Ian shook his head. “He probably knows about it and is taking care of it. He would probably tell you to focus on finishing Europe strong, so that you can start the U.S. tour when you get back.”

His words didn’t soothe my anxiety for very long. I abandoned my eyeliner and walked the corridor to Merry’s dressing room, thinking that if anyone knew how to handle a tabloid situation, it would be her. But her room seemed empty.

“Hello?” I said, turning around in the space, and noticed that the adjoining bathroom door was ajar. Maybe she was sick again. I knocked lightly. “Merry, you in there?” The door swung open.

She was curled in front of the toilet, looking miserable. Her face didn’t move, but her eyes met mine. They were giant and sad and communicated everything.

And somehow, I knew. “Oh, shit.”

Merry turned to look directly at me. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t. But Merry—”

“What.” She spit into the bowl.

“People are going to figure it out. You keep complaining about feeling sick, things will start to click.”

“I know.” She stood on wobbly legs and pushed past me through the door. “Don’t say anything to Yumi.” Breathing shallowly, she swallowed and curled up on the couch, barefaced and still in her dressing robe and fleece pajama pants. “I swear, everyone in the media says I flap my mouth too much, but Yumi—she’s the one who can’t keep a secret.”

I sat too. “We need an adult. We’re really just kids, in way over our heads.”

Leaning her head back slowly, Merry gave a little moan. “Ian would blow a gasket. Peter would replace me in two seconds. I don’t know what I’m doing about it yet. Maybe it won’t even be an issue . . .”

“Justine?” I suggested. Both of us could use her right now.

“Does Justine know how to arrange a discreet procedure while on foreign soil?” She saw my expression and smiled wanly. “Hypothetically. Because I feel like she’s the one who is supposed to announce things. Not cancel things. Will you pass me those crackers?”

I did, and she nibbled on a corner, staring off into space, nowhere near ready for the show. An idea formed. I said, “Let’s get Emily to come.”

“Your dog walker?”

“She’s not just a dog walker. She’s worked for some big names, arranging things. Plus she’s not on Peter’s payroll. If you don’t want the label or management to know anything, they won’t.”

Merry finally finished one cracker. “Fine. How much time do we have until we’re on?”

Sassy Gloss IN TROUBLE?

Boy Toy Tampers Top Pop Idol

Sassy Broke Up with Him And He Took REVENGE.

Cassidy Holmes of pop group Gloss was photographed with a broken arm on the night of the Academy Awards. Her excuse? She fell down. We just learned that her ex-boyfriend Alex Hernandez, a student at Pomona, reacted poorly when Cassidy broke up with him earlier that evening. “They had a fight,” one of her close friends told us, “and the next thing I knew, she had that cast on her arm. She’s lying about falling down.”

The PA delivered a handful of American gossip rags to Ian in Stockholm, which he passed on to me after our flight touched down in Copenhagen. I started to panic, and after deleting a dozen old voice mails pertaining to stale news, eventually I received one from Joanna: “Edie told me you’re out of the country, but you have to get a handle on whatever is going on. My mom saw the accusation about Alex on a magazine at the grocery store and flipped. You’re going to refute this bull, right?”

Edie: “Hey. I know you’re touring in Europe but what the fuck is this?”

Melanie: “I thought you said you broke your arm because you fell down. I hope Alex didn’t cause it. I always liked him.”

Alex’s voice was hesitant. “Uh, it’s me. I don’t know what is going on. Did you tell people that I hit you? It’s . . . it’s really scary. I keep getting hounded wherever I go. Like, not just reporters or whatever, but regular people. I was basically driven out of a Safeway by a mob. And I know we didn’t end on the best of terms, but this is—can you do something?”

Yumi sat next to me on the ride from the airport to the hotel and overheard the message. We pulled into the parking lot and began to unload, security flanking us amid the chaos of fans that had scooped the hotel’s guest list. “Abusive men deserve to be hung out to dry,” she said, as she hopped out of the van. She was swept along the waves of arms toward the back entrance.

While I agreed with her in general, Alex wasn’t the one who had broken my arm, but I couldn’t tell her that. She was already inside and I, the last girl out, was still straining to hear my voice mail.

“Well,” I whispered coldly as I deleted his message, “you wanted to know what it was like being me. Now you do.” And I left the safety of the van.

Flashbulbs popped in my face, hands that were too quick for security dragged along my shoulders. One fan slithered through the band of security and ran up to me, screaming. Apparently she didn’t know what she wanted to do once she’d escaped the confines of security, because she continued to scream while grabbing at my hand. Someone from the team snatched her away before she could rebreak my arm and I ran the rest of the way, the tabloids clutched across my chest in my good hand, to the safety of the hotel.

When I was finally inside, I took a minute to slow my breathing and knocked on a door. Rose answered. I double-checked the room number.

“Oh, sorry. I was looking for Merry . . .” But I was pleased to see Rose, nonetheless. It surprised me, my eagerness to see her. Rose was smart, capable. She could help.

All of this passed in the split second before she answered, “Merry’s two doors down, but she’s probably dead to the world already. She told me she was taking motion sickness medicine and sleeping. Can I help you with something?”

Jittery again, I stepped into the room and dumped the magazines on the bed. “Yeah. I don’t know what to do about this.”

Rose sat on the bed and sifted through the newsprint as I paced back and forth. She popped the tab of a fresh Diet Coke, getting foam on the heel of her hand. She slurped it absentmindedly. “Is this true?” she said, pointing at the tabloids. “Did Alex break your arm?”

I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. Why would they write that?”

She sipped from the can, head down again, her two-toned eyes poring over the papers. “They must be secure with their source. If it was just one little paper writing it—but all of them?” She raised one brow. “Which means . . . it came from someone they think was there.”

Stephen wouldn’t want to bring attention to this, especially after his threat. “Would Alex be stupid enough to say this? Maybe his dumb roommate?” If so, Joe wouldn’t have realized the hell that would unleash on Alex; he would be vilified everywhere.

“I hope he wouldn’t be idiotic enough to do that. Regardless of who shared it, this shit is out there now. We should get Justine involved, figure out what to say. I’m surprised Peter hasn’t quashed this.” She set her soda down and began dialing the hotel phone.

Peter’s phone went straight to voice mail. Rose furrowed her brow. “That’s weird.” She checked the time. “It’s not that late in L.A.”