Brent looks to Aidan, who says, "Let me show you guys something." He and Brent climb into the car. "Forget about Ben right now. Let's get some sound bites about the zoo."

That seems really pointless right now, and Zach and Ben seem to agree, given their expressions. Still, they let the camera start rolling.

"Just talk about why you toured the zoo," Aidan instructs Zach.

"I always want to do stuff like that to show fans I care. I want as much contact with fans as possible, which isn't very much, you know?"

"I just worry that that kind of stuff looks staged," says Logan. "So I'm not so sure I want to keep doing it anymore."

"Then what do you suggest?" says Zach.

My phone buzzes and I look down to see I have a text message.

Chloe: Kyra, the paparazzi got a picture of Zach leaving your hotel room this morning. Without a shirt on.

I just want to curl up and die.

But Zach and Logan are in a much better mood now.

"I do want fans to know we care," says Logan. "I mean, we'd be nowhere without them."

"Right, so it's just about finding the right opportunities and fitting them into our schedule," says Zach.

"That's plenty," says Aidan. "All right. We'll run this as a teaser? I won't edit it much."

"Sure," says Zach.

"Yeah, all right," says Logan.

"Any time you want to respond to any allegations or news stories," says Aidan. "Come to me. We'll fix whatever's going wrong."

"Like Ben going AWOL?" I cut in.

Logan and Zach exchange a worried glance, but Aidan says, "We'll figure out how to spin it. Look, there are more ways to manage your media image than your mother's ivory tower method. It's a little bit of a minefield, but I'll guide you through."

I feel awful that I accused this guy of taking advantage of the band. He's clearly on their side.

AT FOUR hours to showtime, no one's heard from Ben. As best anyone can tell, he hailed a cab at the airport and went who knows where. The fact that his luggage is with us doesn't count for much, because he's got his wallet and a credit card with a limit high enough to buy a house on.

Aidan films the guys pacing around anxiously. "So that we can contrast it with the happy moment when Ben arrives," he reasons. "We can be vague about the reason he's gone. Make up a medical emergency or something? Say that he's lost?"

That does make for a cute little mini-story. I just hope he's got the ending pegged right.

At two hours to show time, the band is on stage for a sound check-minus Ben. Rick is clearly in panic mode, talking into his phone as if it's an oxygen supply and he's about to pa.s.s out. Already everything is way tighter than anyone would want. The roadies are still running around like madmen to get set up.

Which impresses on me again how insane their touring schedule is, especially for the kind of show they do. This seems like a lot of extra stress when they could spread out dates more. Or perhaps other music acts have some system of moving the roadies around that works better. This just looks like a disaster waiting to happen.

An hour before show time, Zach's pacing the halls backstage, his face white as a sheet. Logan's costumed and ready, but he sits in his chair, dejected.

That's as much as I can take. I pull out my phone and call Ben.

"h.e.l.lo?" he answers.

"You almost bruised me today. Not cool."

"Sorry." He doesn't sound drunk or high, which is saying something.

"What's your game? You just want to stress your cousins out or you want to wreck the show?"

"I just can't do it anymore."

"Well, how about you do it one more night and then pow-wow with your cousins and get to talking about what comes next. You did sign up for this tour, you know? You gave your word."

"Right."

"So be a professional. Get over here."

"Every show, I ask myself, can I do it? Can I quit? Just not walk on stage and leave all this behind?"

"You won't leave it behind," I say. "It'll follow you and bite you in the a.s.s. Your fans will rake you over the coals. Do this in some less public way, when you don't have thousands of ticket holders waiting to see you perform."

"Zach know you called me?"

"No, but he will once I get off. Why?"

"Just curious."

"Are you coming or not?"

"Whatever..." he mutters.

"Ben."

"I'll be there in twenty."

He arrives ten minutes later, looking jittery rather than drunk.

A cacophony of voices breaks out as people flood into the hallway to see that, yes, Ben really is here and the show can go on. He shoots me one last look over his shoulder as he lets them carry him off.

An hour later, Triple Cross takes the stage. Once more, no one's the wiser, but it seems like we're cutting it too close too often for this to last. One of these days, Ben's going to muster the self-control to not show up.

I'M IN the VIP area, dancing around to "Lie to Me," when my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see that the caller is Dave, Jason's personal a.s.sistant. I make a beeline for the door to backstage and answer the phone while still breathless. "Yeah?"

"You're working with Aidan Greer?"

"Uh-huh. You heard of him?"

"He's got a good reputation, but as a serious doc.u.mentarian. He hasn't ever done an entertainment subject before."

"You mean Triple Cross isn't a serious subject?" I joke.

"I just wonder what attracted him to them. He's Academy Award nominated for a short film he did that won SXSW."

"What's that?"

"A film festival. A pretty prestigious one. His undergrad was in psychology and then he did an MFA in film at UCLA. While he was there, he did a doc.u.mentary on mental illness in Vietnam veterans that blew everyone away. Apparently he's got a talent for making his stories very personal. People feel like they get to know the subjects."

