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tracks.”
    Thanks to a pair of white Reeboks and zero interest in the celebrity photos, Kay was first to make it to the end of the corridor. She stood in front of the only door with a gleaming gold star in the center. Hadley’s and Abby’s names were engraved inside the star.
    “Everyone decent?” Kay knocked
.
    The thumping bass of some unidentifiable rap song was all they heard.
    Massie pinched Alicia’s arm, Alicia pinched Kristen’s, and Kristen pinched Claire’s.
    “This is the green room.” Kay lowered her ear to the door. “Our guests hang out here before the show.”
    Claire lifted her Elph.
    “Absolutely not.” Kay smacked her hand. “Take one and we’ll take your camera. Take two and we’ll take your arm.”
    Massie rolled her eyes, letting Claire know Kay’s threats were not to be taken seriously.
    A muffled, static-filled voice broke the tension. “Kay, what’s your twenty? Over.”
    She unclipped the walkie-talkie from her jeans and lifted it to her mouth. “I’m outside the green room. Over.”
    “Yeah, uh, we need some napkins in the control room ay-sap. Over.”
    “Copy that. Over.” She started bolting down the hall, then turned back to the girls. “Go on in. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
    “Can she just leave us like that?” Alicia checked her reflection in the gold star.
    “That is so not O-Kay.” Kristen adjusted her Pucci head scarf.
    Claire turned off the flash on her camera and took a picture of her friends laughing.
    “Dare me?” Massie put her hand on the brass doorknob.
    “Do it,” Alicia whispered.
    But Massie quickly pulled away. “I can’t!”
    “Come awn,” Alicia urged.
    “Open it,” Kristen begged.
    “You!”
    “I’ll do it.” Claire pushed past the girls and grabbed the knob. “Maybe this time one of you could take
my
picture?”
    “Take a picture of this!” Massie shoved her out of the way and pushed open the door. The smell of roses and vanilla-scented candles flooded the hall.
    “It’s not
green
,” Alicia whispered in Massie’s ear. “It’s beige-ish.”
    I can see that,
Massie wanted to say. But she was paralyzed from the forehead down and couldn’t speak. Not that anyone would have heard her if she had tried.
    An electronic remix of Pink’s “Stupid Girls” raged at top volume from a pair of Visa-thin speakers, rousing a skinny, fur-vest-wearing bleached-blond guy to leap onto the L-shaped couch and gyrate to the beat. Two brunettes in identical True Religion jeans cast their coffee cups aside and danced at his feet. An assortment of pillar and votive candles were on every available surface, casting long shadows on the walls as several agents, managers, and assistants paced back and forth, shouting into their cell phones. An elaborate assortment of baked goods, fresh fruit, and watermelon-flavored Jolly Ranchers dominated the round glass table near the uniformed bartender, who was doling out fresh smoothies and cappuccino. What was supposed to be a holding area for guests of the show looked more like a trendy New York City nightclub.
    Massie scanned the frenetic scene, her heart beating to the pounding rhythm of the remix.
    “I don’t see them,” Alicia said with a trace of panic.
    “Be cool, okay? These people can’t think we’re pathetic fans.”
    “But we are.” Kristen dropped her stuffed book bag on the floor, and Massie quickly kicked it under the red table-cloth draped over the food table. She followed up with a don’t-even-think-about-picking-that-ridiculous-thing-up-until-we-leave look.
    “No way!” Claire gasped, her mouth hanging open like Cam was about to feed her a fistful of gummy worms. Without another word she marched across the room, pushing her way through the well-dressed crowd.
    “Kuh-laire, get back here!” Massie whisper-shouted. “We should all go together.”
    But Claire refused to stop.
    “Let’s go.” Massie grabbed Alicia and Kristen. “She’s heading for the couch.”
    “Ehmagawd.”