Things don't look any less bleak in the morning. The sky is overcast when I wake up, and the gray light matches my mood. I lie in my bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Mom move around the cottage as she talks to someone on the phone. Her voice is too quiet and muffled for me to make out what she says, but I wouldn't be surprised if it has something to do with what happened yesterday.

As much as I don't want to get up and face the day, my growling, empty stomach isn't having it. I didn't eat more than a few bites of the chicken Mom made for dinner last night, and what I did consume was only at her insistence that I needed to eat. She thought my lack of appetite was solely because of what Bowie did and urged me not to let him win. Then I said something about Hunter thinking I was a liar and not wanting to see me for a while, and the fact that I'd left the cottage without her being aware of it came to light.

I expected questions about how and when I left, and why she didn't see me, but none came. Maybe she knew I snuck out through my bedroom window, or maybe the way I left was the least important thing to her right then. I didn't get a chance to find out. When she put her fork down, gave me a worried look, and told me she was sorry, I hit my emotional breaking point and excused myself from the table.

I can't change yesterday no matter how long I hide out for, so I might as well try to eat something and face whatever today brings. It takes effort and more mental energy than physical, but I push myself up to a sitting position, and then I swing my legs over to the side of the bed.

"Today can't be any worse," I whisper. After standing up and shoving my feet into my slippers, I take a deep breath and open my bedroom door.

"I'm glad you're up," Mom greets me when I emerge from the hallway and into the kitchen. "I just made some coffee, and there's a plate keeping warm in the oven if you want some breakfast."

She's also still in her pajamas. The shadows under her eyes are a sign she didn't sleep much last night and has probably been awake for hours.

"That sounds good, thanks." I head for the cupboard to get a mug.

Mom is quiet while I pour the coffee, but she keeps her eyes on me. She's still watching as I stir in oat milk and raise the mug to my lips.

"What?" I ask, before taking a sip.

"There's something we need to talk about."

I take my time swallowing the hot liquid before I respond. "Please tell me it's something other than Bowie and what happened yesterday. I don't know if I can take much more of that subject today."

"It is. Sort of, anyway. I booked us on a flight back to L.A. tomorrow."

I blink hard. This is one-hundred-percent not the type of other subject I had in mind.

"Tomorrow?" I repeat. "We can't-- I can't leave things like this with Hunter. I need more time here."

"Deni." Mom's expression is just as serious as it was last night when she arrived to take me home from the festival. "I don't want to leave either, but we don't have a choice. Video and reports of what happened yesterday are everywhere. We have no security out here and it's not like I can build a fence, install a security system in someone else's cottage, or ask the local police to patrol the lake."

"People know I was in Thunder Bay," I point out. "We aren't staying in the city. For all anyone knows, I was just there for the day and am in another city now. Besides, who will find me out here at the lake? It's not the most obvious place to look for me."

I take another sip from my mug and wait for her answer. I doubt she can prove me wrong.

"It is for anyone who watched the Instagram video that has your location out here tagged."

I nearly choke on my coffee. "What video? Did Paisley upload the one of me singing at the bonfire?" I can't see her doing that, especially not now. I must be missing something.

"I think it was from your friend Adam's party and involved a game of truth or dare."

Now I know what video she means. It's the one of me kissing Hunter that Paisley told us about the morning after the party when she caught the two of us together, kissing again. This is beyond bad, both because it reveals where I am, and because it will spark more interest in Hunter. He already wasn't crazy about strangers wanting to know who he is after what happened at the festival. More evidence that we're a couple—or that we were a couple, at least—will unleash a flurry of attention by the tabloids, my fans, and possibly my haters.

"The location tag is for Loon Lake," Mom continues. "I know that isn't Bass Lake, but it's walking distance from here and gives anyone who's looking for you the general area. All the people tagged in it and who commented right after it was posted a few weeks ago also give the tabloids a starting point for who to ask questions to. You know how this goes."

A wave of nausea overtakes me. I fight against my body's instinct to gag, even though my coffee has been forgotten and there's nothing in my stomach or that I'm eating to gag on. All I can think about is if Hunter was tagged in the video or was mentioned by name in the comments, and if the tabloid reporters and anyone else who wanted to know his identity yesterday have what they want now. He said he we shouldn't hang out for a while, but I have to warn him about this and tell him goodbye. Our argument can't be the last words we exchange before I go home.

"I need to tell Hunter." I set my mug on the counter and bolt for the door, not caring that I'm still in my pajamas and that I probably have bedhead. Mom makes no attempt to stop me.

I race down the steps and run to Hunter's cottage, even though my slippers make that hard to do and I stumble twice. Paisley is outside in a chair, reading. She looks up when she hears me approach.

"Hey." She puts her book down and gets to her feet. "Are you okay? You look..." She pauses and seems to decide it's better not to describe my appearance. Instead, she extends her arms out for a hug.

There are no words for what her simple act of kindness means to me right now. "I look like a hot mess," I finish for her, as I gratefully hug her. "I know."

