Blame It On The Stars

By Elle Bennett

When Marie Samuels was five years old, she made a wish on a star. Ever since then, all her best friends leave her the moment she gets too close to them. At twenty years old, her best friend has moved across the country, and she's once again broken hearted. Clearly

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Bennett
• Release date: Jun 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869384829

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I NEED EVERY googly eye you have in the store.

I look up at the person in front of me and let out a laugh before I realize - he’s definitely serious. My years in retail have taught me that the people asking for weird-ass shit are rarely joking. Caught me off guard for a moment, though.

Sure, aisle two. To your left.

Thanks!

I watch the guy run for the aisle with a basket in hand, and when he returns he has the entire thing full of googly eyes. I have a feeling if I walk back there, it’ll be ransacked. If someone comes in later looking for googly eyes, they’ll be out of luck.

"Wow, that is indeed every googly eye we have in the store," I say with a laugh.

I never joke about googly eye emergencies, he says.

I wonder how many of those he’s had in his lifetime. Is this the first? Does he hoard googly eyes? I must know more.

When I look up from scanning the packages of googly eyes at the register, I can’t help but stare at him. I hadn’t really gotten a good look at him when he first ran into the store, mostly noticing that he looked a bit haggard and sweaty. Now he seems calmer, though there’s still a bead of sweat making its way down his face. Understandable. It’s not exactly a cool day outside.

He’s taller than me by a few inches, looks like he has some East Asian heritage, and dark hair tousled just so - like he’s recently run his fingers through it. I assume he’s around my age, maybe a little older.

Should I be checking out this customer while I’m literally checking him out? Eh, maybe not. But I can’t help but admire particularly beautiful people when they come in. And, well, this guy is particularly beautiful. It’s not like I’m actually going to hit on him. Not while I’m at work. But I can enjoy the view.

So, what exactly is a googly eye emergency, anyways? I ask as I continue to scan the packages.

No idea, honestly. But this is the third store in the area I’ve come into looking for them, and believe it or not, everywhere else is sold out. Or they’re almost sold out. I got what I could before I came here, but man. You guys definitely have the best selection so far.

Yes, we here at J&M Crafts are very proud of our googly eye selection. It’s how we advertise, in fact. ‘Come for the googly eyes, stay for the rest of the crafting shit.’ That’s the official slogan.

He nods.

That makes sense, it’s a perfect slogan for this place, he says. But, yeah. My boss sent me out looking for googly eyes. He said we need thousands of them, and we need them in the next hour to stay on schedule. Hopefully this will do it.

Hopefully, I say. Do you work for like, a puppeteer or something? Wait, no. That doesn’t make sense. Puppets don’t use googly eyes, do they?

He chuckles as I hit the total button on the register and tell him his total. As he taps a card against the reader, he says, I’m an intern on a movie set, actually. The assistant director is my boss, he’s the one who told me to the get the eyes. I’ve learned it’s best to not ask too many questions when you’re asked to do something as an intern. You just do it, and you do it as fast as you can.

Ah, an intern. The highest on the food chain. Makes sense that you’re the one running around for googly eyes.

I hand him his bags and receipt and he nods a thank you to me.

I’ll be honest, I’d love to never hear the words ‘googly eyes’ again, he says with a smile. And oh. He just went from particularly beautiful to devastatingly gorgeous. That smile is blinding.

Well, if you ever need more googly eyes - oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that again. But, um. If you need more, feel free to give me a call. I’ll keep some set aside just for you, I say with a smile.

Thanks, Marie, he says after glancing at my name tag.

Hey, that’s not fair. You don’t have a name tag. How am I supposed to know your name without asking? I say.

He holds up a badge at the end of a lanyard I didn’t notice hanging from his neck. I suppose I was too distracted by his face to see it.

I do, actually, he says.

I look at it for a moment. It says his name is Alexander Kim and that he’s indeed an intern. There’s also a very unflattering picture of him with his eyes half-closed, his mouth clearly in the middle of speaking, rather than a smile. Delightful. It’s a perfect work badge. Wouldn’t change a thing.

