ADA

If I ever needed a good luck charm, it's today. Not only will I finally be chasing my dreams, but I'll be chasing stars too. Literally.

My fingers curl around the pendant of the necklace my grandmother left to me. It's shaped like the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and has her name on it—Marylue Datchery. Grams got it when she auditioned for a movie in L.A. She didn't get the part, but she insisted the necklace was lucky anyway. It was the first thing I put on this morning.

I plop myself down at the counter of Jitters, my favorite coffee shop in the city, making the worn barstool wobble. Pulling out my Nikon, I check that the battery is fully charged for what must be the hundredth time before grabbing one of the celebrity magazines I picked up from the newsstand outside my family's brownstone in the East Village. The humidity from the swamp cooler makes the thin pages cling to my fingertips as I flick through it, trying to immerse myself in the glittering lives of the stars.

I pause when I find a spread of some truly breathtaking shots of Leo at his birthday party in Saint-Tropez. My gaze lingers on the photo credit line that runs along the centerfold. It lists the names of the photographers who took the pictures and the agencies they work for. I run a reverent finger over the ink. My own name is going to be there soon. It doesn't seem real, no matter how many times I pinch myself and feel the sting on my skin.

"Ada." Charlie, my best friend Elodie's boss and uncle, is meticulously wiping down the stainless steel countertop. He pauses long enough to give me a curt nod in greeting.

His dark mustache is combed neatly, as perfectly straight as the name tag he's wearing that reads, 'Charlie Chastain.' I haven't seen Elodie wear hers in months, and even then, it just had Els scribbled across it. Sometimes it's hard to believe they're related. If Elodie's a caramel double shot latte with extra whip, Charlie's a cup of black coffee, no sugar, no milk.

"Morning, Charlie."

"So, you're joining the workforce, huh?"

"Today's my first day."

"Yeah, pretty sure all of Greenwich Village has heard about it by now." Charlie juts his chin toward Elodie, who's at the register, taking an order.

Els was born ten cups of coffee ahead of the rest of us. To say she's energetic and chatty would be an understatement. I'm sure all of her regulars know about my summer internship, which might be embarrassing if Elodie wasn't the most supportive bestie in the history of besties.

"Are you sure you want black coffee?" Els asks the woman she's helping, scrunching up her nose. "I could make you this amazing egg yolk coffee. It has whipped eggs and condensed milk. It's super creamy and totally to die for."

"Um, no, thank you?" The woman looks at Elodie like she's sprouted tentacles.

"Really? Because—"

"Elodie," Charlie groans. "Just get her the coffee."

"Fine." Els huffs a breath through her nose and grabs a to-go cup as another barista hurries forward to help the next customer. Elodie's training to compete in the World Barista Championships and some of the drinks she experiments with can get a little adventurous. Charlie's patient with her, all things considered.

Charlie keeps one eye on Elodie as he turns back to me. "So, where exactly are you working? Elodie keeps babbling about some photography thing."

"The Huntley Agency." I squeal, clapping my hands together excitedly.

He blinks at me like my energy level baffles him. "You girls should really consider switching to decaf." He flicks a non-existent speck of dust from one of the industrial lights that hang above the bar. "What's the Huntley Agency anyway?"

"It's only the best celebrity photo agency in New York."

Charlie's eyes fall to the camera and magazine sitting on the counter in front of me. "Wait. You're not going to be a paparazzi, are you?"

I frown, wishing people would stop saying it like that. "Paparazzi-in-training, technically," I say. "It's an internship."

For now, anyway. The welcome email my boss sent me said there's potential for it to become a permanent position at the end of the summer. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

"You just don't seem like the type."

I cross my arms. "And what type is that? A guy?"

"No...I didn't...You know what I mean." Charlie's eyes drop. He twists the rag in his hands, clearly flustered.

"I don't, actually."

"Don't you have to be really aggressive in that business?"

"I can hold my own."

"If you say so." Charlie purses his lips. "It just seems unethical to invade people's privacy like that."

"It's not that simple." I slump back against the barstool. I don't disagree with him exactly, but the whole celebrity-paparazzi dynamic is much more complicated than people realize.

To land big roles and endorsement deals, most celebrities have to keep themselves in the limelight. When they go out, their publicists actually call the paparazzi to make sure they're photographed. There are undeniably photogs who cross the line, taking photos that do violate people's privacy. Some even chase celebrities down, putting everyone in potentially dangerous situations. But I don't want to be like them.

I want to take pictures of celebs on red carpets looking glamorous and iconic. I want to create a glitzy, sparkling dream world people can escape into through my photography. I want to develop relationships with the celebrities my grandmother and I idolized. I want to be the person publicists call for photo ops. To do that, though, I have to nail this internship. My dreams can only come true if I establish myself as a legit photog. Which means doing whatever it takes to set myself apart from Huntley's other interns.

Charlie makes a humph sound. "If you say so."

"Better let it go, Charlie. Ada knows way more about this than you do and will tolerate no mansplaining on the topic." Elodie walks over with so much pep in her step that it's more like bouncing. Her Nikes squeak against the linoleum. Her chestnut hair is piled into the messiest of buns on top of her head, and she's wearing a t-shirt that says, 'Today's Good Mood Sponsored By Coffee.'

