“Nothing’s over,” Jade says seriously, turning to face Kitty with a solemn expression. “I’m getting you out of here. We just need to find someplace quiet. Away from people. Where we can figure this whole thing out.”

“'’Tis too late for al' dat,” I hear a soft Irish accent right next to my ear. ”We’ll 'av ter leave.”

I snap my head around, face to face with the pretty girl in the pink dress. The girl who is so unusually strong, and whose lap I’m sitting on. The girl with Lyall’s voice. Lyall’s soft brown eyes. Lyall’s gentle bittersweet grin I know so well, sweetly smiling at me right now.

“Lyall?!” I ask. My hands move faster than my manners - I pull the glittery pink mask away from his face and over his head.

“Surprise,” Lyall says.

“Oh wow. I didn’t expect… um.. you look… really nice… as a girl,” I say, wriggling uncomfortably in his lap, a million times more awkward now that I know I’m sitting on a boy, instead of some weirdly-strong mystery girl.

“‘Tanks, I guess,” he says. “You look… you look nice too. De dress an’ all. Not dat I know about dresses, this isn’t a habit.”

There’s something in his voice, so I study his face for just a moment, and I notice that he’s blushing.

Not for the first time this evening, I feel painfully aware of just how revealing my outfit is - the shimmery silver dress clings like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to hide the redness blooming on my cheeks, hoping he can’t feel how ridiculously hot my face is.

“And just to be clear, this is de first and only time I ever wore ladies’ clothin’, if yer were wonderin’,” he says. “Dis isn't a thing. I’m not a cross-dresser or nuthin’. What I mean is it was Alastaire's idea, for de Jubilee dress up stuff and-”

“Bollocks. You love the attention, admit it,” Alastaire says. “I saw you checking out those football players drooling over you at the Jubilee. Just eating up all the stares from the boys, you little tease.”

“I was not-” Lyall retorts.

“Oh my god Alastaire, you are so extra,” Kitty says. “Just shut it, both of you. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than whether or not Lyall swings both ways. Which would be totally ok, by the way, Lyall. But right now we need to focus on finding a way out of this impending shitstorm, asap.”

“But I don’t-” Lyall moans until Jade interrupts him.

“There’s an exit about half a mile along,” Jade says, thinking out loud. “We could get onto Northway Ave and-”

“My house!” I gasp, suddenly realising just how close we are to home. “We’re five minutes away, tops. Let’s go there.”

“No,” Felix says coldly. “That’s the first place they’ll go looking, now that the news has broken we’re in town. And the last thing we need is a repetition of what happened the first time I visited you at home. It wasn’t all that fun, remember?”

Memories from that traumatic day at the start of summer flash through my mind - screaming crowds like a churning ocean threatening to engulf Felix and I, news vans parked on the front lawn, my parents running around the house in a frenzy locking doors to keep the crazed fangirls out.

“Everyone remembers that I was spotted there during the tour,” Felix says. “Your house will be swarming with press before we could even get to the front door. There’s only one thing we can do now. We need to get out of Portland.”

A solemn silence falls over the car. No one disagrees.

He’s right. They need to leave. Now.

“Hey Siri, find the fastest route to the airport,” Elliot says calmly, his face lit by the soft silver glow of the iPhone screen.

“What about our stuff?!” Ben asks, squishing into Lyall as he twists in his seat to face Elliot. “We’ve gotta go back to the cabin!”

“No way am I leaving behind my limited edition Chanel Princetown appliqué lounge slippers,” Alastaire says seriously. “They were hand-stitched by Karl Lagerfeld himself. I won’t travel without them. Not to mention my stash of vintage champagnes. I can’t do a ten hour flight without something to drink. Take us to the entrance of Forest Park, Jade.”

Forest Park. The cabin. Our hideout.

“Isn’t that the answer? Can’t you just hide out there a bit longer?” I ask, wondering why no one else has suggested it. “At the cabin, I mean. No one’s found you so far, and it’s pretty remote, so…”

Don’t leave me. Not yet.

“We could stay hidden there for a few days, maybe,” Lyall says softly. “But yer don't know de lengths our fans an' de paparazzi will go to. They'll figure it out, they’ll scour every last inch ‘o Portland, they’ll find us, an' when they do, we're stuck in de middle av nowhere at their mercy.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Kitty says sternly though her tears. “Not after what happened with Victoria Webb.”

“Victoria Webb?” Jade asks.

“Seriously dude, you didn’t hear about that?” Ben says. “She tried to kill Felix. It was in the news for weeks.”

“She was a total nutcase,” Kitty says, her voice suddenly soft and quiet. “Part of a cult or something, totally obsessed with him.”

There’s a long pause as Kitty takes a deep, heavy breath, like she’s choking back a sob.

