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seeing Ben’s father, Maddy had scarcely been able to think straight, jumping on every opportunity to hang out with her future relative. She knew it was sick, but she couldn’t help it—she was well aware of her physical limitations. Pale, gangly-limbed, and freckle-faced, Maddy was not a troll; but neither was she a fairy princess … and she certainly had never been a magnet for the opposite sex. She’d never so much as been asked out on a date. So being thrown together into circumstances of enforced intimacy with a hunk like Ben was a godsend. Not that she pretended her new stepbrother had any such feelings for her.
    Ben had personal issues she couldn’t even imagine, issues he tended to keep to himself. For the first few weeks, she’d thought he hated her, and she couldn’t blame him. It was one thing for your parents to get divorced, but to have your mother die —then to have to cope with your dad moving in with someone else—was beyond outrageous. Not wanting to intrude on his grief, she’d tried to be as invisible as possible, slinking around like a burglar in her own house, until one day he came up to her, and said, “Can we stop avoiding each other? Because this is getting ridiculous.”
    After that, things were easier. Not that they were BFFs or anything, but they could be in the same room together and sometimes even exchange words. The best, though, was being seen in public, especially at school. Maddy had never been Miss Popularity, but since Ben’s arrival, she was suddenly in demand, all the bitch-queens cozying up for a backstage pass to her smokin’-hot new relation. And Maddy had played it for all it was worth … until Ben started going out with her best friend, Stephanie. That could have been a disaster, but fortunately it didn’t last long. Maddy liked having Ben to herself. Being out with him made her feel better—made her look better. Ben was the ultimate fashion accessory.
    “Oh, we can’t leave yet.” Maddy said. “I want something to eat. ”
    “How about a candy apple?”
    “You know I can’t eat those things. They gum up my braces.”
    “Well, then, let’s get you some saltwater taffy.”
    “What? Didn’t you hear what I—”
    “Or some chewy, chewy caramel corn? Oops, sorry—the B word, I forgot.”
    “Very funny. I probably don’t need all the carbs anyway.” Maddy froze, staring. “Oh. My. God.”
    “What?”
    “Don’t look, don’t look! I think that’s her!”
    “Who?”
    “Marina Sweet.”
    “Oh God, no. Where?”
    “Right there!”
    Maddy’s bedroom was a shrine to Marina Sweet. Pictures and posters and calendars showed doe-eyed Marina at all stages of her career: child sitcom star, flirty tween idol, touring sensation, international superstar, tarnished icon. Maddy’s diary was an ode to this platinum-banged, platinum-selling recording artist, into which she poured all her girlish grief and yearning. She longed to be Marina, and on some level she felt that Marina was within her, a glamorous pop princess yearning to break free. Maddy had obsessed and fantasized and stared at Marina’s tabloid residue for so long that she knew the other girl’s life better than she did her own, as if by denying her own boring existence, she and Marina could somehow swap places.
    Marina Sweet was the reason Maddy had begged her mother to let her go to the carnival on a school night: to finally see the legend in person. “Rare public appearance for the increasingly reclusive star,” was how some of the news reports put it. Others were not so kind: “Small-time venue for troubled starlet.” Maddy didn’t care; she wanted to go.
    Their folks were busy, so they made Ben take her to the show. He wasn’t happy about it, being about the only guy in a sea of screaming teenyboppers, but Maddy had the time of her life. Swept up in a blur of group euphoria, dazzled by the lights and the sounds, she swayed and sang to the music she knew so well, tears streaming down her