***

Teenage love- it seemed an impossibility before I met Ethan. Initially, I had seen the boy as a long-haired slacker, much like the kids I used to teach. He was immature, brash and sometimes vulgar, especially with his guy friends. As a teacher, I thought cynically that the couples in my class would barely last a month. They acted cutesy, walking each other to class, kissing and then casting fleeting glances, as if the seventy-five minute class was a never-ending torture. One boy I remember used to ask to go to the washroom at the same time, five minutes before the bell. I knew he didn’t go to the bathroom because I saw him waiting outside his girlfriend’s classroom.

I remember being annoyed by teenage couples on the bus, clearly flaunting their love, or rather their lust. That is what it was. Teenagers were incapable of falling in love, they didn’t have the mental capacity for it. They were just children with mutual attractions that wanted to mess around when their parents weren’t home. And maybe, that’s what I had become, because I wanted to kiss his lips, feel his chest, and look deeply into his eyes until one of us laughed. I wanted him to take my virginity, even though I still had some apprehension about it. What we had was lust because love was responsibility, and love was sacrifice.

However, I felt that Ethan had sacrificed in choosing to come with me. He wasn’t as hardcore as Steven was with the idea of ‘rock credibility’, but I doubted he would have agreed to be in just any pop star’s band. To me, this was love. This was proof that we loved each other because he was willing to compromise. Sure, he would get to play music for millions, but it wasn’t his music. I relished the idea of us writing together on the road, growing together, falling deeper in love. Basically, since that moment, he was all I could think of, other than the axe that loomed over my artistic freedom. I knew that Mr. Atwater would come for me, but until that day, I enjoyed every waking minute of my freedom, with Ethan by my side.

“I don’t like you staying here by yourself. What if Mr. Atwater comes for you?” Amélie looked at me across the dinner table. We were discussing the arrangements for Christmas.

Amélie added, “What about your family? Don’t you want to see them on Christmas day? We were supposed to drive to my parents’ place after that. You won’t see Chloe open her gifts from Santa.”

I said, “The Rayners invited me to their place for Christmas day. They said I can sleep over, and we can open presents and everything. I want to be with Ethan on Christmas. It’s important to me.”

Amélie frowned, “Your family is here. And it’s my family too. They want to see you. I’m sure your parents do too. I know you think you’ve fallen in love with that boy, but you can’t just forget about everything else. I want to spend time with you before Mr. Atwater comes. Are you still planning on going with him, without a fight?”

I nodded my head, “Yeah, I am. It’s the way I have to do it.”

Amélie sighed, “I don’t like you sleeping over there. I know you said that you’d be sleeping in separate rooms, but what’s to stop him from getting into bed with you?”

I replied, “I’m on the pill now.”

Amélie frowned, “Didn’t Dr. Alberts explains how it works, Abigail? It doesn’t work right away. It takes some time. At least a month.”

I said, “I know that. Anyway, we aren’t going to have sex. His sister’s going to be there too. I’m sure she’ll tell Ethan to behave.” I smirked.

Amélie said, “How about this? You can do Christmas morning at Ethan’s. And then we’ll go to your parents’ place after that. Then we’ll see my parents for about a week.”

I said, “Could Ethan come with us?”

Amélie said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. My parents will have to do a lot of lying. We’ll have to make up all these stories about you and everything. It’s going to be tough on them. You can go without seeing him for a week.”

I said, “My phone won’t have any service though. And their internet is so slow! We won’t be able to Skype or anything.” They lived in a small town, so if you weren’t with the provider who owned the town’s lone cell phone tower, you were out of luck.

Amélie replied, “You are going to be on the road with him for two years probably. I think you can last a week being apart.”

I knew that Amélie wasn’t going to budge, and I didn’t want to cause a lot of stress at Christmas, so I accepted her conditions, even though I started dreading the time we would be apart, even more than Mr. Atwater’s imminent reappearance.

***

While Ethan and I had admitted our love for each other, Alyssa and Eric’s relationship fizzled. Eric’s inability to move beyond awkward conversation, and his attempts to entice Alyssa to play video games with him all failed. She sucked, and Eric was a pretty hardcore gamer. They had gone out a few more times, hung out, and nothing materialized beyond the drunken hand holding and near kiss on Halloween night. The poor girl was devastated, having carried the flame for the boy for nearly a year. Unfortunately, I was too caught up in an Ethan love fog to pay her much attention. So, I was surprised when I received an enthusiastic text from her on Sunday night, a day before Christmas Eve.

Alyssa: is it tru abby cause if yea im going
Alyssa: i thought he was messing w me but he said he had a tutor a everything
Alyssa: my mom is gonna let me go!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: w r u talking about
Alyssa: mr atwaters philip was his name
Alyssa: he said i can go w u on the road be ur stylist a help w outfits n stuff
Alyssa: i know u said u signed a diff contract but it sounds like u r gonna be in a diff band
Me: yeah kinda still w ethan though
Alyssa: he said u might need my help w dancing!!!!
Me: uh yeah maybe
Alyssa: lol sounds like u r going 2 b like katy!!!!!!!!
Me: something like that
Alyssa: how come u didnt tell me u r going to be a pop star abby
Alyssa: biggest news in the history of tha world!!! :) :) :)
Alyssa: how come u picked that contract a how come we didnt tell me!!!!
Me: i was kind of embarrassed i wasnt sure it was a good decision
Me: im still not but i signed so i gotta do it
Alyssa: its going to be amazing!!!!!!! im going to make u look so pretty every night
Alyssa: ill help u w dance too i cant believe its true im so happy abby
Alyssa: my BFF is gonna be as big as katy perry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: how did atwater convince ur mom to let you go
Alyssa: talked to her said i have skillz as a stylist and makeup girl its good experience plus i can b w my bff i dunna really he talked to her for while
Alyssa: i still cant blief its tru abby I cant stop smiling!!!!!!!!
Me: aren’t u going to miss ur mom
Alyssa: yeah! but philip said we could all fly bak ethan me you so much fun!!! :) my mom too she said it was good oppertunity
Alyssa: philip was super nice! :) ney way gotta go mom wants me to go to bed still having stupid nightmars
Me: yeah philip is a gem
Alyssa: MUAH MUAH :)

***

Christmas day came and with it, a wealth of snow. I disliked snow and the frigid temperatures that accompanied a Canadian winter, but I was always happy when it snowed on Christmas, especially if it looked like we were going to have a green Christmas. This year we received snow in early December, but I was still pleased to see the freshly fallen snow as I peeked out of the curtains in the Rayner’s guest bedroom.

I heard a knock on my door. “Good morning, Abby! Everyone is heading downstairs in a few minutes.”

It was Valerie, Ethan’s older sister. I opened the door and replied, “I’ll be there.” She smiled and left. I really liked Valerie. She was in her first year of university, and her mind was opening to new concepts and experiences. She was a diligent student who aced her first semester. When we first met, she was discussing the ethics of stealing for survival with her father. She seemed thoroughly impressed when I joined the discussion, offering my point of view and even quoting some of the literature that she was reading. I got the feeling that Valerie liked me too. I guess I was more a conversationalist than Véronique had been.

I was pleased that I could still maintain an adult conversation. All of the knowledge that Mr. Atwater had threatened to strip from me, remained. I could still laugh at Ethan’s stupid jokes, and I didn’t always make the right decisions (read: Halloween night without a condom) but I felt I was in a good place, a world that lay between adolescence and adulthood. I had come to expect complete strangers to think I was nothing more than a kid, and some of them treated me that way. Thankfully, Valerie was different, even though I was in high school, and she was in an institute of higher learning.

I came downstairs, but even before I reached the main floor of the house, I could smell the wonderful aroma of fresh pancakes and bacon. Like the cartoon Fruit Loops bird, the heavenly smell pulled me quickly down the stairs.

Mrs. Rayner greeted me with a smile. “Good morning, Abigail. Did you sleep well?”

I replied, “Not really. I’m always excited for Christmas, so it took a while to get to sleep.” I grinned sheepishly.

Mrs. Rayner nodded, “Well once you have children, Christmas can be pretty exhausting. The gifts, the meals and all the visits. I still remember Mark trying to assemble Ethan’s bike. He was probably up half the night! It’s a funny story because with all the noise, Ethan really thought it was Santa!”

Ethan groaned. He had a serious case of bedhead, but it suited him. I had it bad- I thought he looked hot in a pair of pajama pants and a semi-tight t-shirt! Well, he would have looked better without the t-shirt. The boy groaned again, “Come on, Mom. Don’t tell that story. It’s embarrassing.”

Valerie walked up behind her brother and ruffled his hair, “Oh but it’s a cute story. I’m sure Abby wants to hear it.”

I actually did. I felt like the more I knew about Ethan, the more I liked him. Every new piece of information filled him out further. It gave him quirks and personality. I wasn’t at a point where I wanted to see his naked baby ass, but I did want to hear the cute Santa story. I said, “Well, as long as it’s not too embarrassing.”

Mrs. Rayner grinned and Ethan shot me a dirty look. She said, “So Mark was down there trying to put the bike together, and I can hear him swearing. Ethan asks me, and he’s only three and a half, Mommy why is Santa saying bad words? Well I tell him that it’s because the elves didn’t put one of his toys together right, so Santa was fixing it.”

“Ethan asks me where Daddy is, and I say he’s downstairs helping Santa. Well Ethan wanted to see, but I said that Santa would leave him with a broken toy if he did. I said, Ethan- you need to go back to bed, because Santa won’t leave any presents. So he runs back to bed!”

The smile on Mrs. Rayner’s face widened, “Ethan pretended to sleep, and then he goes into his sister’s room. And they both sneak downstairs to the play room. Ethan puts on his play tool belt, and then runs into the room just as Mark is finishing saying I want to help Santa! It was probably four in the morning.” Valerie giggled, and I followed suit.

Mrs. Rayner said, “Ethan was disappointed he didn’t get to meet Santa. Next year when we saw Santa at the mall, Ethan insisted on bringing his tool belt so he could fix any broken toys at the North Pole. The Santa at the mall was confused, and he says to Ethan that the elves do a good job.”

I could tell that the story was reaching its crescendo. Mrs. Rayner’s voice was growing more excited. She continued, “So Ethan says in front of about twenty other kids, “No they don’t! They brought me a broken bike! Santa and my Daddy had to fix it.”

Mrs. Rayner said, “So Ethan takes out his plastic hammer and says, “I’m gonna do gooder than those elves!” I had to pull Ethan away as he is trying to fix this slightly crooked plastic pole with a plastic hammer. At this point all the parents are laughing, and Santa can’t keep it together either.”

I gushed slightly said, “Aww, that’s a cute story.” I looked to Ethan, “Did you ever get to fix any toys at the North Pole?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, “It’s a stupid story. Dumb kids stuff.”

I said, “It wasn’t even that bad. My parents could tell some really embarrassing ones about me.”

Ethan said, “How come you never tell me any stories about when you were a kid? You’ve heard one of mine, so I should get to hear a really embarrassing one about you. That’s only fair. And how come you won’t tell me exactly what happened to your hand?”

I hadn’t told Ethan the truth about my hand. I suspected he thought I was lying when I said I was helping Amélie move a heavy dresser. I had worse upper body strength than Amélie, so it made little sense that I would be helping her carry anything. It was the first thing that popped into my head.

Mrs. Rayner said, “I have worse ones than that. Let’s not bombard Abigail with questions. You kids eat breakfast, and then you can open your stockings.”

Ethan’s eyes lit up, and honestly, so did mine. I loved Christmas, though some of the lustre was gone from it, especially since becoming an adult, but the Rayners and my forced rejuvenation breathed new life into the holiday. We ate a delicious breakfast, and then pulled our stockings down. I was amazed to see that the stocking was embroidered with my name. A warm feeling passed through me. This family had wholeheartedly accepted me. As I went through the stocking, I pulled out a plethora of candies and chocolate, a few oranges, and some fuzzy pink unicorn stickers. There were also hair clips and elastics. My stocking was similar to Valerie’s, but I also got guitar strings and a package of picks.

Then came the presents, there were shirts, yoga pants, and a new sparkly guitar strap. I looked over at Mr. and Mrs. Rayner with surprise as each round of presents included one for me. After it was all over, I approached Ethan’s parents. “This is all too much. I can’t accept all of this. And I didn’t get you guys anything.”

Mr. Rayner said, “We understand your financial situation. Your sister is having some difficulty right now with her career. We are just happy you could spend this time with us.”

Mrs. Rayner added, “You are a special girl, Abigail. We want you to feel welcome. I know what you mean to Ethan, and you mean a lot to us too.” Again, that warm fuzzy feeling passed through me, and I felt beyond welcomed, I felt like a part of the family.

Christmas at my parents was odd. We shared stories of the person I was and watched old family movies. It felt like a life I was moving away from, that didn’t exist any longer. Despite our financial situation, we exchanged a few gifts, but we mostly just spent time together. A day later, we drove to my former in-laws and while they were happy with my company, I desperately missed Ethan. I mostly moped around the house, looking for things to do to make me forget how much I missed him.

On the fourth day, I was missing Ethan so much, I took a long walk by myself. When I returned, I saw an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway. I opened the front door, taking off my boots and hat, but as I did, I could hear voices in the kitchen. It was Mr. Atwater.

“She won’t be harmed while she is in my care.”

Amélie retorted angrily, “Yeah, like when you broke her fingers? The only way I am letting you take her, is if I go too.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “I’m afraid that’s impossible. You are free to visit her after, but while the album is recorded, I must have no interruptions from her family or friends. It is important that we remain on schedule.”

I walked into the kitchen, eyes narrowing as I saw Mr. Atwater. However, I also turned to Amélie, regarding her with disapproval. She wasn’t supposed to make trouble.

I said, “Why can’t Amélie come? I’m not going to be distracted singing your inane pop drivel. I’ll probably do each song in one take.”

Mr. Atwater replied simply, “Abigail, it’s time to go.”

I replied, “Wait, does that mean Ethan can’t come either? That’s not fair! You aren’t holding up your end of the bargain.”

Mr. Atwater sighed, “You failed to read the contract properly. Your friends can join you after you complete the album. Consider it encouragement to finish as quickly as possible. You will focus more if you are away from them.”

I shook my head, “I don’t think you understand teenagers very well. He is practically all I think about. If I’m missing him, I’m not going to be very motivated to record music I don’t even like.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “It’s a risk I am willing to take.”

I noticed that he was nervous. He lacked his usual shit-eating grin and his bravado. He was not unhinged, but clearly, he lacked the confidence he had previously. Had mortal existence done something to him, or was it something else? His suit was not pressed, and he had a full beard. He fidgeted, seemingly unsure of how to hold himself.

I looked closely at him and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

Mr. Atwater said, “Nothing, if you leave with me immediately. We have a plane to catch, Abigail. It is unnecessary to pack anything. All of the clothing you will need is in the studio living quarters. Now come.”

Amélie said, “I’m coming. I’m still her guardian. Even if that piece of paper says otherwise.”

Amélie’s parents watched from the periphery. They weren’t forceful people, but I could tell they disliked Mr. Atwater. It was the first time I had seen them cast a mean look toward anyone. I sighed gently, “Amélie, we talked about this. I am going with him. You promised you weren’t going to make a big deal about it.” I walked over to Chloe.

The little girl smiled at me, and I held my arms out. She ran into them and gave me a huge hug, laying her head on my shoulder. She said excitedly, “Abby!” She pointed to her colouring book, this one featuring the Disney princesses. “Abby, with me!”

I said, “Abby has to go.” She had started calling me Abby a week ago. Chloe looked at me confused.

We didn’t make a big deal about goodbyes with her, especially when we dropped her off to daycare. The parents who did were often met with frustrated daycare workers who asked them politely but firmly not to make leaving such a production. So, the fact that I hugged her tightly, not letting her go, ultimately confused the little girl.

I said, “Yes, but I’ll see you soon. You be good for Mommy.”

Chloe replied, “Daddy? Mommy said Daddy not here. Abby not here?”

The poor child looked at me with growing confusion, but there was also concern in her eyes. We had told her that her Daddy was gone, which she proceeded to repeat every time she asked the question. I didn’t think toddlers understood the concept of leaving for longer than a day, which is likely why she continued to ask when Daddy would be back.

Amélie said, “Abby will be back soon. We’ll see her again. Maybe on the computer. Like when grandma and grandpa went away on a trip, we saw them on the computer. Don’t worry Chloe.”

While the girl didn’t seem to understand the concept of leaving for extended periods of time, the emotion in my hug caused her lower lip to tremble. She moved into full pout mode, “No want Abby to go. Not like Daddy.” I blinked. The child was smarter than we thought. Maybe she did understand that Daddy was gone?

Mr. Atwater cleared his throat, “Abigail, it’s time to go.”

Amélie said, “You don’t have to go with him, Abigail. We’ll figure this out. We can take whatever happens.”

I shook my head and moved toward the door. I leaned down to tie my boots, and within a few minutes, I was on the road with Mr. Atwater. I thought I saw Amélie’s car behind us, but with the blowing snow reducing visibility, all I saw were headlights.

***

Mr. Atwater was silent during the trip to the airport. He drove the car directly onto the tarmac where there was a small chartered plane waiting for us. We boarded without any issue, and we were soon in the air. I had only been on an airplane once, and it was much larger than this one. The inside was spacious with room to sit comfortably. It looked like the kind of plane a celebrity would take to avoid the masses.

“Why did we have to leave so quickly? I don’t get it.”

Mr. Atwater replied flippantly, “All you need to know is that we have to get your album done in under two weeks. Have you been studying the press conferences as I asked you?”

I shrugged, “I’ve looked at a few. It’s not exactly high culture.”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “No, it’s not, but it will suit our purposes. I want you to have Ms. Spears’ responses memorized. Secondly, you need to start dressing like a normal teenage girl.” He reached out and wrenched the green hoodie from my body. “No more wearing any of Darren’s clothes.”

I rolled my eyes and snatched it back from him. “This is me though. I know how you want me to dress on stage and everything, but I should be allowed to dress however I want when I’m not performing.”

He handed me a pair of large sunglasses- the type that celebrities wore to hide their face. He said, “Do as I say, Abigail. I also want you to wear these whenever you go out in public.”

I put my hands up and said, “Hold on here, what happened to Philip? What happened to the person who was so nice to my friends? You aren’t treating me well at all. Tell me why I need to do all this stuff.”

Mr. Atwater stood and stared down at me, “Do as you are told. You don’t need to know why. Put these on.”

He handed me a massive butterfly ring, a pair of hoop earrings, and a little black purse with a thin, spaghetti strap. My ears were pierced, but they only ever had little studs in them. I had experimented with some of Amélie’s earrings, but I wasn’t really an ‘earrings’ girl. Now, it appeared I had no choice. He took the hoodie away from me again.

I furrowed my brow, “Look, I can probably get used to dressing like a pop star on stage, but this isn’t right. And it’s not in the contract.”

Mr. Atwater snapped open his briefcase and said, “I want you to read the contract thoroughly, so you understand your obligations.”

He handed me the thick document, and my eyes practically bugged out of my skull as I read through the stipulations. Mr. Atwater was right. It was all in there. I remembered the clauses concerning being the “very essence of a pop princess”, but there were others too, ones I had seemingly overlooked. I had to dress like this. I had to wear big goofy sunglasses, even if I was just walking to the supermarket. I had to be presentable at all times. Now it made perfect sense why Alyssa was going to be brought after the album was recorded. She would be happy to make me up. I also wasn’t allowed the scream sing any longer. Worst of all, I had to pretend that I liked everything I was doing.

Mr. Atwater said, “I want you to start watching what you eat too. Read up on this diet here.” He handed me a pamphlet. He added, “Once we are established, you’ll have a personal chef, but for now, I want you to follow this diet.” I looked at the pamphlet, which set up a method for losing weight quickly, and apparently safely with modest exercise. It was a no sugar and no carbohydrate diet.

I narrowed my eyes and cast a dark look in Mr. Atwater’s direction. If it were possible, I would have shot lightning from my eyes. I said, “Are you saying I’m fat? Because if you are saying that, we are going to have a problem.” Despite my furious onslaught, the man didn’t flinch.

Mr. Atwater said, “You are about fifteen pounds overweight. Which is fine for now, we can air brush your problem areas for the album cover and the liner, but when you start touring, we will have a problem. Simply put, you are too fat to be a pop star. Yes, some parents will love the fact that you are a little larger than the average teenage celebrity. Thinking that you will be a better role model because of your ‘healthy’ body weight, but just as many teenage girls will slander you. You’ll never reach the heights you need to reach at that weight, so it’s gotta come off.”

He added, “It will be part of your story. You were unhappy at that weight and that is what you will tell all the reporters who ask. Or the fans. You will tell them that you wanted to lose the weight, so you could be truly beautiful.”

I said, “That’s sick. This whole thing is sick! You know how many girls end up hurting themselves because of this constant ‘thin is in’ mentality? Did you know it has passed to boys too? Even boys are becoming anorexic, or they are doing what Alexandre did and becoming roided no-necks. Look, I know I’m not perfect, and I’m willing to get in shape for the dancing or whatever, but I’m not going on this diet. And I’m not saying those things. It’s damaging to young people.”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “You will say all I have instructed you to say. When you lose the weight, you will also say that you are only happy now because you are thinner, and that you worked hard at it, losing the weight by yourself.”

I said angrily, “But that’s not right! You said I am going to have a personal chef. And I am probably going to have a personal trainer too. None of the girls I will be influencing will have that. It gives them false hope, and it makes them think if they don’t look like me, that they are ugly. This is why I wanted nothing to do with this. I can’t just go up there and sing songs. No, I have to be inducted in the cult of celebrity stupid. What’s next, you want me to start posting inane garbage on Twitter?”

Mr. Atwater said, “We’ll have people strictly controlling your Facebook and Twitter page. Any tweets or posts to Facebook must be vetted first.” He handed me a pair of high-heel shoes, but they weren’t the chunky type. The six-inch stilettos were bright silver with a thin, sparkly strap across them. He said, “Practice walking in those. By the end of the week, I want you to be able to walk gracefully in them. Eventually, you’ll have to dance in them.” I looked out the window of the plane, not thinking of escape, but simply looking for something to take my mind off of wanting to stab Mr. Atwater in the eyes until I felt brain. I knew I had to do this. If I didn’t more people would be hurt by the Prophecy- most likely my family. Still, if I went through with the ridiculous charade, I could also influence a generation of young girls to be think that being skinny meant being beautiful. Girls would starve themselves to look like me.

I looked out the window again and saw the Hollywood sign. I shuddered.

***

“Miss, would you remove your sunglasses please.” We were going through US customs. Mr. Atwater handed the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) official our passports. He frowned slightly as he looked them over.

I quickly removed my sunglasses. Mr. Atwater scowled at the man as he handed the passports back. The official asked, “What is the purpose of your trip, miss?”

I sighed and responded, “We are here to record an album.”

The official looked at me closely, and then he got on the phone. The line behind us grumbled in unison. Mr. Atwater leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Look happier. You look like I am kidnapping you, Abigail.”

I crossed my arms underneath my chest and said, “That’s exactly what you’ve done.” Additional TSA officials came, along with a uniformed police officer. The original agent continued to look at Mr. Atwater suspiciously, “We have a problem here. There is documentation required when you are travelling with minors into the United States. We need a signed letter from her parents to allow you to take her into the country. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we can’t be too careful. If we could just speak to the girl’s parents-“

I said, “H-He’s my legal guardian.”

A female TSA officer pulled me gently out of the line, while a group of male officers surrounded Mr. Atwater. The officer said softly, “Abigail, is he really your legal guardian? You can tell me the truth. We can help you if you are in trouble.”

I sighed and nodded, “Yes. Um, I am here to record a pop album. I’m just tired from the flight. Mr. Atwater is my guardian and my manager.”

A frown appeared on the woman’s face, and she said gently, “OK, Abigail.”

I saw her take out a small leather-bound notebook. She wrote in it for a few minutes, and then let me go back to the main customs area. Meanwhile, I could see a rattled looking Mr. Atwater walking back with the group of male officers. They hadn’t roughed him up, but they had likely put him through the psychological wringer with a barrage of questions.

The original agent who had questioned Mr. Atwater said, “Your client’s story matches yours. And we also contacted a Miss Sandra Walker. She also verified your story, Mr. Atwater. We contacted Miss Grenier’s parents, and they too confirmed that you are supposed to be with her. Next time please bring the proper documentation.” Sandra? The woman from Geffen?

A few minutes later, we were outside the airport, waiting for a cab. Mr. Atwater said, “It was not that difficult nor as intrusive when I was with Miss Spears fifteen years ago. Why didn’t you tell them the truth? You could have had me jailed.”

I said matter-of-factly, “Thank 911 for that. It’s made all the air security people really paranoid, especially in the US.” I shrugged as Mr. Atwater hailed a cab, “I didn’t make trouble because of the Prophecy. I know what it can do. I don’t want anyone else impacted. You and me though, we are going to have problems if you force me to adhere to all the stipulations of that contract. I know all of that stuff about my weight and how I have to act is in there, but it’s against my nature, my morals and my values. People are going to know I’m not happy.”

The cab ignored Mr. Atwater, instead speeding toward a group of tourists. The man sighed, “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t write the contract. And I will remind you that I am simply an instrument of the Prophecy.”

I replied caustically, “A tool- of the Prophecy. And it says specifically in the contract that the punishment for breaching is at the “behest of the associate.” That means you have a choice to enforce the stipulations.”

Mr. Atwater ignored me as he finally managed to hail a cab. He said to the cabbie, “Rainbow Studios.” After that, however, he was silent in the car. I turned to look at him a few times, but he looked deep in thought. All I could think about was how much I missed Ethan.

I asked, “When can Ethan come? You’ll need him for the recording, won’t you?”

Mr. Atwater replied, “No, the tracks have all been recorded. We just need your vocal over top. Ethan will be on your tour. So consider that incentive to finish your vocal takes as quickly as possible.”

I sighed, “Two weeks? That’s a long time. Come on, I’m not going to be distracted by him. I can’t even use my phone here to text him. This isn’t fair.”

He replied with a hint of exasperation in his tone, “Fine. I will see what I can do.” He told the driver, “Take us to a cellular phone store.” The cabbie did as he was told. We went inside and Mr. Atwater told me to pick any phone I wanted. I chose fanciest smart phone I could find, the one with the most features, and the ability to video chat. He insisted that I also get a pink glitter-laden protector for it.

As we were discussing the plan with the salesman, Mr. Atwater grew frustrated. There were a number of different options. I wanted Canada-US unlimited calling, but then that raised the price of the data plan. He started by impatiently tapping his fingers on the counter, then he went to look at phones, trying some out for himself. It had only been about five minutes, but Mr. Atwater stomped back to the main sales counter. I knew that the meter was still running outside, so it was going to be a very expensive cab ride, but wouldn’t he want me to get the best deal possible?

He slammed a gold credit card down on the counter and said, “Give her unlimited everything.” He looked at me sternly. The salesman rang up the phone and completed the plan.

He asked, “Hey man, did you want to get a warranty plan for the phone? You know we suggest it for kids her age. This is a seven-hundred dollar phone. There’s also the try before you buy, so if she-“

Mr. Atwater shook his head and once again pushed the credit card toward the clerk. “Put it all on there. Whatever you have. Just hurry.”

The clerk looked outside and saw the waiting taxi. He said, “Oh sorry man, I’ll do it fast. There it’s all activated, and she’s got a three-year warranty.”

We were back in the car within a minute. I looked over at Mr. Atwater disapprovingly, “You were really rude to him. Will you tell me why you are in such a big hurry to get to the studio? What’s going on?”

Mr. Atwater said nothing, and eventually, I decided to play with my new phone. I sent Ethan a text, letting him know where I was, and the same with Alyssa. Fifteen minutes later, I remembered that I should also text Amélie with my new number. The ride took about forty-five minutes, with much of it spent in silence. I texted back and forth with Ethan, Alyssa and Amélie. Understandably, Amélie was concerned, but I assured her that I was safe.

Eventually, we stopped in front of an ultra-modern building in what I recognized was the Hollywood Hills portion of Los Angeles. I had seen it enough times in movies and on TV that it was very familiar. My jaw dropped as I saw the ‘recording studio’. It was a three-storey mansion with wide bay windows. We exited the taxi, and Mr. Atwater led me to the front door, which required us to travel along a wide cement staircase which was lined with glass panels, allowing me an excellent view of the Hills. The backyard featured a massive swimming pool, likely Olympic-sized, and a terrace with patio furniture. It was certain that one piece cost more than my entire living room set. The highlight of the entire backyard was the waterfall that pushed a steady stream of water into the pool. My mouth hung open for much of the tour.

The inside was just as impressive. Mr. Atwater walked me to my room. It featured a king-sized bed, and even a built-in fireplace. There were nine bedrooms in the house, and five bathrooms. My room connected to a walk-in closet and a private bathroom. I felt a little pang of pleasure pass through my body. A tiny smile appeared on my face as I walked up the spiral staircase that connected all of the floors. This place was amazing, and I hadn’t even seen the recording studio.

After the brief tour, Mr. Atwater told me to prepare for bed, indicating that he wanted me in excellent shape tomorrow to begin recording. I retired to my room, getting back onto my phone and texting Ethan good night, even though it was a three hour time difference, and I assumed he had gone to bed. Alyssa asked me to text her pictures of the mansion and my room. She texted back, saying how lucky I was, and how much she missed me. I asked her why she was up at 3 AM, but I knew the answer before she responded. It was the nightmares again.

I sighed gently, putting my phone down and once again looking out at the vista. I went to sleep that night under silk sheets and probably the most comfortable bed in existence. During the night, I could have sworn I heard my phone vibrate, but I ignored it, still exhausted from the day’s events.

***

“I’m not singing this shit.” I walked out of the recording booth.

Mr. Atwater sighed, “Sorry Julian. I need to have a talk with Abigail. Go ahead and take a swim if you like.”

The Julian that Mr. Atwater was speaking of was the producer for my album. He looked at Mr. Atwater with a hint of irritation, and then turned to me with a look of understanding. He didn’t want to be here either, and I doubted he wanted his name associated with a song titled “Like Wow”. Julian left the room.

Mr. Atwater shut the door and pointed to a chair. I sat down dutifully. Mr. Atwater furrowed his brow and paced the room. “This is going to be the first single, Abigail. We need to finish it in the first few days here.”

I crossed my arms underneath my chest, “Or what? So I’m in breach of the contract. What are you going to do, break some of the fingers on my other hand? That’ll look great on the album cover.”

When I woke up that morning, I saw that I had received a text on my new phone. I didn’t recognize the number, but it had a Los Angeles area code. It said one word: STALL.

I said, “Let me rewrite the lyrics for that song. A few of them. I have some ideas that will let it resonate better with kids my age. It’s so clear it was written by an adult. I doubt the Prophecy will mind, as long as I am equally influential. I’m not going to make it about current events or politics. Just put some of my own experiences in it. It’s about liking a boy, right?”

Mr. Atwater seemed to mull the idea, but eventually I saw his features harden, “Sing the song as it is. Or Ethan won’t be coming on the tour with you.” I sighed, feeling immediately defeated.

Julian returned fifteen minutes later with his hair looking damp. He was an African-American man in his mid-thirties. I didn’t recognize him, but Mr. Atwater told me he had worked on some of the most successful pop albums in recent history, including Katy Perry’s first album.

I went back into the recording booth, and we restarted recording. I sung the first two verses as Mr. Atwater had instructed:

“I saw him in class my hands shaking brain flaking
Got my girls around me saying
He’s the one, He’s the one
I can’t talk to him, cause teacher’s no fun”

“He’s with his friends is he talking about me
Got my girls around me saying
Be the girl he wants you to be
Then he’ll be staying”

While the verses were relatively tame, the pre-chorus changed the tone of the song entirely:

“Short skirt ass hanging out
His eyes gonna pop out
Perfect face show him your lace
Losing grip he’ll be”

And then came the chorus:

“Like WOW girl you got me needing
You know how to dress (I’m impressed)
You gotta know that I must confess
Like WOW girl you got my heart beating”

“Like WOW girl you kiss so hot
Your body so fine like a sweet rhyme
I’ll pull it off, piece by piece
Like WOW girl you gotta be mine”.

I felt sick to my stomach as I sang the lyrics. It was clear that the song was suggesting that to get boys, girls had to dress like sluts, and be promiscuous as well. It couldn’t just be a simple pop hit, like The Beatles completely innocuous “I want to hold your hand”. No, it had to be a song that oozed sex, even though the girl singing it was only sixteen years old. I was further annoyed by the lyrics because that was not at all how I got Ethan. I attracted him by being myself. If I had acted like the girl in the song, he would have been turned off.

We moved to the next verses, but I had a plan. I only got to the second line of the verse before Julian stopped me. I could hear his voice in my headphones. “Are you feeling okay, Abigail? You were a little pitchy there.”

I replied, “My throat’s a bit scratchy.”

I saw Mr. Atwater lean down to speak into the microphone in front of Julian. “You sang the first part of the song flawlessly, Abigail. What’s going on?” Julian glared at Mr. Atwater and spoke into the microphone, “We can take a break if you like.”

I said, “No, that’s OK. I’ll keep going.” I purposely sang the song out of key in places, acting like I was struggling to hit the notes. I could see Julian and Mr. Atwater discussing the issue, and once I reached the chorus a second time, the music cut out and I heard Julian’s voice again. “That’s it for today.”

Mr. Atwater took me to see an ear-nose-throat and doctor. He didn’t even need to call for an appointment. He just gave his credit card number over the phone, and they told us to come right in. The doctor inspected my vocal chords, saying that she did notice a little inflammation, but nothing serious, like nodules, which would have required surgery. She told me not to sing for a few days, but Mr. Atwater wasn’t happy with this, so he took me to another doctor, which we also saw immediately. I was amazed and disgusted with the health care system in the United States. We were seen, but only because we had the money, in this case, a card with an unlimited credit limit. The second doctor said that he also noticed some inflammation. He suggested a hot spa therapy. Mr. Atwater dropped me off at the spa just after lunch, a lunch where he insisted I eat only a Caesar salad, with low-fat dressing.

Before leaving, Mr. Atwater asked, “Have you been scream singing?”

I shook my head, “No, I wasn’t. I guess it’s just this weather. Coming from Canada. It’s probably a shock to the system. I was fighting a bit of a cold too”

Mr. Atwater nodded, and thankfully he had bought the lie. I had been scream singing in the shower, hoping that it would help me stall the process. I didn’t want to damage my vocal chords permanently, but I wasn’t scream singing safely. That was the reason for the inflammation. The text message I received had given me hope that someone out there was actually working against the Prophecy. This is why I risked being caught by Mr. Atwater in clear breach of the contract.