"Nice to meet you, Alexander. Stop by any time for more… Things. We get shipments in on Wednesday, so we’ll be stocked back up on these by next week for sure."

Probably would be too late for the shooting schedule, but I appreciate it. And you can call me Alex.

He turns around to walk out with bags full of googly eyes, then pauses and turns on his heel. Now that I’m paying attention to more than just his face, I see that he’s wearing a pair of Converse, the classic black and white style. I have a similar pair back home in my closet, though mine have flower doodles on the toes that Sydney did one bored afternoon a few months back. Sure, it’s just a pair of shoes, and common ones at that, but for some reason it makes me smile that we share something in common.

Sorry, I know you’re at work and this is probably totally out of line - but are you busy tonight? he asks.

I freeze. Is he asking me out? Shit, I wasn’t expecting that. I’m not really in a place to go out with anyone right now, considering the Sydney of it all (turns out that if you’re maybe a little in love with your best friend and they ditch you for a college across the country, your heart breaks a bit). It’s not that I’m wholly opposed to the idea of hooking up with anyone. But I know I’m not in the right headspace to start up a relationship. No matter how cute and funny the person might be.

Sorry, Alex Kim. The friend zone is the only place I have room for anyone right now. And even that zone is a bit questionable for me, honestly.

I don’t exactly have a great track record with friends.

Long story. Don’t worry about it.

Also, this guy is a total stranger. For all I know, the intern thing is a cover story and he actually printed out that name tag at home. Maybe the googly eyes are his calling card. Maybe he’s a serial killer and he’s fingered me as his next victim, and I’ll be found in the woods with my eyes torn out and googly eyes placed over the empty sockets.

I eye the security camera tucked into the ceiling above the register.

I’m sorry, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, I say.

"Shit, I’m sorry. You’re right, that was inappropriate. You’re at work. I should be at work. I’ll just… Go."

He starts to turn towards the exit again, then spins back around to face me.

I wasn’t looking to like, hook up or something, he says, looking sheepish. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck. In case that’s why you’re hesitant. I honestly was asking to see if you wanted to hang out like, as friends? Potential friends? You seem cool and I think maybe we could get along, though I know we literally just met, I just. Fuck, I’m making this worse, aren’t I? he lets out a chuckle. It sounds ridiculous, since we literally have known each other all of five minutes, and now I’m rambling like an idiot and you’re probably thinking I’m a creep. But like, maybe you’d be down for just meeting up for a drink? …Wait, shit. Are you even old enough to drink? Please don’t tell me I just asked a teenager to hang out with me. You’re not sixteen and still in high school, right? You don’t look that young, but. …Ah, shit. I’m going to go. I’m sorry.

I’m holding back laughter the entire time he’s talking, waiting for him to take a breath and calm down for a moment so I can say something else. His anxiety about it all is kind of endearing. Probably not a serial killer. He starts to walk back to the exit again, but I finally break and laugh and he turns back yet again to look at me with a question in his eyes.

Honestly, I think he’s right - I think we could get along for longer than just this one conversation. Maybe it’s his energy, maybe it’s the fact that he’s nice to look at. I don’t know. All I know is that I think it might be fun to hang out with him, even if it’s just for one night.

You’re not a creep, I say. Are you weird? Sure, yeah. But I’m not getting creep vibes here. And I’m twenty. So I can’t go for an alcoholic drink legally just yet, but I do love the Beans and Brews across the street. We could meet up after my shift. If you can, I mean. I don’t know what your hours are as an intern. I assume movie set hours are weird.

We figure out a time that works for the both of us, and he smiles and nods.

That sounds great. I’ll see you then.

He gives me a wave before leaving the store, and I watch from the window next to the register as he gets into a car. As he drives away, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve just gotten myself into.

THE REST OF my shift at work goes by quickly, mostly just good Mormon housewives buying their scrapbooking supplies. I live in the suburbs of Salt Lake City, so I’d say that’s pretty much ninety percent of our customer base here. It’s not often that I get someone like Alex walking into the store.

