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that overlooks the greenest of green grounds.
    I feel excited and refreshed. I did the sensible thing last night and went to bed early, even though I was having fun with Tanya and Tom.
    Before I went to bed, I checked the card again and sure enough – it was exactly as I remembered it. A very talented actress. Handwritten, and signed Marc Blackwell.
    Mr Blackwell, I reminded myself. You don’t know him. Just because you’ve seen him on the big screen, it doesn’t make you friends.
    I get up and read the card again, and as I bring it closer to my face I smell something good. Cologne, I think. I bring the card right to my nose and inhale. I catch sight of myself reflected in the French windows, and rest the card back on the flowers.
    What on earth are you doing, Sophia? I twiddle my hair and look out at the college grounds. Don’t be a silly student with a crush. He sent gifts and cards to everyone.
    I take a quick shower, smoothing serum into my hair to make it extra shiny, and deciding to let it hang loose and dry naturally. Then I dress in my new skinny jeans and high leather boots, and choose the bright green slouchy jumper that Jen said made me look beautiful. Nothing too fancy for my first day. I love performing, but off stage I don’t like to draw too much attention to myself.
    I’m too nervous for breakfast, so I take a walk around the grounds instead. It’s nerve-wracking waiting to meet Marc Blackwell again, and I know the worse thing I can do is hang around my room on my own, working myself into an anxious frenzy.
    The grounds are peaceful, and the lawns are covered in dew. It’s still sunny, but the slight coolness of autumn is already beginning to take hold, and I’m glad I wore a jumper.
    I take a walk through the woodlands, loving the bird song and the stillness. The soil is fresh and clean, and I think maybe I could ask the college for a vegetable patch out here. There’s plenty of space between the trees, and I could give what I grow to the kitchen.  I don’t feel like myself unless I’m growing things.
    The screech of a car sends a squirrel scampering back up a fir tree, and I peer through the woodlands to see a black Ford Mustang drive into the college car park.
    I brush aside a sapling branch, and watch the convertible slide into a parking space reserved for college staff. It takes a moment to realise I’m not breathing. The shadow in the car is tall and broad, and as I hear the door click I dart behind a tree trunk.
    Marc Blackwell emerges from the car, and stands with his elbow on the soft bonnet, looking over the college buildings. He’s wearing a tailored black suit, and takes a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lighting it with an effortless flick of his palm.
    I’m momentarily mesmerised. The way he inhales the cigarette and blows it towards the woodlands. The way he stands, so upright, but with a sort of relaxed slouch at the same time.
    I must have stood there for a long time, barely breathing, watching him smoke and look around. Then suddenly, his cigarette is finished, and he stubs it somewhere inside the car and slams the car door.
    He strides towards the college, but before he reaches it he throws a glance towards the woodlands. He looks right at where I’m standing. He’s so far away, I can’t see clearly, but I swear he gives the hint of a smile.
    I step back, hearing leaves crunch, and pray he didn’t see me. I’d be so embarrassed. What would he think of me, sneaking around in the woods and watching him? But he’s gone now, and after a few moments, I creep out of the woods and towards King’s lecture theatre.
     
    I’m an actress, so I should be beautiful – right? Wrong. I’m skinny and awkward looking, with wavy hair that just won’t behave. Jen may say I’m beautiful, but she doesn’t do drama. Standing in line outside the lecture theatre reminds me that acting attracts some of the most stunning people on the planet. Compared to most people who take acting