“Hey sweetness. Sorry to cut and run so early on ya but your sexy little self got me in some serious shit this morning when they went to pick me up and I wasn't there… I blame you. You’re a bad influence on me. Anyway I’ll see you in final rehearsal later but I figured I oughta call and explain myself before you completely overreact and dump me for ditching on you or whatever. Joking, joking… okay, I gotta bounce but love you babe, I’ll see you later.”

In actual fact Renee was kind of glad he hadn’t been there when she’d woken up. She’d had far more fun than was good for her snuggling with him last night and god only knew what kind of head spin waking up with him would have been. Granted, she couldn’t take it very slow when she was catching up on three years worth of relationship, but she was trying as best she could.

That and the pillow still smelled like Abercrombie Woods. She’d finally remembered what the smell was.

Apparently while Justin had some early morning pre-VMA appearance, she was getting off lightly and all she had to do today was the final rehearsal, the red carpet and the show itself. To say that she was a little nervous was kind of like saying that Napoleon was a little ambitious. From the moment she’d got up and realised it was VMA day she had been walking around looking like she was going to be executed at sunset. In all honesty, if the performance didn’t go well, that could (metaphorically speaking) be kind of true. She seriously needed to pull this off and she wasn't sure she could.

This was live. She had the dance steps down but she needed to give it some flair and she needed to hit the notes right because at the VMAs, nobody was allowed to lip synch. In fact back in her own reality she could have sworn that wasn't true – in fact every year she and Louise made a thing about distinguishing the live singers from the mime artists - but this was what she had been told. Possibly this was just a lie to make her sing live, but either way that’s what she had to do.

So she was now panicking about breathing techniques and trying to remember what little she could from her singing lessons way back when. Not to mention, she had to face the cameras. And somehow she had to smile and look like she was having fun. This was so not fair; normally she would have killed to attend the VMAs but this really wasn't looking like fun yet.

Reaching into her wardrobe, she had purposely found the most boring, plain, unrevealing outfit she could – that had ended up being a black turtleneck sweater and dark green combat pants. She had a feeling she was going to overdose on the celebrity tonight so she was going to try and be as normal as possible this morning. She only prayed she didn’t win the moon man she was up for, she’d have no idea who to thank.

She sighed as she sipped the sweet tea she had ordered from room service – she’d long finished the Apple Jacks – and reached for her glasses so she could read the huge stack of morning papers Marcia had brought in. Apparently Ms Renee liked to keep up with her press cuttings and so demanded pretty much every paper she could get her hands on that dealt in celebrity gossip.

She was appalled with her alternate self – she bet the silly woman didn’t even bother reading most of them. Then again, it was VMA day so she was guessing there would be lots of speculation on the night ahead. She wasn't proved wrong by the tabloids; there was lots of gossip. The problem was that not being in her own skin… well, she was and she wasn't… whatever, this wasn’t technically her life she was living so she had no idea if half the stuff printed about her was true or not.

With only one article did this become any kind of problem and with only one article did Renee start calling in vain for Claire even though she knew that the girl probably wouldn’t show up.

***

“Hey.” The soft voice sounded from behind her.

“Hey.” Her own reply was a lot blunter than she had intended it to be.

“Geez, what got up your butt?” Claire joked as she watched her childhood friend messing with her fringe in the mirror, making it sweep over one side of her face.

“You know what got up my butt.” Renee replied without any humour whatsoever. “Is it true?”

“I don’t know,” Claire admitted.

“What?” She turned around, disbelieving. “How could you not know?”

Claire drank in the sight before her and was a little freaked out. She’d never imagined this. They’d always talked when they were younger about being in videos on MTV but Renee had gone and done it. Avoiding the awkward questions of alternate realities, her best friend was getting ready to hit the red carpet at the VMAs and to perform and everything. That was huge.

“I’m not even supposed to be here. Any second they’re gonna realise I came without permission and…”

“Who are they?” Renee demanded irritably. “You know there’s a hell of a lot you still haven’t explained to me about all this and now my supposedly all knowing spirit guide can’t even tell me if my boyfriend is screwing around on me?”

“I can’t tell you what the deal is because it’s all mystical mysteries of the universe or whatever and I’m sorry but I couldn’t find out. I tried, I swear to God I asked every fucking soul in the cosmos who I thought might know but the only people who do know I can’t damn well ask because like I said I’m not supposed to be talking to you right now. This is life stuff; you’re supposed to work this out for yourself. Though I gotta say you seem awful bent out of shape about this.” The brunette eyed her quizzically, suspiciously.

“I have to go face a bunch of reporters and pretend I’ve been a celebrity the past four years and I know what the hell they’re talking to me about, I can’t even handle ‘what’s the album like’ kinda questions let alone deal with them all asking me about whether Justin’s keeping it in his damn pants!” She hissed in response, trying very hard not yell lest anybody hear her and wonder why she was yelling to nobody.

“And I have to go grind all over him on stage like nothing’s happened, so hell yes I’m awful bent out of frickin’ shape.” She spat as she stomped over to the bed and began pulling on her spike-heeled sandals. If she hadn’t been so angry she would have been squealing over the Prada label.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Claire replied, shaking her head and pushing a hand through her hair – not that she could feel herself doing so, what with not actually being a physical entity. For a second there she’d thought maybe Renee had been upset on a personal level, like maybe she was finally getting along properly with the boyfriend and was upset for herself and her feelings rather than just being pissed about media reaction. “Look, I don’t know. You just have to handle it as best you can like any other person would.”