The moment I clock out, I take off my J&M Crafts vest and shove it into my tiny work locker. I walk across the street to the coffee shop to meet up with Alex. They close at nine, so if we don’t end up hitting it off, at least we won’t have too long before they kick us out. And if we do hit it off, then I’m sure we’ll find something else to do after closing time.

When I walk in, he’s already sitting at a table near the front, an iced coffee in his hand. He sees me and smiles.

Hey, I say after walking up to him. Fancy seeing you here.

What a weird coincidence. It’s almost like we planned it, he says.

I’m gonna, I motion to the barista behind the counter, get something to drink. I’ll see you in a bit.

I walk up to the counter and place my order, then sit back down with my iced chai latte a few minutes later. I’m not a coffee gal, and I usually have a hard time justifying buying hot water and a tea bag from somewhere when I have a cupboard of tea varieties at home. Thankfully Beans & Brews has a killer chai latte that is always worth it.

So, tell me your life story, I say casually as I sit down and take a sip of my drink.

Oh, sure, no problem. First, I was born, he says.

Exciting! I never did that myself.

No?

I shake my head.

"Nah, I just kind of appeared into the world one day. My mom says she gave birth to me, but I don’t know. I don’t remember it, if she did, I say. If I can’t remember it, who’s to say it happened? Am I just supposed to trust other people’s memories? They’re so unreliable."

He smirks.

Good point. Now I’m not sure if I was born either. Might have to change that part of my life story. Man, blowing my mind here, Marie.

I shrug and take a long sip of my drink.

It’s what I do, I say.

Sell a ridiculous amount of googly eyes to desperate interns and blow people’s minds. That’s your M.O.

Wait a second. I thought you didn’t want to hear those words again, I say.

Eh, I’m over it, he says with a wave of his hand.

So quickly, too. Did you ever figure out what they were for?

His eyes light up and he pulls out his phone to show me a picture of a door to a house completely covered in googly eyes.

This, he says simply, as if there’s no further explanation needed.

Now I just have more questions, I say.

He bites his lip and puts his phone back in his pocket.

Technically, I can’t tell you more. Shouldn’t have even shown you that. I’m under a contract to keep all set secrets. Don’t tell anyone. I don’t feel like being sued today.

Damn. How about tomorrow?

Not sure yet, you’ll have to ask me then.

I’ll do that. What’s this movie you’re making, anyway? I ask.

"Well, I mean, I’m not the one making it," he says.

Come on, man. You know what I mean. You’re a part of the crew. It’s your movie too.

He laughs and holds up his hands in surrender.

Alright, fine. It’s an indie horror movie. Probably won’t go into any theaters outside of some film festivals, maybe a few select theaters that pull the kind of crowd that enjoys that stuff. It’s not the kind of movie I’m interested in making, personally. Horror isn’t exactly my genre of choice. My expertise is more like, sci-fi with comedy and heart. Though I do like a good drama or horror when it has some comedic aspects. But not slapstick comedy. Though I do enjoy slapstick when it feels right. My tastes are vast but also very precise. Does that make sense?

I honestly have no idea, but I shrug and say, Sure, why not?

He takes another sip of his coffee and lets out a small sigh.

"Okay, so I’m not super great at talking about what I like in a movie. I’m about to go into my senior year as a film major, I should be a pro at talking about it by now. But it’s still something I need to work on. Trust me, I know it’s a problem. But, like. I don’t know. I like character driven stories. Things that make me feel. Give me a good character arc with some well-timed quips and I’m in."

So, I take it the movie you’re working on isn’t that? I ask.

Not really, he says. "It’s more on the pretentious side of horror. The kind of horror I like leans more into camp or satire. Killer Klowns, Scream, Cabin in the Woods, Dale and Tucker. That kind of thing."

I get that. Camp is great.

Exactly, it’s great. But this movie? Nope. Not in that realm.