"Is everything all right?" She lets her arms fall to her sides and takes a step back to examine me. "I mean, aside from what happened yesterday."

"Not really," I admit. "Is Hunter here?" I hope she doesn't think I'm being rude. I want to talk to her, too, but right now I'm hardly grasping what's happening and that I'm leaving tomorrow, and Hunter needs to know what's going on with the video if he doesn't already.

"He left with our dad a couple of hours ago for a fishing trip at another lake that's about an hour's drive from here. They're coming back on Monday."

"Monday? You guys just got back from your Minnesota trip, though. He left again?" There's desperation in my voice. He can't be gone. We can't leave things this way.

"He didn't tell you?" Paisley seems taken aback. I assumed she knew about our falling out yesterday and that Hunter is angry with me, but I guess I was wrong.

"He isn't speaking to me right now. Or I don't think he is, anyway."

"He will." She says this as if it's a fact. "I know him. He'll settle down during the fishing trip and be ready to talk again once he's back. He just needs some time to cool off."

"I won't be here when he gets back. My mom booked us on a flight back to L.A. tomorrow."

"You're leaving?" Paisley scrunches up her nose, confused. "I thought you were here for the whole summer?"

"I was supposed to be, but I'm not being given a choice." I rub my eyes and then look up at the clouds, attempting to keep it together. I'm about to dissolve into tears at the thought of not being here when Hunter returns.

"I wish you didn't have to go. Can we stay in touch?"

She hesitates as she asks this. I don't know if it's because of how things stand between Hunter and me, or if it's because she doesn't know if she should make this request now that my celebrity identity is out there. I hope it's not the latter, because I don't want Paisley to see me any differently now than she did when I was just Deni, her summer neighbor.

"Of course we can, and I would love that. If I give you my number, will you send me a text so I have yours?"

She reaches into her pocket for her phone. Once it's out and she has her contacts open, I recite my number to her and she repeats it back to verify, then types out a message and sends it.

"Done," she confirms. "I hope you get your phone back soon."

I want to ask her if she can send me Hunter's number, too, but I don't want to cause strife between them if he still doesn't want to talk to me when he gets back. There's something else that's been on my mind since yesterday, though.

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Sure." Paisley slips her phone back into her pocket and gives me her full attention.

"You seemed really relaxed yesterday after finding out who I am, as if it didn't surprise you. I'm wondering why you were okay with how you found out, when Hunter wasn't."

"I had a month to get used to living next door to my favorite singer and to know you for who you are," she replies, as if the answer is obvious. "Hunter didn't recognize you and so it caught him off guard."

"You knew?" I gawk at her, wondering if I correctly understood what she just said. "How long have you known for?"

"I suspected something the night you and your mom came to the bonfire," she confesses. "I recognized your eyes and your voice from your interviews, and then there were the coincidences with you being from L.A. and having a dog named Alfie, and that you go by Deni. I wasn't completely sure for a few more days, when I went looking online for photos of your mom."

"You didn't say anything to me, though." I twist a strand of my hair between my fingers and try to ignore the guilt washing over me. The excuses I made for why I couldn't tell Hunter sooner were centered around what Paisley and Brooke might accidentally say to someone. Now Paisley has owned up to being aware the whole time.

"I figured you were flying under the radar for a reason and didn't want anyone to know." She shrugs, as if none of this is a big deal. "I knew what happened at your show in L.A. and that you dropped out of the summer tour, and that you and Bowie broke up. I assumed you just wanted some peace, even if I did try to get you to say something when I asked about tagging you in the video of you singing at the bonfire." She looks sheepish at this last part.

"You never told Hunter what you knew?"

"No." She laughs a little. "He would have accused me of being too obsessed with celebrities or told me I was imagining things. I didn't think it would matter much. Then when it became clear you were falling for one another, I thought you would bring it up with him at some point or might have already. It wasn't my place to get involved."

"You aren't mad I didn't tell you?" I ask.

"Me? No. But--" She pauses and glances down, her hands suddenly fidgety. There's something else she wants to say, but she's stopping herself.

"But?" I prompt.

"I'm not mad, but I wasn't the one giving you my heart." She raises her head again and looks me in the eye. "Hunter can be stubborn when he's upset, but he's my brother and I love him. I understand why you bent the truth a few times, but I also get where he's coming from. You know?"

"I do know, and I don't blame him." My words are almost inaudible. I would give anything to be able to rewind time and do things differently.

"Try not to worry," she assures me. "Everything will work out if it's meant to, and I think it is. Hunter is more sensitive than he lets on sometimes, but he'll come to his senses. You'll see."

Just like yesterday, she's more confident about this than I am. There are a million things I could say to refute her claim, like how hurt and offended Hunter seemed when we spoke, and how I'll be clear across the continent by the time he finds out I'm gone, but I don't. Hope is all I have left, and so I cling to the hope that Paisley is right.