Fastening her second sandal, Renee stood back up with a sigh. “Here goes nothing. Man I wish I never made that stupid wish, being famous was supposed to be all fun and glamour and hot guys and it’s been nothing but a royal pain in my ass and I’m stuck with it.”

“Listen, about… no, no, no not now!” Claire moaned as she started to shimmer in and out of the air and knew that she’d been caught and was being pulled back.

“Clara?”

“I think I know a way to send you back!” The whisper came through the air as Claire disappeared and Renee stared dumbfounded into the space she had left.

***

Renee sat dumbly in her dressing room in front of an array of fruit, various chocolates and numerous bottles of spring water, which was apparently what she always requested.

Not that she’d touched anything except the water.

Her head was a whirl of madness. Feelings collided in glorious Technicolor and trying to pull one individual thought out of the mess was like trying to grasp at a grain of sand – where one came so did a hundred others.

She hadn’t recognised herself tonight. There had been shaky moments but she had never thought she had it in her to put her nose in the air and strut around like she had, like she’d seen Britney or Christina or whoever do a million times on TV. She’d inexplicably gained the look that said maybe you tried to appear humble but you knew you were a star. It was the way everybody had treated her and fawned over her and screamed for her, all the photographers desperate for her to even glance their way; it was enough to make anybody giddy. It was intoxicating in the most malevolent yet wonderful way.

She’d walked the carpet in a Christian Dior champagne coloured satin and lace mini dress – that would be Christian Dior that she couldn’t even afford a tiny bottle of perfume from before but was now wearing a custom made free of charge outfit from. All the MTV people had been falling over themselves to get her on camera. It was incredible. She’d been a little nervous about answering the questions, stumbling a little over what should have been easy answers; she’d had to completely ignore anything she was asked about her possibly straying significant other but all in all it had been good.

Maybe the Justin rumour would even excuse her slightly distracted manner - maybe they’d assume she was just under stress.

They hadn’t been seated together; some MTV person had fawned over her practically begging for her forgiveness on their behalf but apparently it was the only way to make sure they kept various bitter rivals or ex couples from being seated near each other. She hadn’t cared much; she didn’t feel like talking to him. He’d looked uncharacteristically nervous when going to collect the best male award for a song called She Got Game, one she’d never heard in her own reality but had to admit was pretty damn good.

He’d thanked her and told her he loved her in the speech but it was hard to force a reaction: firstly because she was mad at him and secondly because she’d only known him about a week. It didn’t mean so much that he loved her.

They’d got ready separately for their little duet and had barely had a chance to say three words to each other before she’d had to go on. That had suited her fine. The song had gone fine, too. There were a couple of duff notes that she really should have hit but it was difficult trying to put energy into the dance and keep up with her breathing. She was going to have to try and casually ask Marcia or whoever to book her a few hours with a singing coach, somebody who could help her with that.

The really interesting part had been when Justin had made his entrance.

What would have been a bit of a surprise turned into the talking point of the night: what had Renee been trying to prove by having Justin perform with her after the rumours that had turned up that morning? Everybody was speculating on whether this meant they were still together or whether maybe she had been forced to carry on with the show.

Renee wondered herself what she had been trying to prove. With heavily lined, darkly made up eyes and an extremely skimpy red… she had to admit it, it wasn’t far from being a bra… and strategically low slung leather pants, she had got her bump and grind on with the guy for all it was worth. At the last second she’d made her already revealing outfit even more so (which for her, at least the real her and not the celebrity persona she’d had to adopt, was unheard of) and she had really gone to town. Even Justin had looked slightly shocked and it disturbed her.

Had she been trying to prove something? That she could do this or that she was sexy, that no matter what the papers had said the boy was hers… what? She’d pushed that much closer to him and gripped that much tighter and flaunted it that much more and it was the most uncharacteristic thing she had ever done. Was this what the proper singing Renee was like? Was she all sweet and innocent (well, maybe not that innocent) until she got onstage and turned into some smouldering vixen?

“Renee?” The door opened with a light knock and Marcia stepped in. “Are you ready to go back out?”

“Uhh… yeah, I guess.” She looked at herself in the mirror and she seemed to have suitably repaired her face and hair after changing into yet another outfit, this time a tight fitting pair of distressed and patched jeans and a hot pink tube top.

“You want me to go check if Justin’s ready so you can walk out together?”

“No need.” The voice that was becoming rapidly familiar sounded and she could see his shaved head come into view, a less than ecstatic expression on his face.

She was trying not to look at him and think that he was hot because she was still mad, but the khaki green shirt with it’s sewn on badges kind of showed off his biceps and emphasised the leanness of him and his jeans fit him pretty well too. More annoying was the fact that they probably made a pretty good looking couple right now.

“You ready to go, Ren? Trace had to go back to the hotel for some stuff so you can come sit with me, finally.” Justin attempted to smile at her but he had to know she’d read the article, she was sure he did.

“Lead the way.” She took his hand more for appearance’s sake than anything else.