Page 5 of Starstruck

There, near the edge of the stage, the guy with the guitar hovered,eyes catching mine. When he saw me looking, his brows lifted in surprise, and a grin—wide and pretty, matching the glow of the spotlights—spread across his face.

He nodded his chin at me as he asked, “Are you okay?”

My voice seemed to disappear, so instead I nodded at him.

His head tilted. “Promise?” That cheeky grin not budging.

I nodded a him again, barely containing the smile on my face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, darlin.” He quipped, cupping his hand aroundhis ear.

I couldn’t help but let a laugh slip. “I promise!”

Tristan nodded, happy with my response, before he re-positioned hisguitar and ran his hand over the strings, the delicate sound causing a fresh wave of screams. He glanced back at me, his eyes holding mine, before he turned his attention to the crowd.

“Well, now that we’ve chucked the riff raff out, how about we sing acouple more of my favourites before the wonderful Moody Sunday’s take the stage?”

The crowd roared in response.

And when he started singing again, the room picked up where it leftoff, as though my little incident never happened. A hot flush crept up my neck as the memory of every pair of eyes locked on me while I crouched on the floor lingered. But I pushed it away, not wanting to overthink it right this second.

Instead, I lost myself in the music, swaying and spinning with myfriends, shouting the chorus of the song the band blasted through the speakers. It was the only part I could remember clearly.

And maybe, occasionally, in the rare, quiet moments between the chaos, thinking back to how Tristan Harper smiled at me, like I was the only one in the crowd.

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chapter two

send my love to the roommate gods

Any minute now, I’m sure I’ll bolt upwards in my bed, gasping for airand being kindly reminded by the sounds of crashing waves, and the buckets of sunlight being dumped through the window that I was still stuck in a life I never wanted.

Any minute… It’ll happen.

My eyes, sleep hanging from the corners, will crack open and realisewhere I am way before my mind does. For a second, the dread that pools in my stomach on a never-ending cycle won’t be there. And I lived for those moments; when I woke up and for one second I’d forget about the world that lived outside of these four walls and four poster bed. I’d forget that I’d have to spend the day walking in shoes that never fit me; the shoes never fit my sister when they belonged to her either.

But before I know it, I’ll be back there on a set, someone will callaction, and I’ll be left to say the tears rolling down my cheeks are simply method acting.

That’s what I’m telling myself as I rediscover my consciousness, asmy hands roam the bed sheets that are still clinging onto the notes of honeysuckle and strawberry. Thankfully, it’s not the sickly kind that smells more like the factory it was made in than an actual strawberry; this smell is subtle, like rolling around in a wicker basket full of freshly picked berries.

The thought makes my stomach growl—one that tells the world thatI hadn’t actually eaten dinner last night, having spent my time getting ready for the concert. And it’s the nerves, I think, of actually being here. In a dorm room. With a girl whom I’d only known for eighteen hours. It seemed my appetite, which was usually like a Mary Poppins bag, had vanished ever since landing at JFK yesterday morning.

“We’ll miss you, Marigold. I don’t know what I’m going to do withoutyou.”My mother’s words echo in my mind, the final boarding call for my flight weaving between her words.

“Promise you’ll call us when you land. Promise me, Marigold?”My dadasked, handing me my luggage.

The mental image of them, both at the bottom of the escalator I’dhopped onto, waving me goodbye with tears breaching their eyes, was the final thing that projected in my mind as my eyes cracked open.

The room felt strange at first, its blank walls and newness pressingin on me, the unease settling on my chest like the weight of my blankets. I drew a shaky breath, the air in my lungs tight.

If it had been heavier—just a little heavier—I might’ve stayedburied beneath the covers, grabbed my half-unpacked suitcase, and abandoned the closet space I’d barely claimed. I’d be on the first plane back to California before the city even woke up.

If the flutters of nerves that were dancing around my stomach hadmade me incapable of moving, I would have called my parents right this second and told them that they were right to throw me into acting. They were right to decide my future while I was too young to have my own opinions.

But, luckily for me, the panic in my chest only dissipated the more Iremembered where I was. The flutters halted once I heard the sequence of car horns and the native sounds of New York City filtering in from outside. And just like the world could feel the happiness radiating off me, a beam of sunlight slipped through the drawn curtains, awakening every joint and muscle in my body that had me wanting to jump out of bed.

“Do you normally wake up smiling like a lunatic? Or do I need to callan ambulance?”

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