Star f@#$#* Pt2: She’s Gotta Plan… Kinda

Long before Ava Clark was slinging weenies in a novelty hotdog uniform that looked like a flight attendant got lost at a strip club, she was a somebody in San Jose. At least in her head.

Ava had always been a little... extra. She wasn’t born; she debuted. Her baby photos already gave side-eye. By the time she hit middle school, she had perfected the art of talking like she was in a confessional on The Real World. She once told her English teacher she was “emotionally allergic to mediocrity.” He gave her detention and a slow clap.

Her mother, a no-nonsense woman who believed in hard work and off-brand cereal, didn’t understand Ava’s obsession with fame. Or wigs. Or walking in heels around the living room at midnight doing fake Oscar speeches. Ava’s sisters thought she was “weird,” but Ava preferred the term “cinematic.”

In high school, she was the kind of girl who could start a rumor and end it in the same breath. She was a natural flirt, a decent student, and a certified chaos agent. She once got suspended for organizing a student walkout... that only she attended. She called it “performance protest.” The school board called it “truancy.”

College? She tried. She really did. Community college had free Wi-Fi and vending machines—what more could a girl want? But Ava couldn’t concentrate. She kept daydreaming during lectures about catching the eye of a director at Trader Joe’s. When her acting teacher told her to “find the truth of the character,” she said, “Babe, I am the character.”

One month later, she dropped out with a dramatic Facebook status:

Sometimes a butterfly just needs to fly. ✌️🦋

Her mom wasn’t thrilled. But Ava, ever the optimist-slash-delusional visionary, had a plan: move to L.A., become famous, and thank the haters in her first Variety cover. (You know who you are, Ms. Jennings.)

She secured a roommate in downtown L.A. through her cousin, packed her favorite boots (the ones with the fake red soles), and boarded a Greyhound bus like it was a spaceship to another planet. She brought exactly $210, a rolling suitcase that squeaked like it had asthma, and zero backup plans.

On the bus, she imagined what her E! True Hollywood Story would look like. She even started narrating it in her head:

"Born in a no-name city, Ava Clark knew from a young age she was meant for more. And by ‘more,’ she meant Instagram followers and full-glam Tuesdays."

She arrived in Los Angeles like a comet: broke, beautiful, and buzzing with delusion. She didn’t know a single casting agent, had no resume, and had never seen a ring light up close. But she had energy. Big energy. Misguided, sparkly, slightly dangerous energy.

And honestly? That was half the battle.