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that can make people become like my parents?”
    Mrs. Maybelline was still caught in her stare, but she responded in a wistful voice. “I sure hope so. Whatever it is . . . I want it.”
    The lesson began and the lesson ended, and Mr. Berry never left that window.

Chapter 4
    W ITH HER MOTHER AND FATHER about to leave for rehearsals and all lessons completed to Mrs. Maybelline’s empty satisfaction, Juniper was on the roof. She was sprawled out on her stomach letting time tumble by as she anxiously waited for Giles to arrive and their expedition to begin. The pulsing sun, attracted to the dark paint of the roof, warmed her back as she spent the slowly expiring minutes spying with her binoculars on the crowds outside the gate. It was a favorite activity of hers.
    People stood enraptured at the gate, peering in, searching for a sign of the Berrys. There were fans of all ages—the word “fan” derives from fanatic, Juniper’s father often informed her lately—a wide spectrum of life and ethnicity, some of whom slept in their cars or pitched tents outside the estate. They were but a small sample of a world Juniper hardly knew, and she couldn’t have been more intrigued by their every movement and gesture. Focusing on their mouths, as she had done so often, she attempted to read their lips, following the conversations she so desperately wished she was a part of. She used their body language to guide her, whether they were laughing and waving their arms or if they appeared awkward or angry, friendly or flirtatious—sometimes conversations don’t need words, she realized.

    Through her binoculars she read the homemade signs and collages. She followed the zooms of the arsenal of camcorders; she watched the camera phones extend through the gates for the best picture possible, while other people turned the lens on themselves making sure to get the house in the background. These pictures, it appeared, were immediately sent somewhere, thumbs busy on the keypads. It occurred to Juniper that, as much fascination these people had for her family, they had an equal amount for themselves and especially their phones. Some hardly ever glanced up. She couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t, with so many people around to talk to.
    Mingled throughout the masses were the ever-present and persistent paparazzi. In a seemingly endless cycle, they lurked, steadfastly orchestrating the fanfare and spectacle. And so Juniper, for her own safety, was told by her parents to keep far away from life outside these gates, lest she be exploited, tormented, or worse.
    After turning around to quickly scan the yard for Giles—unfortunately, there was still no sign of him—she returned to the crowd and watched as two kids, who couldn’t have been much younger than herself, raced each other from one end of the street to the other. That could be me , she thought, and then quickly realized that she had never been in a race before. How is that possible?
    Seeing all this day after day, everything these people had, all they could do and experience, the entire world waiting to be explored, Juniper wondered why they wasted their time hoping for just a brief glimpse of a family doing something so dull and ordinary as advising a gardener on certain shrubbery or walking from the front door to the car. Why were these moments to capture?
    Searching the crowd for an answer, she spotted a woman—she, too, with binoculars. Only, it seemed this person was looking right at Juniper.
    Finally! Contact! Juniper offered a small wave of her hand and a gentle, welcoming smile.
    â€œOn the roof!” the woman screamed. “On the roof! The kid! Their little girl! Juniper!” She let out a searing squeal and soon everyone was pointing and shouting and screaming. Flashes went off, the paparazzi scrambled, the gates shook. People shoved their way to the front.
    Although she was at a safe distance,