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tuition , I’m incredibly plain.
    I remind myself that I was chosen to be at this college. They must think I have talent at least, if not beauty. But I’m so nervous at the thought of seeing Marc Blackwell again. I feel like he’ll see right through me this time. That he’ll decide – no, we’ve made a mistake. This girl isn’t ready to be taught by someone as amazing as me.
    Did Marc see me in the woodlands? I try not to think about it. And I try not to think of the way I felt, watching him, as he stared at the college with those intense eyes.
    I check my watch. It’s five minutes to nine, but I’ve been waiting outside the lecture theatre for half an hour now. I stopped back at my room to pick up my course books, and now I’ve been clutching them for so long, they’re feeling extremely heavy.
    I can’t see Tom or Tany a anywhere – I guess maybe they ’re nursing hangovers and will turn up as late as possible. But I see Cecile and Ryan. I smile and wave at them. Neither of them seem to notice me. By the sounds of things they’re too busy gossiping about Marc, parts they’ve seen him play and newspaper articles they’ve read about him.
    I hear clipped, measured footsteps.
     

Chapter 12
    Someone whispers: Shush!
    I clutch my books closer to my chest and turn to see the man I saw in the car park – the tall, dark, blue-eyed actor who makes thousands of women weak at the knees. He looks even better up close, if that’s possible. He’s tall – taller than he look ed in the audition , and well-groomed with a smooth jaw. His light- brown hair is a little long on top, so it falls slightly over his eyes.
    Those eyes. They’re a light bluey green, like sea water and I remember Tanya’s words: You can see the whole world in the m .
    But he’s cold . I can tell by the way he doesn’t look any of us in the face, instead looking over our heads.
    I imagine h e’s used to getting his own way, and having people bow and scrape to him. He walks like a man on a mission, and his shoes smack the hard floor like gunshots.
    As he passes me I smell a light cologne and remember the card. I find myself inhaling deeply.
    He stops and turns to look at me, and I quickly breath e out. I try to keep myself steady, but I can feel my books slipping slightly in my arms.
    He puts a finger to his chin.
    ‘How did you enjoy your walk this morning?’
    I swallow. ‘Erm. My walk?’
    ‘I thought I saw you in the grounds today.’ He raises an eyebrow and smiles just a little.
    My throat has gone all tight, and the redness in my cheeks is spreading down to my neck. I feel my books slip out of my hands and hear them bump to the floor.
    You idiot.
    I crouch down, and Marc crouches down with me. ‘First day nerves?’
    His face is inches from mine. The lines of his nose and chin are so perfect, and the hollows of his cheeks so dark. He picks up the books and passes them back. His fingers touch mine, but his manner is brusque and indifferent, as if he were putting the books on a shelf. Then he turns and strides into the classroom.
    Everyone follows him into the lecture theatre, but I’m too dazed to move. I st and like a rabbit in headlights as the other pupils flood past. By the time I’ve got myself together enough to go into the theatre, the only seats left are in the front row.
    Oh holy Jesus.
    I can feel t he other students watching me, but all I can focus on is Marc. He’s striding back and forth, waiting for everyone to take their seats. To put it more accurately, he’s waiting for me to take my seat – the last student who’s come into the room.
    I slide into a seat at the front of the class, noticing Cecile is also in the front row, a few seats away. She’s smooth ing down her blonde hair, and has already written ‘First Marc Blackwell lecture’ on her notepad, and underlined it.
    Marc closes the lecture- theatre door. Then he goes to a projection screen with the words ‘Ivy College’ bouncing around on it.
    He is