“See?” I gestured toward Harriet, feeling triumphant. “I’m right.”
Cal rolled his eyes. “We literally just invented this system.”
“I’m still right,” I said.
“You guys are such nerds,” Ryan said.
He seemed pretty annoyed. I guess I couldn’t blame him. We were discussing one of the few topics he had absolutely no interest in—and that Harriet, Cal, and I had both interest in and experience with. It couldn’t be fun to be left out like that.
“Sorry, babe,” I said, putting my arm through his and resting my cheek on his shoulder.
“I’m tired,” he said. “Can we go back to the hotel?”
I could tell that Harriet wasn’t ready to go. That she wanted to see more. With me. I was torn. I was tired too, and we were at the very beginning of what was going to be a long, exhausting tour.
But we were going to be traveling together for the next year, and Harriet was only going to be with us for a month or so. And who knew when we’d be able to be in London together again? She was going back to New York and starting a real job and wouldn’t be able to just come on tour with me.
“I want to see what else is here,” Cal said. “If you guys want to go back to the hotel.”
I couldn’t tell if Harriet was disappointed, or if she was glad to spend time with Cal one-on-one. I couldn’t tell if I was jealous.
I was pretty sure I wasn’t. Because Harriet was my best friend and Cal was…
Well. I had Ryan, so it didn’t even matter what Cal was. He was Ryan’s bandmate.
“You guys can go,” Harriet said. “I’ll bore Cal with all my nerdy historical tidbits.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Did I want her to say no?
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Come on, babe,” Ryan said, his arm around my neck, his nose nuzzling my cheek. “I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”
It had been a while.
“Okay,” I said. “If it’s really all right with Harriet and Cal.”
“It is,” she said.
“Yep,” Cal said.
“Omigod!” A voice behind us echoed through the quiet museum. “It’s Katee Rose!”
Suddenly we were surrounded.
“Is it her?”
“It is! Katee! Will you sign my brochure?”
“Will you sign my arm?”
“Will you take a picture with me?”
I put on my best Katee Rose smile, a little surprised that it had taken this long to get recognized. I’d tried for inconspicuous, hair back, a baseball cap pulled low, and my least showy pair of jeans. There were barely any rhinestones on them.
At least it wasn’t a large group and since we were in a museum, they were polite and all but formed a line on their own to get autographs and pictures.
I looked up halfway through the makeshift meet and greet to find Harriet taking pictures of her own—like she was my mother or publicist—and Cal standing with his arms crossed, bemused but with a slightly nervous look on his face. No doubt he was imagining his future.
I could tell that Ryan was doing the same, only he looked happy and eager.
“Want a picture with us?” he asked a large group of young girls.
One of them looked at him, confused.
“Um,” she said.
“We’re CrushZone,” Ryan said.
He got a wall of blank looks in exchange.
“We’re big in America,” Cal said. Dryly.
They would be, but I saw Ryan’s face fall.
“This is Ryan LaNeve,” I said. “He’s a member of CrushZone and my boyfriend.”
Immediately everyone’s eyes lit up, and Ryan was soon surrounded. He beamed at the attention.
“Sign this!”
“Can we get a picture?”
“Are you and Katee going to get married?”
My eyebrows rose, and I caught Ryan’s eye over the crowd.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Oh really?” I said.
We hadn’t discussed it.
“Ooooooooo,” the crowd said.
Ryan grinned and I saw a few girls swoon. Yeah. This anonymity wouldn’t last long.
“Don’t forget Calvin Tyler Kirby,” I said, gesturing toward Cal. “He’s in the band too.”
He shot me a look, but cleared it away with a smile as he was approached with cameras and Sharpies.
“What about you?” someone asked Harriet. “Are you also in the band?”
“Uh, no,” she said.
“She’s my best friend,” I said.
That was good enough for my fans. They wanted autographs from everyone.
“We have tickets to see you tomorrow,” one of the girls said.
“We’re opening for her,” Ryan said.
“They’re great,” I said.
“Are you going to do ‘Miss Me, Kiss Me’?” someone asked.
That had been on my first album, which hadn’t done as well as the following one. It had been more moody and lyrical, not upbeat and pop-y, which is what I was now known for. More dancing, less crooning.
“Maybe,” I said.
I wasn’t.
“It’s my favorite song,” she said.
“Mine too,” Cal said.
I rolled my eyes at him, unable to tell if he was teasing. This fan was an aberration. No one liked the early stuff. But it was still nice to hear.
“Which one is that?” Ryan asked.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I said quietly.
“Can we get one of you together?” someone asked.
“Of course,” Ryan said.
Interacting with my fans—especially when they were as sweet and complimentary as this group—was one of the things I loved the most about what I did. It usually invigorated me. But today I was feeling the weight of jet lag and struggling not to yawn after each picture. I knew I had to be careful. It was too easy for an unsmiling picture of me with a fan to spread across gossip sites. I’d be called “ungrateful” or “unapproachable,” and Diana was very clear about needing people to think I was just your average teen girl who had gotten very lucky.