Mr. Atwater said, “You’ll get used to LA. You know you can wear shorts most days. Don’t tell me you miss the snow.”

I shook my head, “Not for a second.”

Mr. Atwater said, “I’ll be back at five.”

I had never been to a spa before, and while the prospect of sitting in a steaming bath for hours with cucumber on my eyes wasn’t alluring, I was pleasantly surprised. The level of service I received surpassed anything I had experienced. Young women were at my beck and call throughout the entire day, fetching me towels and drinks. They clipped my toe nails, filed my nails and applied a new coat of the bubble gum pink polish to my fingernails. Without asking, they did the same to my toes. I showered and then they brushed my hair. I was given a Swedish massage that made my body feel malleable, it was uncomfortable in places, but the masseuse removed all the kinks in my shoulders, where apparently I still carried all my stress. I sighed happily as the day ended with a soak in the hot tub with an avocado mask and cucumbers on my eyes.

I could really get used to this.
***

That night, I received another text from the mystery LA number:

Anonymous: good job today
Me: who r u w do u know about ws happening here
Anonymous: I can’t tell you but just keep doing what you are doing
Anonymous: Atwater is smart but you’ve done a great job so far Abigail
Me: how do u know who i am how did u get this number
Anonymous: I’ll text you in a few days keep stalling the recording
Me: w do u know about the prophecy comeon tell me

I received nothing else from the anonymous text messenger. From that point on, every morning, I scream sang in the shower, hoping that it would make my voice sore enough to avoid recording. The powerful shower jets hid my subterfuge. I texted Amélie about my plan, and she thought it was a good idea. She didn’t like the fact that some random person was texting me, but she assumed, as I did, that it was someone working against the Prophecy. Mr. Atwater grew more upset as the recording process continued to drag on. I thought that I had the perfect plot. I expected too that eventually, I would damage my vocal chords, then I wouldn’t be able to record at all, making fulfilment of the Prophecy impossible.

I knew of singers who had multiple vocal surgeries, and they were able to sing still, some even better than before, but someone wanted me to stall this process. There was clearly something going on behind the scenes, something that could potentially thwart the Prophecy, ending its legacy.

Every day, Mr. Atwater sent me to the spa for special intensive vocal chord therapy. I worked with a voice coach who instructed me not to yell and to limit the amount of time I spoke on the phone. She even showed me how to complete a yawn-sigh to eliminate any unnecessary stress on my vocal chords. After four days of this, my vocal chords showed a marked improvement, but I was still scream singing incorrectly every morning, with a wide open mouth, and therefore, damaging them on a daily basis.

At night, on the fourth day, I got a call from Amélie.

She said, “You’d better stop what you are doing. I think the Prophecy knows, the same way when I tried to get you away from Mr. Atwater using the social worker.”

I replied, “What are you talking about? I’m not refusing to do anything. I can’t sing because I have a sore throat. That’s all.” I thought it was the perfect plan because Mr. Atwater didn’t know, and I wasn’t really circumventing the Prophecy, was I? I knew that I was playing with fire, but the anonymous text message I received had given me hope that the Prophecy could be defeated. That the little stalling tactics I was using would somehow make a difference.

She said sadly, “Your parents, their savings were wiped out completely. And the company your dad used to work for can’t provide him a pension any longer. Something about fraud with one of the executives, he cleaned out the pension funds. Your parents are basically broke. Not only that, but they are being audited. Apparently, they owe thousands of dollars in back taxes! They might lose their house. At the time, I thought your plan was good, but you should stop it, like right now. It’s going to get worse.”

She added, “I’m sorry. I should have told you to stop it right away. I don’t think you’ve got much of a choice. You are going to have to record the album. Do everything he tells you.”

I said, “But Amélie, the songs he has me singing are so terrible. If he wants me to be as popular and as influential as Britney, and these girls and even boys are going to see me as a role model, then I am going to do some serious damage to them.”

I heard a knock on the door. Mr. Atwater entered my room and looked at me sternly, “Abigail, I thought you were supposed to limit your time on the phone. You already had a thirty-minute video chat with Ethan. Tell who ever it is on the line that you have to go.”

I sighed, “I have to go. I’ll text you though.” I put my phone down and then slid underneath the covers. I felt the bed shift slightly, as Mr. Atwater sat on the edge.

He said, “I told you to do as you were told. Now I think that I’ve proven my point.”

I sniffed sadly, while still underneath the covers. I pulled them off my head and replied, “What are you talking about?”

Mr. Atwater said, “You must think I am supremely stupid. Three out of four doctors that I brought you to explained to me afterward that it was clear you were scream singing incorrectly or at least yelling unnecessarily. So I’ve known all along what you were doing, Abigail.”

I narrowed my eyes, “So what?”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “Not ready to come clean? It’s inconsequential if you do, I know you were lying to me. This little exercise was to prove to you that even if I do nothing, the Prophecy soldiers on. I expect something bad happened. I hope it wasn’t Chloe.” The concern in his face looked real.

I scowled and said, “My parents are broke. They might lose their house. You are saying the Prophecy did this?”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “Absolutely. I wanted you to think it was easy to fool me, and now look at the consequences. I did nothing except try and help you get better, sincerely I might add. And now it’s you that will likely decide that it is in your best interest to do as you are told. I don’t have to lift a finger to convince you now I’m sure.”

He added, “Am I right, Abigail?”

I nodded sadly. I asked with anger rising, “Why-Why didn’t you warn me about it? Tell me you knew I was lying?”

Mr. Atwater replied, “Because girls your age sometimes need to make mistakes, test their boundaries. I understand this. I let you follow through on your little plan to allow you to learn from your mistakes, and to see that there are real consequences associated with disobeying. Now, are you going to be a good girl and sing tomorrow?

I nodded sadly again, feeling the stress enter my shoulders again. My whole body tightened as I considered the consequences of my actions. I asked, “Can I go to the spa afterward?”

I saw a glint in Mr. Atwater’s eyes as a smile crossed his features. I noticed that since he had become mortal, he smiled less, and even less after going through TSA security. He replied, “Of course.”

Chapter 62

The next day, we finished three songs. My improved work ethic was based on the fact that the sooner I started bringing in serious money, the sooner I could begin providing for my parents and Amélie. I knew that without the support of my parents, that Amélie would be unable to pay our mortgage. The Prophecy had given me a hard choice, but I chose my family over the world, and the next generation of young women.

After our session, Mr. Atwater praised my behaviour, “Well done, Abigail. You’ve certainly earned a few hours at the spa.”

He added, “I also want you to have this. To show my appreciation for all your hard work.” He took from his wallet a gold credit card. Like his own, it said UNLIMITED, and it actually had my name emblazoned on it. I took it from him hesitantly, placing it in my designer purse, which I was expected to carry in public at all times.

He smiled, “Buy anything you like with it. It’s yours to keep.”

I blinked, “Really? Anything? Like I could- maybe buy a next gen game system, or like a brand new TV?”

The smile stayed on his face, “Anything. You might find you enjoy shopping on Rodeo Drive. All the top designers are there.”

I made a face. “I don’t really like shopping for clothes.”

The man sighed, but the smile, which was more calculating than warm, remained, “This was not a problem I had with Britney. I want you to at least browse in a few stores. Your single is going on iTunes tonight. We need the paparazzi to get a few nice shots of you living a celebrity life. That will create some buzz for you.”

I shook my head, “I never went by myself. I don’t know how to do it. It- it feels weird. I told you, it’s really not me. What’s wrong with me getting my picture taken in some big box electronic store?”

Mr. Atwater smirked, “Because girls your age don’t go in those stores, and even if they wanted something in there, they’d just order it online with their credit card and have it delivered. I only want to see you in stores that sell designer clothes.”

I retorted, “You need to stop reading Tiger Beat magazine. How you do on that quiz to see if you are girlfriend material for Justin Bieber? Anyway, I always went with Alyssa. The only time I ever kind of enjoyed myself is when I got some new hi-tops. You know, I like band shirts, jeans or whatever. I’m not a chic fashionista.”

Mr. Atwater said, “Then we’ll fly her here. You two can go shopping on Rodeo Drive, go to the spa. And she can help you dress less like a girl who should be sleeping on someone’s floor and more like a real, teenage celebrity. Someone that girls will want to emulate.”

I said, “Fine.”

To be honest, I missed human contact, and while Julian was cool, he wasn’t my age. Mr. Atwater, while clearly mortal, was obsessed with the Prophecy. Plus, he was old! I couldn’t talk to him about what I was going through. If I couldn’t have Ethan, then Alyssa was a good secondary choice. She could make shopping for clothes at least partially bearable. I just hoped I wouldn’t run into any Hollywood types, the ones with the big sunglasses and the even bigger egos.

***

After a relaxing few hours at the spa, where I received another Swedish massage, I returned home to the mansion in a cab. Mr. Atwater scolded me and asked that I take the on-call limousine service. He stated that it was safer too.

As I prepared for bed, I noticed my phone vibrate. I hoped it was Ethan, but I had already spoken to him on video chat after dinner. He usually sent me cute little messages right before bed like the simple “luv u” with a smiley face, but there were times too where he would joke about how hot I would look in an outfit that some pop star had worn. It excited me that he was picturing me that way, less so that those outfits were soon going to be my working clothes.

I looked down at the phone and saw that it was the anonymous number again.

Anonymous: you did good up to now Abigail but you need to keep it up
Anonymous: stall anyway you can
Me: but i cant the prophecy knows somehow its doing terrible thing to my family
Anonymous: not as bad as what you are going to do to a generation of little girls who will look up to you
Anonymous: Atwater is going to start trying to distract get you lost in the lifestyle you need to fight it stop going to the spa so much! It’s going to start changing you
Me: who the hell are you are you watching me
Anonymous: i cant tell you we will meet eventually when the time is right
Me: what can i do though the album is going to be done next week
Anonymous: anything you can
Me: but i dont want my family hurt i was stupid to make trouble last time look what happened to my parents
Anonymous: what happened to them?
Me: they r broke gonna lose their house
Anonymous: give me their phone number ill see what i can do
Me: no way i dont know if i can trust you
Anonymous: I’m the only person you should trust i know about the prophecy i know what it does to people and to the world
Anonymous: when you are ready to stop being a scared little girl text me back Darren

***

“So why’d you sign? You know, if you weren’t sure? You could have gone with anyone. I saw your video on YouTube.”

Tony, my limousine driver, had just asked a very pertinent question. During the forty-five minute drive to the airport to pick up Alyssa, I had opened up to him. He was initially surprised when I lowered the glass that separated us.

I said, “Cause I was stupid. I went for the easiest deal, the one that would pay the most, the one that would promote me the best, and the one that would get my music out to the most people possible. But now I find out that I can’t even make my music anymore.”

Tony said, “You are real young, Abigail. How come your parents weren’t more into the process, you know?”

I replied, “They trusted me to make the right decision I guess. My sister is a lawyer. She looked over the contract. I kind of knew what I was getting into but it was- you know attractive.”

Tony said, “You sound like a real smart girl. I’m sure you’ll do fine, even if the music ain’t your thing. You just gotta do what you like, you know? My daughter wants to actually leave LA. I’m so proud.” He laughed.

I smiled, “I’ve only been here a week, and I can smell the phony in the air.”

Tony replied with a grin, “That’s the bullshit. You’ll smell that a lot, especially during pitch season.”

I said, “I’m just worried this place is going to swallow me up and spit out this tanned, bleached blond, bubblehead that doesn’t care how her music shapes young minds, how it shapes culture even.”

He added, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders kid. The ones that happens to, they were like that before.”

He pulled into the airport parking lot and entered the lane for destinations. I said, “If I start acting like a diva of any level you let me know. Just so you know, the scale works like this- Katy Perry is a 1, and Celine Dion, Barbara Streisand and Kanye West are all level 5.”

Tony laughed openly, a massive throaty gurgle that turned into a smoker’s cough, “I think you’ll be fine.”

“Abby!” Alyssa ran toward the limousine, but her excitement level was so elevated, it might just as well have been a pure ball of energy approaching the car. Her eyes were wild with delight, although I suppose she had a good reason, her BFF was becoming a pop star. A young woman accompanied Alyssa. She looked to be in her early twenties, brown hair neatly styled and fashionable clothing.

Alyssa crushed my soft body in a hug, which I returned earnestly. I was genuinely happy to see the girl, even though I would have preferred Ethan. I would have given him a much different welcome. I grinned and said, “Good to see you. How’s your exam studying going?”

Alyssa wrinkled her nose and half stuck out her tongue, “Abby, I’m with you in LA for the next three days, and that’s what you want to talk about?” She laughed, “Are we going to study or something?”

I said, “If you want. I could help you with history. We could do it a bit. The only thing I’m allowed to study are old press conferences.” I shook my head, “They are all the same.” I raised a brow at the unfamiliar young woman who approached the car. Alyssa sidled in next to me in the limo, while the unknown woman leaned her head in the open window.

She smiled at me, “Hi, Abigail. I’m Lauren from the label’s Canadian office. I needed to make sure that Alyssa got here safely. I’ll see you on the way back Lyss!”

Alyssa grinned widely and giggled, “Bye Laur!” Lauren giggled and then left, hopefully she had fallen into an abyss. Her personality and her mannerisms seemed contrite, and the way her body was formed made me think of moulded plastic. I instantly disliked her.

Alyssa beamed as she looked around the limousine. She started pulling out all the different compartments, locating the mini-fridge, which was supplied only with water, as per my diet. She also located the snack cabinet, which consisted of low-fat crackers and regular rice cakes, not even caramel-flavoured! “So, we aren’t seriously going to study are we?”

I sighed gently, “Well I wouldn’t mind it to be honest. I need something to help me stay grounded. I don’t want to get swept away in this world. I mean this spa I go to, the girls there they wait on me like I’m royalty. I’m worried it’s going to start going to my head. Like I am going to walk around one day with an ego so inflated people will think I’m a bobble-head.”

Alyssa grinned, “But it sounds like so much fun, Abby! Can we go to the spa? Please? Please?” She fluttered her eyelashes, pushed out her lower lip, and said in a terrible British accent, “Oh please Miss Abigail, can we- can we go? Pretty, pretty please?”

My defenses slowly broke down as she spoke, her awful accent always managing to elicit a giggle from me.

I sighed gently, “Yeah, we can, but I want to help you study a bit.”

Alyssa blinked, “So you don’t even have to write your exams? That’s incredible, Abby! You are so lucky. How come you don’t have to write them? Like you think you’ll ever come back to school?”

I replied, “Mr. Atwater promised a world-class tutor for me, so apparently that was acceptable. I still don’t know how he convinced Judge Richter to let me go. I’m sure he got some high-priced lawyer to argue something ridiculous I’m still supposed to have a nine pm curfew as part of my supervised probation. I don’t really go out after nine anyway. I don’t really feel completely safe here.”

Alyssa said, “Why do you even care, Abby!? No tests, no exams. And you get to record an album! I heard your first song last night, Abby. It was amazing. I literally cried when I was listening to it- I was just so happy for you. Like I know you said you made a mistake, but it sounds amazing. Like you are going to be such a big star! I’m so happy that when exams are over, I’ll be able to join you full time!”

I replied, “It’s OK. I mean Mr. Atwater is really bossy. He tells me what to do way more than Amélie ever did. I’m just worried he’s making me into something I’m not.”

Alyssa, ever the optimist, said excitedly, “Yeah, but if you don’t like it, you can just go and do what you want when your contract is done. Like you can try out being a pop star, how many girls our age can say they did that! Probably none! You’re so lucky, Abby. You don’t even realize it.”

The limousine had since driven from the airport, on its way to Rodeo drive, the Mecca of Hollywood fashion. Mr. Atwater had given Tony explicit instruction to take us there, but I had other ideas. I kept the window separating the driver and me permanently open. I just didn’t like the idea that I was being driven around, plus, Tony listened to me.

I asked, “Hey Tony, are the Kings playing a matinee this afternoon?”

The instant I asked, I remembered my brand new phone. Alyssa oohed at the device, while I looked up the Kings’ schedule.

Tony said, “I’m not sure. I’m just supposed to take you girls shopping. Mr. Atwater didn’t say anything about a hockey game. Figures you’d be a hockey fan, being from Canada.”

I laughed, “Yeah, instead of the pledge of allegiance, we devote ourselves to the Stanley Cup.”

Tony said, “Sorry Abby, our cars are tracked by GPS. I can only take you to destinations programmed by Mr. No Fun.”

I sighed, “K, well, it’s not like we have to stay there for hours. Right?”

Tony said, “According to the itinerary, at least three hours, and then you have the option to go to the spa or back home.”

Alyssa leaned over and hugged me, “Don’t worry, Abby. I know you don’t really like shopping for clothes, but I’m sure you’ll find something you like! You found those shoes, right?”

I shrugged and munched on a rice cake. Alyssa enthusiastically asked question after question during the ride. I answered her to the best of my ability, but with far less zeal. Soon enough, we arrived on Rodeo Drive, a street lined with palm trees and stunning architecture that made anything I had seen in Canada look like a Wal-Mart. For years, Amélie had carried around a knock-off Louis Vuitton purse, and now, I could buy a real one. In fact, I could buy ten if I wanted. I had no interest in buying a three thousand dollar purse. If I was going to spend that kind of money, then it would be on a vintage guitar.

I looked over and as soon as the limousine stopped, Alyssa opened the door and sprinted toward the first store like a dog fleeing the confines of the car after a three hour ride, ecstatic at the prospect of a walk. She bounded toward the first store, which sold designer- something. I didn’t really care. I followed her with difficulty, nearly falling in the silver stiletto heels I had to wear. I wanted desperately to switch to flats, but if I had my picture taken, then Mr. Atwater would know that I had disobeyed. I couldn’t exactly ask the paparazzi to crop out my feet.

Alyssa, who was peering at the window display, turned to look at me with surprise, “Oh my god, Abby, are you wearing heels? Like real ones?” She grinned, while I treated her to a glare, as I attempted to balance on pencil-thin daggers. “Sorry, I can go a bit slower. Not too much though, there’s just so much to see! This place is amazing, Abby! I mean it’s just. I want to go in every store! Let’s start with this one!”

I shook my head and pointed to the window display, “This store sells designer clothing for dogs.”

I kind of understood the idea of clothing for dogs, but only in climates where it was necessary. In Canada, it made perfect sense for little dogs to have to wear coats, since they were skin and bones, and Canadian winters would freeze a Chihuahua within seconds. The idea of designer clothing for dogs just reeked of excess. It was supposedly winter in Hollywood, but I was hot in a pair of jeans. Chihuahuas certainly didn’t need to wear hoodies.

Alyssa moved to the next store, her eyes still as wide as saucers. She looked like she had been to the eye doctor recently. She dragged me into store after store after store- all of which sold clothing. There wasn’t an electronics store, except for a store specializing in designer cell phone protectors! Because it is necessary to have a protector that costs as much as the phone. I sighed, all my fears about this place coming true within only thirty minutes. The salesgirls were snotty to us, one of them even suggesting that we should shop elsewhere. I was dressed exactly as Mr. Atwater wanted- big sunglasses, heels, jeans and this weird top that ruffled outward. I thought it made me look fat. I think Alyssa had called it a peon top or something. After an hour, I had had enough, I hadn’t bought anything, and my feet were starting to hurt. I thought about finding a pair of heels that didn’t actually hurt my feet.

Alyssa trudged along next to me, my negativity seemingly counteracting her perkiness. She said, “This kind of sucks. Nothing even has price tags! And then when you ask, it’s like they are so rude!”

I nodded, “Exactly. We should just go somewhere else. Maybe I can convince Tony to take us to a music store.”

Alyssa sighed, “Or maybe somewhere else? How can, anyone normal afford stuff like this?”

I replied, “They can’t.”

I heard my phone ringing in my purse, so I quickly retrieved it. I was hoping it was Tony telling me that the shopping trip was near its end. I heard something fall on the sidewalk, and Alyssa bent down to pick it up. I saw that it was a text message from the anonymous number. It said: Rodeo sucks doesn’t it.

I blinked, fear suddenly gripping me. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone staring at me. Everyone was dressed in a similar fashion, but most wore skirts or shorts, everyone wore the massive sunglasses. I frowned and put the phone back in my purse.

Alyssa looked at me with wild eyes as she held the fallen object in her hand- my unlimited credit card. She said, “Is this- Is this for real, Abby? Like it’s…totally- completely?”

I nodded, “Yeah. It’s unlimited. Mr. Atwater said buy whatever I wanted. We-“

Alyssa stopped me there, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the nearest store. The one where we had been asked to shop elsewhere. She waved my credit card in the face of the rude salesgirl, who immediately changed her tune. Within a few seconds, three girls had surrounded us, taking us by the hand and asking us questions about our style preference. I knew that Alyssa and I were about to become Barbie dolls at the hands of these girls, unless I put a stop to it.

I said, “I’m kinda shopped out. My friend, though, she can have whatever she wants, put it all on my credit card.”

A willowy blond girl came over to me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to try anything on?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

The girl looked at me like I had two heads, and one of those heads was growing a wart the size of a softball. Alyssa spent forty-five minutes in the store. In the meantime, I texted the anonymous number.

Me: yeah it does
Anonymous: I sent some money to your parents
Me: rlly plz tell me who u r we need to meet
Anonymous: not yet
Anonymous: I have another way for you to stall the recordings
Me: but isnt the prophecy going to know it knew when i was stalling last time
Me: i am afraid what will happen next what if the prophecy hurts my daughter
Me: im sorry i dont think i can do it

I received no other texts after that. Just as we were leaving the store, I noticed the most gorgeous leather jacket I had ever seen, even nicer than my old aviator. It had tapered sleeves, unlike my old leather jacket that made me look a little bulky in the arms. Each sleeve had a zipper extending from the cuff, all the way to the elbow. Along the arms there was a small leather belt with a thick silver belt buckle. These belts served no purpose except for adding to the motorcycle gang motif. The jacket itself was barely a jacket, reaching only a few inches below my boobs. It tied with a studded leather belt in the back. The leather was glossy, almost pleather, but from the feel of it, it was real leather. I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on it, and the way it fit, hugging my curves, I had to have it. Like most of the items in the store, it lacked a price tag.

Alyssa’s eyes widened with delight, “I love that on you, Abby! You look so hot! You should send Ethan a pic of you wearing it!”

Alyssa handed me the credit card. Her purchases were already in multiple bags. I approached the cash, and the willowy blond from before, smiled at me and jumped on the machine. “Great look girl. I helped you out, right?”

I shrugged, but she eagerly took the card from me.

She said, “Come back anytime, Abigail!”

I slipped on my new leather jacket and felt instant confidence as I strode out of the store. I entered the limousine with Alyssa, and curiously looked down at the receipt for the jacket. I figured it would cost a few hundred dollars. My aviator was bought on sale. My eyes widened as I spied the total amount I had paid. The jacket was nearly four thousand dollars, and it was barely a jacket!

Tony started to pull out of his parking spot, but I quickly said, “Wait! I- think- I think I need to take this back. It’s ridiculous how much this cost. I can probably find a knock-off of it somewhere.”

Alyssa said, “But it looks incredible on you, Abby! Come on, Tony. Tell her she looks amazing.”

Tony looked back at us. He was clearly uncomfortable. “Uh- she looks nice. You look nice, Abby.”

I said, “It cost almost four grand. This is insane.”

Alyssa said, “Just wear it a bit, and if you still feel like you should take it back, then yeah you should. But come on, Abby. This is how you are supposed to dress. You are gonna be a celebrity. It’s how they all dress.”

I shook my head, “But I don’t really deserve it. I could think of much better things to spend my money on.”

Alyssa said, sounding exasperated “Abby, you make things so complicated! It’s a great jacket. Now how about this spa you were telling me about?”

I did kind of feel like I needed to relax after a hectic day of shopping, plus my feet were killing me. Maybe a nice scalp massage would ease my guilt too. I sighed gently, “Yeah, OK- let’s go to the spa.”

We went to the spa and spent another few hours there. I managed to convince Tony to take us through the McDonalds drive-thru, even though the fast food was strictly against my diet. Something about two famished teens whining for food likely changed his mind. When we returned to the house, it was nearly nine. I said goodnight to Tony, as I pondered the astronomical cost of riding in a limousine for an entire day. I remembered the MTV show Cribs, where celebrities were able to show off their excess, some with champagne fountains in the kitchen or some rare piece of artwork that was worth thousands of dollars. Most, however, demonstrated their love of cars. I remember one celebrity had seven cars- one for every day of the week!

I was exhausted, and was actually happy to be home, despite the fact that I shared a living space with Mr. Atwater. I noticed, however, that my guardian wasn’t home. Alyssa and I stayed in the living room and had a quasi-sleepover. It was not a real one because the house didn’t have any junk food. We had polished off the McDonalds. I remembered the credit card and quickly called for a pizza. We also got wings and the devil’s drink- according to my diet- soda pop. I got my favourite, Orange Crush. Now, we could have a proper sleepover.

The pizza delivery guy said nothing about my credit card. I assumed it was common practice in the Hills, for teenagers to have credit cards. I only got one in university, and even then, I probably shouldn’t have had any. Alyssa and I fell into our old patterns, giggling, gossiping and watching music videos on YouTube. My video from Coffee House now had over sixty million views.

I looked over at Alyssa with what was likely a pensive gaze. “So, you like the song? The one you heard.”

Alyssa said, “Yes! Abby, you have no idea how much I love it. You can dance to it, and it’s got your amazing voice. I told you- I cried when I heard it.”

I sighed gently, “You don’t think it’s too much? A lot of the imagery. It’s a bit over the top. That line about lace. Like is that supposed to be my bra or something?”

Alyssa grinned, “Maybe it’s your panties. But I will steal them, because I am the PANTY queen!” The old memory of Alyssa fallen in her closet with panties on her head caused me to giggle, although I didn’t remember her doing the Mexican accent before.

She said, “You think about stuff too much, Abby. It’s just music to dance to. No one thinks about what it means or anything. So are you gonna have a video for it? Can I be in it?”

I said, “Um, I think so. Mr. Atwater said it’s going to be the first single. So- yeah it’s definitely going to have a video. And yeah, you can be in it. Of course.”

The moment I gave my OK, Alyssa emitted a high-pitched screech that would have caused Darren’s ears to bleed. I was pretty used to Alyssa’s sonic attack by this point. Alyssa reached over and hugged me tightly, “Oh my god, Abby! This is just- I can’t even- it’s going to be so amazing!!! You are so lucky! And I’m lucky to have you as a BFF!”

***

“It looks like you two had fun last night.” Mr. Atwater wore a disapproving frown as he pointed to the empty pizza box. Alyssa was still sleeping beside me. She had one of her nightmares, and we watched a few episodes of Instant Star. I was still tired, but it appeared as if Mr. Atwater wanted me up.

He said, “It’s time for your workout. I’m still serious about you losing that weight, and what you ate last night wasn’t on your diet. Let me hire you a personal trainer. In fact, I can probably even get that woman who yells all the time. What’s her name?”

I sighed, “Jillian Michaels. I don’t need some celebrity trainer, OK? I can handle my own workout. And like I said, I’ll get in shape for the tour, but I’m not interested in losing weight. Maybe a few pounds to fit in some of my older clothes, but that’s it.”

Mr. Atwater furrowed his brow, but the explosion I expected never came. “Very well, Abigail. I’ll trust you to complete your own workouts then. When it is time to begin learning the dance steps, I expect you to be able to keep up.”

He pointed to the new leather jacket that I slung over the back of the couch. “Is that what you bought yesterday? It’s nice.”

I replied, with clear surprise in my tone, “Y-You like it? I thought you would have wanted me to get something pink with frills or something. Like ultra-feminine. I thought I was supposed to be a bubble gum pop princess? That jacket is pretty rock.”

Mr. Atwater smiled, “When I gave you that credit card, I said you could buy whatever you wanted. I was serious about that.” He motioned for me to come with him into the other room, and I followed. He continued, “I was more concerned with you dressing like Darren,” he grinned, “I doubt Darren would have worn anything like that.”

I glared at him and replied, “What’s your point? I’m thinking of taking it back.”

Mr. Atwater said, “That you are free to use that credit card for anything at all. Even late night meals if you so choose. If you want to take the jacket back, that is your prerogative, Abigail.”

I was preparing a stirring argument, but all of my potential rage left me like a furious river suddenly dammed.

Mr. Atwater said, “Unfortunately, I saw no pictures of you on any celebrity websites this morning. The shopping trip was a bit of a bust in that respect, but Alyssa seems to have enjoyed herself. Tonight, I managed to get you invited to an absolutely exclusive Hollywood party. A sweet sixteen party actually. It’s for a young woman you might have heard of named Harmony Sweet.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “She sounds like a porn star. And I told you that I don’t follow that stuff. I couldn’t care less what celebrities are doing.”

Mr. Atwater said, “I want you to go to this party tonight and mingle, get your picture taken with some celebrities. And if you can with Harmony herself. Her family is one of the richest in Hollywood, her father is a television producer and her mother a famous actress. If you get in with them, everyone will know your name. And if you go there, you could end up on television yourself. The whole family is part of a reality TV series you might have heard called, “It’s a Sweet Life”.”

I sighed, “Just give me a gun right now, I’ll blow my brains out. Because I won’t need any after spending time with those people. I’m going to leave there smelling like polyurethane.”

Mr. Atwater cast a disapproving glance in my direction, “You’ve been studying with Alyssa, haven’t you?”

I nodded, “She needed help with Science, and History. You know her exams are next week, right?”

Mr. Atwater said, “Have you memorized your responses for any upcoming press conferences?”

I nodded, “Yes, you’ll be happy to know that I am now well versed in extreme banality.”

Mr. Atwater said, “There will be many celebrities at the girl’s party. You might even meet one you like. As I said, do your best to endear yourself to Harmony. She is our ticket to real influence.”

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever. I’ll take a few pictures and then I’m out of there.”

***

The sonic screech that Alyssa emitted in the backseat of the limousine actually hurt my ears. Her excitement level was like a pot of boiling water that had suddenly burned off the water and ejected molten lava. She bounced in her seat gleefully. Even though she hadn’t been allowed to do my makeup or my hair for the party, once Alyssa learned where we were going, it was like it didn’t matter. It was like I didn’t matter. Mr. Atwater had called in professionals to absolutely glamorize me in preparation for any pictures. God, I hated pictures. The stylists, three of them, who toiled over my face and hair for two hours had taken my innocent charm and round, childish cheeks and transformed me into a true Hollywood beauty, even down to the hair extensions and fake eyelashes. What was wrong with my real eyelashes? They had also used spray tan on me, which smelled like sun screen and chemicals. One of them made jokes about there being an absence of sun in Canada. They did my hair in a pristine up-do, with dangling little strands on my neck. The final part was the outfit, which was a little black dress, to match my little black purse. Alyssa insisted that we take pictures in the car with my new phone, which she soon uploaded to her Facebook and Twitter with the title, “Going to a SWEET party w bestie! #LOVELA”.

Alyssa yammered incessantly, “Oh my god, Abby! Do you realize whose party we are going to? She’s on the second best show in the world, next to Instant Star. It’s called Midnight Sun. She plays this super popular girl named Jennifer. She’s a cheerleader, but she meets a super-hot guy, and it turns out he’s like a werewolf vampire. But the werewolf is evil. Get it? Come on, Abby. I talk about it all the time! Anyway, I can’t believe we are going to meet Jennifer! I wonder if Even will be there.”

I blinked, “Alyssa, you are hurting my brain. This is why I tune you out when you talk about it. It’s got the most ridiculous plot. And the only reason you like it is probably because that Even guy, which by the way, is the stupidest name in the world, takes his shirt off. I bet there’s this whole plot where there’s a love triangle between the werewolf and the vampire, even though it’s the same person. And even though Jennifer is a bitch (I’m guessing), both guys still want her. You know because there’s no other girls in the world. I’m actually amazed that I’m saying it, but I’d rather watch Twilight.”

Tony said, “My daughter likes that show. Sorry, Alyssa- Abby is right. It’s fifteen shades of awful.”

Alyssa glared at both of us and said, “You guys just don’t understand it. It’s cool because like Even fights against himself because he loves her so much. I bet you’d like it if you got into it, Abby. I can’t wait to ask Jennifer about what it’s like to kiss Even! Oh god, I have so many questions. Like I wanna know too if they were really dating. Cause there were a lot of rumours that said they were.”

I formed my finger into a pretend gun, pointed at my head and made a loud BAM as I pulled the imaginary trigger.

***

The party was everything to be expected from Hollywood royalty. My sweet sixteen was like a party thrown for the Paper Bag Princess (for the uninitiated, the story revolves around a princess who has had all her dresses burnt and her castle ruined by a mean dragon, the only item left is a paper bag, which she wears as a dress!) compared to the lavish extravaganza laid out before me.

I was certain that if there was a coronation for a new Princess of Wales, this party would have suited the British royal family just fine. The Sweet property sat on the very top of the Hollywood Hills, with an expansive yard that was more like a football field than an actual yard. I was certain they employed a legion of gardeners to keep the property clean. There were a number of pavilions, each with a different princess theme. Where I had construction paper crowns, there were actual tiaras. Alyssa made a beeline toward the tent and snatched two for us. I carefully slid the tiara over my hair. Each one had a tiny diamond in the centre, and while they were small, there had to be at least three hundred people at the party, over half of them women.

We had passes that Mr. Atwater had somehow procured for us. As I moved to sample what looked like a crab puff, I could see that the catering was all done by the Beverly Hills Hotel. There was loud somewhat obnoxious rap music, and as we entered the gardens, which required us to show our passes again, I could see that it wasn’t a live DJ. There was actually a live band playing, and the closer I got, I realized that it was actually the extreme diva himself, Kanye West. I recognized other celebrities too, the Kardashians, and other Hollywood elite. More and more, I realized that there were hardly any teenagers at the party, the party was supposed to be for a sixteen-year old girl, right?

Alyssa left me alone in search of Even. Was that even his real name? I figured I would try and get a few pictures with some celebrities that I recognized. I tried to speak to a few people, but they were exactly like the salesgirls on Rodeo Drive, and I knew if I flashed my unlimited credit card, the beautifully made up people would just show me theirs. Some of them asked me what I did, a few of them had heard of me, but they weren’t at all interested in speaking to a teenage girl who wasn’t as famous as them apparently.

To be honest, I wasn’t interested in speaking with them either. Besides, the rumbling bass and overproduced autotuned vocals would have drowned out all conversation. I quickly left the garden, returning to the pavilion area where Alyssa had obtained our tiaras. I went to the dessert tent and popped a cream puff into my mouth, and then another- and another. I was miserable at the party. I desperately wished for Ethan’s presence. We would just sit back and roast every single person at the party, then we would run off into a bush and make out for a few hours. I texted him a quick, “miss u :( ”, sighed lightly and popped another cream puff into my mouth.

