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Chapter Two

"We need to cancel the meet and greet," Elton, my manager, says.

His muffled voice comes from outside of the green room. Inside the room, I'm transforming into a teen pop superstar through the magic of makeup and wardrobe. Cayden Indigo is a creation, to a degree. With the bright wigs, glittery eyeshadow, stylish clothes, and bubbly stage personality, my life in front of the crowds is a vibrant, candy-like confection. Away from the stage and the cameras, I'm just Deni Reese, a girl who would rather wear jeans and a T-shirt and throw my hair up in a messy bun.

Elton is probably talking to my mom. I raise my hand, the signal for Brynn, my makeup artist, to pause. She stops fussing over highlighter and moves the brush she's wielding away from my face.

"Can you grab Elton?"

Brynn nods, which causes her dark curls to bounce around her shoulders. She crosses the room and opens the door. "Elton, Deni is asking for you."

She returns to my side again, squinting while she inspects my face. Satisfied, she sets the highlighter brush on a table.

Elton walks in a few seconds later. For someone who spends his time behind the scenes in music, he has a remarkable presence when he enters a room or is in front of an audience—more presence, even, than some musicians I've performed with. There's no missing him tonight with his spiky ginger hair, cobalt-framed glasses, and bronze leather jacket.

"The line outside is crazy," he greets me. "Ready to make some magic?"

"Right after you tell me why you said we're canceling the meet and greet. You know that's a big deal for me." I fold my arms in front of my chest and offer him my best don't-mess-with-me expression.

"Your safety is a bigger deal. Security was stuck behind an accident on the freeway and just got here. They still need to do a sweep and make sure everything is locked down, which means the doors are opening late. They can't do your meet and greet without everything else getting more delayed."

"I'm meeting a fourteen-year-old fan and her mom," I remind him. "Do we really need security for that?"

"We do while you're on my watch. Besides, the limo driver for the winner called and said they're running behind because of traffic, too."

"Can we at least move it to after the show instead of canceling it?" I plead. "I'll pay for security to stay later if I need to. This is important."

"I'll check on it." Elton takes his phone from his pocket and starts typing as he turns and leaves the room.

"Just lipstick, and then we're done," Brynn tells me. She applies something that looks like the color of a watermelon popsicle to my lips, followed by a layer of gloss that gives them an iridescent shine. I hop out of my chair the second she finishes, already restless after sitting for the time it took to have my makeup done.

My wig for tonight is a vivid pink shoulder-length bob, adorned with a rhinestone hairband that will sparkle on stage. I'm wearing my favorite gold ankle boots, a black fringed skirt, and a sleeveless gold top that catches the light as I move. Between the hair, clothes, makeup, and false eyelashes, I'm almost a cartoon caricature of myself. But the separation between my public persona and my everyday life is necessary. It's helped make me difficult to recognize any time I've wanted to blend in and do something normal since I became famous, like go for a hike or a walk on the beach.

I don't do these things with Bowie unless I'm dressed up as Cayden. There's no divide between public and private life with him, and he doesn't disguise himself when he goes out. His platinum blond hair, aviator sunglasses, athletic frame, and apple red Maserati convertible make him instantly recognizable, which means I'm also easy to spot when I'm with him. The colorful wigs, makeup, and Cayden-style clothes go on when we're together, since the paparazzi are our constant companions. I'd like to be able go out without Bowie and not be noticed for as long as I can, so it's better to not have photos of me as I really look splashed all over the internet.

Knuckles rap against the doorframe, and then Mom pokes her head in the room. She's checking on me like she always does before a show. Looking at her is like gazing at an older version of myself when I'm not done up for a concert. We share the same eye color and natural hair color, and we have the same smile.

"All set?" she asks.

"Mmm-hmm. I'm about to do some warm-ups, and then I'll be ready for the show."

"No warm-ups without your opening band," Sawyer shouts from the hall. "Get out here, already."

"So this is what the tour will be like," I call back, teasing him as I head for the door. "Who knew my opening act was so demanding?"

"Someone has to keep things running around here." A grin lights up Sawyer's face. Like me, he's also exchanged his sound check clothes for a flashier look, complete with a black fedora and patterned button-down shirt. "Let's do this."

* * *

I'm careful to stay out of view of the crowd while watching Sawyer's performance from backstage. He and his band deserve the spotlight while they're on. My moment will come soon enough, and being seen won't help the familiar pre-show butterflies already taking hold. I'll transform this into high energy once I'm on stage, but the ripple of nervous anticipation before I sing never fully goes away.

Every nerve in my body is a live wire by the time it's my turn. After a few deep breaths, I stride across the stage and take my spot in front of the band. Cheers from the crowd have already begun. I'm at center stage when the curtain opens, singing the opening lines of my first song a cappella before my band joins in, one instrument at a time.

The roar of the audience hits a higher decibel level and, as always, it's like being in the middle of a dream. The butterflies vanish by the time my band and I flow seamlessly from the opening number to the second song, which is one of my hit singles. Just when it seems like the show-goers couldn't be more into it and alive, their energy soars to new heights. But something changes during the final verse when a chorus of shrieks erupts in the crowd. I ignore the commotion and focus on singing, but then I catch the frantic movements of a few teenage girls near the center of the club. They fight to push through the rows of people behind them, heading for the back of the room.

I hear it before I understand. An explosion rings in my ears with a force so powerful and loud that it nearly knocks me off my feet. A flash of light momentarily blinds me, and then there's smoke and debris. I stand frozen in place, my screams lost amid all the others echoing into the night.

I can't move, I can't gain control of my senses, and I can't look away. Floaters from the flash dot my vision, but I'm able to make out people lying crumpled on the floor. They're kids like me, and they're covered in blood. A sickening tide of crimson is everywhere. My knees buckle under me, and then everything goes dark.