Starstruck by Cyn Balog Read Free Book Online Page A

see Wish, I don’t have to worry about my biggest fear: his face distorting in anguish as he screams, “No, no! You ate my Gwen!”
    Which is actually more believable than his being able to pick me up and twirl me through the airport like I’m Julie Andrews.
    My breath catches when I hear Erica say, “He’s not going with anyone, is he?”
    And here’s the best part: Terra shrugs and says, “No, not that I know of.”
    I didn’t expect her to say, “Why, yes, I hear he’s with her,” and point me out. I mean, maybe she really doesn’t know who I am.
    But then she says, “He never talks about anyone, anyway.”
    Hello? What part of “In a Relationship with Gwendolyn Reilly” is in any way unclear?
    Maybe Terra is just saying that he never talks about me to rip my little heart to pieces, but part of me also thinks it could be true. Maybe Wish never does talk about me. But why would he, to someone who hardly knows I exist? Seriously, Dough, in his past few emails he’s been so excited to see you, I tell myself. He even had a little countdown of the hours and minutes and seconds in there, like a total nerd. He’s not ashamed of you. Not yet, anyway.
    The imprint of Rick’s sneaker on my thigh looks even darker now. I rub at it, but it doesn’t help. Not that it matters. I’m probably going to get stepped on a lot more today, so I might as well get used to it.

9
    O N THE WAY HOME , I have the bus to myself. Well, I do have a companion; I’m sitting with my stack of books, which seems to have a life all its own. It’s a good thing I’m not going to the airport tonight, because I have so much homework that I couldn’t fit everything in my backpack and had to carry some books in my arms, which nearly killed me. I made it to the bus, huffing and puffing, but the bus driver didn’t see me. She closed the doors on me, and now I have two black marks on my shoulders from the rubber. Evie and Becca are nowhere to be found, meaning two things: 1) they found some seniors to give them a ride home, and 2) I am officially the only living dork on the island of Cellar Bay.
    Other than that, my first day of school was everything I’d expected. In class, nobody talked to me, and everyone attempted to sit as far away from me as possible. During lunch, one lost freshman tried to sit at my table, but three other freshmen pulled her from the brink before it was too late. “Don’t do it!” they cried. “You still have worth! People still love you! We have a seat over here!” She heaved an enormous sigh of relief and scurried off to join them. Things could have been worse, though, I tell myself.
    I’m trying to think of how when the bus pulls up outside the bakery, and I can already tell that we have no customers. Through the glass, I can see the outline of someone—probably that dude Christian, leaning against the counter, looking bored. I’m thinking I should have shown him a couple of things he can do—folding boxes, refilling the cookie trays, sweeping the floor—when he doesn’t have anything else to do. As I’m climbing off the bus, a little fearful that the doors are going to close on me again, which kind of hurt, I drop my brand-new trig book. It falls into the gutter, open, where there’s a small river of sandy water from last night’s rain. As I rush to pick it up and minimize the damage, I see behind me a small flash of fire-engine red from someone’s car. Someone’s really nice car. I turn, because it’s impossible to avoid looking at a car that’s that tiny and sporty and sleek, if only to see what idiot would buy a mode of transportation that has absolutely no storage, no passenger room, and no traction in bad weather. Oh my God, I fully realize I am turning into my mother.
    Beyond the glistening BMW hood ornament, I see a waterfall of equally shiny blond hair. Evie’s. She’s sitting in the passenger seat, giggling spinelessly at the driver.
    I drop my books again.
    I knew it.
    I knew it.
    I