“Hey you, save some for the other guests.”

I turned around to see a girl, about my age, with a sardonic smirk plastered on her heavily-painted face. She wore a full-length sequined pink ball gown, long white gloves, and an actual crown. Not a tiara- a jewel-encrusted crown. Her chestnut hair tumbled down her slender shoulders in thick ringlets. Like me, she was tanned, but it was hard to tell if it was real or spray. She was about my height, but the comparisons ended there. While my body had a serious curves, and as Mr. Atwater had called them: trouble areas, hers was much like Alyssa’s- but not nearly as boyish, with a more fully-developed bust. She was, essentially, the Hollywood normal. She was what Mr. Atwater wanted me to be. Her eyes were a striking contrast to her outfit and jewellery. It looked like she had taken a black magic marker and carefully traced around her eyes. She was seemingly trying to be Goth, but had gone for the racoon look instead.

I meant to reply to her wit with some of my own, but I forgot I had a mouthful of cream puff, which I proceeded to spit in her direction. This caused the girl to laugh, “This party sucks, right?”

I quickly swallowed the mouthful of cream puff and nodded, “Yeah. I mean it’s supposed to be for a sixteen-year old girl. All I see are limelight hogging celebrities.”

The girl grinned, “You know what’s funny? You act exactly like I thought you would, Abigail.”

I blinked, “Hey- how do you know who I am?”

The girl replied with a laugh, “You were linked on Katy Perry’s page, girl. Half the world knows who you are. Well Facebook world.”

I said with frustration, “Then- why…why won’t they talk to me?”

She replied, “Because you scare them. The ones with no talent anyway. It just means you are gonna shorten their fifteen minutes.”

She extended her hand with a smile, “I’m Harmony by the way.” I took the offered hand.

She said, “You know I like your old stuff more than your new stuff. I love the name of the band too Eyes Wide Open. Makes sense that they’d turn you into a popstar- still it sucks. I checked it out after you linked those videos. I like that one song where you are like having a seizure on the floor with your guitar player.”

I replied, “Why does it make sense? I almost signed with Geffen you know.”

Harmony shrugged, “It just does. You have the look, and when they realize that, that’s when they sink their hooks in. They know they can make more money on you shaking your ass than strumming a chord. I’ve seen it happen lots of times.” I regarded the girl before me curiously. She was only sixteen and yet seemed to have a thorough understanding of the ‘business’. According to Mr. Atwater, she had lived her entire life in the spotlight.

This was not the Harmony Sweet that played the insufferable Jennifer character on Alyssa’s second favourite show. The girl said excitedly, “You know I want to be in a band. Just like you, Abby. But my stupid dad won’t let me. He says it’s not good for my ‘good girl’ image, or some bullshit. Like I wanna scream and jump and smash into things. And break stuff. I wanna throw a guitar in a speaker. I wanna do the stuff- all the stuff you got to do!”

I said, “Well talk to your dad. Tell him it’s important to you. Tell him you want to learn guitar or drums or bass.”

Harmony laughed bitterly, “You haven’t been here very long, Abby. That’s not how it works. I have to be on my dad’s stupid show because that’s what they decided would be the “best use of my talents.” Which means, how can I make money off you? Not only that but no one thinks I’m any good, well people who don’t like the show I mean, you know cause my dad is the producer.”

I replied, “You still get to do something that very few people do. You are famous, and people do love you. My best friend, Alyssa- she thinks you are incredible. But I get what you are saying- I don’t want to be a pop star. But I signed this contract and now I’m stuck. I’d much rather be in my old band. Now, I’m trapped in plasticville for the next two years.”

Harmony said, “You know not everyone is like completely fake here. Some nice people are at the party. Not just people trying to climb over each other to the top, Abby.”

I raised a brow, “Like who?”

Harmony replied, “Well you like hockey, right?”

I frowned and regarded Harmony sternly, “Hey, you know not all Canadians like hockey. OK? We also don’t live in igloos and- we don’t all say ‘Aboot’ or ‘Eh’.”

Harmony giggled and shook her head, “Relax, Abby. I checked out your Facebook page. I know you like hockey.”

I shrugged, still not convinced that Americans knew anything about Canadians, but my expression softened slightly. “Yeah, I do. So what?”

Harmony replied, “Well Wayne Gretzky was here before. He had—“

I interrupted the girl with wide eyes, “Wait- are you telling me the Great One was here? Really? And I could have met him?”

Harmony smirked, “Yup. You could’ve. You are an LA girl now Abby. You gotta understand that we aren’t all like stuck-up bitches. Some people yeah. Anyway, yeah you could’ve met him. He’s a friend of my uncle’s.”

I sighed, feeling my shoulders fall, my entire body seemingly about to melt into the expertly mowed lawn. “Oh.”

Harmony said, “Relax, he’s not going anywhere. He’s got a place near here in the Hills. Or we could go to a Kings game. He’s got a box there. My brother’s been in it.”

My jaw dropped and my eyes bugged out. I grasped Harmony by the shoulders. “Are you serious?! I could- I could sit in a luxury box with Wayne freaking Gretzky and watch a hockey game?!” I shook her less than gently. An amused grin appeared on the girl’s face.

She said, “Canadians.”

She said, “There’s one thing I want to ask you though. You don’t have to- but it’d be amazing if you would.”

I was still getting over the realization that I could have met the Great One, probably the best hockey player to ever lace up a pair of skates, if I hadn’t been so focused on hating all the people around me. Not everyone in LA was a social-climbing parasite, and Harmony, was actually proof of this.

I nodded, and Harmony said, “I want you to teach me to play guitar. Like you. Heavy and crazy, and like banging your head and everything.”

I regarded Harmony with a measure of confusion, “I’m not really very good. I can mostly just show you power chords. Some strumming patterns.”

Harmony looked at me with excitement in her eyes, “Yes! That’s what I want to learn. And I think you are amazing at guitar, Abby. You’re the reason why I want to play!”

My brain tingled as warm feelings passed through my body. I had influenced Harmony, a star in her own right, to want to learn guitar. How many other girls had I inspired to pick up the instrument? Harmony looked at me expectantly, “So? Will you do it?”

I nodded, “When my fingers heal up, yeah definitely. I’ll show you what I know.”

Harmony smiled and reached out to hug me. What was with girls and hugging? I returned the hug, and then I saw a few flashes. Harmony, put her arm over my shoulder, and adopted an instant smile. She effortlessly went from the hug to the pose as the cameras flashed.

She looked over at me as the cameras continued to flash, “Hey, how come you aren’t smiling?”

I replied, “I don’t like getting my picture taken.”

This caused Harmony to burst out laughing, which in turn caused me to break into a smile. The cameras continued to flash.

Harmony said, “Get used to it. And when you get bored. Do some of these.” She stuck her tongue out and proceeded to do the sign of the devil (THE HORNS!). I followed suit, and our quasi-photo shoot became more playful.

Harmony said, “When you’ve had enough, just walk away. Most of ‘em will be happy with a few pics. Some are assholes and won’t leave you alone until they get the right one. I give them the finger sometimes.”

I loved this girl. She was exactly what I wanted to be when I became a celebrity, which was inevitable.

“Pumpkin! Time for presents!”

A man in his forties put his hand on Harmony’s shoulder. He was wearing a very expensive looking three-piece suit, had tanned skin and a tight head of hair. The hair moved like it had been glued to his head, or maybe it was the way the skin moved on his face and near the hairline. Either way, something was off about him. It was clear he had had some work done. I almost expected Harmony to reply, “Okay Daddy-kins!”, but thankfully, it was nothing like that.

Instead, she said, “Yeah, OK Dad.”

She trudged along toward a table that could have sat 60 people. Instead, it was piled high with presents, all wrapped with the same pale pink paper. When all the presents were unwrapped, Harmony’s father made an announcement, “Everyone come out to the parking lot to see the very special gift Amber and I got for our little girl on her big day!”

All the guests moved out to the parking lot quickly. What I saw there, didn’t surprise me. I knew that it was a tradition amongst the rich, and particularly celebrities to provide their offspring with brand new cars on their sixteenth birthday. Harmony’s sweet sixteen was no exception. A cherry red BMW convertible sat in the laneway with a massive pink bow stuck to the hood. She leaned over to me and sighed gently, “I was kinda hoping for the electric blue instead.”

I stared at the girl in confusion, but I tried to act partially sympathetic. I replied, “Hey, at least it’s not old man beige.”

Still, this was a girl who had just received a brand new sixty-thousand dollar car, when she likely didn’t even have her licence yet.

With Alyssa on her way back tomorrow, I was pleased that Harmony and I were seemingly on our way to becoming friends. I knew I would need someone who had seen it all to help me along the road to celebrity. OK, so maybe she was a teensy bit spoiled, but she was still the most real celebrity I had met during my brief Hollywood adventure.

***

“Did you have fun with Alyssa while she was here, Abigail?”

Alyssa had left that morning, after staying three days. The rest of the time was spent recording, during which Alyssa desperately tried not to scream in jubilation after every take. After every song, she told me once again, that she loved my voice and that again, I was going to be as big as Katy. I nodded in reply to Mr. Atwater.

Mr. Atwater and I were eating in a hoity-toity restaurant on the patio. I could have sworn I saw camera flashes. Ever since I had been photographed with Harmony, the paparazzi had taken an interest in me. I didn’t like it. It gave me a creepy feeling, like I was being watched. I kept looking around for the paparazzi, but it was they were ninjas, or more like snipers with thousand dollar zoom lens that could probably see up my nose.

Mr. Atwater said, “You’ll get used to them. Eventually, it will be like they aren’t even there.”

I said, “I’ve always hated getting my picture taken. And we are trying to eat here.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “Every picture taken of you means more buzz, more influence. And like I said, you’ll get used to it. Britney didn’t like it at first, but you just feel like they are part of the scenery. Your popularity is increasing, especially since you were seen with Harmony Sweet. Do you think you two will become friends? That would work very well in our favour.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I think so. She’s cool. And she’s nice too. Not at all what I was expecting.”

Mr. Atwater said, “Would you like to see some pictures of you and Harmony from the party?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Yeah, OK.”

Mr. Atwater handed me a tablet computer. He was on a site called Celebritydirt.com, a site that made Perez Hilton look like Mother Theresa. It found celebrities at their worst. I scrolled through the pictures. I looked awkward, like I didn’t want to be there, and Harmony looked like a pure natural. I scrolled up to the top of the page, where I saw the headline “SWEET sixteen for Harmony.” I rolled my eyes, and proceeded to skim the article. The second paragraph caught my eye, where it highlighted the best and worst dressed guests at the party.

“Harmony and soon-to-be star, Abigail Grenier were practically already best friends after their first meeting. Abigail, a future pop star from Canada, wore a daring little black dress. Unfortunately, the dress did nothing to hide her little belly or her love handles. This FLABBY Abby needs to lay off the cream puffs!” There were multiple pictures of me stuffing my face with the cream puffs prior to meeting Harmony. I frowned deeply and scrutinized the pictures, and it was clear that I should have worn the spanx as the stylists had suggested. I refused, feeling that I had nothing to hide, but I hated a lot of the pictures of myself, especially one where I was bending over with Harmony, and you could even see a little belly roll. I also thought my thighs looked huge.

I took a breath and glared at Mr. Atwater. I pushed a half-eaten plate of fettuccini Alfredo toward him. “What the hell? Why would you show me this?”

Mr. Atwater played innocent. “I bookmarked a number of other sites too.”

I maintained my glare, “But, you chose to show me this one.”

Mr. Atwater clears his throat and said gently, “Let’s be serious here, Abigail. The paparazzi are going to take pictures of you daily. And then the celebrity media will tear you apart. There are expectations in Hollywood, and you will fit into those expectations, however, whether you do it kicking and screaming- is up to you.”

I replied, “Fuck you. If I have to be a pop star, then I’m going to do it my way. I’ll show you that the world will accept me as I am.”

A tiny smile appeared on Mr. Atwater’s face, “Yes, but can you- accept yourself like this?”

Chapter 63

My phone vibrated in my purse. I pulled it out, and noticed that I had received a message from the anonymous texter. It had been a week since Harmony’s party, and since then we had become friends. We had gone to a Kings game together, and I actually got to sit in THE Great One’s special reserved box. Numerous celebrity websites were already calling us BFFs. Alyssa, who had been insanely jealous that I got to hang out with Harmony at the party, texted me repeatedly, asking if I could introduce her to Harmony. I was willing to do so, but only if Alyssa promised she wouldn’t go all psycho-fan. There had been numerous complaints about some star-struck teenager accosting the celebrities at the sweet sixteen party.

The message said simply: “Leave the house this afternoon.”

I texted back, but I received no response. The album was nearly complete, and Mr. Atwater had given me the afternoon off, suggesting that I go shopping or to the spa, but I wasn’t interested in that. Still, maybe I could see what Harmony was doing. I texted her, and she suggested we go guitar shopping for her. I texted her back with a resounding YES and as much enthusiasm as my smart phone would allow- a total of fourteen exclamation points.

We went to a few stores in the Hills, but I didn’t like the vibe. They catered to the rich and famous, and while the guitars sounded great, I didn’t think it was necessary for Harmony’s first guitar to be Bruce Springsteen’s first guitar. I wanted Harmony to have an organic guitar store experience, even if that included know-it-all guitar geeks, a musty old carpet, and the general public. We were going into a place that spurned popular culture, so I figured we wouldn’t be bothered.

“Girls, let me come in with you.”

Tony clearly did not like the idea of us going into a place called METAL HEAVEN. There were metal bars on the windows, the sign was only partially lit up, with the M, T and N all burnt out and the street outside was littered with cigarette butts. Two boys about our age were standing outside the shop and giving us the eye. They were dressed in leather jackets. One had a Mohawk, while the other had pink, green, and orange dyed hair. It wasn’t even clear what his natural colour was. They were kind of cute, and the one with the multi-coloured hair reminded me of Ethan. Both of them were smoking marijuana. I could smell it the second I rolled down the window.

Harmony was dressed posh, wearing a pencil thin-skirt and a tube top that showed off her tight stomach. She was fully made up, although I suppose I was too. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house without makeup. Despite it being ‘winter’, I was wearing a pair of shorts, and one of my band tees, which to be honest, was a little tight on my chest. OK- a lot tight. It was the one I had worn to meet Jacynthe, and it was boy style. My boobs pressed against the top of the logo, distorting it slightly.

I said, “Don’t worry about us, Tony. We’ll be fine.”

Tony replied worriedly, “I’m supposed to protect you, Abigail. And as for Harmony- I don’t know what her dad would do to me if I let something happen to her. Can we just go back to the other store? Come on, Abby. You said Nirvana is your favourite band, right? They had a Kurt Cobain guitar. One he had actually broken! I was actually at the show here where he broke it. Tiny club on the strip.”

I shook my head, “If Harmony’s going to be a genuine musician, we need to do this right. She needs to feel the guitar, hear it. Choose it for herself. She shouldn’t pick a guitar just because it was played by someone famous. That’s not the point. As for Kurt’s guitar- that guitar was broken by him for a reason, it was a piece of shit. He never busted guitars he liked. He’s rolling in his grave at the price they are charging.”

Harmony flipped her hair dismissively, “Come on, Abby. Why are you letting your driver boss you around? Let’s go in. These guys- they are kinda freaking me out.”

She looked warily at the two boys. One of the guys, reached his hand out and said, “Hey Princess, you want a hit?”

His buddy, Mohawk laughed obnoxiously. The boy with the multi-coloured hair tried to hand Harmony the joint, but she took a step back and moved next to me. I had to admit, if we had come at night, I wouldn’t have stuck around. This looked like one of the seedier parts of LA.

Tony said, “I know Mr. Atwater won’t like this.”

I said, “Give it a rest, Tony. We’ll be fine inside.”

We moved past the two boys and entered the guitar store. I loved the look of the place. It wasn’t one of the big box places with wall upon wall of instruments. It was the kind of place that disappeared with gentrification, a mom and pop store that was willing to bargain, had rare and sometimes otherwise impossible to find merchandise, and one where the employees genuinely loved to talk music.

A young man, probably in his mid-twenties, looked at us from behind the counter. He was heavily tattooed and pierced, with a full sleeve on his left arm, and an eyebrow and lip ring. He looked us over with a judgmental smirk. Clearly, we should have dressed differently, less Hollywood. “Can I help you girls?”

I said, “Yeah, we are looking for a guitar for my friend.”

I looked at Harmony with a frown. No wonder he had looked at us with such disdain- Harmony was still wearing her sunglasses! I leaned over and whispered to her, “Take off your sunglasses. This guy thinks we are Paris Hilton-wannabes.” Harmony dutifully removed her shades.

I said, “We want something with a lot of edge. Definitely active pickups- and a really crunchy rhythm, no matter what amp we plug in. Do you guys have a practice room?”

The young man said, “You are looking at it. Plug in to any of the amps on the wall.” I pointed to a Les Paul, a real one, not like my Epiphone knock-off.

He took it down and handed it to Harmony, who proceeded to hand it to me. I sighed. My fingers were feeling better, but they were still splinted, at least until next week, but I could play drop D. I quickly plugged in the guitar and then re-tuned it to drop D. I handed the guitar back to Harmony, “Here I’ll show you some really easy drop D power chords. You’ll have to, um, cut your nails if you want to play standard.”

Harmony frowned, “Really?” Like me, she had immaculate nails. My near daily trips to the spa meant that my nails were in excellent shape. Harmony had French tips (it was amazing what I picked up from a three-hour spa visit). She looked down at her nails and frowned again.

I slowly placed Harmony’s fingers in position on the guitar, and had her strum a chord. I said, “You need to press down harder on the strings.”

Harmony replied, “But it hurts my fingers. Gross, look I have these lines on my fingers now.” She was referring to the indentations left by the strings on her fingers.

I nodded, “And eventually you’ll get calluses, and it won’t hurt anymore.” I could hear snickering behind us. I shot the clerk a death stare, and he quickly relented.

Harmony reached out and grasped my index finger. She felt underneath and tapped at the calluses with her nail. “Gross, it’s really hard, Abby. I don’t like that. Doesn’t your boyfriend think it’s nasty when you are like touching him and your fingers are all hard like that?” Again, the clerk started to laugh.

I stomped over to him, “Have you got a problem with us? Because it sounds like you do.”

He pulled a pink butterfly-shaped guitar from underneath the counter and handed it to me, “Here, give her that. It’s got silk strings.” The other patrons joined the clerk.

One of the customers said, “I bet the blonde gives fucking brutal sandpaper hand jobs.”

I could see rage building in Harmony’s eyes. I was angry, but Harmony was furious. She had been so excited to start learning guitar, to become a musician, write songs and play shows, just like me. I hoped she wouldn’t be discouraged by the experience. I felt bad for bringing her here, even though the nastiest joke had been directed at me.

Harmony poked her French-tip fingernail into the clerk’s chest, “Do you know who I am?” She looked around the room. “Do any of you know who I am?”

One of the customers said, “Yeah, you’re a porn star! A Hills whore. Right? I loved you in the one with the pizza delivery guy.” More laughing ensued.

She spoke before any of the men could respond, “I’m Harmony Sweet, and I could buy and sell all your asses. You know I could probably convince my dad to buy this whole block and put up a bunch of condos. Then you and your lowlife friends can sell your stupid guitars on the street!” I looked over at one of the customers, and I could see that he was recording the entire incident on his phone.

I leaned over to Harmony and whispered, “Maybe you should calm down? That guy over there. He’s recording this.” Harmony walked over to the man, who looked to be in his late twenties, and grabbed the phone from him. She threw it on the floor and proceeded to stab her stiletto through the phone’s display. The man hadn’t even moved to retrieve his phone when it was first taken, looking on in disbelief at Harmony’s behaviour.

She stormed out of the store. As she did, she was accosted by the two teens, who were still smoking their joints. They tried to make conversation with her, and as one of them grabbed her arm, she took something out of her purse and proceeded to spray both of them in the eyes. She pepper sprayed them. Tony turned the car on as Harmony and I quickly escaped into the limousine. We heard shouting behind us. Even with the limousine’s supposed sound blocking technology, we could still hear, “Hollywood whores!”

Tony yelled, “What the hell happened in there, girls? Are you OK?”

I looked over at Harmony, who was still shaking with rage. I said, “I’m so sorry about that, Harm. I didn’t think- I didn’t think they would be such assholes.”

Tony said, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you two go in there alone. Are you two hurt? Why didn’t you listen to me, Abigail?” He sounded hurt. I considered Tony a friend, and I was about to apologize when Harmony pressed the button to close the glass divide between the driver and the passengers.

Harmony said, “I know you haven’t been here that long, Abby, but there’s one thing you are gonna learn. We aren’t the same as them. They will never understand what we go through. The sooner you understand that the better off you’ll be.”

I shook my head, “I don’t believe it. You just don’t know any better because you haven’t had any friends who weren’t famous. I think it’s possible. And I think it’s possible to live a normal life too.”

Harmony shook her head sadly, “It’s not, Abby. And you’ll see it one day. This is why we go shopping on Rodeo Drive. Because those dickheads would never get in the door. It’s why we hire people to do our shopping- our groceries. We can’t go out in public. Every time we do, we get mobbed by fans, or by people who hate us. It’s why I only have friends who are famous. Because other people just don’t get it. You’ll see, Abby. You’ll see what it’s like to walk into a store and realize that everyone knows who you are. And everyone wants a piece of you.”

I looked at Harmony sternly, “That’s not how I’m going to end up. I’m not going to hide away from the world.

I asked, “Why did you even agree to go in the guitar store, if you knew you’d be recognized?”

Harmony shrugged and replied, “I thought maybe it would be different. Like they wouldn’t recognize me. I know they did, even before I said who I was.”

Harmony added, “You are gonna have to deal with that soon enough anyway. When does your album drop?”

I said, “A week or two I think. I have two vocal tracks left to do. Some harmony bits, and then they’ll mix it.”

Harmony said, “Say goodbye to your old life, Abby. Cause it’s never gonna be the same.”

***

Tony dropped Harmony off. I lowered the glass divider a minute afterward, “Sorry, Tony. Harmony was just- she was upset. She’s not usually like that.”

Tony waited a few moments before answering. I thought he was ignoring me at first. Eventually, he said, “I asked you not to go in the store without me, Abigail. You could have gotten in a lot of trouble. I know that you probably feel pretty safe up there in Canada, but that part of town you were in- girls your age- or any age really- they shouldn’t be dressing like that. And Harmony- that was stupid what she did.”

I glared at Tony, as he peered at me in the rear view mirror. “That she was protecting herself? One of them had grabbed her. She did what she needed to do.”

Tony said, “That she went into the store in the first place. That she walked around that part of town without a bodyguard. One of those kids she sprayed could have had a knife or a gun.”

I said, “There’s nothing wrong with her trying to act normal.”

Tony said, “Yeah there is. She put herself and you in a lot of danger. You know just as many people hate her family as love it. And your friend isn’t helping it. She can be a real diva sometimes.”

I asked, “So if I wanted to say walk into a grocery store in that same part of town and buy a stick of gum, you’d have a problem with that?”

Tony said, “Now, no. In a few weeks- when everyone knows who you are. Yeah. I’d have a problem with it. I’d worry about you. A lot.”

I replied with my lip slightly upturned, “You aren’t my father you know. Or Mr. Atwater. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Tony sighed and said, “Abigail, you are a real smart kid, but you’ve got blinders on. I don’t want to scare you- but things are gonna change. They’ll change with your friends, the ones you have now. Your family. Everything. You need to realize you won’t be able to do the same things. There’s a price to celebrity.”

I said, “You sound exactly like Harmony. What is it with you LA people?”

Tony smiled sadly, “We’ve seen it before.”

Tony added, “I don’t want to discourage you, I mean- would I want to be rich? Yeah, probably. And you’ll get to do something you love. You know if I could drive NASCARs, that’s what I’d do for a living. It’ll be OK.”

I lowered my head and put my hands over my head .I felt like I was balancing a massive rock on my head, and it was slowly caving in my skull.

***

When we arrived back at the house, I could see police cars out front. It was near dinner time, and I had fought the urge to stop at the drive-thru again, but now I was famished. I exited the car quickly, and Tony did the same- standing beside me protectively. I saw a police officer, and he waved us over.

He asked, “Miss, are you Abigail Grenier?” I nodded.

The officer asked, “And you are the other occupant of the home? You live with a Mr. Philip Atwater, is that correct?” I nodded again.

I asked, “What’s going on?”

A part of me hoped that Mr. Atwater had been the victim of some heinous crime, so he would be out of my life forever, but I knew the Prophecy would continue without him. Still, maybe it would find someone nicer?

The officer said, “There’s been a break-in.”

I asked, “What was taken?”

The officer replied, “I’m not at liberty to say, but, Mr. Atwater should be able to fill you in. He’s down at the police station.”

I was scared. I didn’t want to sleep in the mansion anymore. What if whoever broke in came back? What if they were armed? I hated this crime-ridden city!

Tony said, “Do you want me to take you to a hotel or something, or to the police station to meet up with Mr. Atwater?”

I shook my head, “No, maybe Harm will let me sleep over.”

I saw Tony frown, and then I watched him trudge back to the limousine. I texted Harmony with the details, and she said that she would be happy to have me over. She texted back, “SLEEPOVER!” Alyssa would, no doubt, die of jealousy.

I got into the backseat of the limousine.

Tony had been really quiet for the first ten minutes of the ride, but he spoke up eventually, “You know I’m not sure that Harmony girl is a good influence on you, Abby. She’s kind of-“

I wrinkled my brow and again, my upper light turned up slightly, “She’s kind of what?”

Tony replied, “She’s a huge diva. Like I read this article where it said she’s always late for the taping of her show. I mean her dad is the producer- they couldn’t car pool? And that she one time yelled at one of her co-stars because they were flubbing their lines. She said she had plans or something. You said- you said you wanted me to let you know, if you were in dangerous waters. Well you are. Big time.”

I narrowed my eyes and asked, “How do you know if any of that is true? You probably read it on Celebritydirt.com.”

Tony shook his head, “Came from her co-star in an interview.”

I shook my head, “Mind your business, Tony. I’ll hang out with whoever I want. Harmony is my friend.”

Tony said, “But Abby, she’s-“

I cut him off by closing the glass divider. When we arrived at Harmony’s, I got out of the car without saying a word.

***

The sleepover wasn’t what I expected. It was, in fact, a lot like the sleepovers Alyssa and I had, except she wasn’t worth millions of dollars. We talked about Ethan, and boys Harmony had dated. She said that Ethan and I had a chance of working because he would know what I went through on a daily basis, even having to deal with his own celebrity potentially. Despite the disastrous trip to the guitar store, I managed to convince Harmony to watch one of my favourite music DVDs, the notorious Nirvana Halloween show. As I looked over at her, she seemed to be fully enjoying the mayhem that ensued, the broken guitars, punctured speakers and the thrashing. Oh yes, and lots of junk food, even though it was on neither of our diets.

The next morning, I received a text from Mr. Atwater telling me to return home to the mansion as soon possible. Through the haze of my initial fear over the break-in, I had forgotten about the text I received from the anonymous messenger. Could the break-in have had something to do with that? The more I thought about, the more I realized that the two must be linked.

“Hey, Abby! I’ll drive you! I have to pick something up on Rodeo anyway.”

I raised a brow, “Uh, did you even get your learner’s permit yet? I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What if you get stopped by the police, or we get into an accident?”

Harmony shook her head and laughed, “Everyone does it in the Hills.”

I remained firm, “That’s a horrifying notion.”

I pictured hundreds of unlicensed adolescent drivers talking on cell phones, all careening toward each other.

Harmony stuck her tongue out at me, “You’re no fun, Abby. You’re as boring as your driver. He’s so bossy! I don’t know how you put up with him.”

I frowned, “Hey, Tony is a good guy. He was just worried about us yesterday. By the way, why didn’t you have your bodyguard with you when we left Rodeo Drive?”

Harmony replied, “Cause, like I said. I wanted to try and be normal. So that was a massive fail. So now I wanna drive you in my brand new car. Come on, Abby. Stop being so Janet Reno!”

I blinked, “Stop being the former Attorney General during the Clinton presidency?”

Harmony rolled her eyes, “Oh my god, Abby. How do you know all this stuff? I go to school too, and I never learned any of the stuff you talk about sometimes.”

Harmony said, “Anyway, Miley tweeted it to Selena, and it’s like this thing now. It means lame and boring.” I think in that moment, I lost two-hundred eighty-eight brain cells.

I said, “I already texted, Tony. He’s coming to get me. And I know how to have fun.”

Harmony said, “Prove it. Have you ever been in a club? You know if those assholes hadn’t grabbed me, and that Tony guy wasn’t staring at us, I would have smoked with them. I’ve done it before. What about you?”

I said, “I like crossword puzzles. A quiet night of crossword puzzles by the fire listening to the crickets. Oh and warm milk.” I couldn’t say the last bit with a straight face. Harmony burst out laughing.

She said, “OK- JANET RENO. When your album drops, we are going to celebrate. Whether you like it or not. Comprendé?” I nodded slowly.

***

I apologized to Tony for my behaviour the night before, and he accepted it. He asked me never to put him in a similar situation again. He said in hindsight, he should have called Mr. Atwater and Harmony’s parents the second we went into the guitar store outside of the Hollywood Hills.

We arrived at the mansion, and I met Mr. Atwater and Julian in the recording studio.

Mr. Atwater looked exhausted. His hair was mussed, and his usually pristine clothing was wrinkled. He looked like he had slept at the police station. He snapped at me, “I told you to be here an hour ago. What took you so long?”

I yawned, “It’s eleven in the morning. I only got your text at ten. I was sleeping.” I never usually started recording until ten thirty, so I was used to sleeping in every morning.

Mr. Atwater said, “Do as you are told, Abigail. Get in the booth.”

I said, “But I haven’t even warmed up. What’s going on here? The cop that was here yesterday- he said something was stolen, but he wouldn’t say what.”

Julian, who was watching the exchange with growing concern said, “Philip, calm down. It’s not her fault. She’s just a kid- cut her some slack man.”

Mr. Atwater narrowed his eyes and grabbed me by the arm. He looked to Julian, “Start mixing the tracks we can salvage.” He took me upstairs, and we went to my room. “Did you know about this?”

I pulled my arm away from him angrily. The pressure he was applying had really started to hurt. “Know about what? I don’t know what you are talking about. What are you talking about salvage? I thought the stupid album was done except for two small vocal tracks. The chorus in “Girl Talk” and the bridge in “Your Angel Kiss”. Right?”

Mr. Atwater said furiously, “Right, but yesterday. Someone came in and messed with all the tracks! All your vocals were replaced with goat sounds. Julian had only started mixing half the album. The other masters on the laptop were tampered with, and the external hard drive with the backups was stolen.”

I saw the fire in his eyes. There was no smile on his face, only unresolved fury in the form of a snarl and maddened eyes. He grabbed my arm and threw me on the bed, then he advanced on me, his hands moving perilously close to my neck.

He said, “You did it didn’t you? Your ethics and your fractured misplaced morals, well you fat little bitch, if I find out you did this, you can say goodbye to any chance of Ethan ever being in your band. Not to mention how the Prophecy will punish you!”

Out of fear and perhaps anger over being accused of something I hadn’t done and the fact that it looked like Mr. Atwater wanted to strangle me, I kicked my leg forward and planted my heeled foot right in Mr. Atwater’s genitals. He collapsed like, well a man who had been kicked with a stiletto heel in the balls. His eyes bulged out of his skull as he writhed on the floor in agony, his breaths coming out in strangled gasps.

I shot back angrily, “I told you that I didn’t do anything! I’m not stupid enough to risk my daughter’s life or my family. Or Ethan. Besides, I wasn’t even here yesterday afternoon when the break-in happened. I was out shopping with Harmony you asshole!”

Nothing remotely human sounding came from him as Mr. Atwater gurgled on the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. I yelled, “Just get the hell out of here! I hate you!”

Mr. Atwater barely moved, and when he did, his eyes looked like they were ready to leave his skull. I huffed and left the room, returning with a bag of frozen green beans, which I threw directly at the man’s head. My aim was off, and the bag skittered off the side of the bed. Mr. Atwater took the bag of frozen vegetables and applied them to his genitals. Words finally escaped from his mouth, “Go…Julian…record.”

***

Amazingly, with Mr. Atwater literally nursing his wounds, the recording went much smoother. Julian and I already got along, and with Mr. Atwater’s absence, the negativity was drained from the room entirely. We made fun of the songs and the lyrics, but I still got down to business. I knew it was foolish to attempt to thwart the Prophecy. Perhaps when it was finished with me, I could mount some form of opposition against it, but for now, it pulled my strings. I wasn’t ready to deal with Chloe, Amélie, my family, and especially Ethan being hurt. Alyssa was already suffering. My parents had been the latest victim, and I had a feeling, that the Prophecy was simply offering that as a warning. The next time I disobeyed- it was for real.

We finished three songs that afternoon, leaving only four outstanding. There were the versions with the goat vocals, and while it could have been as revolutionary as the first use of distortion or the blending of different styles of music, I wasn’t sure the world was ready for Goat Step. It was still better than autotuned vocals, because at least the goat wasn’t overproduced. I actually felt a little bit bad for injury I had given Mr. Atwater. Near dinner time, I brought him an actual ice pack. I knocked and opened the door, just as he did to me, even if I wasn’t decent sometimes.

“Then it has to happen in the next two days. Yes, I know. Well you better find out!”

I walked toward the man, to whom I had done grievous harm and held out an olive branch in the form of the ice pack. He took it from me.

I asked, “What was that about?”

Mr. Atwater said, “It’s none of your concern, Abigail. How did it go with Julian?”

He was sitting up in bed. He removed the green beans and proceeded to toss them in the garbage. He placed the ice pack and winced, bringing his teeth together tightly as he briefly cried out in pain.

I replied, “We managed to finish three songs. So there’s still four goat songs I am going to have to re-record.” Mr. Atwater looked impressed.

He said, “I’m sorry, Abigail. I shouldn’t have blamed you. You know your place is with the Prophecy, you know the consequences for opposing what is inevitable. I- I am still getting used to my mortality again, and with that- a range of emotions, none of which I have felt since I last guided Ms. Spears to mega-stardom.”

I sat down on the edge of his bed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I kind of understand what you mean. When I first changed, I was an emotional wreck. All the crying I did when Amélie wasn’t there. Some days it felt like I was seriously bipolar because I’d wake up OK, and by the end of the day, I’d be crying, like non-stop bawling my eyes out. Well I’m sure you saw it all. Not to mention being a teenager again and everything that comes along with that. I was like a flailing, uncontrollable mass of hormones. I still feel like I am sometimes.”

