Page 11 of Starstruck

It’s my first day, and I’m going to be late.

The valedictorian speech writes itself, don’t you think?

I was late on my very first day; how studious of me. I also paid someone to write my papers, and let me tell you, the free time that left me with—whoo, what a time. Thanks for the degree!

I barely felt the smile tugging at my mouth as I imagined it, pushing through a set of wooden doors into an entryway, all marble and echoey. Or at least it felt that way. My brain was scattered, the seconds slipping by faster than normal. I don’t even want to think about the sweat dripping from every area of my face, making me look like I’d just stepped out of the shower, grabbed my backpack, and thought that would be an appropriate look for class.

It’s all Cora’s fault. She was the one who insisted we stay a few minutes longer to watch the cute barista—the one she’s been drooling over for weeks now—restock the coffee beans. Purely because of the way the hem of his shirt lifts when he does, showing off the valleys of muscle beneath.

When we all asked her what exactly her obsession with him was, she simply blinked and raised her hands in defeat as she said, “I’m English, I’ve never seen a man this attractive before.”

That got us onto the debate about how England has produced plenty of attractive men, with Harry Styles and Sam Claflin being my, Rory’s, and Daisy’s main examples, while Cora sat there explaining how most of the guys she’s encountered looked nothing of the sort... until she came to New York.

It wasn’t until my head angled back that I noticed the time on the clock hung above our table and felt my stomach sink, realising we only had thirty minutes to somehow get from the Upper West Side all the way to Greenwich.

We gathered what we could of our coffees, leftover apple pie slices, and ran out the door quicker than I would ever want to leave Pin’s, bolting toward the nearest subway station.

“This won’t happen again, I promise,” Cora reminded us as we ran. “Jamie gets back from his paternity leave in a few weeks, which means we get to take the car to classes.”

“Why can’t we just drive?” Daisy asked, hiking her bag back up her shoulder from where it had slipped.

“Driving terrifies me,” I breathed heavily.

“Same here,” panted Rory. “Well, I know it would if I knew how to, but I don’t want to.”

Cora flicked her head over her shoulder, her run steadying. “And campus parking is a joke, apparently.”

“There isn’t any campus parking,” Daisy pointed out, screwing up her brows.

“Exactly,” Cora sighed, her eyes now ahead of her. “Besides, we won’t need to—not when Jamie’s back, and we can be ushered to and from the place without any faff.”

I was still getting used to how well-known Cora really was. Still trying to wrap my head around who she was outside of our bubble. And I know my face has been plastered across billboards, TV screens, and kids’ sitcoms for as long as I can remember, but this girl waseverywhere.

Soeverywherethat she needed Jamie, her bodyguard, no less than ten feet away from her at all times.

Right now, Cora Holland is the Internet’s It Girl, like a tornado dressed in black diamonds that swept over the world and left you wanting to chase it forever. Although I hadn’t known her until my sister, Adaline Moore, introduced me to her and Rory when I visited the city for the first time over the summer.

Both Rory and Cora worked for my sister’s best friend, Florence Dayes, in her bakery, Flo’s. That’s how they became friends.

Rory had been in the city since her sophomore year of high school, after moving with her dad from a small town in Montana on the Canadian border. But Cora… she’d come to the city for different reasons. She didn’t go into details when we all spent the night at Flo’s, helping with the close-down. All she said was that the city was her home now, that she was living with her older sister, who’d moved here at her age, and that she wanted to keep what happened back home to herself.

Since then, we’ve never brought it up again.

But Cora and Rory’s paths crossed regardless, after both applying to Flo’s and realising soon enough that they were both heading for Liberty Grove this autumn.

It was like a whirlwind—how quickly we became friends, how clearly I could see their faces stamped over these next four years. And if I weren’t running for my life right now, I’d stop and think about how, for the first time in a long time, I had friends who didn’t just want to be friends with the girl they saw on TV.

After committing to a run that had no business being part of my Monday morning, squeezing onto a packed tube, and watching Daisy’s cardigan get caught in the closing train doors, we finally reached the main building at Liberty Grove. Once there, we split off—Rory headed toward the law lecture halls, Cora and Daisy veered off to the fine arts wing, and now here I am, speed-walking through hallways lined with every kind of science imaginable.

And I think I’m lost.

It doesn’t help that all the halls look the same, all carved from the same beige stone that makes it look like they were plucked straight from a history textbook. If I weren’t running, I’d have taken a moment to stop, appreciate them, and appreciate where I was.

But gazing at the walls could wait. My Introduction to Psychology class could not.

My eyes caught sight of the stretch of green just beyond the arched windows to my right, although the windows weren’t really windows at all, as though the glass had been stolen from them. It only made the intricate details of the open tracery that much more beautiful.

The gardens beyond were even more so, if that was possible.

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