Then why are you working on it, if it’s not your thing? Don’t people usually try to intern on movies they’re actually into? Or is that not possible?

"I mean, getting an internship like this is difficult, so… Yeah, it’s normal to be working on something that isn’t necessarily something you’d make. But. Please don’t judge me when I tell you how I got the job."

I’m intrigued. I lean forward, my hands on my chin.

I absolutely will, I say with a straight face, though I’m zero percent serious. Who am I to judge? I know nothing about the film industry.

He lets out a groan.

Okay, so both my parents are in the film business - he starts to say, but stops when he sees the smirk I’m having a hard time hiding. Stop it.

No, no. It’s cool. You’re a nepo baby. I get it.

See, now I really do think you’re judging.

"And I did say I’d judge, so you can’t possibly be surprised by that," I say with a laugh. He laughs with me, and shakes his head before taking another sip of his drink.

"So, anyway. Yes, nepotism technically got me the job. My dad mostly works in horror, and when I was looking for an internship for the summer, he hooked me up with a friend of his for their movie. I don’t want to use nepotism to break into the film business, but it seems silly to not use it at least a little when I was literally born with connections. So yeah, I took the internship and drove out to Salt Lake for the summer to work on a movie that I have no desire to ever see."

I think about what he’s said for a few seconds before it sinks in that he’s not from here. I think I vaguely recall him mentioning something about not being from around here before, but it didn’t really hit me until just now.

Where do you live? I ask. "I mean, when you’re not here. Where’s home?"

Los Angeles, he says. I know, I know. I’m a UCLA film bro trying to make it in the movie business. I’m a cliché.

Eh, clichés wouldn’t exist if they weren’t a little true sometimes, I say, thinking about the fact that I’m absolutely not sitting in my chair in a proper position, but with one foot up under my thigh. I am indeed a bisexual cliché at times.

I try to be lighthearted about his home being in L.A, but inside I’m screaming. This is going to be yet another short lived friendship for me. When he said he was only in town for a little while when we met earlier, I assumed he meant in town, like he maybe lived a couple hours away. I wasn’t expecting it to be almost a thousand miles away.

And, well. That sucks.

How much longer do you have the internship for? I ask.

Just a couple more days. I have to be at school next week, so even if I wanted to stay longer, I couldn’t.

So you basically wanted a friend for your last few days in town and thought I’d do the trick? I ask.

Well, if I’d met you at the beginning of the summer, it would’ve been longer than a few days. But if that’s all we get, then so be it.

So be it, I agree.

CHAPTER TWO

WE TRADE PHONE numbers before Beans & Brews closes up for the night, and I figure I should probably head home as we walk out and they lock the door behind us. I have a few jewelry orders I need to fulfill for my online shop, but at the same time… I don’t want the night to end. I really enjoy spending time with this guy. And considering my best friend lives in Florida now, I don’t exactly get in-person friendship all that often these days. It’s a nice change of pace.

I’m hemming and hawing as we walk towards his car, trying to figure out what I can say to keep the night going without making it sound like I’m making a move on him. Then he does it for me.

Normally I wouldn’t get into a stranger’s car when literally no one knows where I am or where I’m going, and it’s not like my parents would report me missing tomorrow morning if I didn’t come home tonight. But I have a good feeling about Alex.

Maybe driving off to a second location with him isn’t be a good plan - hell, it might be a downright dumb plan. Some middle-aged white ladies could be talking about me on a true crime podcast this time next year, after my body’s found floating in the Jordan River. It’ll go viral, since we all know blonde white girls get all the attention in those kind of situations. But, whatever. I’m going to listen to my instincts on this one and go with him.

Fingers crossed that trusting my gut isn’t a bad idea.

We drive a few miles to a park that’s most certainly closed, since the sun set about an hour ago. I doubt we’ll get in much trouble if we’re caught, though. Maybe a slap on the wrist.

After we get out of his car, he hops onto the hood, his feet dangling above the ground. He pats the spot next to him and I sit