Mr. Atwater said, “I wasn’t always watching you, Abigail. I also have to monitor the popular culture within the world. I have to know what is in so that I can ensure you will be successful.”

He added, “The chosen that have to undergo physical transformations to become what is desired by the world often have the most difficulty adapting to the needs of the Prophecy. I’m not surprised by what you went through. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you couldn’t simply fulfil the Prophecy as Darren. I had no control over that.”

I shrugged, “Whatever. You had your chance to help me. I still consider you a sellout to the Prophecy. I asked you to help me break the circle. You refused. Don’t think just because you apologize for the shit you do that I’m suddenly going to be like, Oh my god Philip, please be my new Daddy.”

A pained smile appeared on Mr. Atwater’s face, “You certainly haven’t lost your spirit through all this, Abigail.”

I said, “Anyway, I wanted to kind of apologize for kicking you in the junk- I guess- I mean you were so mad. Maybe blame it on those teenage hormones kicking in.”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “I was going to strangle you, Abigail. I had lost control completely.”

I smirked, “OK, so I retract my apology then.”

Mr. Atwater said, “Do you think you can get the other tracks done without me? In the next two days? I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk for a few days.” I nodded, and he offered another pained smile.

***

Julian had gone home a little after nine. We had attacked another song, leaving only three left. Julian and I worked magic together. I already knew the tone Mr. Atwater wanted, and the songs weren’t vocally challenging, and to be honest- I had sung them so many times, the original vitriol I had for them had worn off a little. A little. I still thought they were mind-numbing, brain cell destroying abominations, but it was like that awful smell that you eventually get used to- the dead racoon lodged somewhere underneath your house. Eventually, you don’t notice it.

I was getting ready for a Skype session with Ethan in my room, when my phone rang. It was the same number that had called me before, the same one attached to the mysterious text messages. I had tried calling the number before, but there wasn’t any option for voicemail. I hadn’t heard from the number since I was told to leave the house.

A female voice with a hint of Southern drawl asked, “Abigail?”

I said, “Yes? Who is this?”

The voice said, “It’s not important. I’m going to be there to pick you up in fifteen minutes. I’m going to bring you somewhere safe. Don’t worry.”

I raised a brow, “What the hell are you talking about? I mean you know about the Prophecy, right? You know what it does to people who try to stop it?”

The voice replied, “Yes, but you just need to trust me, Abigail. I know what you’ve been through. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. But it’s time. You and me- we can stop the Prophecy dead.”

I shook my head, “It’s about a gazillion years old. And no one has come close yet.”

The voice replied, “Yes they have- I’m sure of it. I just can’t really remember how.”

I said, “Solid argument there. Make sure you write your thesis using that.”

The voice laughed softly, but there was a hint of bitterness there, “I used to be smart like you. Well maybe not as smart as you. I never went to a college or nothing like that. Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time here. Can you leave the house? Is he there, watching you, right now?”

I said, “No- Mr. Atwater is indisposed tonight.”

The voice said, “Good- pack a bag.”

I asked, “Britney? Is that you?”

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, “Smart girl. Now, will you come with me?”

I said, “Look, I’ve seen what the Prophecy can do. I’ve seen how it hurts people, destroys their lives. I can’t go with you. My daughter could be hurt. She’s- just- I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her. Or Ethan. If I disobey again, even slightly, then Ethan won’t be able to come on my tour.”

Ms. Spears barked into the phone, “Abigail, stop acting like a kid. This is grownup stuff. I need you focused here. This isn’t about your boyfriend. Darren wouldn’t act that way.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Darren wouldn’t sacrifice his daughter. Even if it would save a million minds. Why should I believe you? What makes you so sure the Prophecy can be beaten?”

Britney said, “Listen to me, Abigail. We are close to stopping the Prophecy. There’s a band, called funnily enough Rebellion’s Mask. They brought out their first album, and it is getting A LOT people thinking for themselves, which is weakening the Prophecy. It knocked Miley, Katy- everyone out of the top. Three songs that aren’t even being called singles are in the top 10 on the singles chart. It’s already sold a million copies in two days! This is how I think it can be done.

“If we can stall your album, even just a few more days. A week at most. Rebellion’s Mask will have enough influence to completely destroy any chance of the Prophecy being fulfilled. That will break the chain. There’s already been riots in Europe.”

Britney said finally, “Trust me, Abigail. We can do this. Come with me, and we’ll break the chain.”

Britney added, “I’m worried that he might be listening in on the call, Abigail. I noticed he put a bunch of features on there when I got the info on your phone from the cell place. GPS tracking and stuff. Leave the phone in your room.”

I shook my head, “I’m not sure I should go with you. What if it doesn’t work?”

Britney said, “We don’t know if it will. But we have to try. By giving into the Prophecy, I failed- I just wasn’t strong enough. You’ve fought it longer than me, and now it’s come to a point where it’s do or die for the Prophecy. Mr. Atwater explained to you how it works, right?”

I nodded, “When a form of media starts to influence the populace, taking their minds away from popular culture, forcing them to think- and most importantly to question, then the Prophecy has to be fulfilled. I don’t believe the bullshit about anarchy and the end of humanity- I think it’s to keep the white tower status quo. Mr. Atwater even seemed to believe that interpretation.”

Britney said, “That’s what I think too. How can I convince you to come with me, Abigail?”

I replied, “I-I’m willing to meet with you, to work out a plan. But I’m not about to let you drive me to Mexico or something.”

Britney laughed, “Come on, girl- don’t be silly. There’s this spa- it caters to only the best- it’s super exclusive. It’s away from the paparazzi, and the public. And it’s about three hours out of Hollywood. I went there after my…incident. You know the one. Bald city. Anyway, I’m OK with meeting you and talking, but you are sure Mr. Atwater can’t follow you or anything?”

I nodded, “Positive.” I had been hit in the groin with a puck in high school, and I remember hobbling around the house for a few days after. I doubted that Mr. Atwater would be too far away from an ice pack.

Britney said, “I’ll see you in fifteen, Abigail. Pack a bag, just in case you do decide to leave.”

I didn’t have a duffel bag, but I did have a massive Valentino purse that Harmony had encouraged me to buy. I stuffed a bunch of bras and panties in there, my toothbrush, and some clothes. I even threw the makeup bag in there, out of habit.

I went down to the main level, glancing at the stairs and perking my ears for any hint of the hobbled mass that was Mr. Atwater. My heart pounded. Thankfully, the mansion was not old, and it did not have the creaky joints of a house that has stood for decades. Finally, I saw lights, and a car pulled into the circular driveway. I crept toward the door, carefully opened it, and then slid through, closing it softly behind me. I got into a black sports car, sliding in next to my potential saviour.

Britney drove off slowly at first, and then as she reached the edge of the driveway, she hit the gas, and I quickly buckled my seat belt. She looked over to me and smiled, “Nice to you meet you, Abigail.”

I blinked, staring at the woman who had admittedly once lined the walls of my adolescent room, “Uh- hi. So where are we going to go to talk?”

I had to admit too, that she looked old to me. Maybe it was the life she had lived, but the poor woman probably looked forty, with deep bags under her eyes and a bloated face. I couldn’t help it. It was the same with Amélie- even though she was only thirty. Britney wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she was dressed in a pair of loose fitting sweat pants. Her dyed blonde hair was tied in a loose ponytail. Beyond her slovenly appearance, there was a zeal in her eyes that frightened me at first. She drove carefully, but faster than I would have liked.

Britney replied, “A place just at the edge of town. I need to make sure we weren’t followed. Mr. Atwater- does he know you’re gone?”

I shook my head, “No, and I left my phone. So he can’t track us.”

Britney smiled, “Good girl.”

She said, “You- are gorgeous. You know that, right?” She kept looking over at me, a discernible sadness in her features. Her mouth drooped gently. “Like- I know- I mean I know that you weren’t always like this, but I’d kill to have your body now.”

I frowned, “Mr. Atwater is pressuring me to lose weight though. And I really hate the pictures of me. I look fat.”

Britney raised a brow at me and sighed. I shrugged, “What?”

Britney said, “I guess- I guess I thought you were still playing the part sort of. The Prophecy has really done a number on you. I mean do you even consider yourself- I mean- do you think as Darren anymore?”

I said, “It depends on what you mean think like Darren. I have his memories, most of his intelligence- his drive. But it’s all in this teenage girl’s brain- so you can’t blame me for changing. But- well you know I like boys. I miss Ethan so much. I know it’s stupid, but I’ve started crying right after we Skype.”

Britney said, “It’s not stupid. You’re in love, right? And he’s so far away. And I don’t blame you for changing, it’s- I just can’t imagine what you went through. I’ve known about you for a while- I can’t even think how hard it would be to lose everything you were, Abigail.”

I asked, “How did you find out about me? I mean, not a lot of people know who I really am. Ethan doesn’t. Only my family and some of my friends- well they used to be my friends. I’d never tell Ethan, or Alyssa. It’s just embarrassing now. I’m not the same person. I’m not Darren, I’d accepted that before Mr. Atwater brought me here.”

Britney smiled gently, “When did you know you weren’t Darren anymore, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I shrugged, “Well when Ethan put his tongue down my throat, and I didn’t gag. Maybe it was before. I don’t really know. During the summer, I really started to think about boys. And then all the kid stuff I did. Stupid stuff- but I wasn’t thinking, you know? It was just so easy to act that way, because that’s how everyone treated me.” I was getting emotional.

Britney nodded softly, “It’s OK, I kinda went through the same thing you did- I was a teenage girl after all. But I wasn’t born a man like you. I was just a little girl with a big voice and a lot of dreams. And very naïve. Mr. Atwater posed as a talent agent, and I was hooked. I actually didn’t start rebelling until I found out about how they were gonna make me dress so sexy. I’m not a prude, Abigail- but I was brought up a good Christian woman. It is just wrong to sell sex to kids, which is exactly what they did. And what they plan to do with you.”

Britney added, “As for how I knew about you, I’ve been trying to stop the Prophecy for the last ten years. I’ve probably spent millions of dollars trying to track down Atwater, or any sign of the Prophecy. But to be honest, people who are affected by the Prophecy, there’s like this leftover magic, so people who know about it- can tell others who have been too.” Britney turned onto the expressway, but I said nothing.

I nodded, “Mr. Atwater mentioned something about that. Like there was a small chance that if I told someone they’d know what I was talking about- but he also said most people would think I was crazy.”

Britney nodded, “Exactly. That is exactly what happened to me. I told people- and they thought I was nuts. They took my kids away, my dad managed my money- I spent a month in a mental hospital. But you know what happened? When everyone told me I was crazy, that I was just a girl who had become an international pop star, and that there was no crazy Prophecy controlling the spread of pop culture? Michael Jackson of all people, the King of Pop. He called me up- told me that he believed every word I said.”

She added as she gunned the car, throwing it into sixth gear, “He was the one before me.” Guard rails buzzed past us, a mere blur hundreds of times. “And you are going to be the last, Abigail. The last victim of the Sidereus Prophecy.”

She said, “When I saw your video on YouTube, I knew the same thing happened to you. I could just feel something from you. I sent private investigators to track you down, and when they couldn’t find a trace of you, outside the school you went to. I knew something was up. They told me you didn’t exist before March of this year.”

She added, “Before Michael died, he told me what had happened to him. He was actually originally a forty-two year old woman, a piano teacher from St. Louis, and a mother of three. He had been transformed by the Prophecy into the youngest of the Jackson family. It’s why he had all that plastic surgery later to start to look white. Why he wore his hair so long.” I looked at Britney in absolute shock, but eventually, I came to an understanding. It all made sense, even though it was insane.

Britney sighed gently “Poor Michael- I guess they kind of perfected it by the time your change happened. The more I talk to you, you honestly seem to be a pretty normal teenage girl, Abigail. Be thankful for that. I think maybe it’s good you don’t think like Darren- because I think it tore Michael apart.”

I noticed the exit sign. We were leaving Hollywood. Britney blew past the off ramp that likely would have placed us at the edge of town. Again, I didn’t say a thing to her.

***

Britney said, “You’ll like this place I think, Abby. There’s never any paparazzi. Have they started taking pictures of you?”

I nodded slowly, “Yeah, I don’t like it at all.”

Britney replied, “Well, if the Prophecy is defeated you can go back to your other band. You are talented either way. You can do what you want. The paparazzi aren’t as interested in rock bands.”

I smiled, “Yeah, I miss playing with the guys.” My head started nodding forward gently.

Britney rustled my hair softly, “You can sleep if you want. It’ll still be a few hours before we get there.”

I nodded and closed my eyes. As a kid, and a veritable terror (as my parents would say), taking me for a ride in the car was one of the only ways they could put me to sleep. I felt my eyes getting heavy, and I gradually fell asleep. I dreamt that I was on stage with my old band, a guitar slung over my shoulder, deafening drums thundering with angry guitars and thumping bass.

I woke with a start, my body suddenly jerked forward. My eyes flew open, as I witnessed the black sports car I was in hug the guard rail on the passenger side. I looked over at Britney, who was desperately trying to regain control of the car, turning the wheel erratically. I saw that the road before us was slicked with rain, the wipers working like mad trying to clear away the rain. We were travelling far too quickly for the wipers to be effective.

I could hear the plastic bumper cracking and see sparks flying on my side of the car as it glanced the guard rail. Britney managed to pull away from the rail, and she immediately hit the brakes, but the car seemed to be floating. Britney shouted, “Shit, I can’t see with all this rain!”

I screamed, “Oh my god! What happened?! Just steer through it, you are hydroplaning!”

Britney said, “I don’t really know! This guy bumped me, and I slammed against the guard rail!” Once we started hydroplaning, Britney lost complete control of the car, she turned the wheel, applied the brakes excessively, but the car was eventually thrown into a deadly skid, which forced us directly into the concrete median. The last thing I remember was my face flying into an air bag.

My dreams were manic as I drifted in and out. In one, I was back stage again, but my clothing turned into what could only be described as a sexy bee costume. The microphone attached itself to my head, shrinking, until it resembled a headset. I realized I had strings attached to my body, and I looked up to see Alyssa pulling them, forcing me to dance, by thrusting my hips forward promiscuously. In between dreams, I could hear a dull beeping. The last dream involved Harmony and I vigorously washing our hands, and then our entire body, until the skin came off. Once the skin came off, we literally scooped all the fat from our bodies, and then we left to go outside, to show our skeleton bodies, to the delight of the paparazzi. I even posed like a natural.

“She’s waking up!” It was Tony’s voice.

“Shh! The doctor said to speak quietly. She might have a concussion.” And that was clearly Harmony’s voice.

Tony said, “Abby, can you hear me? Abby?” I heard shuffling, and I felt someone with soft hands grip my hand. “Abby, it’s me Harmony.”

My eyes opened slowly. The morning sun invaded my eye sockets, and I rapidly closed them. I heard the blinds closing, and gradually the room was dimmed. Once my eyes finally opened, I could see Harmony, Tony- and Sandra, from ‘Geffen’.

I pointed an accusatory finger toward her and said, “You! It’s all your fault. You and Mr. Atwater. You did this! You and your goddamn Prophecy! Is she dead? Did you kill her? So you think I’ll be your little puppet?”

Harmony gripped my hand firmly and said, “Shh. Shh. Abby, it’s OK. This is Sandra. She’s here from your label. Which is pretty amazing because the company that produces my show didn’t even send me a fruit basket when I got my tonsils out.”

Tony said, “It’s OK, Abby. I’m going to get the doctor.”

I frowned deeply, and looked at Harmony, “What about…I mean is she alive? Please tell me she’s alive.”

Harmony frowned, “Why would you care what happened to her? She kidnapped you, Abby. Britney- her doctor said she got off her meds. Been like that for a few days. Her doctor said she’s been suffering from like this insane jealousy. Like she was jealous of you, and wanted to take you away, bring you somewhere and hurt you so you couldn’t be a bigger star than her. She apparently tried the same thing with someone else recently. She’s crazy!”

I shook my head, “How the hell do you know that?”

Tony said, “It’s all over the news. Britney’s doctor- she said that the woman is delusional. She thinks she’s competing with everyone. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Abby. I wish you’d called me before you went with her.”

Harmony answered haughtily, “Why would she call you? She’s my friend. You are just her lame, bossy driver.”

I said, “I have to see her. I have to talk to her!”

I started to get up, but Tony held onto my arms. He said, “Calm down, Abby. Wait until you see the doctor. Don’t try and get up, you might fall!”

I screamed, “Let me up!”

Sandra said, “She’s stable. You can’t see her now though, Abby. The police won’t let you.”

I screamed at Sandra and fought against Tony, trying to force myself up. Harmony looked on in fear. Tony held me down firmly.

He shouted, “Get the doctor! She’s going to hurt herself.”

I thrashed against Tony, but as I did, I didn’t see the doctor move behind me. I felt a prick, and then seconds later, I was unconscious again. Just before drifting off, I could hear shouting, but I wasn’t certain who it was.

When I woke up, I was surprised to see Sandra sitting on a chair by my bedside. We were alone. “Please don’t try and get up yet, you are still going to be groggy from the medication you were given, Abigail. You could fall and hurt yourself.”

I said through clenched teeth, “Fuck off and die. I can’t believe you- you work for him don’t you? You bitch. Well do you know about the Prophecy, and what it does to people? What it did to Britney?”

Sandra nodded, “Yes, I do. I’m sorry you had to go through all that, but you have to know, that you can’t win. And you are responsible for Britney being hurt. You could have said no.”

I was near tears by this point. Her words cut at me, driving deep into my psyche and rending my mind. She removed a tablet computer from her purse and showed me the headline from the morning paper, “Aspiring singer kidnapped by psychotic former pop star, survives horrific car accident.” My eyes widened in fear. I could see that the front of the black sports car was completely totalled. The windshield was shattered. The hood of the car and the bumper were non-existent, simply forming part of the scraps of metal, even engine parts lay strewn about as part of the wreckage. The front axle was mangled with the wheels warped beyond repair, entirely crushed by the front section of the car.

She added, “You could have stayed in the mansion. And she’d be perfectly fine. Now she’s been ruined. With full knowledge of what the Prophecy was capable of, you went with her. She’s- just like Alyssa, your daughter, Amélie. All of them- they are your victims. You did this to them.”

I was crying, sobs wracking my body like a vicious illness. I shook my head repeatedly, “Oh my god- you’re worse than him. Why are you saying this? I didn’t mean to hurt any of them.”

Sandra replied, “So you understand the consequences of your actions. Philip has been cowed by his humanity. He’s incapable of doing something as simple as getting a little girl to sing a few stupid songs. His emotion clouds his judgement- something I am not burdened with.”

I stared at the woman, the hard lines of her face forming a vicious mask. She was all angular, high cheekbones, boyish hips and non-existent breasts. She was a terrifying heroin chic. “W-What are you?”

Sandra gripped my face, seemingly drinking in my fear, which caused a deadly smile to appear on her face. “I’m the associate supervisor.”

Even metaphysical music agencies were mired in bureaucracy. I would have rolled my eyes, if I hadn’t been so scared.

My body trembled as the woman gripped my face. “Now, we are going to finish your album. Aren’t, we sweetie?”

I stared at the woman, who in my eyes represented pure malevolence. My lip curled into a little sneer, as the door to my private hospital room opened.

A smiling doctor entered, and the anger slowly drained out of me. I had just been in a terrifying car accident, there was no way the doctor would allow me to leave! Still, I didn’t feel like I had any broken bones, but if I was concussed, maybe I would be kept for observation. If that was the case, it was possible that Rebellion’s Mask would weaken the Prophecy enough to overtake it, breaking the chain. I couldn’t lie to the doctor, for fear of retribution from the Prophecy, but again, he wasn’t letting me go, right?

The doctor said cheerfully, “You are amazingly lucky, Abigail. You only suffered very minor bruising to your face from the impact of the air bag.” She added, “A little cover up, and no one will know you’ve been in an accident.”

I said, “But, what about my head? I was feeling woozy earlier. Do I have a concussion?”

The doctor shook her head, “No- thankfully you didn’t suffer any head trauma. Or even whiplash. It’s incredible. I think you’ve got your own guardian angel, young lady! I spoke to your guardian Mr. Atwater, and he felt it would be best for you to rest at home. Of course, he and Sandra will look after you, and if your condition worsens, they’ll bring you back.”

I sighed heavily, “Oh.”

The doctor shook her head, and smiled gently, “You wanted to stay at the hospital? Well that’s a first!” She grew more serious, “Your guardian felt it better for you to rest at home. Also because in your home, you can keep out the prying eyes. If you know what I mean.”

The doctor slowly opened the blinds, allowing me to peek through. Directly outside my hospital room were an absolute horde of reporters, camera operators and worst of all- paparazzi. As soon as they saw my face peek from behind the blinds, hundreds of cameras were pointed at me. My heart pounded, and I looked at the mass in fear. All of them staring- wanting a piece of me.

The doctor nodded, “This is why I agree with Mr. Atwater. Normally, we would keep you overnight, but having reporters constantly trying to interview you, might cause your condition to worsen. It will definitely cause you a lot of stress.”

I shook my head, “I don’t live in a gated community or anything- they can still follow me home. Plus, wasn’t there just a break-in? I’m not sure I feel safe.”

Sandra said, “The agency has hired additional security around the house. Abigail will be able to rest in peace.” I also wouldn’t be able to leave.

The doctor smiled, “I understand you are a singer. What kind of music do you sing?”

I said, “Uh- I don’t know. It’s- um.”

Sandra smiled at the doctor, “Abigail is too modest. She is a pop singer. Extremely talented. We are so pleased she is OK. She’ll be able to finish her album now.”

The doctor looked at me, “Well that’s exciting! Now- the police. They will want to take your statement before you leave Abigail. Can I tell them to come in?”

Sandra said, “I just need a few minutes with her. I want to make sure she is OK. She’s been through a lot.”

The doctor smiled, “You are lucky to have such caring people in your life, Abigail. Good luck with your album! Maybe you’ll be famous!”

I shrugged, “Maybe.” The doctor left the room, and Sandra returned to my bedside.

She said firmly, “Tell the police that Britney asked to meet you. That she said she wanted to meet and give you some advice, from someone who had been there before. And then she drove away from your intended meeting spot, taking you onto the highway and out of Hollywood. Tell them that you were terrified for your life, that she said she was going to do awful things to you. Make her seem crazy, Abigail.”

I narrowed my eyes, “S-She could go to jail for this though. I don’t want to say that she kidnapped me! Can’t we just say it was a misunderstanding? She was bringing me somewhere I didn’t agree- or something. Please. Don’t make me do this.” She reached out and slapped me full in the face, right where my bruise would form from the accident.

Sandra said, “What are you going to do, you little bitch?” She slapped me again.

I said, “No! I won’t tell them that! You can hurt me all you want. I’m not disobeying the Prophecy by doing that. My influence has likely risen because of the accident. There’s no reason to hurt Britney any more. Look, I’ll- I’ll finish the album. I’ll finish it tonight if you want even.”

Sandra said, “No, you misunderstand me, little girl. I tell you to do something, and you do it. No compromise. You’ll finish the album tonight either way.”

I crossed my arms underneath my chest, entering full pout/resistance mode.

Sandra said, “Fine, then I’ll throw you to the paparazzi and the reporters out there.”

I said, “So what? I don’t care. I’ll tell them the same thing I tell the police. That she didn’t kidnap me. I’ll clear her name. I’ll be in the news either way! So the Prophecy can’t do anything.”

I got up and started getting dressed. I went behind the privacy curtain, I put my bra on and leaned down to pull my panties up. As I did, I noticed that they didn’t sit on my butt properly. They were tighter than I remember. I leaned down again, and I stared in shock as the panties slowly became a thong. I looked behind me, and I would have easily fit in Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Baby Got Back” video, except they had lost all firmness, drooping down. Thinking that I must be hallucinating, I leaned down to pull up my jeans, and I started yanking them up my legs, with some difficulty. I quickly grew red-faced as I forced them past my thighs, but was immediately halted by my suddenly very round middle.

My muffin top had grown, with two full handfuls of flesh now peeking out over the side of the jeans that I couldn’t even button. They had friends too, in the form of a pot belly that soon hung a few inches over the still unzipped jeans. I huffed and pulled roughly at the jeans, desperately trying to button them. After some serious effort, I managed to button them, but my belly now overflowed, spilling out in all directions. I could even feel the flesh piling up on my back, as my ass sagged downwards in my panties. Fat started to invade my back, causing my bra straps to tighten against my shoulders. I could literally feel the rolls forming back there, as I knew I was rocketing from curvy, to chubby, to plain fat. My breasts engulfed the cups of my bra, straining and then sagging downward, losing firmness. Angry red marks appeared on my thickening thighs, and the area where my belly was rubbing up against my pants. It was like I had been this way for months, but unfortunately none of my clothes grew with me!

I looked at my upper arms, which soon became husky- beefy looking. My belly deepened as it gained further mass, not staying in step with my butt and boobs, which had seemingly stopped growing, even though my panties were wedged in my ass crack. My thighs widened again, starting to now really dig into my jeans. I rocketed into plus-size territory, as my hands flew to my face. My slightly chubby cheeks grew, my chin deepened, forming another, leaving me with a discernible double chin. Frustrated beyond belief with the state of my jeans, I leaned down to try to extricate them from my tubby body, only to find my stomach forming a thick double roll as I bent down.

I managed to get the pants off my thighs, but I was shocked to see my belly actually starting to hang over my panties, gaining more of the angry red stretch marks. Sandra pulled away the privacy curtain, and pulled me in front of a full-length mirror. A bonafide fat girl stared back in the mirror. I still had pretty features, but they were encased in a soft cocoon of fat. I was less the girl next door and more the girl next door’s fat friend.

For all of my speeches about being size-positive, my belief that girls could be beautiful at any size, my fights with Amélie over her weight, I had never been so disgusted. I wanted to die. I couldn’t face myself, let alone an army of reporters, and cameras. Oh god the cameras. I ripped myself from the mirror, feeling my belly jiggling, my ass bobbling and my boobs, mostly unrestrained in the mangled wire bra. What would Ethan think if he saw me?

Sandra smiled, “Ready for your close-up, Abby?”

I shook my head repeatedly, and Sandra laughed, sounding both musical, but grating also. I pulled at the flesh around my stomach, still in disbelief that this was my body. I found myself back at the mirror. I critiqued every inch of my body, from my now wobbly upper arms, to my massive cumbersome chest, and my thick, now cellulite laden ass. I viewed myself from every angle, and something inside me snapped. It was impossible that I could be beautiful this way, that Ethan would ever accept me. I was a massive, unattractive fat whale. My lower lip trembled as I stared, like a rubber necked driver peering at an accident scene, I couldn’t look away.

In a moment, all of my resolve, my beliefs regarding the concept of size acceptance, it was all thrown like bloody meat to a pack of mangy wild dogs. My eyes devoured my body, seeing imperfection in every millimetre of skin. I sighed deeply, feeling tears starting to fall. How, could I let myself be defeated by my own vanity? Darren would tell me that I was still beautiful, it was how I wore it and how I acted. If I was confident, then I was beautiful. Lies! All of it lies.

I swore I would never eat again, or at least anything that would potentially cause me to blow up even more.

I asked Sandra pitifully, “How…w-what did you do to me?”

Sandra nodded, “It’s not real, but you think it is. No one will actually see you like that. But with every step you take, it will seem to you like your real body.”

She smiled, “Think of it like an instant eating disorder. Every picture you see of yourself, you’ll be like this too. I bet you’ll be begging Philip to get you a personal trainer by the end of the day. You’ll start eating right. But it will never change. No matter how hard you work. You’ll always feel and see yourself like that.”

I lashed out, “Y-You’re a monster! You- are going to turn me into an anorexic! Why does it matter if Britney kidnapped me or not?”

Sandra nodded, “Because your press will be bigger, and therefore, your influence more pronounced. And the second reason, because I told you to.” She looked deadly serious. “Are you ready to do as you are told?”

I sneered, “I can face them. You won’t convince me. So right now, these clothes I’m wearing they actually fit? Well, then it’s just mind over matter. I know the truth.”

A tiny smile crept onto Sandra’s face, “Well then I think it’s time that we introduced Ethan to Hollywood then. And your new body? Do you really think you’ll be able to kiss him, with you feeling like that? If you feel disgusted with yourself, do you really think- you’ll even let him touch you? Feeling like he’s poking and prodding your rolls.”

The tiny smile remained, “It’ll be such a healthy relationship. Then maybe after that we’ll get you a real celebrity boyfriend.”

Again, Sandra’s words stabbed at my mind, cutting swathes of destruction to my resolve. I tore myself away from the mirror again and moved toward the door. Every inch of my body went with me, jiggling, swaying, wobbling, and up and down- side to side. I felt like my body occupied the whole room. I grasped the door handle, and gently turned, but I never opened the door. I closed my eyes, realizing that Sandra had won. I couldn’t go on like this. As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I wanted to ignore the cries of protest from my belief system, that size acceptance was a valid concept, I couldn’t live like this.

I sunk to my knees, releasing my grip on the door handle.

***

Chapter 64

“Ms. Spears, how did she convince you to come with her?”

I nodded slowly to the female LAPD officer. I replied, “She said she had some advice for me. I loved her as a little girl. She’s one of my idols. I was really looking forward to meeting her.”

Next to me, sat Sandra. She didn’t say a word, but I could see in her eyes that she was pleased with my answer. She had released the spell on me, but the feeling of having my belly overflow my pants, the way the jeans had encased my thighs like sausages, lingered.

The officer nodded, another officer was taking down what was said in a notebook, “And when it was clear she wasn’t taking you to where she said. What happened then?”

I replied, “I asked her to turn around. I told her I was scared, but she looked at me, with like these crazy eyes. She said she wished she could have my body, and then she sped up.”

The officer asked, “And you said you fell asleep? You only remember seeing the accident. Did she drug you?”

I shrugged, “I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I’ve always fallen asleep in cars.”

I looked over at Sandra who was frowning. The female officer turned to look at her too.

She cleared her throat, “Now, Abigail- you are telling me you fell asleep during a kidnapping? Weren’t you scared?”

I said, “Um- I-I was yes. Sorry, I don’t remember everything.”

The officer smiled gently, “It’s OK, Abigail- you’ve been through a lot. I don’t expect you to remember everything. I think that’s enough for now.”

The other officer closed the notebook, and both left the hospital room.

Sandra said, “Well done, Abigail. You were convincing. You came off as a frightened victim, and since you’ve been through a traumatic experience- you can’t be expected to remember everything.”

***

“I really do not need your help on this, Miss Walker. I had things under control.”

Mr. Atwater had greeted us at the doorway. Sandra had us flee the hospital out a side entrance, and hop into a cab, since Tony’s limousine would have made an attractive target to the media waiting for my statement. I noticed two security officers patrolling the grounds as we pulled into the driveway, and then two more at the front door. They stood in silent vigil. All of them were armed.

Sandra said, “Do your vocal exercises and be down in twenty minutes, Abigail. You will finish recording the album tonight.”

I did as I was told, hearing the beginning of an argument between Mr. Atwater and Sandra.

Sandra said calmly, “Philip, she kicked you in the testicles, and was on her way to a remote location, all the while, that band is causing us major problems. So now, I’ve had to come and do your job and halt all my work on Rebellion’s Mask. You had nothing under control! Nothing.”

Instead of immediately going to my room, I stayed to watch the argument, peeking my head out at the top of the stairs.

Mr. Atwater said firmly, “But Miss Walker, we still have a week before Rebellion’s Mask fully usurps the Prophecy. I knew the Prophecy would bring Abigail back. She won’t disobey me again, she saw what happened.”

Sandra raised her voice, “Philip, your humanity is impeding your task. You are gaining affection for the girl, just as you did for your last charge. I have no choice but to remain here and ensure the album is completed.”

They left the room, and I went to my room to begin my vocal warm-ups. Under Sandra, the last two songs were completed before dinner Mr. Atwater didn’t even come into the studio. There was no joking under Sandra. She was humourless- which was odd because the bubble gum pop I was singing was lively, jovial and in parts excruciatingly happy- like an ode to Alyssa. Julian left to mix them in a larger studio, saying they would be done in under two days as per Sandra’s request.

***

“Are you certain that you want to eat that, Abigail?” I was peering down at a piece of pie that was looking less and less appetizing. Mr. Atwater regarded me sternly. “It’s not on your diet. And you haven’t been sticking to it recently.”

After hearing about my accident, and miraculous survival, Julian’s wife had baked a peach pie for me. Sandra watched the exchange quietly.

I said, “It would be rude not to eat it. I’ll just eat half.”

I had a thing about wasting homemade food. Even if Julian’s wife would never know, it just wouldn’t be right.

Mr. Atwater shrugged his shoulders and nodded, “I suppose that’s fair.”

Sandra immediately interjected, “Philip, this is why you need me here. She needs to fit into a size 2. We need her weight loss to be part of her appeal in the media.”

She snatched the pie from me and threw it in the garbage, “Abigail, you need to learn willpower. Or you’ll just get fatter and fatter.”

I blinked, looking down at myself. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but I also wasn’t the overweight fat girl I had been in my hospital room either. “Y-You think I’m fat?”

Sandra nodded, “Yes. You are. You have fat thighs. And your upper arms, look at them. You haven’t been exercising. There’s hardly any tone. And your muffin top- your ass too. It’s fat.”

Mr. Atwater’s subtle manipulations to convince me to lose weight, the tabloid pictures and comments about the expectations of Hollywood, it was nothing compared to Sandra blunt trauma. She was like Véronique in that respect. I frowned deeply, and Sandra continued, “You want to look like Miley, Selena- and Britney in her prime, don’t you? Think of all the boys who will find you attractive. All the girls that will envy you- want your body. You want that, don’t you? I’m sure it’s what Ethan would want.”

I stared at Sandra as her words permeated my brain.

I managed to squeak out, “N-No.”

Sandra looked to Mr. Atwater, who had a worried look on his face. “Philip, I have to admit, she’s got a very powerful will. One of the strongest, and definitely one of the most stubborn. I can see why you had trouble with her.”

She looked at me, as I reached out to cut myself another piece of pie, and said, “Abigail, let me explain this in words you can understand. If you are fat in Hollywood, you are ugly. Eventually Ethan’s going to see through it, he’s going to come here and fall in love with a thinner girl, one way prettier than you. And you’ll be sitting here eating pie.”

I left the table crying, dropping the cutting knife on the floor in the process. Just before I left, I could see Mr. Atwater glaring at Sandra.