She isn't wrong. I know as much about the paparazzi-celebrity dynamic as possible without having been one yet, and I hate that everyone thinks all of us paparazzi are villains.

Us. As of today, I will officially be one of them. I can't hide the smile that stretches across my face. Charlie mutters something before turning to wipe down the back counter. I can't quite understand what he's saying, but I choose to believe it's something nice.

"So," Elodie chirps. "How are you feeling? Are you nervous? Are you pumped? I am so excited for you, Ada. Oh. I have something you've got to try." Her eyes are wide, and she's bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Uh-oh. This is next-level energy, even for Elodie. Whenever she gets like this, I end up sampling some bonkers new concoction she's come up with. Today is so not the day I want to start with a fireball espresso, a cheddar latte, or an elephant poop coffee. Yep. As in coffee made from beans pooped out by an elephant. I deserve a frickin' award for the beverages I've sampled for this girl.

"Maybe I should let Charlie switch you to decaf," I mutter.

"You wouldn't dare." She clutches a hand to her chest as though I've mortally wounded her.

"You're right." I shrug. "Friends don't let friends go uncaffeinated, but today I need something...normal."

Elodie glowers at my use of the word 'normal.'

I hold up my hands in defense. "It's my first day. I have to start it off right. I will happily sample whatever you've got cooking in that brain of yours after work."

"Fine," Elodie huffs, turning to the espresso machine to make my usual peppermint mocha. It whirs and hisses as she pulls the levers. "But you better be ready for a taste test the second you're off."

"Deal." I draw an 'X' over my heart.

"I can't get over it," Elodie says, pumping syrup into my cup and releasing a dreamy sigh. "Someone is really going to pay you to follow celebrities around all day."

"I honestly can't either." I shake my head. "Standing outside all those movie premiers is finally paying off."

Grams used to take Elodie and me to Dante Park whenever there was a big movie premiere at Lincoln Center. We'd stand outside for hours waiting to see the stars. The pictures I got at those events ultimately landed me the internship with Huntley.

"It was a big sacrifice on my part." Elodie is all mock seriousness. "But anything to help my bestie's career."

I scoff. "Oh, please. You totally cried when we saw Harry Styles."

"Those weren't tears. I told you, I have a condition where my eyes randomly leak sometimes."

"Yuh-huh. Sure you do." I check my watch. Twenty minutes until I need to be at the office. "How's that drink coming? I'm in desperate need of caffeine and sugar over here." I collapse on the counter, reaching toward the espresso machine like I'm about to succumb to dehydration, and coffee is all that stands between me and sudden death.

Charlie scowls at the collection of my fingerprints now smudged across his immaculate countertop. Whoops.

"Your drink, madame." Elodie sets my cup down with a flourish.

"You're my hero," I spin around on my stool, gathering my bag and gazing out the windows. Dust motes dance through the air in the bright sunlight. I'm surprised Charlie doesn't have his vacuum out, trying to suck them all up. As I watch, a Range Rover with blacked-out windows pulls to the curb, dark paint buffed to a high sheen. It parallel parks in front of the coffee shop.

The back door swings open, and a tall guy with golden hair and tanned skin steps out. His t-shirt looks like it's seen better days. A petite girl with waist-length red hair follows closely after him. The guy darts a look around before taking off his sunglasses, hooking them over the collar of his shirt, and walking toward the juice bar next door.

No. Freaking. Way. My heart stutters. The tabloid slips through my fingers, falling to the floor in a flutter of pages. It's like fate and destiny got together, had a little kismet baby, and delivered it right to me. This part of Greenwich Village is known for its celebrity residents, but I've been in this neighborhood hundreds of times before and have never seen anyone famous. And today, my first day as a professional photographer, Mia Harlow and Liam Anders just happen to stop by for a green juice.

Mia and Liam—Miam as they've been dubbed by the press—are the Hollywood it couple. Mia's album, Splendor, went platinum—I've had her latest single stuck in my head for over a week. And Liam stars in Cipher, the mega-hit show currently dominating Netflix. It's about a group of teens who solve a mysterious cipher they find in the library of their fancy boarding school, which leads them to a dangerous underground society. It's all secrets, conspiracies, and murder. And okay, yeah, I've seen every episode and am slightly obsessed.

Getting a shot of them on my first day would be like when Anna Paquin won an Oscar for her first film. It could help me turn this internship into the career of my dreams. I have to nail this.

My hands are shaking as I spin back to the counter and try to snap the wide lens on my camera, nearly dropping it in the process. When it finally clicks in place, I leap to my feet, almost knocking my stool over.

"Where are you going?" Elodie cries.

"Liam Anders...Mia Harlow...juice bar." I'm so breathless, I can barely get the words out, but Els understands.

Her mouth falls open. "Oh, my God."

"I know!" I sling the strap of my Nikon over my neck and grab my camera bag.

"Wait! Your coffee!" She thrusts a cup out at me. She's written the words 'Paparazzi Queen' across the side in big letters. I grab it from her, yelling, "Thank you," over my shoulder as I bolt out of the coffee shop.