ADA

If I ever needed a good luck charm, it's today. Not only do I finally get the chance to chase my dreams, but I'm going to be chasing stars too. Literally.

My fingers curl around the pendant of the necklace my grandmother left to me. It's shaped like a star 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. when she was my age. 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." My best friend Elodie's boss, Charlie, is 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 Chen'.

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 Charlie's really her uncle. 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. In case you didn't hear."

"Pretty sure all of Greenwich Village has heard by now." Charlie juts his chin toward Elodie. 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 have heard about my summer internship by now, which might be embarrassing if Elodie wasn't also 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 started sprouting 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 one of the other baristas 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 you working?"

"The Huntley Agency," I say, 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-looking 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. "You are going to be a paparazzi?"

I frown. I wish people would stop acting like that's so unbelievable.

"Uh, yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying. Well, paparazzi-in-training, technically. 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 dude?"

"No...I didn't...You know what I mean." Charlie looks down, twisting the rag in his hands.

"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 sigh, slumping back against the barstool and making the pages of my magazine shuffle. I don't disagree with him exactly, but the whole celebrity/paparazzi thing is so much more complicated than most people realize. In order to stay relevant and land big jobs, most celebrities have to ensure they are always in the limelight. A lot of them have their publicists call trusted members of the paparazzi to tell them when they're going out, so they can make sure they're photographed. There are definitely paparazzi who cross the line, taking photos that do violate people's privacy and sometimes even putting them in 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 develop relationships with the celebrities that Grams and I idolized and become a paparazzo they trust enough to reach out to when they want to be photographed. But in order to do that, I first have to nail this internship, so I can make the contacts I need in order to make my dreams come true.

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 it's more like bouncing, making her Nikes squeak against the linoleum. Her black 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 as it's possible to know about the paparazzi-celebrity dynamic without actually having been one before, and I hate that everyone thinks all 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 excited? I am soooo 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. And whenever she gets like this, I end up sampling some bananas new concoction she's come up with. Today is so not the day I want to start with a fireball espresso, or a cheddar latte, or an elephant poop coffee. Yep. As in coffee made from beans that have been 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,' and I hold up my hands in defense. "It's just that it's my first day. I need to start the day 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 presses the levers. "But you better be here and ready for a taste test the second you get off."

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

"I can't get over it," Elodie says, pumping syrup into my cup. "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."

Gram's used to take Elodie and me to Dante Park whenever there was a big movie premiere happening at Lincoln Center. We'd stand there for hours waiting to see the stars. The pictures I got at those events are what 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 Chris Hemsworth."

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

"Yuh-huh. Sure you do." I check my watch. Fifteen minutes until I need to be at the office. "How's that latte 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 death.

Charlie scowls over at me and the collection of my fingerprints now smudged across his immaculate countertop.

Whoops.

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

"You're my hero," I spin around on my stool, gathering my bag and glancing out the window. Dust motes dance through the air in the bright light. I'm surprised Charlie doesn't have his vacuum out, trying to suck them all up.

A Range Rover with blacked out windows pulls up 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 and 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 and 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 never once 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 paparazzi—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 my wide lens on my camera, nearly dropping it in the process. When it finally clicks into 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.