***

I flipped open my laptop, and even though it was late, I desperately hoped that Ethan was online. I had left my phone in my room, as Sandra didn’t want me playing on it during recording. I sent him a quick text. I had multiple messages from Amélie, Alyssa, and my parents. At least thirty from Ethan. When I returned home from the hospital, I had spent time answering them, telling them I was OK, but that I needed to record.

Amélie was disgusted by the whole thing, threatening to fly down and stir up trouble, stating that Sandra’s treatment of me bordered on criminal neglect. She said I should be resting because of the trauma I had been through. She asked me if Britney had really meant to kidnap me, and I told her I didn’t really know. Ethan and Alyssa were concerned for my health, with Ethan even saying in one text, “luv u so much abby plz be OK.”

A few minutes later, I was on Skype with Ethan.

Ethan smiled wide, “Abby! I’m- um, I’m really glad you are OK. I saw the news and stuff- the car looked so bad.”

I nodded, “I’m feeling OK. I’m back home now, which is good- cause I don’t really like hospitals.”

The smile never left Ethan’s face, “I miss you so much, Abby. When am I gonna be able to come? I miss the- well you know the stuff we did together. Not just hanging out- but kissing- and other stuff.” I actually saw his cheeks redden slightly, which caused instant joy in my heart.

I replied, “The recording is done. The songs just need to be mixed and mastered. And then rehearsal for the tour I guess. I’ll ask, but I guess probably in like under two weeks.”

Ethan frowned gently, “That’s a long time. Damn. Um- maybe you could convince Mr. Atwater to let me come down now? Cause if the album is recorded, then you don’t mix it, right?”

I said, “I can ask. But there’s this really bitchy lady here now. She’s mad the album has taken so long.”

Ethan smirked, “I can’t wait to get there. I’ll give her the ketchup mustard treatment, right?”

I shook my head, “I wouldn’t. She’s not very nice. She called me fat today. And she makes me feel ugly. They are really pressuring me to lose weight.”

Ethan shook his head repeatedly, “What a fucking bitch! Come on, Abby. You are so hot. You are not ugly at all. That bitch doesn’t know what she’s talking about!” He grinned sheepishly, “Remember Halloween night, it was- um, well if you were ugly, I don’t think I would have had that problem!”

I said, “Um…can you? Well, just close your door. I want to- here. I don’t want anyone else to see. I want you to tell me the truth.”

I lifted my shirt off, and pulled down my jeans, and when Ethan returned, a wide grin appeared on his face. He immediately pulled the shirt over his head, and his eyes were laser-guided toward my body, drinking him my form, his intent obvious. If he could have jumped into his computer screen to reach me, he would have done it in an instant.

I sat on my bed, my little tummy forming a pooch. My love handles were also visible. I sighed and turned off my own image on the screen, allowing Ethan’s bare chest to fill my entire view. OK- so his face was there too.

I said simply, “Do you think I look fat? And be truthful, compare me to Véronique if you want, any girls you know. It’s OK. Even celebrities.”

Ethan shook his head rapidly, “No way, Abby. Like I said, you are hot. Like you are beautiful. You’re the only girl I notice, the only one I care about. You aren’t fat. You are perfect.”

I could tell Ethan was being sincere, but I couldn’t convince myself. Ethan wanted to do stuff on camera, but I was feeling really self-conscious still. We talked for a bit longer, but I couldn’t shake the feeling, the lingering shadow of self-doubt that crept into my mind. Memories of Véronique’s pig-insult, the cookie crumbs lining my face, the unflattering pictures from Harmony’s party, the comments on my video regarding my weight, and my complete lack of willpower when it came to food, flooded my mind.

I spent the next twenty minutes solidly critiquing my body, pulling at my love handles, squeezing my soft tummy, and gripping my thighs. I moved to my ass, hefting it, squeezing each cheek. I almost took two hands to hold one cheek, or did it? I wasn’t sure. Was my image distorted? Was Sandra doing something to me? I even focused on my face, looking upward and pulling at the skin on my neck, frowning as I could have sworn I saw a double chin.

I knew that something was wrong, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that when I looked in the mirror, I saw a fat girl staring back at me.

***

I hoped that my new found disgust for my body would only last a few hours. After all, Véronique had often called me ‘fat’ or ‘piggy’, and I got over it. I would usually wake the next day, feeling better about myself, having received kind words from either Alyssa or Ethan.

When I had initially spoken to Amélie about my body image concerns, she told me a story about her and Laura as teenagers. They used to go on little diets, avoiding certain food, and then ultimately cheating. They were based on perceived imperfections, a tight pair of pants or a bloated middle, and being supportive friends, they would diet together. The diets never lasted very long, and while I hoped that my feelings were simple teenage anxiety, I was starting to look at food differently, less as something to enjoy and more as something to fear. Something that would make me bigger, and eventually undesirable to Ethan. Even though he had told me otherwise, I just couldn’t believe him. Not when I didn’t feel good about myself.

That morning, Sandra didn’t help things. She critiqued my breakfast, saying that cereal bars were empty calories. They were the equivalent of eating a chocolate bar. I knew the statement was ridiculous because I could read on the box that the bars had far more nutrients than their chocolate cousins, but I still looked at the bar with an arrested appetite. Then, I barely ate any lunch.

I peeked through the curtains, and I could see the media circus was still waiting for me to exit the house. They had descended on the house shortly after our escape yesterday, and I was actually thankful for the armed security guards. They kept the more aggressive reporters, the tabloid-style journalists at bay. There were at least fifty people waiting outside for my statement.

I asked Sandra, “When- when am I going to be able to go outside? I need to give my statement to them. When I do, they’ll leave. I should just agree to give an exclusive and then be done with it. They’ll have no reason to be there.”

Sandra shook her head, “The longer we wait, the more interest in the story. It’s the fact that you haven’t said anything that is causing the story to get so much press. Everyone wants to know what America’s new sweetheart has to say. And because of that, people are talking about you. Look.”

She pointed to her tablet computer screen, where it showed clearly that I was trending on every single social media site.

Sandra added, “When your album comes out, you’ll go on all the talk shows and give your story. It will create absolutely unprecedented influence. A top selling album, and an incredible life or death story. Abigail- you are going to bigger than the Beatles, Britney Spears and Jesus Christ put together.”

I shook my head, “And how do you know I will have a top selling album? What if people don’t want to swallow the shit you are choking them with?”

Sandra said, “I’ll tell you a secret, Abigail. Pop music doesn’t really have to be good, it just has to be played excessively, and eventually- it will be accepted by the masses. Have you ever wondered why pop music stations play the same five songs all day long? Ever heard of Payolla?

I nodded, “Yes, it was a scheme used by record companies to get their artists’ songs played. They basically paid the radio stations, and they played the songs.”

Sandra smiled, “The Sidereus Agency engineered Payolla. We have done the same thing with iTunes. All of the artists you see on the main page, it is meant to distract- notice that none of the artists listed there are controversial or thought provoking. It’s all distracting fluff.”

I pointed to the screen, “What about this one? She’s humping a sledge hammer in the video. That’s controversial.”

Sandra nodded, “Yes, but it’s not thought provoking, and it’s not politically controversial. It’s actual a wonderful distraction. If people are talking about that, they aren’t discussing how their chosen leaders are failing them.”

I took the tablet from her and flipped through the choices on iTunes. Sandra was partially correct. There was an abundance of pop filler, but one artist caught my eye. The logo was comprised of two black flags each depicting the anarchy symbol. Between the two flags, there was a grinning, flaming skull. Underneath the skull, was the band’s name, REBELLION’S MASK, emblazoned in bold type face. I tapped my fingernail on the screen to view their album, and I could see that the popularity of every song on the album was nearly maxed. I handed the tablet back to her. The woman’s face showed actual worry for the first time. I smirked at her.

Sandra smiled, “They might be trending, but you still have the spotlight with your story of survival. Your album will be released in the next few days. There’s just the photo shoot now. After that, that rabble rousing band will be a footnote. They’ll tumble off the charts as you usher in a new age of pop music.”

I rolled my eyes, “You know you aren’t a villain in a Saturday morning cartoon, right? Someone has told you this.”

Sandra gripped my chin firmly, “This routine might have worked on Philip. But I will accept nothing but absolute submission from you, Abigail. You already know the consequences for disobeying me. I think you and I understand each other though. You’ve already started eating less. Once we start the dance rehearsals, the weight will fall off of you, providing another storyline to add to your influence.”

Sandra added, “Now, you should complete your workout. I want you to do the sixty minute dance cardio DVD that I gave you.”

I replied, “But I’m still hungry from lunch. I’ll faint if I do that workout without eating something.”

Sandra said, “By all means. Eat something.”

I went into the cupboard and pulled out a box of store-bought brownies. As I unwrapped the delectable treat, Sandra stared at me disapprovingly. She removed a bag of chips from the top of the fridge. She searched the cupboard and pulled out another bag of chips, followed by a bag of Oreo cookies. As I bit into the brownie, she ripped open all of the junk food bags and dumped them into a bucket. I put the brownie down on the table as I watched her in grim fascination. She then removed two bottles of Orange Crush from the fridge, and then poured the bottles in the bucket. She snatched my brownie and threw it in the bucket, and then she grabbed a massive serving spoon, stirring up the concoction.

She picked up the bucket and set it on the kitchen floor. “Oh Abigail, that little brownie won’t do. Don’t you want a real snack?”

I peered into the bucket, seeing pieces of potato chip, and brownie floating in an orange stew. Suddenly, she took me by the hair, her action catching me off guard and preventing any defense on my part. She held my head over the bucket and proceeded to dunk my head into the concoction, thoroughly soaking my face and dirtying my hair and skin with bits of soggy brownie and potato chip. I coughed, spitting out pieces of crushed Oreo cookie.

Sandra said, “Go ahead you fat disgusting pig, eat it. Eat all of it. Right now.”

I shook my head vehemently, but she forced my head into the bucket again. I clenched my jaw shut, preventing any from getting into my mouth, but the pop got into my nose and burned my sinuses. Within seconds, I could feel my belly hang down, my ass grow out again- until I was once again the fat girl in the mirror.

Sandra took her other hand and squeezed my belly rolls roughly, “You revolting slob. I bet you still want to eat it though. Right?” I shook my head again, now feeling the tears fall down my fattened cheeks.

I shouted, “I’m sorry- please- just, I want to be back to myself again. I won’t eat this stuff please! Please!! I don’t want to be like this!”

I lay on the floor crying. Sandra had released her grip on my hair. I felt like myself again within seconds, still imperfect, but at least I wasn’t a fat, disgusting… My eyes widened as I realized how effective Sandra’s psychological torture had been.

Sandra said, “If you cheat on your diet again. I’ll make you finish this entire bucket. Do you understand?”

The ‘gourmet’ feast would fill me with a massive amount of calories, but I would undoubtedly be sick also. Bile mixed with junk food and my favourite pop wouldn’t exactly make me want to eat anything remotely sweet for a long time. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure I could take Sandra’s abuse throughout the entire process and remain mentally unscathed. I was already starting to see fat as something to be reviled. At least on my own body.

I nodded rapidly, and Sandra said, “Go clean up. And then what are you going to do?”

I replied timidly, still half-crying, “M-My workout.”

Sandra smiled, “Good girl.”

I couldn’t believe it, but I actually missed Mr. Atwater.

***

“Abigail, what happened to you?” Mr. Atwater had met me in the upstairs hallway. My face was still covered with junk food, and my hair was sopping wet, as evidenced by the driblets of soda pop that had followed me from the kitchen. I frowned and look back at the mess I had made, but I was eager to wash up. I would clean it after.

I said, “Sorry, I-I’ll clean it after my shower.”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “It’s not necessary, Abigail. I’ll just have the cleaning service come. It’s part of the rental perk for this place. You’ve been pretty good about picking up after yourself.”

I said, “Yeah because I don’t want to be seen as one of those brain dead starlets that can’t do laundry or simple every day stuff. It’s just some spilt pop. I could get a paper towel and-”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “Abigail, I’m calling the cleaning service. We need the house cleaned anyway.”

He looked down at me with actual concern, “Now- what happened to you?”

I said, “Ms. Psycho decided that she didn’t like me cheating on my diet. That woman is insane. She scares the hell out of me. She keeps doing this thing to me- she makes me think I’m like grossly overweight. She’s making me hate my body.”

Mr. Atwater said, “You’ve a reason to fear her, Abigail. She is the Sidereus Prophecy incarnate. She is essentially as old as humanity. She taught me everything I know about the associate position I occupy. She only manifests into human form when the associate has failed in their duty. As I have.”

He added, “Do not under any circumstances disobey her. I see that I am a little late with this advice.” He rubbed some chocolate from my cheek.

I said, “I heard you talking to her about Rebellion’s Mask. If she’s focusing so much on me, what’s stopping them from defeating the Prophecy? You seem to like her as much I do. If we stall her, maybe Rebellion’s Mask pushes the Prophecy to the brink.”

Mr. Atwater looked at me sternly, “If you want to get through this intact, Abigail, and I am not talking about your body parts- you had best do exactly as Ms. Walker asks. She has only involved herself one other time, and it wasn’t pretty.”

The man cleared his throat, “You’ve been a handful certainly, but I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

I frowned, “And what about Britney, don’t you care about her? Sandra made me lie to the police. She could go to jail! She was hurt really badly in that accident too. Don’t you care about anyone but yourself?”

Mr. Atwater lowered his voice, “Quiet down. If she hears you, you will be in real trouble. Aren’t you supposed to be doing your workout anyway?”

He added, “As for Britney, when you fulfil the Prophecy, everything will go back to normal. You know, some piece of evidence will go missing. She’ll go free. As for her injuries, I understand that they are not life-threatening.”

I sneered and pointed at the man, “I don’t know what Sandra was talking about. That statement didn’t have a shred of humanity. You are still an unfeeling monster.”

Mr. Atwater sighed gently and replied, “Abigail, don’t dawdle. And- know this- if you disobey, Ms. Walker…she’ll erase you. She will do anything to ensure the Prophecy is fulfilled. Because obviously if it isn’t, she ceases to exist. There is far more at stake for her, than for you. After two years, you can move on from this- if you so choose. Just live this life- and maybe, you’ll even have a little fun sometimes. Don’t you miss being out on stage, the exhilaration, the energy and the power it gives you?”

I nodded, “To a certain degree yes, I miss doing shows, but I’m not in a big hurry to dress like a prostitute every night.”

Mr. Atwater said with a hint of tenderness, “Remember what I said, Abigail. She has far more to lose than you.”

***

“Are you kidding? You want me to wear that? For the album cover? Please just shoot me now. Shoot me in the head.”

Sandra handed me a pair of black and yellow stockings. She then proceeded to give me a black and yellow dress with a halter top built into it, which would ensure plenty of cleavage. Attached to the dress was a nearly translucent black tutu. Amazingly, I found the silly looking glitter-laden antennae headpiece the least objectionable part of the costume. Atop the antennae sat two shiny yellow balls.

Sandra said, “This is your outfit for the album cover, Abigail. Get dressed.” She handed me a pair of shiny black heels. “Don’t forget these.”

I had been in hair and makeup for nearly two hours, my hair was teased and then placed in ringlets, which flowed down over my shoulder, partially obscuring my chest. Only partially. Once I slipped into the outfit, it was clear that my most impressive assets were going to be front and centre. The halter top pushed my boobs up, forming cavernous cleavage. I was more concerned about my thighs, however, which looked chunky and flabby. As I dressed in the bathroom, I continued to evaluate my body. My arms looked flabby too. I moved them up and down and there was a discernible jiggle. Was I getting even bigger? My eyes widened. It definitely seemed that way. But I was eating less, and less. It made no sense.

Not only did I hate the outfit- I hated how I looked in it too. I knew they would air brush my imperfections, but I would still know the truth. Oh god, what was wrong with me? Ethan had told me I looked amazing- hot. He didn’t flinch when he touched me- didn’t turn away in disgust. I shook my head repeatedly, pulling at my love handles, which formed clearly due to the tightness of the dress. I couldn’t believe that I wanted to be air brushed! I was so against the practice- the idea that a computer creates perfection, and unrealistic standards. Why was I so disgusted with myself?

I exited the bathroom slowly, and I knew all eyes in the room were on me. I felt like they were judging me- the Hollywood types. Their eyes burnt into me, as if each individual orb were choosing a specific part of my body to critique. Once the photo shoot started, it wasn’t any easier. Now there would be photographic evidence of how fat I was. I seriously wanted to cry at certain parts of the shoot, as I looked at the slim makeup girls- I envied them. Despite my melancholy mood, the photographer kept shooting, and the image they decided to use for the album didn’t even feature a smile. The picture told the story of a girl who was innocent, crawling amongst a plethora of enormous multi-coloured flowers. She stared wide-eyed at the massive world before her. I thought it represented well the idea that this was an adventure, a first album, and a journey into the unknown. Sandra, however, explained that the image was chosen because it would appeal to men, and in particular adult men. She wanted me to appear weak, submissive- conquerable. I was so hungry, I couldn’t begin to tell her how much I disagreed with her methodology. She was selling me, selling my sixteen-year old body, and all I could think of was how much I wanted a cheese burger.

The liner art featured more playful images, and actual smiles with a few gratuitous boob shots. One particular risqué shot involved me with a licorice whip about to swat the bottoms of some naughty looking boy bees. I learned as well that my stage name would not be Abigail- it would be Abeille, which was French for bee. Despite the powerless album cover, the album title itself was “Queen Bee”. I understood this. I would ride my innocence and my sex appeal, just as Britney did, to the very top of the charts and take my place as a newly-crowned pop princess. I didn’t need Sandra to explain to me that my album title was prophetic. The critics would say initially, that the title was presumptuous, and then they would be proven wrong.

A few days later, my album was released. The single “Like Wow” broke a single day download record on iTunes, and the album itself knocked Rebellion’s Mask off the top spot. The media circus left the next day, after a press release stated that the queen of daytime TV, Oprah Winfrey, was coming out of retirement for a single reason- to interview me. This was to be the exclusive that I had suggested to Sandra earlier.

I was given a standing ovation from the audience of mostly women. Oprah asked some poignant questions, but Sandra had prepared me very well. She had made me rehearse my responses to the expected questions. In the end, I came off as the innocent victim, a poor naïve girl, who idolized her kidnapper, and who ultimately felt sorry for her. I was deemed a “good girl” by the entertainment press, however, despite all of this, and my success- people still wanted to talk about my weight.

One article asked, “Is Abeille (a.k.a. Abigail Grenier) too fat to be a mega star?” It wasn’t the only one either. Another asked, “Will Abigail reach the heights of her kidnapper idol at size 8?” A tabloid style rag said, “Flabby Abby hates her body, has started starvation diet!” Another suggested that I was hooked on diet pills, and soon to lose the weight. It was like Hollywood couldn’t accept that their culture of thin had been subverted. Here I was, not a size 2, with clear physical flaws, and an apparent success at least in regard to album sales. I knew too that the articles were rubbish, there was little truth to them, but they still hurt. I watched the Oprah interview multiple times, not for the interview content, but more because I hated how I looked in it. The skirt they made me wear again made my thighs look fat.

I couldn’t get it out of my mind, and the more I obsessed about it, the worse I felt, and the more I wanted to lose weight. I weighed myself every morning, and despite doing the 60-minute cardio dance DVD every day, I couldn’t seem to lose any weight. I was sticking to my diet too! Every time Ethan and I would Skype, I would ask him if he thought I looked fatter. I could tell he was getting annoyed by how obsessed I was becoming, but maybe it was because he didn’t think I was attractive anymore? The girl in the mirror seemed to get fatter every day.

Harmony had managed to convince me to go out for a spa day, but the paparazzi managed to photograph us from a goddamn helicopter as we were moving from the outdoor spa in bikinis! The spa was supposed to be paparazzi proof, but apparently not from the air. Or was it from the air? I wasn’t sure. I had also become increasingly paranoid, now that the paparazzi had turned their full attention on me. They had scared me a few times with sudden flashes. The result of the impromptu bikini photo shoot had my body on the list of worst celebrity bikini bodies. In half a dozen different magazines, and then numerous celebrity gossip sites and blogs, my body parts were circled, my problem areas identified, such as the slight cellulite on the back of my legs, and my flabby arms, fat thighs, double chin. A picture of me bending over to pick up my cell phone showed off a noticeable fat roll around my stomach. One magazine even said I had cankles. For two days afterward, I scoured the web, reading all the articles I could find, inundating my brain with comment threads saying horrible things about my body. I didn’t read the nice ones. They were lying, probably wanting to feel better about themselves. They were fat girls too.

I tried on my stilettos, and I realized the website was right. I pinched the skin around my ankle, noticing that it wasn’t as visible as it had been previously. I had cankles. Nasty!

I looked in the mirror and shook my head. I was a disgusting, fat pig. I knew that once Ethan saw the pictures, he would be grossed out. I had let myself go- even though the scale said I had lost a few pounds, three- maybe four.

It seemed impossible because the image staring back at me- it was fatter than it had been this morning.

***

“Come in.” Mr. Atwater had seemingly been banished to his room. I had barely seen him since I had neutered him with my stiletto. He wasn’t present at the photo shoot, and he wasn’t backstage during the taping of the talk show. The voice that allowed me entrance sounded tired.
As I entered, I saw a peculiar sight. Mr. Atwater was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, leaning back on his bed and watching television. It seemed impossible that the man who was usually impeccably dressed, and perfectly coiffed would allow himself to be seen as a common man. I looked at the television screen, but the man quickly flicked it off. Before he did, I could see clearly that he had been watching a 24-hour news channel, which continued to follow the story of Britney Spears, ex-pop star kidnapper. Britney was released on a two-hundred and fifty thousand dollar bond. She was charged with the unauthorized removal of a minor, which amounted to child abduction, a far more serious crime because of the age of the victim. She faced up to five years in prison.
I watched Mr. Atwater carefully. He actually seemed happy to see me. “Abigail, how are you doing?”
He had to know. I had barely slept the night before, continuing to wrestle what was a significant departure from my usual thinking. I had always criticized celebrities for submitting to the ‘thin is in’ culture that permeated Hollywood, but now that I was a part of it- and my body weight was seemingly more important than the upcoming presidential election (I was trending higher than the two challengers), it was hard to ignore.
Lady Gaga, who herself had been criticized for a meagre weight gain, sent me a tweet, “Love yourself, Abigail- and don’t listen to the haters. Do what I did…actually don’t do what I did! LOL u are beautiful #BEWHOUWANNABE” She had posted pictures of herself in skimpy underwear, showing that she was comfortable with her body. Katy Perry sent me a similar tweet with the hashtag, #ABBYBEAUTIFUL. And while the sentiment was lovely, it didn’t fix what I saw in the mirror every day.
I said, “How did Britney do it? How did she deal with the constant talk about her body? People criticizing her body. The comments- everything. I feel like I never want to eat again with some of the pictures that I’ve seen of myself.”
Mr. Atwater replied, “Much the same way you are coping I’m afraid. She was quite a bit slimmer than you when she started, and she gained weight on her first tour. Once she had fulfilled the Prophecy, she hit the craft service tables with reckless abandon. Within a few weeks, she was busting out of her outfits. And in a few months- they were making adjustments to all the costumes.”
I shook my head, “But she lost the weight- didn’t she? How did she do it?”
Mr. Atwater said, “I got her a personal trainer who worked with her every single day. Three hour workouts to tone and sculpt her body. And proper diet.”
I said, “I- um, well I was thinking that it might be easier-,” I sighed, and continued, “If I had a personal trainer. I just. I hate my body. I feel gross in everything I wear. I want to look better- so that the stupid vultures who wait to take the worst picture possible of me- that they don’t have any more fodder. You know?”
I added, “I don’t want to be stick thin, but I just want to tone, you know? My legs, my stomach- my arms. Everything. I’ve gained more than ten pounds since I became Abigail, and even if I just toned up some. I think it would be better.”
Mr. Atwater smiled gently, “I can help you with that, Abigail. There’s a young woman, Stacy Rex, she is not as aggressive as someone like Jillian Michaels, who individuals pay to yell at them, but she’s still excellent- and she gets results. Both Jessica Simpson and Kim Kardashian lost over fifty pounds working with her. Stacy has a celebrity-quick-fix program. She guarantees a ten pound loss in two weeks.”
I raised a brow, still debating whether or not I wanted to enter the world of celebrity fitness trainers. A year ago, the concept would have been alien to me, but then Darren had never struggled with weight gain, and his body had never been featured in pictures seen by millions of people!
I sighed heavily and said, “Alright, let’s give her a call.”

***
Stacy Rex was only a few inches taller than me, however, despite her stature, she controlled the room. I stared at her body in jealous admiration, knowing that she never looked at herself in the mirror and thought, “I look hideous today.” Her body was absolute perfection, a lean stomach with not a trace of fat, a firm buttocks, and sleek- sculpted legs. She wasn’t remotely musclebound, maintaining her feminine curves, but she was toned. I looked away from her, feeling both envy and a sense of deep revulsion. I wanted to look like her, desperately, but I hated myself for succumbing to such a Hollywood trope.
The young woman smiled, “OK, Abby- I’ve got three rules for my last ten pounds boot camp. You stick to the diet I give you, you follow all my exercises, even ones that seem too hard at first- and last- you have fun! I’m really looking forward to helping you reach your weight loss goals.”
I said, “I-I just want to tone up. I’m not really that interested in losing weight.”
Stacy looked at me like I was speaking Swahili. She blinked and then the smile reappeared on her face, “That’s a first! Um- sorry, I’ve just never heard that before. Usually my clients want to lose like a specific amount of weight- but you- you are sure- you just want to tone?”
I nodded my head affirmatively, “Yes- I am.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Stacy’s body. She must have thought I was a lesbian, but she didn’t say anything. She maintained the same pleasant, but firm smile.
She shouted, “Alright! Let’s get started!”
***
Stacy was a taskmaster, but she was rarely unpleasant. I struggled with the workouts at first, leaving them red faced and drenched in sweat, but the woman got results. Within a few days, I had already lost a few pounds just from the intensity of the workouts. The first thing I noticed was that my arms didn’t jiggle any longer. She didn’t have me lifting heavy weights, but the rubber exercise bands did wonders to tone my arms. Our three hour sessions were intense, a mixture of cardio, toning and firming, yoga to improve the core and strengthen the back and what Stacy called the suicide drill.

I remember a version of the drill from hockey. During practice, we were forced to skate to centre ice and back, then to the blue line and back, and finally- we had to skate the length of the ice. All of this was done at a sprint. Thankfully, Stacy’s drill wasn’t as hardcore (she didn’t need to provide a puke bucket), but it was still difficult for a body that only exercised now and then. She only had me running the length of the small gymnasium, but she had me repeat the drill multiple times.

We also started working on the dance routines. My choreographer, Jaimie spent some of the three hour session showing me different dance moves I would have to complete. Jaimie was the first of a list of many people that would be introduced to me- my hair stylist, makeup person, costume designer, the tour producer, but to be honest the only ones I was really interested in speaking to were the sound people, most of them either musicians or audio experts.

As for my weight, I had to admit that the first time I stepped on the scale and noticed that my weight was lower, I felt a small burst of joy in my heart. I knew that I shouldn’t focus on the numbers, but it meant that I wasn’t getting any larger. The girl in the mirror was actually starting to look like me again too. A few days later, I realized that I had lost a total of five pounds. The only downside to this was that I was frequently hungry, but Sandra kept the now foetid bucket of junk food stew on the patio as a reminder of my disobedience, so I dared not cheat again. Sandra had me eating under 1200 calories a day, which not only caused my stomach to growl, it often made me weak due to the amount of cardio I was doing.

A few days later, half way through the suicide drill, Stacy stopped me, “Abby, are you OK? You look a little unsteady. Take a break if you need to.”

Just as she said those words, I fell forward, the taller girl caught me and gently lay me on a gym mat. “Abby, what did you eat for lunch?”

My head throbbed and my stomach ached. Little black and grey spots danced before my eyes. I muttered, “Uh- I had half a sandwich- on this like veggie bread. And some soda crackers.”

Stacy frowned, “Abby, you are supposed to be eating a normal amount. You can’t do this kind of exercise without eating right. And what did you have for breakfast?”

I sighed, “It was- well low-fat oatmeal with a glass of orange juice.”

Stacy shook her head, “I said specifically when we started that you aren’t supposed to be dieting when you are doing my exercise program. You should be eating a normal amount. You’ve probably taken in only 500 calories. Maybe. That’s not enough. I’m worried about you, Abby. You are losing a lot of weight too. Is that what you want?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know.”

The frown never left Stacy’s pretty face, “Are you getting pressured to diet on top of the workouts we are doing? Because if that’s the case- we need to change your routine. What you are doing to your body isn’t healthy.”

I replied, “Says the girl who is perfect. What would you know? You’ve probably always been like that.”

Stacy shook her head, “I’m going to ignore that because you are really hungry. Look- I think I need to speak to Ms. Walker. She was the one who asked that I do the cardio with you, and the suicide. I don’t support starvation diets.”

I shook my head, “Please don’t make trouble for me. You’ll be making trouble for yourself too.”

Stacy frowned, “You are a beautiful girl, Abigail. And so talented. I love your songs! I get that you are young, but you have a say in this- and what about your parents? What do you think about their daughter hurting herself like this?”

I said, “Please don’t make trouble.”

Stacy said, “I’m going to speak to your parents and that’s that. You are going to put yourself in the hospital.” Stacy cut the workout short, telling me to shower. I heard arguing upstairs and then a car speed away.

***

“You look really good, Abby! Wow!” I was sitting across from Harmony at a posh Beverly Hills restaurant. I raised a brow at her admission, a slight frown crossing my features.

Harmony quickly backpedaled, “You were really pretty before, but come on, Abby- you’ve gotta admit, you were a little chunky.”

By this point, I had lost about ten pounds. I was back to my initial weight. Stacy had returned as my instructor, even after voicing her opinion concerning the danger of the diet Sandra had me following. I thought she would have been removed and replaced, but Mr. Atwater had actually spoken up on my behalf. I heard Sandra and him arguing, and it resulted in Stacy returning and my calorie intake being increased. I was pushed to 1500 a day, and during the workout sessions, Stacy insisted that we break frequently so I could take in water.

I said, “But I didn’t really care about that.”

Harmony sipped her diet cola, “Sure, Abby- sure you didn’t.” She laughed, “That’s a lie and you know it.”

I said, “I’m serious- I was OK with my weight before. Ethan didn’t mind. And I’ll bet he won’t like the fact I’ve lost in my boobs.”

The recent Skype sessions with Ethan were face-to-face literally. Since the pictures of my bikini body were published, I had only done face cam with Ethan- I was too embarrassed about how I looked- too worried he would think I was ugly.

Harmony shook her head, “You are lying, Abby. Just admit it.”

Harmony remained steadfast in her resolve. She added, “I went through the same thing last year after Christmas, I swear I gained like ten pounds. I hated how I looked, how I fit in my clothes. You can admit that you didn’t like it, I’m not gonna judge you. Believe me I’ve been there.”

I sighed gently, “OK, fine. I wasn’t happy with how I looked. I thought I looked fat in every picture, especially the ones at your party. And people online, they are so mean! Especially the girls.”

Harmony said, “Abby, you are new to this whole thing, so I’ll tell you what I know. Don’t look online for stuff about you- ever. Because as many good comments you find, you’ll find a lot of stuff the opposite. For one simple reason, people are jealous of us. They want what we have, so they attack us.”

I replied, “Some of them have legitimate reasons, especially lifestyle. Some people here, they live better than they should. Is it really necessary to have a car for every day of the week? Have a private masseuse come at 3 AM because you have a neck cramp, people have all this money and they squander it on nothing- why?”

Harmony smirked, “Says the girl who practically lived at the spa her first two weeks here. And the one wearing the thousand dollar shoes. Come on, Abby- you are just as bad.”

I shook my head vehemently, “I am not. Sandra made me buy all this stuff. The stupid sunglasses. The limo rides. All that stuff. None of it was my choice.”

Harmony pointed to the leather jacket which I had come to adore, as I had my old green hoodie, “And that, did they make you buy that? That’s a Lorenzo D’Silva original. Even my dad looks at me funny when I buy anything from that line.”

I cleared my throat, “OK, that was an impulse buy with Alyssa.”

Harmony grinned, “OK, so now that you’ve lost weight- well you need to shop right. Look, your shorts- they are falling off you! So let’s go shopping this afternoon! We’ll get you a whole new wardrobe. Unless you think you’ll lose more?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s tough to say.” The waiter came by and brought our meals- mine was a roasted chicken breast with side salad, low-fat dressing and Harmony’s was a small chicken Caesar salad, also with low-fat dressing. Unfortunately, I didn’t get what I ordered. I stared down at a steak that covered half the plate, potatoes dripping with butter and a small pasta salad. None of the items were on my diet, except for the steak, but I would only be allowed to eat ¼, and I would not be permitted to eat the caramelized onions or fried mushrooms.

The waiter smiled and said, “Bon appétit, girls!” I watched the waiter leave as I stared down at the delectable offering in front of me.

Harmony smirked, “You are drooling, Abby.”

I retorted, “Am not! Harm, I haven’t seen food like this for weeks. It’s not- it’s not what I ordered.”

Harmony said, “So ask for what you ordered. I thought you got the chicken.”

I said, “I never return stuff at restaurants. It’s not a big deal, I’ll just eat a little bit of the steak.”

Harmony shook her head, “They screwed up your order. Get the waiter back here. And you’ve never returned anything?”

I said, “No. I just find it’s annoying, you know they have to cook my meal, you’ll be sitting here with your meal, and you’ll eat, and I’ll be waiting. I’ll just eat this.” Truth be told, I was famished. I didn’t think I could wait.

Harmony snapped her fingers multiple times, trying to get the attention of a server. A young woman arrived at our table. She asked, “Is everything alright, girls?”

Harmony shook her head and pointed to my food, “No- it’s not. My friend ordered the chicken, and you gave her the steak. I want you to get her what she ordered right now.”

The server, who was at least five years older than us, stuttered, “The lunch rush, it was- well we had many before that, but we will have- I’m sorry, it will be another twenty five minutes.” She smiled gently and said, “You know, good food- it takes time to prepare. I’m really very sorry for the inconvenience.”

Harmony glared at the young woman, “Manager. Now.”

I shook my head repeatedly. We were getting a lot of attention from the other diners, and I was worried that someone was going to pull a cell phone out and document Harmony’s misbehaviour.

I said, “Listen, Harm, it’s OK. I’ll just eat the steak. It’s not a big deal.” The young woman left, and amazingly, she maintained her composure.

I said, “Harm, OK- just let it go. They are going to spit in our food. When the manager gets here, we’ll just say it’s OK, and I’ll eat the damn steak. Stop making such a big deal about this.” Harmony shook her head, and a minute later, a tall forty-something man with a goatee and stylish, yet thick glasses arrived at our table.

