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real people and get pissy drunk anonymously.”
    Slumped against the seat, I was seriously contemplating their suggestion. I laughed, because I could picture all those uptight celeb’s faces if they found out about all of the times I actually partied disguised out in the clubs that they wouldn’t be caught dead in. But that’s what we did. We enjoyed partying with the real people, checking out the latest street dance moves, clothes, or just like Zoe said, getting drunk and partying anonymously without the media glare and scrutiny.
    I sighed, nope, I had to be responsible. “I would love to, but I committed to this circus. Besides, I love to see the media squirm as they speculate if my comeback is real or all hype.” Hitting send on my last text, “Everyone wants to see if I will crack under pressure….again.”
    Zoe snorted, looking at the paparazzi swarming and jockeying for position along the red carpet as they waited for me to arrive. “You’re not the first singer to stumble under pressure, and you won’t be the last.”
    “Zoe, call it what it was, well documented media coverage of my mental shutdown.” I felt no shame, didn’t need to. It happened and as far as I was concerned, the book was closed on that reality show. A reality show that starred me, with the press leaving no stone unturned in digging up the dirt from now ex-employees about how I barely made it off tour without going completely insane from the combination of Rejuvenators, sheer exhaustion and the lack of sleep. By the time the drama was over, mom and Mason forced me to a six month hiatus to get my life in check. Much to my annoyance, Diego and Zoe feeling tore-up with misplaced guilt for not doing enough to stop my slow slid into ‘madness’, moved into the K compound to babysit me.
    During those touch-and-go months, there was none of the normal fun, in fact, it was unusually somber and doggedly consumed with their ‘let’s get Infinity well, rested and sane’ campaign, practically treating me like I was at a rehab center for fragile, unstable superstars.
    More cameras flashed. Thank goodness they didn’t notice me, which gave me a little more time before I was forced out. It was ridiculous, me the most famous singer in the world, sitting in here, dreading the moment I had to step into my party at the hot New York club Shift-Rawr-Rock . After being away for so long, I really couldn’t believe how much that I actually use to eat, shit and breath this whole celeb party scene. Now, I didn’t miss this shit at all. I hummed the circus theme song aloud, while tapping my fingers impatiently.
    Zoe laughed, joining the humming as she bumped me with her shoulder. “Welcome back to the circus…with models, and rappers, and paparazzi, oh my!” She mocked in her melodic Caribbean accent.
    I rolled my eyes. “Yup, nothing says welcome back like the feel of a camera being stuck straight up my ass.” Nothing changed in the celeb scene; it was like a bad dream being painfully regurgitated.
    I swatted her hand away when she pinched my cheek. “But you’re so cute when you give them the WTF look as they clamor for the famous booty shot.”
    I scrunched up my nose with disgust before responding, “Please, like having a firm, well-endowed ass is a new phenomenon.”
    Diego chuckled, “But it’s not a natural occurrence in their world of fake enhanced asses.”
    Zoe pointed at me with a cheesy smile. “Exactly! And you give them that ethnic swagger that entices them like no other.” She shoved Diego’s arm roughly, “Remember that reporter guy who was stalking her on tour?”
    He gave me one of his dimpled model smiles. “How could I forget, he was the one who started that whole Ice Princess crap. Dude was fucking crazed.”
    I groaned painfully. Yup, ‘Ice Princess’, the label that stuck to me like glue just because one reporter that I pissed off royally when I rebuffed his advances decided to start a one man smear campaign.
    In a