The morning bell rang like an alarm clock Rae Morgan forgot to snooze. At Halston High, Mondays were bad enough—but Mondays after a red-carpet premiere? Torture.
Rae slipped through the main doors wearing oversized sunglasses, her hair tucked under a hoodie. It was her go-to "please-don't-look-at-me" look, which, ironically, made people stare even more.
She knew they knew.
Whispers trailed behind her like perfume. "Is that Rae Morgan?" "She was at the Luna Awards last night." "Did you see the dress?" "Was that really Harry Kline she hugged on the carpet?"
She didn't look back. Didn't wave. Just walked.
Being a seventeen-year-old actress sounded like a dream—and it was. When she was on set, Rae felt like she belonged somewhere. But at school? She was a headline walking on two legs.
"Rae!" a voice called.
Lena Harper was the only person Rae didn't mind hearing before 8 a.m. Her best friend since the seventh grade, Lena was all sharp eyeliner, caffeine, and unfiltered commentary.
"You look like you haven't slept in a decade," Lena said, handing her a coffee. "You're welcome."
"I love you," Rae muttered, taking a sip. "If I die today, you can have my skincare products."
Lena snorted. "Generous."
They fell into step as they moved toward first period. Posters for the spring play lined the hallway walls. Rae's face was front and center, surrounded by glitter and hand-drawn hearts. She winced.
"You going to act surprised when they nominate you for Best Actress?" Lena teased.
"Please. If I could disappear for a week, I would."
"You could pull a 'Miley' and wear a wig. No one would know."
"Except I already have a wig collection," Rae muttered.
Lena raised a brow. "Not helping your case."
They turned the corner to English Lit. Rae stopped short when she noticed a group of girls watching her with a mix of awe and contempt.
"Do I even want to know?" Rae mumbled.
"Probably the same three who post edits of you just to say you're overrated," Lena whispered, grinning. "Don't worry. They'll get tired once someone else gets famous for breathing."
Rae forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
—
Across campus, Milo Reyes was smudging charcoal across canvas, headphones blasting lo-fi beats, when his phone buzzed.
1 new email: School-wide group project pairings
He groaned.
He didn't do well with "group things." Group projects. Group chats. Group photos. He liked quiet corners and people who didn't ask him why he didn't post selfies.
A second ping.
Partner: Rae Morgan. Subject: Modern Media and Influence.
Milo froze.
That couldn't be right. Rae Morgan? Movie star. High school royalty. The girl who sat at the back of English class surrounded by a flock of friends like she was born in spotlight lighting?
He blinked at the screen, half-expecting the universe to correct itself.
It didn't.
—
Rae nearly spit out her second coffee when she saw the email.
Partner: Milo Reyes.
She knew him. Kind of. Tall. Quiet. Messy dark hair. Always drawing. Always listening to music like the world was too loud.
He'd never once looked at her like she was special.
That alone made him interesting.
"Guess who's your new media partner?" Rae asked Lena during lunch.
"Don't tell me it's someone normal."
"Worse. Milo Reyes."
Lena froze mid-bite. "Art Room Milo?"
Rae nodded, smirking. "The one and only."
"What's the project?"
"We're supposed to explore how fame shapes public perception."
Lena grinned. "Well. You are basically a case study."
Rae rolled her eyes. "I just hope he doesn't hate me."
"Oh, he definitely does," Lena said cheerfully. "But that's what makes this fun."
—
Milo considered skipping last period. But skipping meant phone calls, and phone calls meant his mom worrying, and he wasn't up for that today.
So he showed up.
And Rae was already there.
Sitting in the back corner, spinning a pen between her fingers. Her hoodie was gone, and the sun hit her hair just right. For a second, she didn't look like a celebrity. Just a girl waiting on someone.
He sat beside her.
"You got the email?" she asked.
He nodded.
"I don't bite," she added.
"Didn't say you did."
They sat in silence for a moment, the noise of the classroom swirling around them.
"I'm not as complicated as people make me seem," Rae said, glancing at him. "I just… work a weird job."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
No makeup tricks. No press-perfect smile. Just Rae.
"I don't care about the job," Milo said.
Her eyes widened a little. "You don't?"
He shrugged. "I mean, it's cool. But I'm not going to treat you like a science exhibit."
She smiled, something soft and surprised. "That's a first."
—
After class, Rae walked ahead of him down the hallway.
"Hey, Milo?"
He stopped.
"You want to meet after school to start the project?"
He hesitated. "Where?"
"Not Starbucks. Not the library. And definitely not my house. Too many cameras."
He tilted his head. "You free around six?"
She nodded.
"There's this old record shop downtown. The owner lets me sketch there sometimes. It's quiet. And weird. You'd probably hate it."
Rae grinned. "Sounds perfect."
—
At 6:04, Rae stepped into Vinyl Sunlight, the smell of old records and incense hitting her like nostalgia she hadn't earned.
Milo was there, headphones around his neck, sketchbook open. A drawing of a girl with fire in her eyes filled the page.
"Is that me?" she asked, surprised.
He looked at the drawing, then at her. "Maybe."
She smiled. "Do you always draw people?"
"Only the ones I can't figure out."
"So… what's the verdict?"
He met her gaze. "Still working on it."
Rae sat beside him and pulled out her notebook. "Then let's get started."
They didn't speak for a few minutes. The silence wasn't awkward—it was calm. Rae almost forgot about the cameras, the deadlines, the tabloids that never seemed to leave her alone. Sitting beside Milo, she felt... ordinary. And that was rare. Precious.
He handed her a vinyl. "You ever listen to this?"
Rae raised a brow. "Fleetwood Mac? Only every day of my life."
He cracked a smile. "Okay. Respect."
They shared a quiet laugh, and just like that, the ice melted a little more.
No lights. No cameras.
Just Rae Morgan and Milo Reyes.
And a story neither of them realized was already beginning to write itself.