I can’t believe I’m here.
Sure, I’m exhausted, and I spent the first hour of my ride sweating to death in an enormous jacket before I finally got the courage to take it off. My dress is a filthy mess, and I’m sneaking back into my hometown like some secret agent on a mission. But I’mhere.
I’m finally here.
I roll down my window, thrusting an arm out to let the Cupid City air stream through my fingers.
“Limbs inside the vehicle,” my driver barks.
“Oh, sorry.” I settle back into my seat, enjoying the rush of fresh air across my face, but then I remember this wig’s not pinned on securely—a good gust could whip it straight off my head.
Begrudgingly, I roll the window back up as my driver stops for a light. He rubs his eyes. We’ve been driving all night. Hemust be tired. When he cranes his neck to watch for cross traffic, I take the opportunity to check myself in the mirror. The wig is extra blown out now, but I’m still proud of what I was able to throw together on short notice.
So far my driver seems none the wiser as to my true identity. One of my hits came on the radio, and he didn’t even glance up. It made me bold, and when we stopped for gas twenty minutes ago, I decided to push my luck and actually set foot inside the little store. I even purchased a protein bar and a coffee with my credit card.
Yes, some people were staring, but not in that usual wide-eyed, can’t-stop-blinking-I’m-so-starstruck way. It was more like what-the-hell-am-I-looking-at-right-now, and I loved every second of it.
We pass a chain diner restaurant with a large decorative statue of a boy out front, and it tickles my brain. I was only eight when my mom moved us to Los Angeles to get me into show business—halfway through second grade—so my memories are fuzzy, but this statue seems familiar.
Most of all I remember going to school and having friends. Beingnormal.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way again, or if too much has changed since then.
“We’re in Cupid City. I need your destination, ma’am.” My driver peers at me in the mirror. He’s asked for it a couple of times already, but I explained I couldn’t say yet. I don’t have much real-world experience—anyreal-world experience, to be honest—but I’m smart enough to know I should keep this on the down-low.
“It’s Heartline Security Group.”
I catch an eye roll as he taps it into his device. That’s fine. He doesn’t understand how careful I need to be. But once I get my new bodyguard, I’ll be safe.
We drive along a narrow, wooded road, and I spot my old elementary school.
“Oh my gosh.”
Hidden Creek Elementary. It looks small, with its orange brick facade and grids of square windows. Much smaller than I remember. I must have been pretty tiny back then. A couple of kids are milling around the flagpole out front, and a tall woman with a toddler on her hip is talking to them.
It makes me smile. A regular parent and regular kids, living their normal lives. Life is still going on here, just like it was before.
The only thing that’s changed is me.
We pull into the lot at Heartline, and I swipe my card once again for the total charge. Just under $1,600. Worth every penny.
He steps out, then yawns as he opens the door for me.
“Thank you for the ride.” I wrap myself back in my jacket, then grab my things and shuffle out. “Was that one of your longer trips?”
He blinks at me with bleary eyes. “Only by about seven hours.”
“Oh, no.” I didn’t realize it was so out of the ordinary. No wonder he’s exhausted. “Could I pay for a hotel so you can get some rest?” I reach for my wallet. “It’s the least I can do.”
“No, thanks.”
I nod, but he’s holding out his hand like maybe he does want the money?
“Sorry, did you want the hotel? I’m happy to pay for it.”
“No. I need to get home.”
Of course. He needs to get back to his family. I feel so bad for dragging him out all this way.
