I was standing and gaped at her. It was truly jarring—this girl, who I’d read so much about in magazines, and seen on the big screen, whose pictures in our theater lobby I’d stared at until I had them memorized—suddenly, here she was, in front of me, an actual person.
And of course it made sense—her movie’s after-party was here tonight. But I’d never thought I would actually see her, just standing here in the lobby, not going out though some special celebrity exit. She was with her boyfriend—I recognized him from red carpet pictures and blurry paparazzi shots. They took a step away from the elevator, walking toward the armchairs, discussing something. I realized it was probably a good thing, in that moment, that I didn’t have my phone. Because I wasn’t sure that I would have been able to stop myself from taking pictures, or FaceTiming Teri and walking past a lot, faux-casually, so that she could see Amy in the background. She was even prettier in person, her bright red hair a little more auburn than the last pictures I’d seen, and flowing in soft waves down her back. She was wearing a short, long-sleeved dress, blue-and-white stripe, but when she moved, you could see the stripes were sequins. She had paired this with tall, flat white boots, and the whole effect was somehow both modern and sixties and I wanted to try and re-create it immediately. Her boyfriend was tall and blond and broad-shouldered. He was wearing a suit and a collared shirt with a blue gingham pattern on it, no tie.
I thought I was being subtle about looking, but apparently not, because the guy said something to Amy, and then they both looked at me.
My eyes went wide and I took a step backward. What was I supposed to do? Apologize for staring? Pretend that I’d been looking at someone else? Amy Curry gave me a smile and a half nod, like she was saying it was okay, and I gave her a relieved smile back.
And then, in that moment, I realized that I didn’t have anything to lose. I was going to be grounded for the foreseeable future anyway; I might as well embarrass myself in front of a movie star. I took a deep breath and hurried up to them before I could realize that I was about to make a huge mistake and stop myself. “Um—Ms. Curry?” I asked, when I was still standing a few feet away. Nobody liked having their personal space invaded, and I was sure this was doubly true for famous people. “I’m so sorry to bother you—both of you. I just wanted to say that I’m a huge, huge fan.”
She smiled at that, and she was even more gorgeous up close, her teeth impossibly white. Her eye makeup was smoky and iridescent—how was that possible?—with liner that winged out so precisely I figured there must have been a protractor involved. “Thank you so much,” she said. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I actually go to Stanwich High—it’s where you went? For a year?” The second I said this, I regretted it. People generally didn’t need to be reminded of their biography. “Which you know,” I said, my face getting hot. “And I just wanted to say that—the fact that you were in the theater department too, and you made it, makes me feel like… like…” I lost my train of thought, and most of my words then, and just finished with a helpless shrug. How did famous people have conversations? Did every interaction break down like this when the person they were talking to realized they were famous and ceased to have the ability to construct sentences?
“Stanwich!” Amy exclaimed. “That’s amazing.” She whacked the arm of her boyfriend—his attention had been wandering, and he’d been looking around the room. “Luce, she goes to my old high school.”
“In California?” he asked, in a honeyed Southern accent that was a little bit startling to hear in the middle of New York City.
“No, in Connecticut,” she said, and rolled her eyes at me with a smile, like we were in on this together, like we were sharing a joke. I was about to explode with happiness. How was this happening?
“Oh well, that’s cool,” he said, giving me a quick smile that seemed friendly, just distracted. “Small world, huh?”
“And you said you do theater too?” she asked sounding genuinely interested. Interested! In me!
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty much all I do. Under Mr.