12

The next morning after breakfast, I was walking across the field back to Cabin Tranquility when I heard someone call, “Abb-y!”

The two syllables rose and fell like a gentle wave. There was only one voice who could make my oh-so-regular name sound like it belonged to someone oh-so-cool.

Kai Carter wanted to talk to me.

I let my cabinmates walk ahead and waited for him to catch up.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I was thinking about you last night.”

It helped that Kai was wearing a blue T-shirt. Not his signature red hoodie. His hair was also a little messy. Less swoop, more curls. But even fake-famous me had limits.

Stay calm, I told myself. You are famous. People think about you all the time. This is not a reason to stop breathing.

“Oh, really,” I managed to say. “How come?”

“I was trying to fall asleep and ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ popped into my head. Remember that one?”

“Yes!” I said, relieved. Nursery rhymes I could handle.

“It’s no ‘Itsy-bitsy Spider,’” said Kai. “But it’s still good.”

“Or ‘Doggie in the Window.’ How could you forget about that cute little guy with his waggly tail!”

“Sorry!” said Kai, laughing as he lifted his hands defensively. “My bad!”

I crossed my arms in fake anger. “I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you.”

“Join the club,” said Kai, suddenly serious. He kicked the toe of his sneaker into the grass. He was definitely thinking about something heavier than nursery rhymes.

“You know I’m just joking, right? My parents refuse to get a dog. Not even from an animal shelter. They wouldn’t care how cute it was or how much it wagged its tail.”

“I know,” said Kai. “It’s not that. You just reminded me of all these people from real life who are mad at me.”

I thought about Kai’s life. Singing in front of thousands of adoring fans. Being led through cheering crowds by bodyguards. Posing for pictures that were later printed on posters and shirts. I couldn’t imagine anyone being angry at him.

My confusion must have been obvious, because Kai continued explaining. “Before I left for camp, I told my management team that I want to try writing the songs for my upcoming tour instead of singing lyrics that other people write for me. But my team thinks it’s too risky. They don’t think I can write anything good enough.”

The lyrics to Kai’s song about heart-shaped rocks sinking to the bottom of the ocean played in my head. It was Quinn’s favorite song. She thought it was so romantic and would bring her hand to her chest every time she sang the line about crying on a surfboard as the sun set over the horizon. Now that I knew Kai, it made sense that he hadn’t written that song, or any of the others. He didn’t seem like someone who would cry on a surfboard. He seemed like someone who would be looking for the next wave.

“I bet you can write amazing songs,” I said.

Kai perked up, his eyes meeting mine. “You think so?”

Someone must have told Kai that I was a famous writer. Why else would he look so hopeful and trusting? But I really did think he could write his own songs. I’d noticed Kai in line for breakfast that morning nodding his head to a beat. When he couldn’t fall asleep, he thought about nursery rhymes. Music clearly mattered to him.

“I could, um, read your lyrics sometime. Or listen to them. Whatever.”

“Seriously? That would be awesome, Abby. Thanks.”

“As long as you don’t play favorites with any animals,” I said, trying to change the subject. What if Kai asked me for advice about songwriting? Or writing in general?

Kai paused, thinking. “So no ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’? Even though the itsy-bitsy spider would so be friends with that troublemaking lamb.”

“I said, no playing favorites!”

As Kai and I walked back to our cabins, we tried to figure out how a determined little spider and a pesky lamb could free a dog from a pet store window. Maybe the lamb could distract the store owners while the spider picked the lock? Or they could call in the baa baa black sheep for backup?

I was still laughing as I waved good-bye to Kai and skipped up the steps to Cabin Tranquility.

“Oh good,” said Carly when I walked in the door. “At least someone is excited for morning cleanup.”

My other cabinmates were standing around the job chart, their bodies droopy. Except for Willa, who had one foot balanced on the edge of the bathroom sink and was bending forward to stretch her arm toward the mirror.

“No one is excited for morning cleanup,” whined Bells.

“I hate cleaning,” agreed Shira.

“Trust me,” said Carly. “Even famous kids need to learn how to clean up after themselves. You never know what life’s going to bring.”

Carly sighed in a way that made me wonder if she’d been famous when she was younger. Were all the counselors formerly famous? Is that how they got their jobs?

I might have asked, but then I wondered something else: Did Carly know that I was not famous? Had Joe told her?

I took a step back, as if my secret was suddenly visible. I was grateful when Bells asked, “Were you famous when you were our age, Carly?”

“I was. For a few years I was on a TV singing show with a bunch of other kids. We wore big bows in our hair and did fun dance moves. But then I got older and . . . less sparkly, I guess. It all kind of fizzled out for me.”

Willa dropped her foot from the sink and began to do knee bends, her range of movement deepening with every sentence Carly spoke. Carly was still so sparkly. It was hard to imagine anything fizzling out for her.

“Anyway,” continued Carly, “I hope you’re not trying to distract me. Because nothing is going to stop me from spinning this job chart.”

Carly laughed. But unlike her normal laughs, this one seemed forced from her stomach instead of rising from her heart. She tightened her ponytail as she walked over to the job chart.

The job chart was a circle divided into tasks, each task written in silver glitter: toilet, shower, sink, sweeper, and duster. A spinning arrow also lined in glitter was attached to the center. I spun the job of sweeper, which meant I had to sweep the cabin with a broom and dust pan. It wasn’t as bad as the bathroom jobs. Bells stood as far from the toilet as possible, looking the other way as she rubbed a brush around the rim. Hazel appeared similarly grossed out by scrubbing the shower.

But none of us complained. We’d somehow come to a silent agreement that making the cabin shine might restore some of Carly’s sparkle.

As I swept the floor and then made my bed, I thought about fame. Carly had lost hers. Oliver kept his secret. Hazel didn’t want it. Willa seemed worried about losing it. Shira liked that hers was hidden. Bells hinted that she didn’t deserve it. And Kai? I didn’t know yet how he felt about being famous, but I sensed that it was complicated.

On the airplane I’d thought that fame was something you stepped into, like one of Marin’s perfect outfits. Or walked into, like a sleepover with a group of friends and bags of candy.

Maybe being famous was more complicated than I realized. Maybe it wasn’t that different from my real life, with good parts like books, vacations to see Grandma, Dad’s cheesy jokes, and Mom’s reassuring hugs. And also bad parts, like cartwheel disasters, hallway embarrassment, and watching other people group together while I stood alone.

I wondered if Mom had been right when she told me the famous kids would love me just the way I was. I might have more in common with them than I had first thought. Maybe in a few days, after everyone got to know me better, I could confess the truth and they would realize the exact same thing.

But the more I thought about it, the more I brushed the idea away like dirt on the cabin floor. No one liked a liar. Telling the truth was too risky. Especially when I was having so much fun.