He said, “Girls, I understand that there’s been a problem with your order. I first want to apologize. Why don’t the two of you go shopping across the street? We’ll have your meals ready in under twenty-five minutes.”

He added with a nervous smile, “On the house.”

Harmony nodded, “That’s more like it. OK, we’ll be back. Come on, Abby.”

The other patrons, some of whom were clearly not regulars glared at us. Harmony got up, and I moved to follow her. I waited for Harmony to leave earshot and then intercepted the manager before he could leave. I said, “I’m really sorry about my friend. Look, I want to pay for both meals. OK? You don’t need to give it to me for free. I can afford it.” I pulled my unlimited credit card out of my purse.

The man shook his head, and proceeded to apologize profusely, “Miss Grenier, this was our mistake. Your friend is right- we should absolutely have gotten your order right. We want to fix this.”

He was a grown man kowtowing to a teenage girl. His stature was pitiful, sagging- with his hands clasped as he made an apologetic plea.

I shook my head, “This is sick. Why are you so worried about this? She’s just a girl.”

The man shook head again, “Miss Grenier, please just let us do this for you. Her father is one of the most powerful and influential men in Hollywood. You- have to understand. A bad word from him could ruin us.”

I shook my head, “You’re all crazy.”

Chapter 65

“You’ve done very well, Abigail. I’m impressed. How much have you lost so far?”

I replied to Sandra, “Over ten pounds now.”

Sandra asked, “And how did you do it?”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, “You know how I did it. With Stacy’s help. Three hour sessions.”

Sandra frowned, “That’s not what I asked you to memorize. Are we going to have a problem here, Abigail?”

I replied, “No, but people are going to know I’m not telling the truth. They are going to know I’m insincere. No one loses weight as quickly as I did just by exercising. The tabloids already assume I’m on some kind of diet pills.”

Sandra said, “You will say that you went jogging every morning, and that you did the dance cardio DVD. We want the girls listening to you to think you are like them, they do that too.”

I said with a sneer, “Yeah, but it’s not true. You starved me for the first two weeks. Are we going to tell them that? Are we going to tell them that I fainted three times in those two weeks?”

Sandra said matter-of-factly, “During your pre-tour press conference, you will tell them exactly what I instruct you tell them. Any deviation from the script, and no Ethan.”

I whined and stomped my foot, “But that’s not fair! They aren’t going to believe me! The press will eat me alive. I watched those press conferences with Britney, and they asked her a lot of questions- some that aren’t on your list.”

Sandra replied, “Answer as you would be expected to answer them. Do not deviate from the script. Am I making myself clear, young lady? As for the press, you don’t need to convince them. You just need to convince your teeny bopper legion. The others will follow.”

I sighed, “Yes. I don’t see why Ethan can’t come now anyway, aren’t we starting tour rehearsal soon?”

Sandra said, “You are going to hit all the talk shows first, tell your inspiring weight loss story, your story of life and death at the hands of a jealous psychopath, and you’ll perform. In between that will be album signings at malls. Oh and of course, your music video. By then, you’ll be so influential, Rebellion’s Mask will be back in their garage getting noise complaints again.”

I muttered under my breath, “Youarethepsychopath.”

Sandra narrowed her eyes at me, “What did you say?”

I shook my head, “Nothing.”

***

“This really isn’t necessary.” I looked at the ridiculous gift basket that was left in my dressing room. It was full of body lotions, moisturizers, hair accessories, expensive headphones, and equally expensive makeup. We were in North Carolina at a morning talk show. I had to get up at 5 AM for makeup and hair. We were two weeks into the talk show circuit, and everywhere we went, we were thanked profusely. When I say ‘we’, I meant the army of individuals who followed me from city to city, fulfilling my every wish, and making me look perfect.

I looked across at my personal assistant, Lauren, the girl who had initially brought Alyssa to LA. She had received a promotion. She was originally from LA, and she was very happy to be back in the United States. She constantly complained to me about the Canadian winter. She looked at me impatiently, “Is there anything I can get you Miss Grenier? Bottled water, fresh squeezed orange juice?” She was terribly bored because I rarely asked for anything. After all, I could just get it myself. Here was another adult practically grovelling before me.

I said, “No, I keep telling Sandra that I don’t need a personal assistant. And for god’s sake, call me Abigail or Abby. You’ve got to be almost ten years older than me.”

Lauren sighed gently, “Ms. Walker insists that I accompany you. She wants to make sure you have everything you need.”

I said, “Okay, here’s what I want. Stimulating conversation- I want to talk about the news. What’s happening in the world, you know?”

Lauren nodded, “Well Katy and Lady Gaga are apparently feuding. And I think Justin Bieber, he got hit with another bottle. Ended up in another ... ”

I dismissed her with a wave of my hand, “The news. The news that matters. I don’t care about that garbage. I want to talk about the election here. Who are you thinking of voting for? Who do you think will win?”

Lauren shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I like how the guy, I think his name is Sampson, I like his voice. It’s real powerful. I think he’d be a good president.”

I shook my head, “Never mind.”

***

“Oh my god!!!!!!! Abigail! Or do you like- um, Abby! I—I, oh my god!!! I can’t believe I’m meeting you! You are so amazing! I love your voice! It’s like way better than everyone out there. You are way skinnier than I thought you’d be too! I mean- I saw pictures of you, you look really good, Abby! Like so pretty! I wish I had your hair. Is it real or do you have extensions?”

The album signings were like dealing with a thousand Alyssas, one after the other. I tried to be gracious, but honestly- they annoyed me. They were excited to meet someone who was completely fabricated. I hated the message that my music sent, especially the sexual undertones, and the way I dressed. None of it was me.

I replied to the questions the same way I did with Alyssa, choosing the least offensive to my sensibilities, and hoping the girl forgot what they asked. I said, “I’m going to wear extensions on stage. And yeah, um, I guess I lost some weight.”

The girl, who was about my size, asked, “I’ve been trying to lose weight too. I heard you took like diet pills or something? I-I was thinking of getting some.”

Sandra, who stood next to me, cleared her throat. I replied, “You can do what I did. Just jogging, eating right, and a lot of cardio dance.”

I said, “But I don’t think you need to lose any weight. I think you look pretty the way you are. Why do you want to lose weight?”

The girl replied, “Well cause you did. I wanna be just like you. I saw you dancing on MTV, you are so good, and your singing too! I want to be a singer like you.”

I said, “Why? You should do things because you want to, not because I do something.”

Sandra cleared her throat and said, “Next!”

The girl never got to reply, and Sandra looked down at me sternly. She pulled me aside, “We aren’t selling individuality here, Abigail. We want them to emulate you, to love you, to want to be you in every aspect of their lives. If they tell you they want to do something because you did it, encourage them.”

I glared at Sandra and said firmly, “Fuck you. I know exactly what Britney meant now. I am selling out a generation. These girls have no idea how they are being manipulated.”

Sandra said simply, “Shall I bring out the three-hundred pound sow, or are you going to behave and get back to the table?”

I glumly returned to the table, but as the next girl approached, I slapped on a fake smile as if my lips were a Mrs. Potato Head accessory.

***

I groaned, “Lauren, um, could you- get me some cold medication, and some chicken soup?”

During a rough trip through Pennsylvania, I caught a brutal cold. I had been spoiled by the warm California weather, and Pennsylvania offered a blast of winter which reminded me of home, and not in a good way. I was in a hotel room beneath two thick wool blankets. My nose was stuffy, my throat sore, and it felt like someone had poured an entire fish bowl into my sinuses. Then when this left my system, I caught the flu.

Lauren smiled, “Sure, Abby.”

I had managed to convince her to call me Abby or Abigail. I had a problem with adults calling me Ms. Grenier. To me, it was unacceptable. I sneezed and then reached for a tissue, which Lauren was quick to provide. I had the cold for a solid week, and during that time, Lauren took care of me. She was at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day, and when she caught my cold, she soldiered on. As a result of my nasty and lingering cold, I started asking for things to be provided in my dressing rooms. For one, it was often too cold. I wanted the heat at 21.5 Celsius, or warmer. I wanted a hot-cold humidifier for my vocal cords, and finally, I didn’t want anyone around me who was sick or who had flu-like or cold symptoms.

I had always been a bit of a germaphobe, OK- I was a major germaphobe. This was due to my bout with two stomach flus the previous year, one of which required hospitalization. It had been particularly bad when my daughter went to daycare, she brought home all sorts of nasty viruses. Planes, however, were by far the worst. The vacuum seal on airplanes locks in all the germs. During multiple flights, I cringed as I listened to the passengers in coach hacking up their lungs. In business class, where I was seated, there were still a few people coughing. It was obvious where I got my cold, and then the flu- the disgusting people who didn’t cover their mouths, or that didn’t stay home when they should have! I wanted them away from me- them and their microscopic germs.

“Sandra, um, I know this might- be, well it’s asking a lot. But I just figure that it makes sense for me to be healthy, right? Would you mind if I only took private planes now? You know, like chartered planes.”

Sandra answered with a glint in her eye, “Not at all, Abigail. A star of your calibre absolutely deserves the best. I’ll make sure that the planes you take are always chartered.”

I said, “And it’s not going to cost too much?”

Sandra said, “Don’t worry about it. From now on, you decide who you want on the plane with you. The other members of the crew, they can take a public flight. OK?”

I smiled gently, “Yeah- OK.” I actually did feel better, knowing that the only germs I would be exposed to would be my own.

***

Hundreds of cameras flashed as I entered the room. I was in New York City in front of a mass of press, all staring at a sixteen year old girl who looked less and less like Abigail Grenier. My hair was dyed platinum blonde, my skin was tanned, and my body- it was reformed. My workouts with Stacy had continued through the gauntlet of media appearances and album signings, and on top of the stomach flu I picked up along the way, I had lost another ten pounds, bringing me well under 120 pounds for the first time in my short existence as Abigail.

I wore a pair of short shorts, revealing my sleek tanned legs. My ass was firm, losing its jiggle and the back of my thighs no longer showed any cellulite. The halter top I wore, revealed my now modestly sized chest. I was down to a B cup, which meant I had to go shopping for new bras- new everything pretty much. I was gaining such fame, that I couldn’t exactly go shopping in public, so I was relegated to shopping online. My love handles were a thing of the past, and while I didn’t have tight abs like Stacy, my stomach had completely lost its little pooch. I was actually down to a size 4. None of my old clothes fit. I was still feminine looking and curvy, but my body was tight, smooth. When I searched for stories and pictures of myself, all the tabloids were talking about my dramatic weight loss like it was inevitable. I was now on the list of best celebrity bikini bodies.

I faced the press with a smile. It was the day of my pre-tour press conference, and it was the first time I had sat in a room with real journalists, not talk show hosts given talking points or music hosts discussing the catchy nature of one of my inane songs. Sandra had hammered my expected responses into my head. She stood off to the side of the podium with a neutral expression.

“Abigail, to what do you attribute your dramatic weight loss? Some are speculating you are taking diet pills or that you’ve gone on a starvation diet. How do you cope with the idea that your young fans might emulate your dangerous weight loss method?”

I answered, “I did not take diet pills or starve myself. I jog every day, and obviously I’m preparing for my tour so I’m dancing over one hour a day. I guess I’m young- I’ve got a fast metabolism.”

The reporter asked a follow-up question, “And how do you respond to rumours of you fainting? Sources say that you were hospitalized. That you were malnourished.”

I answered, “It’s not true.”

Another reporter asked, “In speaking to some of your teachers, they said you were an excellent student with an interest in going pre-law, are you getting tutored while you are on the road? Will the tutor accompany you on the tour?”

I shook my head, “I was an OK student. I was more interested in cheerleading, dance, hanging out with my friends. Law is boring. Yeah I’ve got a tutor, but she annoys me sometimes.”

The reporter frowned, and I couldn’t blame her. The reporters had clearly done their homework, but I wasn’t confirming anything. I actually didn’t have a tutor.

A question came from the back, “You were in a band before this one called Eyes Wide Open. What made you want to go into pop music? As I understand it, you wrote all the lyrics for the band, and did some of the arrangements. Did you have any input into your album, other than your vocals?”

I replied evenly, “That band was fun, but this is what I’ve always wanted to do. I love pop music. Um, I just sang on this album. And I didn’t write any of the lyrics. It was never really my band, I just did the vocals.”

I added, “My songs- well they are kind of dumb. I’d like to be able to write a good one one day. This one song I wrote just ended up really stupid. I could never write anything as good as Like Wow.”

I inwardly cringed, trying my best to maintain my composure. I knew Sandra would be extremely unhappy with me if I left the script. So far, they had asked questions we expected. I hated answering like some bimbo, but I had no choice.

“Did you idolize anyone growing up?”

I nodded, “I loved listening to Britney. I still remember singing one of her songs in the mirror into a hairbrush, wishing I could be like her. I was probably four or five.”

The reporter asked gently, “Given what happened with your idol recently, do you see her differently?”

I sighed softly, “S-She needs help. I don’t hate her for what she did. I hope she gets the help she needs.” The reporters, who looked rather ornery, softened noticeably.

The last question came, “Millions of young girls consider you a role model. Someone to emulate. Given some of the celebrity scandals plaguing young stars these days, do you think that celebrities should be considered role models, especially for impressionable young girls?”

I said, “I don’t consider myself a role model. I’m just a girl who loves to sing and dance. If my fans want to copy me that’s OK. I just want to make music.”

A follow-up question came, “You understand though Abigail that even if you don’t think that, girls will still see you as a role model. Parents have had concerns for instance that you dress too sexy. Especially on the album cover. Your lyrics too are highly suggestive. Do you have any concerns about this?”

I shook my head, “The album cover is just fun. It’s like Halloween. I don’t think too much about lyrics- it’s just fun dance music. It’s harmless.”

Off to the side, Sandra grinned knowingly.

***

“Abby, what the hell was that? I knew you were going down this path, but this is like- against everything you’ve ever believed. What the hell?”

I was back at hotel after the press conference, Skyping with Ethan. The boy stared, aghast at my behaviour. I had completed a similar call with Amélie a few minutes before, but at least she knew the circumstances behind my complete ethical lapse. Amélie and I spoke every few days. She wanted to know how I was doing, and I always asked her for updates on Chloe, which she was happy to provide. My daughter was talking up a storm, and she would often join us on our Skype session. Martin was there sometimes, but I was still cold toward him, often making excuses that I had to go when he tried to engage me in conversation. I asked Amélie how often he was there, but she said it was none of my business.

Amélie said Chloe loved to watch me perform. She would try and copy my dance moves, which was cute, but worrisome considering the suggestive nature of some of the moves.

I looked at Ethan mournfully, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Ethan shook his head, “What is that supposed to mean? What happened to the girl who fought against this, who like- wrote songs about it? Why did you lie about writing the lyrics in the band? And the role model too. I remember we had a talk about that once, and you said celebrities have to watch what they do- you know? Cause there are kids watching them.”

I frowned, “That’s just the way it works here. I-I don’t think you understand.”

Ethan frowned too, “That place is changing you. You- you look really different.”

I said, “You don’t like it?”

Ethan said, “You look like one- one of them- like a Barbie doll princess. One of the girls we used to make fun of. You know the type- super high maintenance. Why do you let them do that do you?”

I replied, “I like it. It- makes me feel beautiful.”

Ethan glared at me, “They are brainwashing you. You never liked cheerleading. You said it was stupid. And I’d never seen you dance before- except with Alyssa. Tell me what’s going on. Are they making you do all this stuff?”

I shook my head repeatedly, “No- no they aren’t. It’s my choice. It’s my choice how I dress, and how much weight I lost, and what I want to say. Can you handle that?”

I was growing impatient. I loved the boy, and I desperately wanted him at my side, but it was easier to push him away, so he wouldn’t have to see me this way.

Ethan bared his teeth, “I think they are. And you’ve just bought into it cause it’s easy. It’s easy to just be their little product. Well fuck that, I’m not losing you to this. I’m coming down there. We are gonna start practicing for your shitty tour soon. I’ve been talking to Atwater. He’s going to fly me down. I’m going to talk some sense into you.”

I nodded softly, and closed the Skype session. I didn’t want Ethan to see that I had become a complete corporate stooge, but I was selling out for the Prophecy- not for fame or fortune. Rebellion’s Mask had tumbled out of the top 10, and my single “Like Wow” had remained number one on the chart for weeks. My next single was due to be released in a few weeks, and I knew it would rocket to the top spot too. Not because it was good- but because it was sung by me.

***

“That’s bullshit! You said he was going to be my lead guitarist for the tour. And now you say, he’s only joining us on the Canadian part of the tour? Mr. Atwater said he could fly down.”

Sandra said, “Philip is no longer in charge of this operation, Abigail. He lost that privilege. Your tour will start in California, and you can see him a month later in Toronto.”

I asked petulantly, “But that’s not fair. Why can’t he come down now?”

Sandra replied, “He’s an unnecessary distraction at this time. You need to continue getting ready for your tour. Your boyfriend will not help you focus on that. You’ve also got that performance on Letterman tonight.”

I said, “And what about Alyssa? She was supposed to come down too. Well we shot the video a week ago, and she never came. She was supposed to be in it! I-I don’t really like Harmony anymore- she’s a diva. I don’t have any friends. And you won’t let me go anywhere without Tony and like three bodyguards now.”

Sandra said, “The only thing you need to concern yourself with is remembering your lyrics, your dance moves, and making it look like you are having a good time. Understood?” I nodded and trudged up to my room.

That night, I fled the hotel room and went out into the streets. I wasn’t dressed as Sandra would want. Since it was still winter, I wore my winter jacket, a hat and mittens, but I left the obnoxiously large sunglasses in the room, along with my expensive purse. I also wasn’t extensively made up. I was sick and tired of being cooped up in hotel rooms. I left without my bodyguards, who Sandra insisted follow me around wherever I went. I had been so obedient before, I just assumed that Sandra trusted me to stay put. The desk clerk didn’t say a thing as I went through the revolving door and into the night.

I would miss my performance on a late night talk show, but I didn’t care. I needed to get away from my handlers, from this life. I felt suffocated and chained to this existence, especially with regard to how phony I had to act. I walked for a while, eventually stopping in front of a music club. I could hear a cacophony of buzzing chainsaws- it was glorious feedback. I had smartly brought a few bucks with me, just in case I needed to cab back to the hotel, but I used it to pay the cover charge. The bouncer didn’t ask to see any I.D, so I assumed it was an all-ages show. The club was tightly packed with moshing teens, and I grinned widely as I joined the fray. It was dark, so I figured that no one would recognize me. I flailed with them, the angry music acting as the perfect therapy to my battered conscience. After four songs, I wandered out of the club, hoping that I could still get to my performance on time. I had wanted to stay, but I knew the longer I did, the greater chance I would be recognized. I had left my phone in the hotel, but the bouncer was kind enough to give me the time. I still had forty-five minutes to get to the television studio.

I reached out my arm to flag down a cab, when I noticed a group of girls exiting a movie theatre. I looked up at what was playing, “Twilight 3D re-release”. I swore and watched as more girls exited the theatre, their incessant chattering filling the night air. I waved my arm again and again for a cab as the girls approached. I edged my way off the curb, hoping it would give them enough room to move past me. I saw a cab approach, and I waved my arm again. I had no idea how to signal a New York cab. One of the girls stopped and said, “Hey, those ones are already carrying people. Look for ones that are lit up. The sign needs to flash.”

I didn’t look at the girl, instead turning away, but offering a quick, “Um- thanks.” Her group had stopped walking entirely, and the girls leaned over, trying to get a look at my face. I hadn’t brought a scarf because it was a mild night, just above freezing. One of the girls, a tall brunette, moved right in front of me. Her eyes widened, and like a wolf, calling her pack for the hunt, she shrieked, “Oh- are you? Are you? Abeille!!!!?” This immediately got the attention of the twenty other girls exiting the theatre, and they ran over. I was suddenly surrounded by close to twenty-five adolescent girls.

The brunette, who had seen me first, said, “Can-I have- could I have your autograph?”

Most of the girls just stood dumbstruck at the celebrity before them. The girls on the periphery were pushing the original group, trying to get near to me, all the while, I was edging dangerously close to falling off the curb into on-coming traffic. I teetered on the stilettos, cursing my decision to wear them, and said, “Um- sure. Sorry, I don’t have a pen though.” I saw flashes as ten or so girls had taken out their cell phones. The girls wanted to take pictures with me, and I fell into my routine. I was so used to taking pictures with fans, I formed the necessary smile subconsciously.

The original group of girls formed a protective seal around me, and slowly, I was pushed back onto the sidewalk, but I was also completely surrounded now. The original group kept the others at bay, but the crowd had attracted other girls too. And other people. I quickly realized that I was in trouble. The girls who had been kept in the periphery to this point were growing impatient. They started to push their way toward me. The brunette returned with a pen and managed to elbow her way back into the circle. I signed everything from toques, to shirts, to shoes. I also signed ticket stubs from the movie the girls had just seen.

“Hey, quit hogging her! We want our turn too!” Some girls just screamed at the top of their lungs, which brought more and more people. Soon enough, there was a hundred people, all snapping pics of me with their phones. Inside the circle of fans, it was bedlam. Questions were asked, and the second I tried to answer it, another girl would interrupt. I looked desperately for my escape.

“Come on! We want to meet her too!”

“Yeah you bitches! Let us through! “Wow, she’s a lot shorter than I thought she’d be.”

“Abby, did you really take diet pills? Tell us about your diet! Are you still mad at Britney? How much do you weigh now? I love your hat! What part of Canada are you from? Can we have some free tickets for your first concert here? I wanna go with my sister! You are so pretty, Abby! How do I get hair your hair like that? My favourite song is “Your Angel Kiss”, can you do more like that on the next album?? Do you have a boyfriend? Cause I heard you did, but he’s not with you right now, what’s he look like? No way! She’s going out with Justin Bieber, that’s what HotSpot 109 says. And Gossiptree! Tiger Beat says she’s going out both of the guys from Twilight! No way! They are too old for her, right, Abby? Right? Right?”

My head started spinning with the multitude of questions. This was nothing like the organized meet-and-greet sessions. It was pure chaos. I heard girls screaming into their cell phones, and no doubt, they were calling their friends to come to this very spot. I was trapped.

Eventually, the girls, who apparently never learned how to share, were physically removed, but an equally excited and erratic group took their place. One girl shrieked, “I’m your biggest fan, Abby! You are so amazing.” At this point, I wasn’t flattered, I was just scared. The management from the movie theatre and the bouncer from the club were trying to coral the girls, but they were all over me, touching me, pulling my clothes, continually asking me questions. They were like some terrifying hive-mind super fan. I could hear a few of them questioning their behaviour, but the original group of girls had started the whole mess by not sharing me. Some of the girls were just crazed.

I started to push my way out of the fray, and I noticed that on top of all the cell phone flashes, there were a number of other much brighter flashes- the paparazzi were now descending on the scene. Suddenly, I saw a video camera, and then another one. Now TMZ, the celebrity-gotcha show, were approaching the scene. I threw my body against one of the girls, and she fell backwards into the throng. I saw a beefy male hand appear in the mass of adolescent girls, and I immediately grabbed it. The bouncer from the club pulled me out, and the second I was free, I started running. Amazingly, some of the girls gave chase. I peered back a few seconds later and saw that my fans had stopped their pursuit, but the paparazzi were running after me now- grown men chasing a sixteen year old girl, running from them in high heels. I saw flashes of light. There were at least three or four of them. One man ran across the street into oncoming traffic, taking pictures as he dodged angry motorists who were forced to stop.

I noticed a beacon of light amidst the anarchy that had descended on the Manhattan street- a cab with a flashing yellow light. I sprinted toward it, losing my shoe in the process. Thankfully, the driver saw me, and he stopped. I frantically threw open the door and jumped inside. The cab pulled away, screeching its tires and cutting off numerous still angry motorists.

I breathed heavily, letting out a long sigh of relief as I settled in the cab, my foot half-frozen from running along the hard-packed snow. I said, “Oh god! Thank you. Thanks for stopping. I-I didn’t know what I was going to do. Um- I dropped my money though.”

The cabbie smiled back at me and said, “I know you’re good for it sweetie.”

I frowned, “Oh- so you know who I am too?”

The cabbie nodded, “Yeah, course I do. You wouldn’t mind signing a little autograph for my daughter, would you? She’s a huge fan.”

I said with a slight frown, “No, I don’t mind.”

I said, “Uh- I think that car, and that one too.” I pointed to a red sedan and a black sports car that pulled up next to us at the light. “They are following us!”

The cab driver gunned it through the intersection the second the light turned green. He weaved through traffic expertly, and soon enough, our pursuers were gone. He dropped me off in front of my hotel, but I could have sworn I saw flashes.

I threw open the door of the cab, eager to escape back into the confines of my posh hotel. The driver said, “Sweetie, what about that autograph?”

I stepped out of the cab, my naked foot exposed directly to the snow-covered sidewalk. The driver handed me a pen, and my receipt, which I used to write the autograph. He said, “I’ll send the bill for the ride to your record company, sweetie.”

I limped into the hotel, crying and frozen.

***

“I told you that’s how it was gonna be, Abby. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

“Harm, I-I just wanted to get away. I was going crazy cooped up in hotels all the time. I can’t go out without bodyguards now. It’s like everyone recognizes me.”

Harmony replied gently, “Abby, you have to accept it. What you did was stupid.”

I retorted, “You did the same thing in the music store!”

Harmony sighed, “Yeah, and I said it was dumb. We are different from them. They’ll never understand what we go through. Never.”

I replied, “But Harm, I-“

Harmony said firmly, “We aren’t like them. The sooner you realize that the sooner it all starts to make sense.” We chatted for a bit after that, mostly about the upcoming tour, and then I hung up the phone.

Sandra admonished me for my escape, but nothing beyond that. She also reminded me not to leave the hotel room without my bodyguards. I acknowledged that what I did was foolish, even dangerous. If my bodyguards had been there, they would have been able to control the mass of fan girls. In general, the incident was seen a perfect example of what not to do when meeting a celebrity. Many celebrities took to Twitter to offer their support of my actions, some even giving their own examples of crazy fan encounters. The entertainment media reported that I was “assaulted” by fans, and while that wasn’t entirely true, many of my fans also jumped into the Twitter debate, arguing the actions of the New York fan base were not acceptable.

The encounter had left me feeling a little more than paranoid. A star should never fear her fans, but within the assembled mass of teen girls, I was terrified. The incident acted as a wake-up call for me. From that day on, I never went anywhere, save the women’s washroom, without my bodyguards.

***

“Are you ready, Abigail?”

I nodded sullenly. I looked down at myself, the nightmare that turned me into Abigail had come true. I was wearing the red-sequined bra, the pink and black sailor suit that was similar to the bee costume I had worn for the album cover. Pink and black stockings fit firmly on my sleek legs. My skirt consisted of the ratty remains of a pair of jeans. The only thing covering the panties I wore was a set of carefully placed vinyl slats sewn into the barely there jean shorts. I wore the pink Converse hi-tops for the first two songs, but I would change shoes fifteen times, and costumes more than that.

Sandra looked at me expectantly. “I asked you if you were ready, Abigail.”

She handed me a headset microphone, which I dutifully slipped on. I again nodded sullenly. The crowd was chanting my name. Sandra gave me a little push toward the stage and said, “Have fun.”

I looked out at the crowd, and was amazed. I had filled a baseball stadium, like the Beatles in Shea. There were sixty thousand people here- to see me. Still, the first few performances, I went through the motions. I tried to ignore the adulation heaped on me, the requests for encores, and the constant screaming. After selling out every single venue in the first two weeks, I started to see things a little differently.

Yes, I was already flying in private planes, no longer forced to share the stale air of the great unwashed masses. I also had a staff of thirty around me, ensuring I always looked my best. They waited on me, but I asked them to treat me normally. Like looking me in the eye. None of them would ever look me in the eyes.

Things exacerbated when I made a small complaint about how much my feet hurt after a particularly tough performance. Immediately, four people offered to massage my feet, and before I had a chance to protest, someone had my stilettos off and started massaging my left foot expertly. I didn’t even know their name. Then, they prepared a foot bath, where I soaked for nearly half an hour.

A week later, I said that my voice hurt a little, and within five minutes, a girl brought me an herbal tea, and thirty minutes later, I had an ear nose and throat specialist checking me out, stating that I was healthy enough to continue the tour.

With the performances and the rapid costume changes, I didn’t even dress myself. When I ventured outside after performances, or walked around in a mall, I was surrounded by my now four bodyguards. I fell into the routine of being a celebrity to the point where I allowed my stylist to choose my clothing. I still dressed myself, but that was probably the only thing I did for myself. If I had asked Lauren to wipe my ass, she probably would have done it.

I was blissfully unaware that by choosing to submit to the Prophecy it was slowly changing me. I still had my memories, my concerns, but they were easily muddled by the celebrity lifestyle I had fallen into. Along with the perks, I had also started to believe my own hype. The adoration that my fans showed, their excitement to see me perform fed my ego. This ego was expanded and grew with my fear of the outside world, the world that I had seen while nearly suffocated by my fans. I never saw that world. I never saw the poverty, the corruption in politics- I didn’t watch the news any longer. My publicist, stylist- they were all concerned with my image. If a TV was on, it was tuned to a twenty-four hour entertainment network. It didn’t bother me because I, like those I affected with my music, was constantly distracted. When I wasn’t getting my hair, makeup or nails done, I was receiving a massage, or I was encouraged to send inane tweets to other celebrities, or I was working out with Stacy. Sandra made certain that I had very little in the way of down time. I was treated like pop royalty, and it was gradually turning my brain into subservient mush.

When my influence wasn’t building at the speed that Sandra wanted, she plotted with my stylist to concoct a fashion trend based on a lyrics from Like Wow. The line “Perfect face show him your lace” came to mean show him your panties, and soon enough girls were wearing their panties and thongs so that the underwear was always visible. They hiked them up, just as I had done in my Like Wow video and in the publicity photos. Like Britney Spears and her belly-baring tops, girls in the thousands posted pictures of themselves wearing their underwear like late 90s rappers. Parents groups complained, but teen culture was an all-encompassing force, it drove fashion trends. The few voices that spoke out against the blatant sexualizing soon found there was no one listening. I let it all happen, lost within a celebrity stupor.

A typical day began with a shower, after which, my handlers would provide me with a towel. Then, I would be seated in a chair where a team of hair stylists and makeup artists would turn me into every boy’s teenage dream. All the while, they would natter on about nothing for hours. I didn’t go anywhere without being absolutely flawless, no visible pimple or mole, and never a hair out of place. Sandra ordered that I always be surrounded by mirrors, and with the mind-numbingly boring conversation, I had nothing to do but stare at myself for hours or play on my phone. The more I stared at myself in the mirror, the more I realized that I was happy with how I looked. I was gorgeous, and it was true, because everyone told me that. The mirrors wouldn’t lie to me, and neither would my handlers.

***

“I don’t really want to cause problems- it’s just-“

Sandra smiled gently, “What is it, Abigail?”

I replied, clear hesitation in my voice, “I-I don’t like how I look in a lot of the video clips. My face looks bloated. Kind of- um, puffy.” There were certain days, where I felt less than perfect, even with a small army to make me look good. During a Pepsi commercial shoot, I felt that I looked bloated, especially in the face. I was near my period, so that likely contributed to some of the imperfection, but I knew the commercial would be seen by millions, potentially billions, considering Pepsi was a global brand.

Sandra asked, “Have you been sticking to your diet? You know that salty food can make you bloated.”

I nodded, “Yes, I have. I mean- would it be too much trouble, you know for them to reshoot some of the scenes? I just- I don’t like how I look in it. This is a huge commercial.” I said the three magic words, “I look fat.”

Sandra said, “Oh of course, Abigail. I’ll speak to the director on your behalf. We’ll reshoot your scenes.”

I frowned, “But, won’t everyone have to come back, and they’ll have to do the scene with the flowers, won’t that be really expensive? And to bring all the actors back?”

Sandra replied, “Money is no longer something you need to concern yourself with, Abigail.”

My commercial was reshot on a day where I wasn’t puffy looking. The director was snippy, but the Pepsi people said nothing. It was possible they had the same concerns I did. The commercial was featured during that year’s Super Bowl, which meant that if people didn’t know who I was before- they did now. In the United States alone, over one-hundred million people watched the game, which featured some of the most expensive advertisements. This was not only because of the cost to produce the commercials- advertising time during the Super Bowl was a hot commodity with thirty-seconds of air time often costing more one million dollars.

The commercial itself, as much as I hated to admit it, was actually fun to shoot. I was actually starting to enjoy dancing, even challenging myself to pull off more complicated maneuvers during performances. I had always been like that as a person. Once I had learned a job, I was ready for another, and music- if I had perfected a rhythm or a vocal, I still strove to improve. I suppose it was one of the reasons why I was chosen by the Prophecy.

I had to do a series of back flips, and then end in the splits. At first, I sucked- hardcore, but working with Stacy and my choreographer, I eventually managed to nail the flip, and I was actually really proud of myself. It was like figuring out a new solo or vocal melody.

Like Britney’s “Pepsi Generation” commercial, mine was equally grandiose, perhaps more so, as mine featured more backing dancers, a cutie in a bee suit, and then, there was my voice. I was the voice of a new generation of cola consumers, and if I hadn’t been so obsessed with learning the dance moves, my bloated face, I might have complained that having me profess my love for sugary a soft drink might entice little girls to want the drink. Ironically, as part of my diet, I wasn’t even allowed to consume the beverage.

***

We were descending at Pearson International Airport. I peered out at the city below from the comfort of a plush chair, the late morning sunshine belied the frigid temperature outside. It was February, which meant eastern Canada was still in the grips of winter. A 60-inch big screen TV was suspended from the ceiling of the private cabin (which also featured three leather couches, a surround sound speaker system and a full dining area), showing an episode of “Keeping up with the Kardashians”. Any television I watched was always tuned to the ‘E!’ entertainment network, and I was hopelessly hooked on the show. It wasn’t because the characters were inspiring, or intelligent- or even interesting- it was because I understood what they were going through. They too fled from the paparazzi. They dealt with overzealous fans and the ramifications of fame- hatred and love spewed toward them.

I turned away from the frosted window and tweeted to Kim Kardashian: “I know what you are going through. Just saw episode 5, season 2.”

Kim tweeted back: “Love your music, Abby! And thanks, it’s the price of fame! I love my fans of course but they can get a little too excited sometimes!”

Kim tweeted: “When you are back in LA, you should come by the house! We need to talk girl- my little sis- she wants you to play her sweet sixteen! She loves you.”

I tweeted back: “That’s sweet! OK, sure.”

