Something isn't right from the second I open the front door to my house to let Sawyer inside. Maybe it's the nervous way he adjusts his fedora, or how he blinks a bit too fast. Whatever it is, I need to know what's up.

"What's bugging you?" I block his path once he's two steps inside the door so he can't get any further without having to look at me.

"Nothing," he replies, then backtracks. "Okay, nothing big for me. The paps outside your gates yelling a million different questions threw me off. I thought you said most of them finally left?"

No one was at the end of my driveway this morning when I took Alfie for a walk. I stare at Sawyer. He wouldn't prank me about this.

"They haven't been here for the last couple of days. How many are out there?"

"Twenty, I'd guess. Maybe more. There are enough of them that people are slowing down to look when they drive past your house."

"Twenty?" I yelp. That can't signal anything good.

"Twenty what?" Mom calls out from the living room. Great, she heard us.

I try not to grit my teeth. I've been doing that lately and it's making my jaw ache. Knowing the paparazzi are back could send Mom teetering over the edge enough to storm outside and tell them off. I'd like to avoid this since the entertainment news cycle has mostly moved on from me this week. A clip of Mom unleashing her wrath would be on the tabloid sites in minutes. I raise a finger to my lips to warn Sawyer, but I'm too late.

"Paparazzi," he calls back to her. "There might be more."

Mom mutters something I can't make out. She's probably opened the security camera app on her phone to check for herself.

The ever-present knot in my stomach tightens. "Do you think something new came out about The Domino, or about Dallas?" I ask Sawyer. I don't know what else could come out at this point, but there has to be a reason the flashbulb mafia are staking out my house again.

"I haven't heard anything about it today." He trails behind me as I lead him out of the foyer and down the hall. "Maybe they found out about the tour?"

"We aren't announcing that I've canceled until Tuesday." I stop walking without warning, causing Sawyer to come within an inch of crashing into me. I'd been taking us to the backyard, thinking we could hang out by the pool for a while. If paps are congregating near the driveway, though, it could mean one or two have climbed trees to see over the fence and eavesdrop on conversations. It's happened before.

"What?" Sawyer asks. I've been standing still for almost a minute.

"Let's go upstairs." I make an about-face in the opposite direction.

We're both aware my mom has hearing a bat would envy, which is why Sawyer waits until we're in my bedroom and the door is closed before speaking again.

"Do you think Bowie said something?" His mouth puckers.

It's not clear if he's asking a question or making an accusation, but I would bet money on the latter. Sawyer has a low opinion of Bowie these days, and anyone who upsets me gets an automatic strike against them in his mind. Bowie has racked up a few strikes lately. I wonder how things on the tour between Sawyer and Bowie will be without me there to referee and without Carter around to remind him to keep his cool.

"Not unless he's become psychic overnight," I answer. "I haven't had a chance to tell him yet."

Sawyer squints at me and I try not to squirm. He isn't buying my lie about not having a chance to talk to Bowie.

"What are you avoiding most?" he asks. "Telling him you won't be on the tour, or confronting him about the other stuff?"

"Other stuff?" I have a strong hunch about where he's going with this.

"Starts with Portia, ends with Garnet?"

I smooth an imaginary wrinkle on my shirt. "I haven't felt like getting into it. There's so much else going on."

"You deserve to know the truth, even if it isn't what you want to hear."

He's right, but I've heard a lot of things I haven't wanted to hear recently. I would like a break from all this reality, even if it means putting off the inevitable.

We're both silent for a minute. I continue to examine my shirt for pretend wrinkles and hair from Alfie, while Sawyer pulls his phone from his pocket and taps it a few times. A familiar chime breaks into the quiet, but I pretend not to hear it.

"Isn't that the tone for when you get a text from Bowie?" Sawyer asks.

"It is."

"Aren't you going to read his message? You could talk to him now if he's by his phone."

"Someone is bossy today." I cross my eyes at him, but I take out my phone and read what's on the screen.

There's a rumor going around that you're canceling on the tour. You should say something on social about being excited for the shows before this gets out of control.

I hold my phone out to Sawyer. "The news leaked somewhere. That explains the paps."

He takes it and reads the message from Bowie, then hands it back to me. "It's a good opening to tell him it isn't a rumor."

"Over text seems like a bad way to break the news." It's an excuse to buy more time, and we both know it. I set my phone down.

"He'll find out the truth soon. It's either going to be from you now, or from his people once they confirm it. I figure you have an hour, tops. Probably less."

"I know." I scrunch up my nose. Someone else telling Bowie wouldn't really be so bad.

Sawyer starts to say something else, but my phone interrupts him. It's Bowie's ringtone now. He doesn't usually follow up a text with a phone call, so he must really want me to clear up what he thinks is a rumor. This isn't going away.

"Are you answering that?" Sawyer asks. "You could tell him over the phone right now."

"He should hear it from me in person. It will be hard to get a read on his reaction over the phone."

"I'll go with you to his place if you'd like. Then you'll have moral support and won't have to tell him by yourself."

He's calling me on my bluff about delivering the news in person. Sawyer might be my best friend in the world, but he can be an enormous thorn in my side sometimes. This is one of those times.

"I take back what I said. I can probably tell him by text." I reach for my phone again, but Sawyer grabs it first.

"Would you want him to tell you by text if it was the other way around?" he asks.

"Why do you always take the moral high ground?" I complain. "Come live among us normal humans who prefer the easy way out for once."

Sawyer's chuckle fills the room. "I'll take that as you agreeing with my point, and I'll even drive us."

I cover my face with my hands, which makes him laugh harder. "Fine." My hands muffle my voice. "I'll be mature about this, but I don't have to enjoy it."

"I'll be right there with you," he promises.

I take my time choosing a wig to throw on for our journey past the paparazzi, and then I collect my sunglasses and phone. If I'm lucky, Bowie won't be home and someone else can break the news for me, like his manager or someone at our record label. I might play sold-out arenas and act as if I'm ready to take on the world during interviews, but the real me isn't nearly as bold when the lights go down and the makeup and wig come off.

I make as much noise as possible leaving the house with the hope Mom will stop us and refuse to let me venture out into the throng of media vultures Sawyer encountered on his way in. She must be in the backyard, though, or somewhere else in the house where she can't hear us, because we make it out to Sawyer's car without any sign of her.

The adrenaline starts to kick in once we're rolling down the driveway. Seeing the mob that's waiting for us when the gates open doesn't help anything, and camera flashes temporarily blind me as we drive past. Voices boom after us, but I can't make out one question from the next.

"I see what you mean," I mumble to Sawyer. He maneuvers us past them and turns onto the street. "Do you think they'll follow us?"

His gaze darts up to the rearview mirror. "I wish I could say no, but there's a van pulling away from the curb right now."

"Wonderful." I slump against the seat. An entourage escorting us to Bowie's house isn't what I wanted today, but it will be difficult to lose them in the short distance between where we live.

At least they'll have to wait outside of Bowie's gates, just like they have to wait outside of mine. What I say to Bowie and what he says to me will be between us, happening away from the cameras and mics, instead of becoming public-domain snack food for the gossip obsessed.