“I’m the one who let her backstage,” she continues. “After that, I promised myself I’d never let anything like that happen ever again. Never let the fans get too close. Any one of them could be some raving lunatic.”

“Yeah, I remember seeing something about that,” Jade says. “She thought that you were a demon, or a vampire or something, right Felix? And that she was saving the world or something? Right?” He adjusts the rearview mirror to look into Felix’s eyes.

Felix stares coldly back at him, before replying, “Right.”

At that moment the notes of Déjà Vu blossom in the quiet air, the gentle ebb and flow of Felix’s distant voice as he sings like the whispering of a ghost.

It’s his ringtone.

He holds his phone up, scowling at it. As he presses the phone against his ear, his expression turns dark. Someone is shouting something on the other side of the line, their angry muffled yelling just audible above the din of traffic.

“Is it Jeremy?” Kitty asks Felix in hushed tones, who nods. “Put him on speaker phone.”

She’s talking about Jeremy Faull, the head of BYG Records, the platinum-album-creating pop idol factory the boys are signed with.

And he sounds pissed.

Felix switches the call to speakerphone, and Jeremy’s posh British voice fills the car.

“...and what I still don’t get is what in the name of GOD you boys were doing all together, and in America… I mean, for god’s sakes Felix, you told me you’d be spending the break skiing in Switzerland, and I thought Ben was visiting his gran in Canada, and that narcissistic blonde twat’s meant to gallivanting all over the South of France-”

“Well excuse me!” Alastaire says, grabbing the phone out of Felix’s hand. “Maybe we had better things to do!”

“LIKE WHAT?” Jeremy is practically screaming with rage. “Getting into a fist fight at some random high school dance? There are photos of your little altercation on every single gossip site, the pics went viral in minutes. What the hell have you boys been doing in Portland anyway?”

“That’s our business,” Felix says coldly.

“Actually, no,” Jeremy says, his voice more measured than before, steely. “The minute you signed with BYG Records - which is my business, in case you’ve forgotten - you and ALL of your business became my business. Anyway, we can discuss this later. We need to neutralize the situation. The squad’s almost at your location. Step out of your car boys. You too Kitty, I know you’re in there. We have eyes on you.”

“What the…” Kitty mutters, winding down her car window.

The dull metallic whooshing of a distant helicopter gets louder, and suddenly the entire car is flooded with brilliant, blinding light from above.

Kitty sticks her head out of the window, her dark hair wildly flying in the wind, her eyes screwed up in the glare.

The cars around us have come to a total standstill. I can hear hooting, confused shouting back and forth as people step out of their vehicles onto the road to watch the spectacle unfold.

“Are you bloody serious Jeremy?” Kitty turns around and yells at the phone, shouting above the din of the helicopter’s blades. “A goddam chopper?! How in the hell is this neutralizing the situation?”

“We’re doing what’s necessary for your protection,” Jeremy replies, his voice now totally calm, all traces of anger gone. “Step out of the car. Your escort’s ready.”

“All this to escape a couple of girls and some journos?” Ben yells incredulously, his words barely audible above the cacophony above us. “I mean, they’re not that dangerous. We could have driven to the airport and-”

“We’re not just dealing with fans and the press here,” Jeremy says. “There are more people following you than you know. And if you don’t get into that helicopter right now, I guarantee you’ll be finding out shortly who they are. So please, just go with the nice lady who’s about to knock on your window.”

Before I even have a moment to process exactly what he’s saying, a sharp knocking rattles the car, and a lithe figure all in black beats her fist against the side door.

“Open up,” she yells through the glass. “We’re leaving.”

Jade’s staring at her with eyes as large as saucers as she gestures impatiently at the door, his dazed state only broken by Kitty suddenly lunging at him and locking her lips with his.

“Bye, Jade,” she says, before swinging open her car door. She’s out in a heartbeat. Jade springs into action, unlocking his door, but as he swings it open Kitty runs around the front of the car and holds his door closed. She shakes her head, staring at him through the glass.

Don’t follow me, she’s saying.

Jade’s not having it. He struggles with the door handle until Kitty steps away, and then he’s out of the car, shouting something above the roar of the helicopter.

Lyall reaches for the door handle on my side and opens it, not realising just how firmly pressed into the door we actually are.

We immediately tumble out onto the tarmac as the door opens, Lyall pinning me down beneath his huge pink dress. His brunette wig has slipped off, and his cinnamon reddish brown hair is in disarray.

He jumps up with his cheeks bright red, helping me to my feet in a slew of muttered apologies.

The occupants of the stopped cars around us are standing around watching the scene unfold as if it were some kind of crazy improv or a play put on especially for them. Most of them have their phones held up in their hands, probably live videoing the whole thing.

I put my hands up in front of my face, trying to cover myself, but it’s pointless - there are people filming from all angles.

I am going to be in so much trouble when mom and dad see this.

Damn.