"My guess," I say, "is that he took on Triple Cross to make money."

"Yeah, you're probably right. That would make sense, since even a well-received short film doesn't exactly make you a heap of cash. I had a friend who got to the Academy Awards and spent everything she'd earned from her animated film on her dress." He chuckles.

"So, what if I were to tell you that the contract he had Triple Cross sign gives him license to do just about anything. To film them whenever he wants?"

"Well, that's the thing about his style. He gets very up in people's business and has a talent for getting these moments of sheer honesty, but his finished products... The families he worked with for the Vietnam vets doc.u.mentary said that at first he made them very uncomfortable, but by the time they saw the screening, they were in tears, they were so touched by it."

"So it's a normal contract for him?"

"I wouldn't know. If it isn't, it's probably the contract he wishes he had before, because there are stories about him and his subjects getting into fights and production being suspended while he worked to gain their trust again. You can see how that would happen with sensitive subject matter, though."

I am so relieved I could cry. "So they're cool then? Triple Cross?"

"Ye-ah...there's kind of another problem there. Images of Ben Roland just hit the tabloids. He's partying and drinking and people are saying he did some cocaine, and then a film segment's gone up on YouTube where he's yelling at you to give him what you're giving Zach."

"What?"

"He's gotta be more savvy than that. If he wants to party and get wasted, he shouldn't just go to some club. He should rent out the club and vet all the guests."

"Dave-"

"That's how it's done. I mean, tons of people in show business like to party, but they have to be careful about what information gets out."

"Who leaked footage from the airport? We were in the terminal. Near customs; I don't think you're allowed to film there."

"Which is why it's anonymous."

"Who did it?"

"We-ell, I can't say, but I do know that terminal."

"And?"

"The footage wasn't shot from the street. It was shot from the door that leads out to the planes and stuff. You can't even see that from the street, and it's the wrong angle."

Cold fear wraps its fingers around my spine. "Aidan..."

"Not his style."

"Who else then?"

"I don't know. But Triple Cross is mega-famous. It could be any old fan or an airport worker using their camera phone."

"c.r.a.p..." I say.

"Just lay low. Don't let this turn into a big media thing."

"I'll try. Thanks. And thanks for checking into Aidan's credentials."

"Oh, I turned up one other thing. He and the band's new manager, Rick? They have history. I guess they went to the same high school, like, fifteen years apart. Rick was Aidan's mentor, though, for some career week something-or-other. I found that in an interview of Rick's."

"That how Aidan managed to get this deal with Triple Cross then?"

"Without a doubt. There were other, more experienced entertainment journalist types who wanted that job."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"No problem."

We sign off, and I elect not to go back out to watch the concert. Time to keep my face away from cameras.

THREE HOURS later, the excrement has. .h.i.t the ventilation device. I find myself in an emergency meeting backstage with the band and their publicist on Skype. She's an exhausted-looking woman they call Van. I suspect she isn't much over thirty, but her skin sags as if it can't keep up with her long hours, and I can only guess how late she'll be up tonight to manage the current crisis.

We all sit in Zach's dressing room with Rick's laptop open on the counter, broadcasting Van's image to all of us.

Fans with backstage pa.s.ses have had their money refunded and their pa.s.ses revoked, just like old times. Aidan and his crew are there. His expression is all caring concern. "We're going to show your fans how you deal with this," he explains. "We're going to show them the effort you put into your image and how the three of you make it work. And I'm not going to ask all of you to forget the camera's here. I want you to remember that at all times. Stay civil. Think of how you'll look should anyone see."

"What if we don't care how we look?" says Ben.

"That's what editing is for."

"Let's focus," says Van. "One set of pictures...we can usually recover from that. The thing is, your image has been so squeaky clean." She rubs her forehead. "You're getting a lot of backlash. n.o.body Google yourselves, you hear me? Don't Google the band name. Stay off Twitter."

I have no doubt that the band members will do all of these things the first chance they get.

She goes on. "You had-and still have because we'll fix this-the backing of a lot of very conservative groups, some of which have very strict standards. So there's that. What I'm more worried about, though, is the way fans and their parents are predicting that you're about to go for an image makeover to seem more adult. Like one of you will release a s.e.x tape next."

All eyes in the room turn to Ben, who shakes his head and looks away. Clearly he doesn't want to be here, and accusing glares like that don't help matters.

"You see it a lot, you know," says Van. "Child stars. .h.i.t a certain age and do a racy magazine shoot or a raunchy routine at the VMAs to shed their clean image. For many, it's career suicide."

Logan shoots Zach a significant look I can't quite read. Zach sits forward. "We had a plan to mature our image a little."

"No," says Ben.

"Just because it was drafted by our mom," says Logan. "If anyone else put it forward, you wouldn't be like that."

"What was the plan?" I cut in. Aidan can edit it out later.

"That we start to appear more like gentlemen," says Ben in a mocking tone. "Leading men, publicity shots of us in tuxes and with expensive cars. No more commercials for toys and stuff. Start doing high-profile charity work."