With the usual mix of happiness and misery, I make straight for the elevator. This time, when I arrive on the band's floor, it's hard to go unnoticed. In the hall, there are quite a few people of the female variety wearing short skirts and teetering around on their high heels as if they've been drinking, which they probably have.

Rather than shy away, I just smooth my hair and walk on through as if I've got a reason to be there. Let them think I have a room on this floor. The important thing is not to look too memorable. I reach Zach's door and slide the room key into the slot with a click. The light flashes red, so I try again. Still red. A third time with the same result and I realize this isn't Zach's room key.

"Kyra!" hollers a voice behind me.

I turn to see Ben leaning out of his room with two groupies, who stare daggers at me, pasted to his sides. With his door open, the sounds of chatter and thudding music spill out into the hallway.

"You need something?" I ask. I keep my posture impa.s.sive.

"I need to know why you think I'm in that room." He grins.

I look down at the room key and shove it into my back pocket. The more I talk, the more of an impression I'll make on the others. "What do you need, Mr. Roland?"

He barks a laugh at that name and says, "I need you, baby."

Behind me, I hear the door open and the air whooshes past me because Zach yanks it so fast. "What's going on?"

I turn to see that Zach is wearing a towel, his hair dripping wet. I avert my eyes. "Um..."

"Come on, Kyra," says Ben.

"Hey, what's your problem?" Zach glares at his cousin.

"Just come hang out. Party."

"Parties aren't her thing," snaps Zach.

There's enough of a possessive tone in his words to make my heart flutter. At the same time, what he says is a total lie. Parties are my thing-or they used to be. I've spent tons of time drinking beer on random people's couches while a social maelstrom swarmed around me. It's situations like this, standing in front of a half-dressed guy and playing it cool, that are not my thing.

I've gotta get out of this situation. "Mr. Wechsler," I say, "I have some media materials for you."

"Oh? Great. Yeah. Come on in. I'll go get decent."

"Can I see?" shouts Ben.

"You want to see your cousin naked?" I call back. "Can I just say that's a little messed up?" Oops. I really shouldn't shoot off at the mouth right now.

"n.o.body 'gets to see!'" adds Zach. He pulls me inside. The door shuts behind me, and we're safe.

"Good evening, Ms. Armijo," says Zach with an amused smile.

"How in the heck did you hear me from the shower?"

"I didn't. I was out of the shower and I heard you talking on the other side of the door."

"Oh."

"You have media materials?"

"Back in my room, but here's an imaginary USB drive of them."

He grins. "Gimme a sec to get dressed."

I half hoped I would get to watch some of it, but I'm not surprised I don't. I wonder if it's my turn to tuck him in tonight. I sit on his couch, kick off my sandals, and tuck my feet up under me, all in an attempt to get comfortable.

A few minutes later, Zach returns in sweats and a t-shirt.

"You copied my look," I say.

"A designer would pay good money for the right to say that." He sits down on the couch. Despite his smile, I sense he's stressed.

"How'd the show go?" I ask.

"Um... you know. Fine. I don't think the fans noticed anything off."

"But?"

"But the other guys aren't as tight as they were before. When my mom ran stuff, everything went like clockwork and they were always on their game. I mean, they claimed they weren't. When they wanted to fire her, that was what they said. She was stifling them. They could do better with some more freedom."

I think about the fight that morning and, by a.s.sociation, the news stories blowing up the airwaves. He will likely hear about them sooner or later, unless he still obeys his mother's rule of not reading his own publicity. I sense his new management team won't shield him, though. "They should've come to the zoo with me," says Zach.

"Even though your new manager was against the zoo trip?"

"He doesn't get the PR game like my mom did. He's all about preserving our creative energy and stuff and looking out for the artist."

"That a bad thing?"

Zach scratches his chest. "It is if you aren't much of an artist."

Now's the time to pat him on the arm and a.s.sure him that he is, but I'm just not wired that way. "Do you think Logan and Ben aren't artists either?"

He looks up at me and considers this. "I know they think they are. Ben, he just doesn't like our target audience anymore. Feels like he's too old for them. Logan... I dunno. To hear him talk, you'd think our mother used to beat him or something, but the thing is, he had it pretty easy. I mean, comparatively. He's always been overdramatic." He looks over at me, and although his gaze is still intense, it's not as intimidating. "I'm really glad you're here. You're the only person I can talk to about this stuff."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I guess I should be sorry. That probably puts a lot of pressure on you."

