Back at our Extreme WOW Suite, I turn on the huge TV. It’s wild to be watching the same New Year’s celebration that’s happening below us. There’s less than fifteen minutes to go.

Ethan checks the acoustic show rebroadcast online to see how it looks. Then he checks his fan page. Someone posted a picture of us at Serendipity. It already has over five thousand likes.

“I bet it was those girls in the corner,” I say.

“Oh yeah, it had to be. See how Santa’s sleigh is behind us?”

“Cute picture.” I go over to the gift basket the production company sent. We tore into it the second we got to the room before the show. It’s sitting on a coffee table between two plush armchairs in front of an enormous picture window. Manhattan glows below us. Times Square is lit up so brightly it looks like daytime. Throngs of people are bunched together to watch the ball drop. Zeke told Ethan he should stay at a downtown hotel away from the crowds. But Ethan wanted to see how New Year’s Eve in Times Square looked from the fifty-seventh floor.

I take out a chocolate-covered strawberry.

“You’re eating more chocolate?” Ethan says. “How is that even possible?”

“I’m a girl. We like our chocolate.”

“You’re lucky. If my trainer knew what we just ate, he’d kill me.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t you get a night off on New Year’s Eve?”

“Only on the DL.” Ethan comes up behind me and puts his hands on my waist. “Good strawberry?”

“So good.” I lean back against him. We watch the celebration below. I watch us reflected in the glass, watching everyone else. Images of us flash behind my eyes as the countdown begins on TV.

“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

Ethan asking me out for the first time “I like your streak” taking me to that show at The Space performing at The Space when it was already so obvious he was going to be a major rock star—

“. . . seven . . . six . . . five . . .”

—in Ethan’s room last summer sitting on his lap with my hair still wet from the pool kissing him hearing his first single on the radio and freaking out together Ethan getting signed for a huge second album Forever going straight to number one—

“four . . . three . . .”

—those fangirls obsessing over Ethan at this first big solo show sitting on Ethan’s porch while he bounces a basketball in the orange sunlight paparazzi stalking us at the Notch Ethan bowling in the fog our supercharged electricity in the stretch limo hooking up in his dressing room at rehearsal when he only had five minutes—

“. . . two . . . one . . . Happy New Year!”

“Remember this night when we’re apart,” Ethan says. “Remember how much I love you.”

25

[10,472,113 FOLLOWERS]


How weird is it that so many of the things defining my life now first started happening just a few months ago? Pictures of Ethan and me are in all the entertainment magazines, online, and on TV. Paparazzi stalk us constantly. Ethan’s songs are always playing. They’re playing on the radio, in stores, in restaurants, in cars, and on the devices of millions of fans.

Ethan Cross is everywhere.

There’s definitely love for him here in Miami. I flew down to watch his tour kick off. Then I’ll be riding the tour bus with him to Orlando. Mom thought missing a few extra days of school right after the break would be the least disruptive. I’ll get to join Ethan again in California and New York. Maybe a few other cities if Mom lets me go.

South Beach is really interesting. There’s a lot of history here, but not in a boring way. This is the art deco district. Everywhere you look there are buildings with deco fonts from the thirties, balconies with squiggly edges, portholes along walls, and bright pastel colors. Everything is lit with neon lights. I had no idea Miami was this cool.

We’re staying at a hotel so swanky it’s called The Hotel. The whole crew is staying here. Everyone is being supersweet to me. I feel bad that I can’t remember all of their names. Ethan had to rehearse after we checked in. The first thing I did was change into a bikini and run down to the infinity pool. Ethan’s stylist was already down there. Aixa was saving the lounge chair next to her for me like she somehow knew I would show up. Aixa is one of those people who is so classy she scares me. But now that we’ve talked and lounged and read magazines together, I feel way more comfortable around her. How awesome is it that we could lay out by the pool in January? Seventy-five degrees is my kind of winter. I never want to leave this hotel. Our suite probably isn’t as big as most of the other hotel rooms on tour will be, but it has an oceanfront balcony. And it’s impeccably designed. Boutique hotels are all about the details.

I’m admiring the deco trim in the lobby when a group of three girls plunges through the revolving doors in a burst of laughter. They have enough luggage for a year. A porter whisks over to them and starts arranging their bags on a cart.

“If he were any hotter, he’d be on fire,” a tall girl in platform wedges proclaims.

“Where were you the first time you heard ‘Night on Fire’?” a short girl with an I

“Ordering fro-yo. Half peanut butter, half marshmallow, with bananas and chocolate syrup. I’ll never forget it.”

Gram would get a kick out of the peanut butter marshmallow banana fro-yo. That’s probably what Elvis would have.

“I was driving home from school,” the short girl says. “I could not stop screaming. I almost hit a stop sign.”

“You were texting me from your car?” the third girl says. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“What was I supposed to do? Not tell you Ethan was on the radio?”

“You could have pulled over.”

“Ladies,” Platform Wedges says. “Let’s remember why we’re here. We’re the ones who discovered Ethan. How many other fans here for this show can say they saw him at The Space? Before he was even headlining?”

“Zero,” I

“Exactly. We freaking rule.”

Normally I would let this kind of manic chatter roll right off me. But now I shoot the girls a look. Why does every single fan have to be so possessive of Ethan? It’s like they’re all competing against one another to claim ownership of him. Ethan’s not an object. He’s a real person. With a real girlfriend.

If these girls only knew they were staying at the same hotel as Ethan. They’d take turns sleeping so one of them could always be on the lookout in the lobby.

A familiar boy comes up to me. I recognize his shaggy, dark hair and gray eyes, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen him before.

“You into art deco?” he asks.

“I’m getting into it. The designs are gorgeous.”

“There’s a deco tour of South Beach. Let me know if you’re interested.”

“Thanks. Have you taken it?”

“Don’t need to. I used to live here.”

“Sweet. You grew up here, or . . . ?”