I looked down at my phone, raising a brow at my actions. I had just had a Twitter conversation with a celebrity who was famous because of her big ass, her plastic surgery- and her husband, the biggest diva in the world. The man who stole the spotlight from established divas- Kanye West.

Still, Kim seemed so nice though! She wasn’t at all like she was at Harmony’s sweet sixteen. I looked back at that time and realized that I wasn’t happy with my body, and that likely translated into a distinct lack of confidence. Most Hollywood types were alphas, male or female- they were stars for a reason. I didn’t project that at the party, and so I was ignored.

I texted Ethan, who was driving up to Toronto with his parents. I had offered to send a limousine to take them, but Ethan refused. I hadn’t seen his parents since I had travelled to LA, but I had spoken to them a few times over Skype. I was ecstatic to see Ethan finally. I had our whole night planned. I couldn’t wait! I pictured us kissing, him holding me tightly, feeling how firm and tight my body was, then planting kisses all over my neck. We would enter the hot tub together, me in a string bikini, that would slowly and teasingly disappear beneath the bubbles. I was going to lose my virginity to Ethan tonight. It was going to be perfect.

Our first stop in Toronto was the MuchMusic studio for an afternoon interview. A staple of my youth, the music station used to play music videos- now, it played mostly reality television shows, but I was still excited to enter a space once shared by my favourite bands of the mid to late 90s. Sandra insisted on a police escort to avoid the infamous Toronto traffic. Once we reached the studio, it was absolute pandemonium. The two police cars that paved the way for us could no longer complete their task because of the sea of humanity that covered a full city block. The limousine simply stopped moving. The police officers exited their vehicles and attempted to gain control of the crowd, but there were too many screaming fan girls. There were also boys, and grown men and women- some with homemade t-shirts that said, “I LUV U ABBY!” Many people carried signs professing their love for me. It was like Beatlemania all over again. I didn’t like comparing myself to one of the greatest rock bands of all time, but I couldn’t argue with the size of the crowd that greeted me.

One of the MuchMusic VJs (video jockey) had to use a bull horn to inform the crowd that if they didn’t let the limousine through then the interview and performance would be cancelled. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the humanity that blocked the limousine slowly moved to the side, allowing the car to drive through. I watched from the safety of the limo as hundreds of people crammed next to each other in the February cold. The limo crawled toward the stage where I was set to perform after my interview.

***

“So, Abigail, there’s a lot of really cold guys out there all wondering the same thing. Do you have a boyfriend?” The VJ smiled. She was blonde, but more of a honey blonde to my platinum.

I smiled and nodded, “Yeah. I do.”

There were a lot of disappointed groans from the males outside. There were probably about a hundred lucky fans inside, although most of them girls who had special bracelets. They were the lucky ones because the temperature outside was probably -5 or -10 Celsius. That wasn’t as cold as it got though, as there were days in January, especially in Ottawa, that could dip below -25, and even -30 with the wind chill factor. It meant that if you went outside without being covered up, you quickly suffered from frostbite.

The VJ gushed, “How did you guys meet? Is he someone we would know? A lot of people have been saying that you’ve been going out with Justin Bieber. Are you a Belieber, Abby?”

I shook my head, “I met Justin on the set of the video for Like Wow. We kiss in it, but we are just friends. He’s super nice, and really talented.”

Sandra had beaten into my brain that you never disparage other celebrities. Always speak highly of their work, even if you believe the opposite. Unless, of course, your publicist thinks it would help your career. I was expected to have a feud with Miley Cyrus, the music industry’s resident bad girl. Her publicist spoke to mine, thinking the good girl versus bad girl angle would work very well for both of us.

I continued, “I met my boyfriend in high school. We were in the same band.”

The VJ asked, “And, how has a long-distance relationship worked for you guys? Do you find it hard not seeing him for months at a time? I know I couldn’t do it!”

I said, “I love him. We Skype a lot, but yeah it’s hard. Last time I saw him was Christmas! I’m seeing him tonight though, I’m- so excited!”

The VJ grinned and then she grew more serious , “With teenage pregnancy becoming more of an issue these days, and a lot of parent groups talking about not only safe sex but no sex, as a teen yourself, what do you think of this? When is it OK for teens to have sex?”

I knew this question was coming. My publicist had been given the questions prior to the interview and Sandra had carefully prepared me.

I replied with a smile, “That’s a tough one. I think it’s really important for teens to make the right decision about sex. It can affect their whole lives. I believe that teens shouldn’t have sex before they are married, or until they are promised to each other. Sex is something you do with someone you love and trust. It’s like- mutual, you know?”

Ironically, my suggestive dancing and lyrics, the way I dressed, it all ran counter to my professed views on teen sexuality. However, good girls didn’t have sex before marriage. I didn’t really think about the response because it was so rehearsed- that, and I had Ethan on the brain. I couldn’t wait to see him. I also failed to see the hypocrisy of selling abstinence and sex in the same breath. Britney had been packaged the exact same way.

The VJ, who was probably in her early twenties, said, “That’s a really mature view, Abigail. I’m sure your fans appreciate your point of view.”

Read: I’m sure your fans will do exactly as you say. I couldn’t wait to see Ethan’s face as he looked at my new body.

The VJ asked, “You’ve become an overnight sensation, Abigail. It’s freezing outside and there’s gotta be like thousands of people out there, just to see you! How do you deal with your fame, how do you stay grounded?”

I answered again with a smile, “I do normal stuff. You know that any teenage girl would do. I text, talk to my friends, hang out at the mall, talk about my boyfriend.” Again, I flashed a smile. “I think the most important thing is to be around people I trust and love. I Skype with my family a lot. I’m really looking forward to my boyfriend playing on the Canadian part of my tour too.”

The VJ grinned, “What’s his name?”

I smiled, “Ethan Rayner.”

The VJ said, “He’s probably the luckiest boy in the world. Am I right?” The crowd cheered.

After the interview portion, I bundled up and greeted the fans outside, offering them a wave and then preparing for my performance. I coughed gently, and four of my handlers ran over, showing immediate concern. I shivered and coughed again, and this brought Sandra over, showing the same worry.

Sandra’ eyes widened in fear, “Abigail- what’s wrong?”

I said, “I guess I’m too used to LA. It wasn’t this cold out in the mid-west when we went in January. Maybe if I wore a warmer jacket? This little one I’m wearing looks nice, but it’s- well it’s too thin.”

Sandra shook her head, “We can’t risk you getting sick. We’ll move everything inside.”

My eyebrows practically raised to the ceiling, “Are you crazy, it will take hours to re-cable everything, not to mention the people. They’ll be freezing out there.”

Sandra said, “I want you to go inside and get warmed up. Go inside your dressing room, have a hot tea and soak.”

The sound engineer for the show and the VJ walked over. The VJ smiled as she said, “Thanks for the great interview, Abigail. Are you just about ready to go on?”

Sandra said firmly, “It’s a lot colder than what was forecast today. We are going to move the entire performance inside.”

The sound guy reacted with vitriol. “Are you fucking nuts? It took us an hour just to get the cabling in place here. It’s all ready to go. We even trucked in special speakers knowing how big the crowd would be.”

Sandra replied calmly, but with deadly seriousness “You’ll do it in thirty minutes. I don’t care if people miss lunch breaks or smoke breaks. We will tell the crowd there is a technical problem. Set up a big screen outside for them so they can see. Get going, now.”

The sound guy stared at Sandra with hatred in his eyes. He was literally spitting mad. “I don’t know who you think you are, but that’s bullshit! The girl’s from Canada. Near Ottawa. She can handle this. It’s not even that cold out. If you were concerned about this, why didn’t you just have it indoors? I’m not calling my crew back.”

Sandra laughed and then poked the sound guy in the chest with her fingernail. He was a burly man, likely over two-hundred pounds. He had a paunch, but he also had muscular arms, likely from hauling stage gear his entire career. “I’m the manager of the most popular pop star in the world. Do you really think a peon like you matters in the grand scheme of things? Anyone can do your monkey work. You work for this station, correct? If I said, Abeille isn’t performing, what do you think your boss would say?”

I interjected, “Please, let’s not make such a big deal out of this. I’ll just sing outside.” Sandra proceeded to shush me.

He replied aggressively, “Look, she’s performing outside or not at all. And what would my boss say? He’d say nothing because I’m an independent contractor. You people are all the same, coming in here making these outrageous demands, and outside, there’s all these people, freezing their fucking asses off, and you want me make them wait longer, just to hear some shitty pop songs. You are out of your fucking mind, bitch!”

Sandra again replied calmly, “Who is your next employer? Your next contract.” She stared into the man. I had withered before under that gaze.

The man replied, “None of your goddam business.” Sandra maintained her scornful glare, and the man relented slightly “Fine, not that it will make any difference. I got a contract to do the sound at the Raptors and Maple Leaf games for the rest of the season. And unlike you, their management is professional.” He looked at me with a measure of concern, “Get yourself a lawyer to detach this circus bitch from your caboose, kid.” I frowned.

Sandra removed her cell phone from her pocket. I leaned over, and I could see her going through her contacts. She brought the phone to her ear. She said, “Yes, hello. I am Sandra Walker. I understand that you have employed Garrioch Sound and Lighting. I want you to break your agreement with them immediately. Why? Because I said so. Excellent. Thank you.”

The sound guy said nothing as he received a call on his cell phone. He looked at the number, and his jaw dropped. The shocked VJ said, “I-I’ll tell everyone that they’ll have to wait a little longer.” The sound guy stared dumbstruck at Sandra. She said, “You get it done in thirty minutes, and I’ll make sure you are rehired.” The two-hundred pound man sprinted toward the stage. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket.

Sandra said, “I want the police here to cordon off the area. Also find some people and put them on the gates. If anyone tries to leave do whatever is necessary to keep them here.”

She added with a smile, “Oh and I think it would be nice to setup hot chocolate and coffee stations. Let’s keep those people here.” The VJ responded timidly, “I-I—Our interns could go on the gates. We’ll make sure it’s done.” I watched Sandra with horror, but also a growing sense of amazement. She could have whatever she wanted, and maybe, so could I.

***
I returned to the comfort of my dressing room, putting my face in the cool mist moisturizer ensuring that my vocal cords stayed nicely hydrated. I texted Ethan, while also receiving a relaxing leg massage, telling him that I would be late getting to the restaurant. We had reservations for 5:00 at a posh downtown restaurant called La Blue Yen. It was usually full of bay street lawyers, and young professionals with too much money, but tonight it was hosting my entourage- oh and Ethan and his family. Ethan and I texted back and forth:

Ethan: sucks ill tell my parents u will b late
Ethan: rlly looking forward to seeing u
Me: :)
Me: what do u want to do after ive got 2nite planned ^_- but not right after dinner
Ethan: I dunna rlly
Me: i could prob get us into a club
Ethan: come on shitty dance music no way
Ethan: i know its prob impossible but leafs playing bruins 2nite
Me: i can try and get tix
Ethan: yah right its been sold out 4 months
Me: ill try
Ethan: if not then its cool if we can just chill and watch it in ur hotel room or mine
Ethan: my parents want to see u but i kinda want u all 4 me
Me: i think ull like what i got planned k k i will let u know about tix

I called the box office. “Hi. Um, do you have any tickets left for tonight’s game?” There was laughter in the background, which caused me to frown slightly.

A male voice responded, “Maybe if you were the Pope. Come on, kid. It’s been like this since Christ was a cowboy. You gotta know someone, or you gotta have a lot of money to rent a private box. Guess you’ll have to give your daddy something else for father’s day this year.”

I asked tentatively, “How much for a private box?”

Again, I heard laughter. “Kid, you owe me a burrito. I spit mine all over the floor. Now quit wasting my time. Just for shits and giggles though, they start at $8000 a game. But those ones are all sold out. Corporations buy up the tickets or they have actually bought the box. The only ones we actually have are the ultra-premium variety. So unless you’ve got $21000 dollars lying around, well you are up shits creek with a paddle”

I cleared my throat, “I-I’ve got a credit card.”

The man replied with mirth, “Oh, Daddy’s credit card buying daddy a present. Cute. Well I’m sorry, but I can’t authorize that big a sale without your daddy, sweetheart. Go get him, and we’ll talk.”

I was starting to get angry. I knew that tickets to Maple Leafs’ game were notoriously hard to find, and that they sold out faster than even Canadiens’ games, but I had the money, and the salesclerk was acting like a jackass. I said firmly, “It’s my credit card. And it’s unlimited.”

The man’s voice grew more serious, “Okay, honey. Time to come clean. What’s your name?”

I replied, “Abigail Grenier. I don’t appreciate your tone or your treatment of me. If you run my card, I assure that it will-“

The man interrupted me, “W-Wait, you’re the girl from the Super Bowl commercial. Really? Goddamn it, why didn’t you say so? My daughter loves your music. She’s so cute, only seven years old. She says she wants to be just like you when she grows up. Hey, would you mind giving me an autograph for her?”

I said impatiently, “What about the tickets?”

He replied, “Yeah, no problem. I don’t need to run your card or nothing. Truth is hardly anyone ever gets the ultra-premium boxes, so I wasn’t sure if you were joshing me or whatever. If I bring my daughter to tonight’s game, can she meet you?”

I sighed gently, “Yeah, it’s alright. It’s a private box though, right? There won’t be a bunch of people out there waiting to meet me, will there? I just want to enjoy the game with my boyfriend.”

The man replied, “Not to worry Miss Grenier. Your box is only accessible with a special elevator key carried by yours truly. And a few other ushers. I won’t tell anyone you are there.”

He added, “If I bring her around 6:30, is that good for you? I’ll make sure no one bothers you or your party. I know how it works with you types.”

I frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The man’s tone was apologetic, “I-I just meant- you know you like your privacy. That’s all.”

I nodded, “Okay, well I’ll see you tonight then.”

He replied, “See you tonight Miss Grenier!”

***

The indoor performance was completed without a hitch. The crowd, despite the frigid temperatures, had stayed, and according to Sandra, the sound guy had worked feverishly and managed get the whole production moved inside under forty minutes. Thankfully, the studio was already equipped with all the necessary equipment, so it was just a matter of re-cabling everything. Despite not meeting the thirty minute deadline set by Sandra, I convinced her to give the man his job back. She called the Air Canada Centre and complied with my request.

Unfortunately, even with a police escort, we were forty-five minutes late for dinner. My entourage and I entered in a flurry. We were immediately seated, much to the chagrin of the well-dressed adults that were waiting in the lobby. Two of my bodyguards walked me to my table, while the other two waited outside the door to the men’s and women’s washrooms. I hadn’t brought everyone with me, figuring that it wasn’t necessary to have my stylist, publicist or hair and makeup team join us for dinner, even though I was used to eating with them while I was on tour.

A group of girls, who had become a standard accessory during my tour, did come with me. In the group of eight, I probably only knew half of their names, and Lauren was one of them. All of them were pretty, thin, and in their early twenties. It seemed like it was their prime objective to distract me. I had grown tired of just staring at myself in mirrors and playing on my phone during the long makeup and hair sessions, and subsequently, I had started to question some of Sandra’s methods, especially with regard to how I was to answer certain questions. That was when one of the girls turned on “Keeping up with the Kardashians”. The girls gossiped about it, and they got me involved in the conversations. Initially, I was skeptical, but Kim, I realized was a lot like me. She was dealing with a lot of the same stuff.

Then there was “Total Divas”, a reality show about female wrestlers who liked to talk trash about each other. The mindless drivel was the only thing on the television, so like some bizarre Stockholm Syndrome, I became enamoured with my captor. All the girls ever talked about was celebrity news, who was dating whom, who had broken up- and who was dissing whom. Could I be blamed for succumbing to the pitfalls of fame when there was a constant and deliberate attack on my brain matter? The problem was, I didn’t even realize there was an issue. I had become so accustomed to these girls being around me that if they weren’t there, I kind of missed them.

I missed them because they were the ultimate sycophants, my yes-girls. They told me I looked amazing. Beautiful, gorgeous, thin- perfect. Instead of Ethan or Alyssa, I now relied on them to console me and solve any body issues. Ethan didn’t have a chance to react to my entourage because the second I saw him, I sprinted over in my stilettos and threw my arms around him. One of my yes-girls said, “Aww, how cute!” I kissed him on the lips, and then remembering his parents were there, I backed off. The gaggle of girls with me giggled.

I realized that I was practically sitting on Ethan’s lap. His mother managed to stifle a giggle while his father grinned. I kissed him again, but this time on the cheek. I was fully made up for my dinner with Ethan’s parents, my hair and makeup were redone on the way over, and I changed into a black chiffon dress that left one of my shoulders exposed. A large black belt cinched my trim waist. My yes-girls said I looked incredible.

Still sitting in Ethan’s lap, I grinned at him and waved, “Hi. Um, sorry we are so late. Traffic. Even with the escort.”

He replied, “You’re so weird, Abby.” I pouted and the boy smirked, kissing me on the lips which elicited a collective “ooh!” from my girls. I slid off Ethan’s lap into the booth next to him.

Ethan’s father raised a brow, “Escort?”

I nodded and said matter-of-factly, “Sandra asks that I always have a police escort, mostly for traffic, and I guess protection. She didn’t really explain it.”

Ethan’s father frowned gently, “So, the police use their sirens to move traffic, is that it? It doesn’t seem like a very good use of taxpayer dollars.”

Ethan added, “I hate that Sandra! She’s such a bitch. I was supposed to play on the tour from the start.”

Ethan’s mother glared at her son, “Ethan! Hush! That’s very rude. I’m sure they had a good reason. I told you not to let your school work slide.”

I looked to Ethan’s father, “Well they are paid I’m assuming. I guess that does take them away from other things they could be doing.”

I frowned. I felt like Ethan’s father was judging me. I peered over at Lauren, who was rapidly texting something. I was thankful that my yes-girls were sitting at a separate table, but they were close enough to overhear everything. All of the girls, in fact, were looking down at their phones, frantically texting. None of them were even looking at menus.

I said enthusiastically, “So, what looks good? I’m famished! I haven’t eaten all day.”

Sandra insisted that I wait until after the performance to eat. My head was spinning with hunger, my stomach protesting the lack of food.

Ethan mother’s asked, “Are you on a diet, Abigail?”

I nodded slowly, “Yeah, but it seems like everyone in Hollywood is on one. I’m only allowed to eat about 1200 calories a day. Then I do a workout with Stacy, usually about an hour or three if it’s a non-performance day.”

Ethan’s mother smiled, “You are in phenomenal shape. You are gorgeous, not that you weren’t before but you were ... ”

I interrupted her, “I was unhappy with how I looked. Yeah. I was fat.”

Ethan sighed loudly and started drumming on the table. We had a brief discussion about what foods I was allowed as part of the diet, how Mrs. Rayner was still trying to lose her Christmas weight, until we were interrupted by Ethan.

He said, “So are we gonna eat this century or whatever? I’m hungry too. Told me not to eat much for lunch because we were having an early dinner. Well it’s six. I’m ready to order. Come on, Abby. Pick something.”

Mrs. Rayner frowned, “Ethan, you have to understand that Abigail has obligations. I’m sure that’s why she’s late.” She looked to me, “Right?”

I nodded, “Yeah, there was an equipment malfunction. They had to move my whole performance back inside. I’m kind of glad because it was freezing!”

Mr. Rayner grinned, “You’ve been in LA too long. So Ethan tells me that you were trying to get tickets for the hockey game tonight? I heard that it was next to impossible unless you know someone with season tickets or a corporate box.”

I said, “Yeah, it’s no problem. I got us a private box.”

Mr. Rayner, who was certainly a wealthy individual, not rich but definitely not hard pressed for cash, stared at me mouth agape. He replied, “Uh, Abigail. That’s not necessary. I know that when we lived in Boston, a few of us tried to pool our money together during the playoffs for one of those boxes. All of these guys were successful lawyers, one of them a partner. I was just a junior at that time. We couldn’t afford it- well we wouldn’t pay the exorbitant price that is.”

I smiled, “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Rayner. It’s all on me. Dinner- everything.”

I removed the credit card from my purse and handed it to him. The grown man stared at the gold credit card like it was the Holy Grail.

Ethan blinked in surprise, “Since when do you carry a purse?”

I smirked, “Since I got tired of carrying my lipstick, makeup, and um, tampons in my hands. I didn’t have one usually because I had my school bag.”

Mrs. Rayner and I shared a knowing look.

Mr. Rayner handed the card back to me and asked, “I’m sorry, Abigail- but, I really feel we should pay our way. How much was the box itself? I’ll pay for my ticket and Ethan’s.”

I frowned gently, “It’s, um, $21000-“

Mr. Rayner’s eyes bugged out of his skull. He shook his head, “Abigail- no, we can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

I replied, “Please Mr. Rayner, think of it as just a small thanks for all you and your family has done for me. The birthday party, Christmas, how nice you guys are to me. I can afford it. I want to do this for you. It’s a gift.”

Ethan exclaimed, “Holy shit, those tickets are expensive. Damn. You need to take me to a guitar store after this. She’s right though dad. When Alyssa came to visit Abby, she left with like thousands of dollars of clothes. Abby, can totally afford it.”

I was pleased that Ethan didn’t think I was a ‘diva’ for throwing my money around, but I genuinely liked Ethan’s parents. I wanted to do this them.

I said with a smile, “Please, it’ll make me really happy to do this for you guys. I’m not sure when I’ll see you again.”

Mr. Rayner said with a slight frown, “I-I suppose, just this one time. But I am paying for our dinners.”

I reached out my hand and said, “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept.” Mr. Rayner laughed and shook my hand.

Ethan smirked, “You’re still a weirdo, Abby.”

I grinned and leaned in to whisper in the boy’s ear, “Just you wait until tonight.” I put my hand on his thigh and rubbed it gently.

I said, “I think I’m going to have the chicken parmesan with asparagus.” Oh my god was I ever hungry! I could have eaten a steak the size of a dinner plate. I peered over at my yes-girls who were still texting. The menus lay untouched on the table.

***

The conversation flitted back and forth between my new celebrity life and my old life. Like the restaurant in LA I had gone to with Harmony, la Blue Yen specialized in fine cuisine, which meant it took a while to prepare. Finally, as if someone had read my mind, a mouth-watering steak was placed in front of me, along with a half-lobster and a small butter dish. Neither of the items were on my diet. Sandra had removed red meat entirely from my diet, and while lobster is considered a healthy food, it was drenched in butter, and that was a no-no. I was so hungry, having eaten nothing since the plane ride, and even then, my meal was sparse- low-fat oatmeal and a grapefruit.

I looked at the server and frowned, “Um, this isn’t what I ordered. I’m supposed to have the chicken parmesan.”

The young man replied, “I remember specifically what your order was. The chicken parmesan, but someone came to the kitchen to tell the cooks there was a mistake. They said specifically that it was to be the teriyaki steak and the lobster, with the exact words, drenched in butter.”

I looked at my yes-girls, but I hadn’t seen any of them actually get up. They were currently discussing Miley Cyrus’ latest antics, apparently- she yelled at a maid for looking her in the eye. Ethan and his parents hadn’t left the table either, except for his mother who had gone to the washroom.

I shook my head, “No, I’m sorry that’s wrong. No one in my party did that. I think you made a mistake. What did the person look like who said they wanted to change my meal? Are you sure you have the right table?”

Mrs. Rayner had also ordered the chicken parmesan. I saw the exact same dish being served to a woman across from me who had arrived after me and my entourage.

The waiter bowed his head, “Miss Grenier, I’m sorry if there’s been a mistake. I’ll have the chef prepare your meal immediately. It should be ready in under twenty minutes.”

Ethan said, “Come on, Abby, just eat it. You can skip your diet for tonight. We are going to a hockey game, you know that, right? I hope you aren’t just going to sit there and watch me eat nachos while you complain you can’t eat them. And if we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss the opening faceoff.”

I narrowed my eyes, anger beginning to build within. I snapped at Ethan, “It’s not on my diet. I-I can’t!”

If I cheated, I knew that Sandra would punish me into thinking I was that obese cow. The last time, she didn’t release the illusion for a whole day, and by the end, I was begging her to release her hold on me. The next day, I barely ate anything.

Mr. and Mrs. Rayner shared worried looks. I turned back to the waiter, “I want what I ordered, and I want it right now. That’s my food, right there!” I got up from the table and headed over to the offending table to retrieve my chicken. I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing at the hockey game. Beer, soda pop, nachos, hot dogs, candy- none of it was on my diet.

Before I could regain my wayward chicken parmesan, I felt an arm grab hold of me. Mrs. Rayner said, “Abby, please, if this is really such a problem with your diet, then you can have mine. I’ll indulge tonight.”

I shook my head vehemently, “That’s not the point, Mrs. Rayner. They are calling me a liar, they said someone came and said I wanted something else. Did any of you go back there and tell them I wanted the steak and lobster?” I looked at my yes-girls and they nonchalantly shook their heads. I continued, “See? Those people too, they were here after us. How come she gets my meal? How come?” By this point, I had started to raise my voice. The other diners had taken notice of my behaviour and a few showed their disdain with slow head shakes.

I said, “How come you can’t get a simple thing, right? There isn’t even fifteen people in here.” I motioned to my wayward meal, sitting untouched in front of a woman who was quickly growing embarrassed. “Just take it from her! It’s mine!” She looked like the type who didn’t like a lot of attention. She was speaking to her server and motioning to her food, while I engaged in a hissy fit.

Mrs. Rayner said softly, “It’s going to be OK, Abby. Just calm down. I’ve been there. You are starved- I get that. Take a deep breath. You can have my meal, and then you can go to the hockey game, and you’ll have a great time. The longer you spend arguing, the later you’ll be for the game.”

I sighed gently and did as Mrs. Rayner asked. I sat back down and she slid her plate toward me. I dug into the chicken like a ravenous beast. I did not eat in a ladylike manner. I stuffed three stalks of asparagus into my mouth at a time, and tore the chicken apart with my hands.

Mr. Rayner frowned gently, “I have to say I am a little concerned about this diet you are on, Abigail. Who did you say is making you eat this way?”

I replied curtly, “No one. It’s my choice.” Mr. and Mrs. Rayner again shared worried glances.

Ethan said, “Damn, Abby, what are they feeding you for breakfast, like a single grape or something? And do they peel it so it looks like there’s more.” He laughed, but when I didn’t he said. “Lighten up, Abby- it was a joke.”

Dinner was rushed due to the hockey game. I couldn’t take the subway, which is what any normal person would have done, so we were forced to chance it with traffic in the limo. Ethan rode with me and my yes-girls in the limo, while his parents took mass transit.

When we arrived, the driver used the special underground parking reserved for the ultimate-premium box owners. It was the same one used by the owner of the team. Not even the players were allowed to use it. As we walked through the parking lot, Ethan detached me from the yes-girls.

He asked, “What the hell is the problem with those girls? They’ve got to be the stupidest and most annoying people on the planet. What are they part of your little entourage, Abby? Do you have the choice with them too? Like you said you do with your diet, how you dress and how you act.”

I glared at him, “OK, maybe I don’t have all the choices I said I did. But- you have to understand, I’m doing this for a reason.”

He said, “What you did at the restaurant was kind of funny, like I wanted to see you actually go over there and take that chicken. I would have been like whatever. But the fact you let the plastic fantastic octagons hang around with you, it makes me worried about you, Abby. Like you are letting them take over your life.”

I said, “I think you mean octuplets.”

Ethan said, “See, that’s what I didn’t see from you at all tonight. You are a really smart girl, Abby. You sound stupid in all your interviews. I didn’t want to tell you that, but it’s true. You sound like someone is feeding you fucking lines.” I lowered my head.

Ethan shook his head, “What happened to the girl who used to raise her middle finger to stuff like this? Who used to care about stuff? We started talking about school, and science class, and Barbie number seven there starts talking about some shit, I don’t know even- like reality TV stuff. Stuff you hate.”

I said, “It’s really not that bad. And the girls are fine, yeah they aren’t intellectual dynamos, but they are nice.”

Ethan said, “Says the person who got a total of nine compliments while we were in the car.” Ethan mimicked (I think her name was Amber?), “Ooh, Abby you look great in that dress!” Then he aped a girl whose name I didn’t know, “Your hair is just gorgeous, Abby! I wish mine was as nice as yours.” He shook his head, “The real Abby would tell those girls where to shove it, then she’d explain to them in great detail why they are pretentious uppity bitches.”

I frowned deeply, “Are they really that bad?”

Ethan nodded firmly, “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but- we need to stop it. I’m going to be around for this part of your tour, and we are going turn this whole thing on its side and then poke it with a sharp stick until it bleeds.”

He took my hand, “Are you with me?”

I nodded. I could have sworn I saw whatshersface or maybe Amber?- it could have been Lauren too- they did look alike, either way, I saw someone slip out from behind one of the cement poles that supported the underground parking garage. I heard the distinct clicking of heels, but when I turned to look, there was no one there.

***
Chapter 66

“Let’s go Bruins, let’s go! Let’s go Bruins, let’s go!”

I smirked, “You know that no one can hear you up here, right?”

Ethan glared at me, which only caused my smile to widen. He and his father had been chanting loudly for most of the first period. I wasn’t annoyed by it, because it was part of coming to a hockey game. You paid for your seat, and you could be vocal about what you were seeing in the game. I was certain that there was a part of every die-hard hockey fan’s brain that believed that cheering louder meant their team would win. When asked whether they paid attention to the crowd, most hockey players would say that they were focused on the game, and not the crowd. However, teams often played with more energy before a home crowd, so maybe there was some truth to it.

The cheering had quickly driven the yes-girls from the suite, which pleased Ethan. Twenty-one thousand dollars bought us theatre-style seating, a sixty-inch television (which allowed us to view all the replays), and a gourmet food service. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have made such a fuss over my chicken parmesan. Ethan took full advantage of our personal server, but he wasn’t interested in pâté or haut-cuisine. He had the server bring him two hotdogs, a package of candy corn, a colossal soda, and that was only what he ate just before the end of the second period.

I managed to resist temptation as my boyfriend stuffed his face with junk food in front of me. Mr. Rayner had a few beers and nachos, but Mrs. Rayner, like myself, had nothing. She had stuffed herself on lobster and steak, and with the chicken parmesan, I was at my caloric limit for the day. As the third period started, our personal server brought Ethan freshly-baked soft pretzels, and I actually salivated. They were my favourite. He returned with two of them and a new pop.

I glared at him, “Why did you get those? You know they are my favourite.”

Ethan shrugged, “You never told me that. And if you like them, then have one.”

I said, “Yes, I did. I remember it. We were in music class and you asked me my favourite arena food. We were talking about going to see a game in Montreal back when we thought we were playing with Porcelain. Anyway, I said soft pretzel, and then Madame Morin said to be quiet because some other kids were studying for a test. And you said, with mustard or without. And then I laughed at your stupid joke.”

Ethan grinned widely, “Okay, tell me what happened on August 8, 2013 at 8:48 PM, and 45 seconds.” He held the pretzel over my nose, forcing me to sniff the delectable doughy goodness.

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms underneath my chest, “It’s not on my diet. I can’t eat it.”

Mrs. Rayner said, “Stop teasing Abby, Ethan. And I think you’ve had enough junk. You eat one of those and that’s it.”

Ethan leaned in and whispered to me, “You know what I was saying in the parking garage? Well this is a perfect example. You used to eat pizza and drink pop. You didn’t worry about shit like that. We aren’t going to have a chance to go to another hockey game probably for a long time. Just eat it. I know you want to. You aren’t going to suddenly turn into a three-hundred pound pig. It’s one pretzel.”

Ethan was right. Sandra would never know that I had cheated, and I wanted the pretzel almost as much as I wanted to be alone with Ethan at that very moment. I took it from his waiting hands and said, “With mustard.”

It was an excellent hockey game, full of bone-crushing hits, incredible saves and break-neck speed back and forth. However, with five minutes left in the game, one of the Toronto players checked a Boston player into the boards. This caused a full-ice brawl that involved two of the game’s heavyweights. The crowd was livid that their heavyweight was sucker punched. I wanted to be with them. I looked down from the ultimate-premium box at the fans in their hundred dollar seats and felt a sense of longing.

Ethan asked, “What’s wrong, Abby? Pretzel no good?”

I shook my head, “It was amazing. I haven’t had food like that in a while. I guess- well I guess I was just thinking how I’d much rather be down there. You know? This private box is nice and all. But I’ve never sat right next to the glass, or behind the players’ bench.”

Ethan replied, “So? Next time- let’s do that.”

I frowned, “I can’t. I’m too recognizable now. There’d have to be police, and I just wouldn’t enjoy it. As many people love me as hate me. Some asshole would probably think it funny to pour a drink on me or something. Or I’d get a whole crowd of people asking me for autographs, and I’m just- well I’m just trying to watch the game, you know?”

Mrs. Rayner asked softly, in a clearly worried tone, “Is there anything about your fame that you like, Abigail?”

I said, “Well- I got to meet Wayne Gretzky. That was pretty amazing. He was super nice. I got to ask him about his time with the Oilers. It was incredible.”

Ethan grinned, “I would kill to meet him. I was so jealous when you told me about that. And the picture you took with him! Damn. Or Bobby Orr. Right, Dad? Hey Abby, do you think you think you could call his people? Like your people. Is that how it works?”

I frowned, “I don’t know. I mean I guess.”

Mrs. Rayner shook her head, “Ethan, I don’t think that’s right. Don’t use your girlfriend like that.”

I said, “I mean I really don’t mind. I guess I just want to do normal stuff when I’m with you, just hang out- talk. Like we used to. Not meet a bunch of celebrities or whatever. I’d like this life to be kind of separate.” Mrs. Rayner smiled knowingly.

Ethan relented, perhaps realizing that his request to meet Bobby Orr ran counter to his request to spend time with the real Abigail. He nodded, “Sorry, Abby.” I smiled and kissed him on the cheek, “It’s OK.”

Mr. Rayner said with surprise, “Smile and wave everyone.” He pointed at the television screen.

I blinked, “Huh?” I looked at the television screen, and I could see that the camera was focused on our supposedly private premium box. The one that cost $21000. Apparently, privacy was extra. Just as I always did when faced with cameras, I wore my trademark smile. I waved excitedly, but the second the camera left the booth, my face drooped into an instant frown. “Damn it, how did they know we were here? The guy I spoke to in the box office- he said we would have privacy.”

Mr. Rayner said, “We have a private entrance though. And I’m assuming that means exit too. That Bert fellow who let us up in the elevator, could he have told someone you were here?”

I sighed, “It’s possible. He might be mad because I didn’t, well I promised him that I’d sign an autograph for his daughter. I feel really bad about it. I doubt it was him. Maybe she’s still here.”

Ethan handed me his phone, which showed my Twitter page, it read: “@ Leafs game tonight with BF! Say hi if you see me!”