I shrug that off. That is the least of the stress I feel when I'm around him.

"Why me?" I ask.

"Hmmm?"

"You could talk to anyone. Why me?"

He shrugs. "Why not?"

"Because you could have anyone."

"Whatever that means." He shrugs it off.

"It means that right now you could walk about ten feet that direction"-I point to his door and the hallway beyond it-"and take your pick from dozens of hot girls who'd hang on your every word."

He looks disgusted at that. "I'm not interested in the type Ben goes for. I want nothing to do with them."

"What type is that?"

"Girls who sleep around. Who let themselves get used. Pa.s.s."

I should let this drop right now, but my mouth keeps on going. "Um...what if you found a reformed girl who did that?"

"Hmm?" He looks up at me. "Like if I went over there and said, 'Really, you can do better,' and helped her see the light?"

"Sure."

He laughs. "Yeah, I don't think so. A girl like that isn't going to be able to have a real relationship. She's wired all wrong."

What if she rewired? That's what I want to ask, but I can't. He probably thinks this conversation is weird enough already. Still, his comments hurt. I don't like the feeling that I'm damaged goods in his eyes.

"Everything all right?" he asks.

"Yeah." I force a smile I hope looks genuine.

No dice. He lifts his eyebrow.

"No, I'm fine," I insist.

"I'm just stressing you out with all my issues, aren't I?"

"No."

"Kyra, relax, okay? Forget about my whining."

"I am relaxed."

"Turn around?"

Huh? I obey, though, and turn my back to him.

He grasps my shoulders on either side of my neck and digs his fingers in.

I gasp as he kneads my muscles, forcing the tension out. He gets up on his knees to get more leverage and his fingers dig in even more. Is he trying to kill me? I'm about to lose it here.

"Relax," he says. "Relax, relax, relax."

More and more tension gives way under his hands. This is all wrong. I shouldn't let him touch me like this.

He pins me firmly in place. "You trust me?" he asks.

"Trust isn't the issue. It's just that if you keep doing that, I'll...probably fall asleep."

"Well, sure. It's one a.m."

It's the perfect excuse to leave, but I'm a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. I let him work my muscles until I feel like putty in his hands. Each breath I breathe in is deeper than the one before and my limbs go rag-doll limp.

Zach eases up the pressure and the ma.s.sage is over. I don't know whether to bolt out of the room, cry, or turn around and profess my undying love. I manage to mumble, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You want me to walk you to your room?"

Past a hallway full of groupies? After a ma.s.sage?

"No," I say. I get up and bolt for the door without looking back.

WHEN I do finally return to my room, I feel like I've had a spa day in a torture chamber. I brush my teeth and snuggle down under the covers of my bed. Before I can even roll onto my side, I'm out cold.

THE NEXT day, we fly to Lisbon on the private jet. Zach and I don't even make eye contact when I climb aboard. I go to sit in the back, just as I did before, and settle into the leather seat.

My phone chimes in my pocket and I pull it out and switch it to silent.

Zach: How did you sleep?

I tap out my reply without looking at him.

Kyra: Fine.

Zach: Thanks for coming by last night.

Kyra: Of course.

Zach: Can I ask you something?

Kyra: What's that?

Zach: Why did Ben give you his room key?

Kyra: Because he was being obnoxious. I don't know.

Zach shoots his cousin a dirty look and puts his phone away. I pretend to keep tapping away on mine so that it's not obvious we were texting each other. A sensation like crawling ants on my skin makes me look up and I see that Ben is staring at me, his eyes gla.s.sy.

Logan follows my gaze and says, "You all right, bro?"

Ben doesn't reply. Just shuts his eyes and leans his head back.

My guess is that he's just tired and hungover, but Zach seems more agitated about it. Several times during the flight, he tries to talk to his cousin, only to be ignored or pushed away.

ONCE WE'RE on the ground in Lisbon, Zach announces that the band will spend the afternoon giving interviews. Rick does not seem happy about this but says nothing.

"No way," says Ben. "Gimme a break."