Starstruck. Lauren Conrad

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Starstruck - Lauren  Conrad

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      To Farrin Jacobs, for working unbelievably hard and making the writing process so fun.

      Thank you for not just being an amazing editor but a wonderful friend.

      CONTENTS

       TITLE PAGE

      DEDICATION

       7 - KNOW YOUR LINE

       8 - WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT LOVE?

       9 - MAKE IT RIGHT

       10 - ON-SCREEN AND OFF

       11 - QUIET TIME

       12 - MYSTERIOUS CONTRADICTIONS

       13 - FAME IS FAME

       14 - IN A PARTY MOOD

       15 - A MUCH BETTER PLACE

       16 - A BAND-AID ON A BULLET WOUND

       17 - PLAYING TO THE CAMERAS

       18 - GOING ROGUE

       19 - A NEW LEAF

       20 - LET THE HATERS HATE

       21 - YOU KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT

       22 - KEEP ME STANDING

       23 - PICKING A WINNER

       24 - GO IT ALONE

       25 - SOMEWHERE BETTER

       26 - WHAT I WISHED FOR

       27 - TALKING POINTS

       28 - SO MANY SECRETS

       29 - A SATISFYING AMOUNT OF COMMOTION

       30 - THE STARS CAME OUT

       ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      BOOKS BY LAUREN CONRAD

       COPYRIGHT

      ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

      Dear Madison,

      You probably don’t remember it, but a few months ago I wrote you a letter. I told you that I was your biggest fan. And I really was! My screen saver was a picture of you from the Fame Game premiere. My ringtone was the theme from Madison’s Makeovers. I loved you.

      Well, I’m writing now to tell you that I don’t love you anymore. At all. Everything I said in that letter—about how you were true to yourself, how you worked so hard for what you got—I take it all back. Because everything that you said was a lie.

      You had it all, Madison. Money, looks, fame. But I guess that wasn’t enough. Stealing is wrong. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?

      Sincerely disappointed,

      Becca B.

      PS: I unfollowed you on Twitter.

      Madison Parker stood in the echoing marble foyer of the Beverly Hills Courthouse, her back pressed against the wall and her purse clutched tightly in her freshly manicured fingers. People in ill-fitting suits and outdated shoes hurried past without a second glance at Madison’s uncharacteristically pale face. (Seriously, was there a law against natural fabrics and current-season pumps around here?)

      Madison’s own outfit was carefully thought out. She’d taken a page from Lindsay’s book (after all, who had more experience when it came to courtroom couture?) and opted for white, although Madison wore a bra with her ensemble. Her dress hit right below the knee, and she accessorized with a modest heel and pearls. She had a quilted Chanel that would have looked perfect, but instead she’d chosen a simple black bag. “No labels,” her lawyer had instructed her. She’d been charged with theft, and flaunting an expensive wardrobe wasn’t going to help her case.

      She sighed. For the last ten minutes she’d been waiting for Andy Marcus, Esq., to emerge from wherever he’d disappeared to in the moments after her hearing. He was probably off congratulating himself, as if it had been his performance that had convinced the judge not to give Madison jail time for grand theft. Madison knew the truth, of course: When she took the stand, with her big blue eyes full of tears and her voice full of remorse, she saw the judge soften. In seconds, she had him wrapped around her finger. (She often had

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