I said, “What the hell. I didn’t write that! I’m really sorry- I know there’s some time left still, but I think we should leave.”

Ethan groaned loudly, which elicited a disappointed mom face from Mrs. Rayner. It was the kind where the eyebrows sort of furrow and the mouth isn’t exactly a frown, but more of a grimace. Mr. Rayner said, “Of course, Abigail. We understand.”

***

“What’s your name, honey?”

The little girl looked up at me with godlike reverence. She smiled, showing one missing front tooth. “I’m Tawny.” She looked down at her shoes, shyness gripping her. The little girl was completed decked out in Maple Leaf fan apparel, a pink jersey and a blue and white toque all featuring Toronto’s logo.

I said softly, “You know you’re special, Tawny.”

The little girl brightened as her timid behaviour morphed into supreme confidence. She asked excitedly, “Really?”

I nodded and grinned, “Yeah, I don’t usually give autographs to Leaf fans. I’m making a special exception for you!” Her father laughed. “What are you a Bruins fans?”

I shook my head, “Habs fan till death.” Bert made a cross with his index fingers, he said with a grin, “That’s even worse.”

Tawny failed to understand, choosing to peer at her father and then me with a puzzled expression. She looked at me, at the brink of an emotional meltdown. Her lip trembled gently, “Can I have an autograph, please?”

I smiled and said, “Of course! I’m sorry, Tawny. Your dad and I were just having some fun.”

Bert said, “You are one of the good ones, Miss Grenier. Not a lot of celebrities would come looking for a fan like that. I’ve seen a lot come through here over the years. You should have heard some of the demands they made. One guy, he wanted Versace towels to wipe his sweaty face. And he’d accept only Versace! So we had to cut these $400 towels up into these stupid sweat wipes.”

Ethan’s parents smiled, and even Ethan, who had been upset about leaving the game early, seemed pleased with this turn of events.

I replied, “I promised I would come. And I meant it. What would you like me to sign, Tawny?”

The little girl said, “Um, could you- please, could you sign my jersey? I know that it will be lucky then! You are my favourite singer, Abby.”

I looked at the girl with a measure of seriousness, “Can I ask you a question?” The little girl bobbed her head eagerly. I asked, “Why do you like me?”

The question caught the girl off guard. I could see it in her eyes, and the way her mouth crinkled gently. She was clearly formulating her response. She replied enthusiastically, “Cause I love your voice, and your songs. And you are really pretty, Abby! The outfits you wear too, I love them! Oh- oh and your dancing! That’s my favourite. I-I wanna learn how to do flips and stuff, like you. I asked my daddy if I can take dance and he said yes!”

I smiled gently and took hold of the girl’s jersey. I signed my name as I always did, in a flowery way with a heart on the first ‘I’. It’s how Sandra had instructed me, and I had done it so many times, I didn’t even think about it. The little girl reached out her arms, and I hugged her. Mrs. Rayner said, “Oh, that’s so sweet!” Bert took a picture with his cell phone. I waved goodbye to Tawny as Bert led us to the elevator.

The moment we stepped off the elevator, a microphone was pushed in my face. I stared in shock as a veritable media mob awaited us in the supposedly private parking garage. The reporter asked, “Is there any truth to the rumour that you fainted during one of your exercise sessions?” Another reporter asked, “Did you faint as a result of a starvation diet?” A sneer appeared on my face. We were facing journalistic dregs, entertainment reporters.

Another microphone was pushed into my face, “Is there any truth to the rumour that you cheated on your boyfriend with both of the stars of Twilight?” Then, a microphone was pushed into Ethan’s face, and a question asked, “Are you worried about your girlfriend’s health problems? Is she taking diet pills? Did she cheat on you?” As all of this was happening twenty or so paparazzi took hundreds of pictures of us. We were essentially trapped in the elevator, facing a barrage of questions from people of questionable integrity.

Instead of reacting as I expected, Ethan looked terrified. I thought he would swear and push the cameras and microphones away, but he was almost in shock. He answered a few questions by mumbling into the microphone. I refused to answer anything, but I knew I couldn’t play lawyer- I wasn’t allowed to show any of my prior knowledge. Apparently, pop stars are better liked when people think they are stupid.

Thankfully, Mr. Rayner stepped in. He shielded us from the paparazzi and addressed the entertainment vultures fiercely, “What you are doing is criminal. You are harassing two sixteen year olds, basically children! I-I’m Miss Grenier’s lawyer, and I will see to it that all of you are slapped with restraining orders. Act with some decorum, these are teenagers, not seasoned celebrities. Just back off all of you! Miss Grenier will not answer any questions if you use such aggressive tactics!”

Amazingly, Mr. Rayner’s bluster worked, and we were able to run to the limousine with the narrow path carved by journalists with a shred of humanity. I didn’t see the yes-girls anywhere, but I knew we needed to leave, especially given the fact that the paparazzi were swayed by Mr. Rayner’s words. They shot us running to the limousine, a hundred flashes as we threw open the door. The Rayners had parked their car here, but the limousine with the tinted windows offered protection. I didn’t say anything as they jumped into the limo with their son, who still looked to be in shock.

Without saying a word, the limo driver pulled out of the parking spot, squealing the tires in the process. I could see some of the paparazzi chasing us, but the driver, who had clearly been trained to deal with the photo seekers, pulled away rapidly. I could see a greater number of cars in the parking garage than before and considering they never sold the ultimate-premium boxes, it was clear someone had given entry to the entertainment media.

We reached the ticket gate, and the limo driver placed the stub from the premium box in the dispenser, which lifted the thin yellow gate and opened the large metal door. I stared in complete shock as just outside the door, stood hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. I could hear them chanting my name. I looked over at Ethan, who had a deer in the headlights look as if an eighteen wheeler packed with cinder blocks was bearing down on him. I reached out to hold his hand, but he pulled away.

I couldn’t blame my boyfriend for his less than heroic action in the face of the ravenous entertainment press. It was his first encounter with them. In fact, it was similar to mine. Days after my album had dropped, I was surprised by a large group of them camping just outside the spa that I frequented on a regular basis. I was almost knocked down in the fray, with nearly twenty reporters trying to shove microphones in my face. I was without my bodyguards at the time, as the event itself spurred Sandra to hire protection. I found it bizarre that my bodyguards were not waiting for me in the parking garage. They usually shielded me from the hungry lenses and quick trigger fingers. Sandra expressly said that I was not to go anywhere without them, especially after the incident in New York City. So where were they? They tended to follow the limousine in a black SUV.

Mrs. Rayner asked, “Abigail, do you go through that every day? I can’t imagine the strain it puts on you.”

I shrugged, “I’m kind of used to it now. Most of the time they are OK. Like I’ve stopped to talk to them, but they are like sharks with blood in the water tonight. I don’t know what’s got them acting so aggressive.” I looked to Mr. Rayner, “Um, thanks- you know for what you did. It was smart. Uh- but you are a corporate real estate lawyer,” I smirked. “Have you ever filed a restraining order against anyone?”

Mr. Rayner nodded his head, “Yes, back when I was in Boston. I worked for a firm that dealt with a lot of domestic abuse cases.”

I reached out and put my hand on Ethan’s knee. I said softly, “It’s alright. You’ll get used to it. It just takes some time. We can talk about it tonight. I want you to come back to my hotel room.”

A little smile appeared on the boy’s face as he realized what that likely entailed. The limousine plodded through the mass of people.

He said eagerly, “OK. Sure Abby.”

Mr. Rayner said, “I’m really not sure that’s appropriate, Abigail. We really need to speak to Sandra about this, but we’ve talked about it with your sister, and if we are going to let Ethan go on this tour, we want you and him to sleep in separate rooms. It’s not appropriate for two sixteen year olds to share a room on a daily basis.”

Mrs. Rayner added, “We’ve also heard nothing about the tutor that Mr. Atwater promised. Do you have a tutor, Abigail?”

My eyes darted back and forth as I considered my response. Sandra had said nothing of a tutor for me, but then, I already had two university degrees. I said, “I didn’t have time for a tutor with all the media appearances I was doing, but I think she’s planning on getting one for us soon.”

I said, “I don’t see what the big problem is with Ethan coming back to my hotel room. We love each other, and I want him to.”

My mouth stood open for a moment, seemingly stunning myself with my own words. Honestly, I was used to getting my way. Yes, I obeyed Sandra, but in all other facets of my life, people did as I told them. Mr. and Mrs. Rayner looked equally shocked by my words. Even Ethan, who had previously been gung-ho at the prospect of us sleeping in the same bed together, looked surprised at my behaviour.

No one treated me like a kid anymore. Celebrities spoke to me in Twitter feeds like a grown woman. My yes-girls certainly didn’t treat me like a sixteen year old either. None of my staff referred to me as a child, and in fact, most of them referred to me as Miss Grenier, which I had to admit, I kind of liked.

Mr. Rayner said, “Amélie specifically said that you were not to share a room with Ethan. And we agree. It’s just not proper.”

I rebutted, “Amélie isn’t my legal guardian anymore.”

With the way I answered, I might have just stuck out my tongue. I wasn’t treated like a sixteen year old anymore, but I was certainly acting like it.

Mrs. Rayner frowned gently, “We know you are living this really different life now, Abigail, and that you are probably used to getting your way.”

Mr. Rayner added, “Amélie may not be your legal guardian anymore, but she still wants to make sure you aren’t getting swallowed up by this world. She just wants what is best for you, and a sixteen year old girl should not be allowed to have her boyfriend sleep in her room on a regular basis. I never would have allowed Valerie to do that at your age.”

I was growing increasingly angry. The fans were starting to jostle the car, some of them refusing to move. I could see police sirens in the distance, which hopefully meant a quick crowd dispersal. I didn’t throw tantrums with Sandra, there was no use. If I did, I was soundly punished. Other than Sandra, everyone did as I said, so there was no reason to get upset usually. I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed Amélie’s number. It was after 11 PM, and I knew she was probably sleeping, but I was enraged. I clicked the Skype video option.

After three rings, Amélie answered, “H-Hello? Abigail?” I could hear rustling in the bed next to Amélie, and then a gruff, definitely male voice asked, “Who is it?” I saw red, blood-streaked murderous red.

Forgetting there was anyone else in the car with me, I screamed into the phone, “So he’s sleeping in OUR bed now? You couldn’t fuck at his place?”

The video screen showed Amélie narrowing her eyes as she spoke into the phone, “Young lady, apologize immediately or I’m hanging the phone up.”

I shouted, “I will not apologize! You screw around with my life, and I’ll screw around with yours! How dare you put your nose in my business! I’ll do whatever I want with MY boyfriend. You don’t have a say in anything I do anymore.”

My behaviour surprised me, but it felt so good. I was tipping the scale as a level five diva, in fact, I had probably entered an entirely new category. Ethan’s parents sat quietly while I shrieked at my ex-wife. Ethan looked concerned.

Amélie said calmly, “Ethan’s parents came to me, concerned about their son’s welfare. We talked about the tutor that Sandra still hasn’t hired. And they asked my opinion on the sleeping arrangement between you and Ethan. I just gave my opinion. That’s all. I’m not trying to dictate your life, Abigail.”

I said, “Liar! You still don’t trust me. That’s what it is, right?”

Amélie replied evenly, “When you are ready to have a grown up conversation about this, you can call me back. Until then, goodnight, Abigail.” I looked down at my phone and stared at the “call ended” message.

By this point, the limo had managed to crawl its way through the mass of people. Soon enough we were on the express way, but no one had said a word. Ethan’s parents wore a perpetual look of worry. Ethan was on his phone, barely paying attention to me. It looked like he was texting with someone.

I asked, “Who are you talking to?”

I hadn’t meant for my tone to sound accusatory, but from Ethan’s glare it was clear what he thought. He answered, “Alyssa.”

I cleared my throat, “Oh. How’s she doing?”

Ethan said, “Isn’t she supposed to be your best friend? Or is it that Harmony girl? Don’t you guys talk anymore?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Yeah, we do. Probably not as much as I’d like. I-Is she still having those nightmares?”

Ethan said, “What nightmares?”

I replied, “Never mind.”

Ethan said, “She talks all the time about you. How proud she is or whatever, and how you said that she’d get to do your hair- your makeup and stuff. When is she coming out?”

I said, “I guess when Sandra says it’s OK.”

***

“Young man, do you not understand simple instructions?” Sandra’s angry gaze zeroed in on Ethan who returned her look with a sneer. It was dress rehearsal the next day. The first performance of the Canadian tour was tonight, and Ethan was going to be my lead guitarist. Ethan wore the same tight white pants and vest that all my male musicians were expected to wear. There were times during the rehearsal where I found myself staring at him. I loved the way the vest showed off his well-built arms and firm abs. My backing dancers giggled as they caught me checking out his butt whenever I got the chance. I also vowed that tonight was going to be different. I wouldn’t enter diva mode. I would show Ethan that I was the same girl that he had kissed outside Club Saw.

Despite playing pop songs, Ethan had maintained the same aggressive style, blazing through solos with bravado and playing accented, powerful rhythm. His guitar playing made the songs sound more like rock songs basically, and Sandra seemed displeased by this fact. Ethan replied to Sandra, “Yeah. I played them. I followed the tabs you sent me. I played along with the songs, just like I am now. What’s the problem?”

Sandra said firmly, “Yes, note for note. But not with the established pattern in the tablature. Your style is too aggressive. You are grandstanding, taking away from what is a solo act.”

Ethan said, “I could hear Abby just fine. And she seemed to like it. Did you hear the last chorus? It was sick.”

I had actually screamed the last chorus, which caught everyone off guard, but as it built toward the final held note, the drummer hit harder, the bassist plucked the strings with greater force. Even my backing dancers, adorned in ridiculous red, green and white crop tops and mini-skirts (they looked like slutty candy canes), danced with increased vigour.

The other musicians were in agreement with Ethan, but Sandra held firm. She said, “People come to performances to hear what is on the MP3, but live. I know that you were in a band with Abigail before this, young man, but if you want to maintain your status, you will do as I say.”

Ethan replied snidely, “Come on! Everyone seemed to like it. What’s wrong with mixing things up? It’s boring when bands do the same thing. I hate it when they sound just like the CD. It’s lame.”

I nodded, “It shows another level of creativity too. Like, it’s easy to play something the same way, but to play it in a new way, add new tones to it, a new energy. Get them thinking differently about the song too. I think we should do it that way from now on.”

Sandra maintained her composure and said, “Abigail, I’d like to speak with you in your dressing room.” Sandra started walking toward the backstage area, and when I didn’t immediately follow her, she looked back, and said, “Now, Abigail.”

I followed her with a sigh. I could see Ethan slowly shaking his head as I obeyed. My dressing room was not what you would expect from an international pop star. I had a massage table, a small bowl of healthy snacks, including fresh apples, oranges and bananas, my cool mist humidifier and a small vanity. It was nothing compared to other stars who requested specific flowers cut to a specific length, all-white décor or animal-print décor.

Sandra said, “You cheated on your diet last night. Didn’t you?”

I lowered my head, avoiding her oppressive gaze. I muttered, “No, I had the chicken. Even though they screwed up at restaurant.”

Sandra asked, “And at the hockey game, you didn’t have any junk food? None at all?”

I slowly raised my head, looking Sandra in the eyes, desperately trying not to tremble. I shook my head.

Sandra said, “How then do you explain the mustard stain on your face, when you were seen on television?” Damn. My eyes widened as the woman approached me. She put her hand on my firm stomach. Her hand gradually started to push into my stomach as it lost its firmness, and gradually, the hand was fully enveloped by a massive pot belly that surged into two distinct belly rolls. My jean skirt hung on for dear life, but it eventually gave up, actually snapping and leaving me in a thong that was only visible from the front. She grabbed the fat around my waist and said, “Do you enjoy being a fat, disgusting ugly pig? You are repulsive. Do you want to lay around in shit all day and stuff your face? Is that what you want? This isn’t the first time you’ve cheated since the tour started, is it?” I shook my head rapidly, tears beginning to form.

She wiped a tear away from my eye, and said softly, “Now, there’s no need to cry. You don’t want to ruin your makeup. You know it’s not real right?”

To me, it was. I wanted every pound of revolting flesh off of me. In that moment, I would have burnt it, sliced it off, if given the means. Within an instant, I was back, but my hands still traced my body, searching desperately for any offending flab. I felt along my side, and when I looked in the mirror, I could see that I had a hint of love handle again. How was it possible, considering I had only cheated a handful of times? I vowed I would work with Stacy for four hours on non-performance days.

Sandra said, “I see we understand each other. Now, about your boyfriend. If you want him to stay, get him in line. If he pulls anything like he did this afternoon during tonight’s performance, he’s not coming with us. Have I made myself clear, Abigail?”

I whimpered, still staring at myself in the mirror and pulling at my taught stomach, and what basically amounted to skin, and finding fat there. I sniffed and nodded.

Sandra smiled, “Now, let’s finish the set.” I walked out of the room and took my place centre stage.

I said, “OK, let’s try that one again. We should do it the same way we always have though.”

Ethan glared at Sandra and then regarded me with a look of supreme disappointment. There were slight groans from the backing band, but they fell into line, the drummer returning to his simple 4/4 beat, the bassist back to plucking one string, but Ethan- he did the same thing again.

***

I sighed, “Ethan, you need- you need to just play it the way Sandra wants. You don’t want to mess with her. Tonight, I want you to do it the way we practiced.”

I was sitting on the plush couch in my dressing room, receiving a foot rub. Rehearsal was over, and I had a few hours before what would likely be a very sparse dinner. Sandra’s illusion always played havoc with my appetite.

Ethan said, “You always said to just play what feels right. Well that’s what I’m doing. This is bullshit, Abby- and you know it. I know you don’t like doing it like that. But you put this big smile on, and it’s just- it’s not you. What the hell did she do to you?”

I shook my head, telling the girl who was rubbing my feet to leave, “Nothing. I’m under contract though. I can’t-“

Ethan replied derisively, “Ooh! Okay, well then let a stupid piece of paper tell you what to do. That’s smart. Just break the contract. Tell them you don’t want to do this anymore. Tell them you want to give it up.”

I lowered my head, “It’s not that simple. There’s too much invested in this. Too much money. I mean they’d sue for breach of contract, and I would be destitute. I’d owe them millions of dollars that I don’t have.”

Ethan shook his head, “The Abby I know wouldn’t give up. Why not ask my dad to represent you? He would help. I know he would.”

I bit my lip, “E-Even after last night, and my behaviour- I don’t really know what to say to them.”

Ethan shrugged, “They got it. You were pissed cause your sister is with this new guy, and you want her to be with Darren. Don’t worry about it- I explained it to my parents. I know you really like Darren. You were just- well you weren’t you.”

I nodded and smiled gently, “Yeah, that’s really what it is.” The smile soon sagged into a frown, “I have to make the best of this though. But I want you with me. OK? Look, we can do this- just suck it up and play pretend pop star couple, and we can write. We can write music that we like. I want you with me on this. You’re the only one that can help me get through this craziness.”

Ethan’s expression matched my own, “Is it- I mean, is it always going to be like this? With the cameras and everything?”

I replied gently, “You’ll get used to it. I promise.” Ethan looked unconvinced. I leaned in to whisper in his ear, “We’ve got a few hours before I need to be back for hair and makeup, do you- do you want to- well,” a little smile appeared on my face. “Do you want to go back to my hotel room?”

Ethan’s eyebrows raised slightly and then a boyish grin formed.

***

Ethan said, “Do those guys really have to follow you wherever you go?”

Ethan pointed at the black SUV following behind the limo. The limo stopped in front of the hotel, and the group of four hulking men stepped out of the SUV. Two of them entered the lobby, presumably to secure it, while the other two stood next to the limo. I opened the door, and they immediately stood in front of me.

I shrugged as I exited the limo, “Yeah. After what happened in New York, and- especially last night- Sandra doesn’t want to take any chances. It was assumed that the private box entrance was private. The only difference is the hotel. I’m allowed to walk around by myself on my floor because we rented every single room. Even if some of them are empty.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, “Woah, that’s crazy. But I mean, I guess it makes sense.”

I nodded, “It’s safer.”

We walked through the lobby and entered the elevator. Ethan looked up at the four imposing men, who rarely said anything except for “all-clear” or “perimeter breach”. It was like they played too much Call of Duty multi-player, or they were ex-military.

Ethan said, “Hey, so you guys aren’t going to come with us right, I mean- unless you want to watch?” The boy grinned widely. The four men remained silent.

Ethan smirked, “Tough crowd. So what do you guys like to do for fun? I’m going to say knitting. Am I right? No?” He pointed to the towering man on his right and said, “Dude, you look like you enjoy a good game of Pinochle.”

I said, “They never say anything. I think it’s because Sandra was worried they would get to know me and like me, and because of that, I’d be able to manipulate them. It was like that with Britney, she befriended her bodyguard, and she got away with a lot.” I added with a slight smirk, “How the hell do you know about Pinochle.”

Ethan replied, “What does any of this have to do with Britney? You mean Britney Spears? Anyway, dudes are lame. And Pinochle. I know it because of my grandma. Apparently I am the best at it.”

We reached the twenty-second floor and my bodyguard exited first, one of them holding the elevator, while the other three established the ‘perimeter’. Once the all-clear was given, Ethan and I were allowed to step out of the elevator. The bodyguards then stepped back into the elevator. I eagerly fumbled around for the hotel key in my purse.

As I rummaged around in my purse, I heard the door next to my room open. I finally removed the key, and moved it toward the unlocking mechanism. I heard the door click as the mechanism emitted a green light. Just as I was reaching for the door handle, I heard, “Oh my god. So the rumour is true, you are staying here! Um- Miss Grenier, could I- could I please have your autograph?” A young woman, probably my age, and another woman, likely her mother walked toward me excitedly. The girl was, in my estimation, overweight. She wore a homemade ‘Abeille’ t-shirt that clung to her thick belly. A picture of my face was glued onto a bee’s body with the words, “Sweet like Honey” written underneath. Her round face was framed by a pair of thick glasses that made her eyes look humungous.

I sighed gently, and then turned on my smile. I said, “Sure, no problem. Um, nice t-shirt. And please call me Abby.” She handed me a pen and an autograph book.

The girl gushed, “Thanks! Is this the new guitar guy everyone is talking about, Abby??” She pointed excitedly to Ethan. I nodded slowly, and she said, “I’m so excited that I got to meet you! Can I- can I ask you a question?” I smiled robotically and nodded.

The girl looked down at herself and then said timidly, “Well- I am- I’m trying to lose some weight. Kids at school are really mean to me. But I just can’t seem to do it. How did you do it?” I said nothing about the soft drink in her hand or the mega-sized bag of chips her overweight mother was carrying.

I said, “No big secret really. I just jog every day. And you know I dance. So that helps.”

The girl looked at me with a puzzled expression, “You lost a lot of weight though. I saw pictures of you at Harmony Sweet’s birthday party, and you were- way bigger. Are you on like a specific diet or something?”

I shook my head and smiled, “Nope! It’s just exercise. I’m just a normal kid. Like you. We probably eat a lot of the same things.” I motioned to the Pepsi in her hand, and she smiled, “I loved your commercial.”

The girl’s mother said, “Come on Amanda, it’s time to go. I think we’ve taken enough of Miss Grenier’s time.”

I smiled and said, “Nice to have met you, Amanda. Enjoy the show tonight!”

I entered my hotel room, turning off my smile, and picked up the phone, immediately dialing the lobby. Ethan followed in behind me. “Yes. This is Ms. Grenier. Manager. Now.”

A few seconds later, the manager was on the line, sounding distressed, “Ms. Grenier, I am the manager, Mr. Williams. Is there a problem with your room?”

I shouted into the room, “Yes! This entire floor was supposed to be private. No one except for people attached to my group. That’s it. There’s someone in the room right next to mine! What the hell is going on?”

Mr. Williams sounded regretful, “Very, very sorry about this Miss Grenier, but you see your concert has brought a lot of out of town guests. Many hotels in the area are booked. We didn’t want to turn people away- and your requests had been so minor, I thought that ... ”

I yelled, “You thought what? That I wouldn’t be inconvenienced by the fact that I need to walk around this floor with my bodyguards now? Because our demands were minor, we don’t deserve privacy, is that it? So some super bitch would get her privacy then?”

Ethan put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Woah, chill out, Abby.”

I turned toward him with what must have been hellfire in my eyes because he blanched and immediately turned away.

The manager said nervously, “Not- exactly. It is certainly not our intent to inconvenience you. We will rectify this as soon possible. What would you like done, Miss Grenier?”

I said firmly, “Move them. Move that girl and her mother to another floor and give us what we asked for.”

The manager said, “But there’s only the penthouse, and that- that is far and above the price range of the guests you mentioned.”

I shouted, “Then move me to the penthouse! I don’t care.”

The manager actually trembled, “M-Miss Walker, she asked that you be placed on this floor with everyone else from your group.”

I said, speaking to the man as if he were a sniveling worm, “OK, here’s what you are going to do. Move the girl and her mother to penthouse. I’ll pay for it. OK? OK?!”

I held the phone tightly, and if I possessed the strength, I would have crushed it in my grip. I slammed it down, feeling my eyes bugging out and my heart racing.

I said, “I cannot believe how stupid some people are. They need a freaking teenager to figure out something that simple. And what the hell is their problem? I mean, don’t I deserve privacy? I’m sure we paid enough to buy out a whole goddamn floor! And why can’t I have the penthouse? That would have made more sense. It’s got a private elevator! ”

I looked to Ethan for support, but found none. He was laying on the bed watching some rerun of the Simpsons. He rolled his eyes at me.

I was determined to salvage this moment, despite Ethan’s clear disapproval of my behaviour, I knew that once he saw me in the red bikini, all would be right in the world. I slipped into the bathroom and quickly undressed. I turned on the hot tub, watching the jets surge, the bubbles rising, imagining Ethan and I beneath the warm waters, passionately exploring each other’s bodies. I put on a pair of high heels and strutted out of the bathroom. I stopped to lean up against the corner, exposing first my silky smooth and slender left leg, and then my entire body, putting it in full view of Ethan whose eyes were still frozen to the television. Undeterred, I sauntered over to the bed, crawling on it like a jungle cat, where I proceeded to fully block Ethan’s view of the television. Now that I was closer, the boy seemed far more interested in what I had to offer.

I lay on top of him, and then lunged for his neck, planting my lips on it and then running my tongue leisurely over the surface. I was playing with him. I felt the boy stiffen underneath me as I kicked off my heels. I grinned and then moved to his face. His hands began exploring my perfect body. In the bathroom mirror, I didn’t see the love handles any longer. I figured it was just a side effect of Sandra’s illusion. He ran his hands over my taught, lean stomach, and then he moved to his favourite part- my boobs. Certainly, they weren’t the squeezable mounds that once formed impressive cleavage in anything I wore, but I still liked them. I would have liked them to have stayed a similar size, but honestly, it was easier to dance without them jiggling and trying to escape my sports bras.

I reached behind and undid my bikini top, letting it fall in teasing slow-motion. Ethan reached up and grabbed my left boob, squeezing it roughly. His action wouldn’t have hurt previously, but because I had less boob to grab, it felt like he was trying to wrench the appendage from my body. I cried out in pain, and Ethan softened his touch. He stayed on my boobs for barely two minutes before moving to my toned ass, which he spent even less time on. I figured that he was just anxious to actually have sex, so I quickly removed my bikini bottoms. I wore a grin, as I pulled the boy out of his pants, which widened when I saw the tent in his boxers. He seemed surprised by my aggressiveness, but he said nothing. When I actually put my hand on the tent, it was soft, and it quickly flattened in his boxers. I frowned gently, but I figured that it would return to its rigid state with a few easy moves. I lay on top of Ethan again, rubbing my crotch into his, and I put his hands on my slender waist, while I dangled my boobs in his face. I moved back to kissing his neck, but when I came back to meet his lips, I noticed that he was still trying to watch TV.

I got off the boy and stared bloody poison-filled daggers at him, “What the hell? Are you seriously trying to watch TV, when we are about to have sex? What the fuck is your problem?”

I said, “You’ve got perfection staring you in the face. Every guy with a pulse wants to get with me. I’ve read the comment sections on some of my videos- the commercial. I know.” I stood up on the bed and put a hand on my slender hip, “And you- you want to watch a repeat of the Simpsons! Look at me. Look at this!” I pointed to my stomach and ran my fingers over it gently, then I turned around and showed the boy my toned ass.

I said, “Here I thought all teenage boys were horny to the end. Well there’s thousands of them with my picture on the wall, my face.” I pointed to his crotch, “Are you broken down there?”

Ethan glared at me, “No. I just-,” he softened and added, “I don’t, this doesn’t feel right. You’re really- I don’t know, you’re different, Abby. It’s weird.”

I shouted, “The only weird thing about this is you. I see how you look at me. I don’t think you’re broken in there.” I pointed to his crotch again, and then moved to his head, “You’re busted in there. Like I used to be.”

Ethan replied, “Your boobs, your body- even the way you smell, Abby. It’s just weird, OK? I can’t really explain it. The way you act too. I liked you how you were before.”

I said, “So, what? You want me to get breast implants so you can have your fun bags back? Would that make you happy, hmm? How about triple J, would you like that? Why not make them bigger than my head?”

I added, “You don’t see it, but you are damaged. Normal people, they wouldn’t look at pictures of me before and say, oh she’s pretty, no they’d say, she’d be pretty if she lost some weight. So what you like the fatties, eh? You want a fucking threesome with Amanda and her mom?”

Ethan shook his head repeatedly. He pulled his shirt back on and quickly slipped on his jeans. “That’s not it. Not exactly. I mean, I was really attracted to you, Abby, and I mean, you have a nice body, but I mean, just listen to how you are talking to me. That’s why it feels wrong.”

I rolled my eyes, “Oh sorry you feel that way, I thought I was going to fuck a man. I see now that I’m mistaken. You’re a menopausal woman.”

Ethan shouted at me, “You want to know why? You want to know why I don’t even want to look at you, Abby?! Because you’re a fucking bitch. A spoiled, entitled, bitch. And you’re a liar. You lie about everything because of some goddamn contract. You won’t stand up to a woman who is turning you into everything you always hated.”

He counted off on his fingers, “You lied to Amanda today. You told her you ate the stuff she eats. Well, no you don’t, only when you cheat on your diet. Which you didn’t tell her you were on. And you have a personal trainer. You pretend to be this normal girl, but you aren’t- you’re like all the rest of them. Harmony, Miley- all bitches for attention.”

He continued, “You lie all the time during your interviews. You say you don’t want to have sex before being married or some bullshit like this, and then you come at me like some crazy cat in heat. You lie about who you are, who you were, everything. There’s nothing about you that’s real anymore. Nothing. And, you stink like spray tan all the time.”

Tears fell from my eyes as my boyfriend stabbed knife after knife into my wounded heart. I crumpled on the bed, still naked, as Ethan quickly made his way to the door. I had lost complete control of the situation. Anger built its way back into me, as I realized what Ethan was doing. “You’re just leaving because you can’t accept that you’re a pervert! You like something only perverts like. Admit it, you like fat cows. That’s the reason. The only reason. Because you’re broken.”

He turned back, “I was attracted to you, Abby. I really liked your body, but I also thought Véronique was hot too when I was going out with her, and she was a lot skinnier than you. Now I don’t like either of you.”

My heart climbed into my throat, “W-What are you saying?”

He sneered, “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to have a girlfriend who is a bitchy, lying Barbie doll.”

I threw on a robe and moved toward the door, which Ethan had now opened. “You don’t get that choice! We are together whether you like it or not. I’m going to convince you how wrong you are. And I know that you are lying, you liked me when I was fat. I get it.”

Ethan shook his head, “I liked you when you were nice.” He moved toward the elevator, but I grabbed his arm, desperately trying to pull him back into the room. I shouted petulantly, “I’m supposed to get whatever I want! Sandra promised! Get back here! You are mine!”

Ethan pried my hand off his arm and hit the button for the elevator. I jumped at him pathetically, but he pushed me away. He gave me the middle-finger salute as the doors closed. I lay crying on the floor for a few minutes. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and as I looked up, I could see the yes-girls.

Lauren said gently, “We saw Ethan in the lobby- I guess things didn’t go well with him?” One of the girls rubbed my shoulder and said, “Tell us about it, Abby.” They helped me to my feet, and we entered my room.

I said trying to hold back tears, “Ethan- he- I guess we aren’t going out anymore.” I added sadly, “He thinks I’ve changed too much.”

Lauren said, “But you’ve changed for the better, Abby! Look at you, you’re gorgeous now!”

I nodded rapidly, “Yes, exactly! And that’s what I told him. He’s got this perfect body in front of him, and he didn’t even want to touch it!”

One of the girls (I think her name was Traci?) said, “He’s broken, Abby. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get what he’s missing. Before, you were just nice, but now, you are so, so hot!” The girls quickly brought me into the bathroom, one of them continuing to rub my shoulders. Lauren said, “Look at yourself, Abby. You are perfect. He doesn’t see that. It’s his loss.”

Another one said, “Any guy would be lucky to have you, Abby. And now that they know you are available, they’ll be knocking down your door.” Lauren added with a smile, “You and Justin seemed to get along really well at the video shoot. Maybe him?” I grinned. Maybe.

I frowned slightly, “Y-You don’t think it’s how I’ve been acting, maybe? He said I was a Barbie doll bitch. And he said I was lying about everything!”

The girls shook their head in unison. One replied, “No way. You are super nice, Abby. It’s definitely something he did.”

Another added, “You never lie about anything. You always tell us the truth, right girls?” Again, they nodded in unison.

I replied with a smile, “Wow, I-I actually feel better. Um- thanks.” It was the first time I had actually shown gratitude toward the girls. They were my instant distraction, turning my attention toward an article about myself or trying to pull me into a discussion about some reality television show. In that moment, I didn’t see them as my yes-girls or just some peroxide, heeled, eight-headed distraction beast- no, I saw them as my friends. My girls.

They nodded their heads in unison and said, “That’s why we’re here, Abby!”

The girls convinced me to put the bikini back on, and Lauren took a picture of me wearing it. They encouraged me to post it on my Twitter page with the following tweet: “Here’s what you are missing!” The bikini picture would become one of the most viewed images in the short history of the Internet, and the message would encourage thousands of spurned women and girls to post similar pictures, along with some men.

Throughout the next few weeks, I still pined for Ethan at times, but my girls were always there to comfort me. They offered a shoulder to cry on, and they supported me by consoling me, and affirming that I was right in thinking that it was all Ethan’s fault. I saw them as my friends. I confided in the girls, told them my fears about being swallowed by the industry, becoming something else, and all the while, they told me I was the same person- and I believed them.