Holly Hearts Hollywood (19 page)

I wasn’t sure if I should even continue being friends with Serena after what her dad did to me, but it wasn’t her fault. It’s just another item on the long list of things I have to deal with on my own.

THINGS TO DO:

1.
  Clean bathroom; Ivy has already managed to smear lipstick on the counter. Almost positive she was using bathroom counter to practice kissing.

2.
  Finish putting away collections so Serena can see them.

3.
  Buy candy, chips, pop, and whatever else you’re supposed to eat at a sleepover.

4.
  Call Jennifer to make sure I get my homework before we leave for New York.

Later, 10:30 pm—Home

Serena is here, and we’re having our first sleepover! I haven’t had one in a long time. Meredith, Amanda, and I used to have them all the time, especially when we were younger. But then they fell in love with each other, and it got awkward.

Serena is in the bathroom now, doing her nighttime beauty regimen, which is apparently quite extensive. I didn’t know there were so many things to do to your skin before you went to bed. I was so excited to show her my room, which finally has paint on the walls and shelves installed for my collections. Mom even found this super-cool cabinet with glass doors for my geode collection. Serena seemed impressed.

This has been fun. Whenever we’ve hung out in the past, we’ve been at parties or gone shopping. We’ve never had that chance to sit and…
talk
.

“So tell me about your mom,” I asked Serena. “I mean, I know your parents are divorced, but does she not live in town?”

Serena rolled her lips.

“No, my mom’s an idiot.”

“Oh. I’m sorry?”

Serena shrugged and leaned over her knees as she painted her toenails. “You don’t have to apologize. It is pretty simple. My dad wasn’t a very good husband. She left. She lives in Bali in one of those houses that sits above the water on stilts with her ‘life partner’ Marcellus.”

“Well, what does your mom do for a living?”

Serena rolled her eyes.

“She considers herself an ‘artist’ even though she doesn’t actually create anything.”

Here comes Serena. I guess she’s done with all her face creams, or whatever it is she uses to make her skin look so smooth and creamy. Some people have all the luck. My face looks like something you’d order from Pizza Hut.

THINGS FOUND:

1.
Well, Serena brought me this Princess Leia Pez dispenser, so I guess I didn’t technically
find
it, but you get the point.

March 8
^th
, 3:45am—Home

I was dead asleep, dreaming about horses that would only drink Vitamin Water or else their hooves turned into whipped cream, when loud knocking on my front door woke me up. I sat upright in my sleeping bag. I was too tired to unzip the bag, so I slithered out of it like a snake shedding its skin. I tripped over Serena’s legs and stubbed my toe against a side table. Swallowing swear words, I threw the front door open without even checking to make sure it wasn’t a serial killer.

“Hi,” Lacey said, her lower lip trembling. She looked terrible; something I never thought was possible. Her cheeks were stained with several shades of makeup, her hair was a rat’s nest, and she was wearing faded, ratty sweatpants. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” she asked, barely able to get the words out around her tears.

“No,” I mumbled, still half-asleep. “I mean, I was asleep, but it’s fine. Come on in.”

I stepped aside, and Lacey, wearing old slippers, shuffled in. She didn’t even notice the sleeping lump that was Serena; she went right on past her and collapsed into the kitchen. The kitchen seemed to be a strange place for this kind of conversation. We haven’t been able to redecorate yet, and the walls were still covered with rooster wallpaper. When we moved in, one of the drawers was filled with cow magnets.

“I need to tell you something,” she said.

My heart did a back flip. I was certain she was going to tell me she was pregnant or that she’d been cooking and dealing meth. I sat down at the table and glanced over at Serena who was still dead asleep.

“Okay,” I answered.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while,” Lacey said quietly. “But I wasn’t sure if I could trust you; I was waiting for the right time. But everyone will find out in a few hours anyway, so I figured now’s as good a time as any.”

It definitely sounded suspicious. I was on pins and needles.

“My name isn’t Lacey Bennett,” she breathed. “It’s Katie McDonald. And I’m not from Houston. I’m from a small Texas town called Cornflower Flats.”

I was floored. I was torn between being excited about being a part of a plot twist and being angry that she hadn’t told me earlier.

“That’s not so bad,” I ventured, trying to be optimistic but completely unsure of what to say.

She held her hand up; it was shaking. “That’s not all. My dad worked on an oilrig not far from town. He drank a lot, and it made him mean.” She trailed off, tears pooling in her eyes. She took a deep breath and continued. “My mom and I ran away when I was eight years old. We changed our names and started over. I was worried about the record deal for a while because I never wanted to see him again. But it’s been almost nine years, and my name is different; I thought I was safe.”

She looked up at me, her eyes shining like glass. “I was wrong. My publicist called me the other night to let me know the story is about to break. Someone must’ve recognized me and told my dad. He’s gone to the press with some sob story about how my mom took me away from him because she was in love with another man, which isn’t true at all;
he
was the reason we left. And I don’t know what to do,” she wailed. “Sabrina and Mom think I should deny it and say he’s some lunatic.”

She looked at me like I knew all of the answers, and I felt my throat go dry as the realization settled in. Mr. Salazar told me he’d make life difficult for my friends and me. Could he have organized this? Is this all my fault?

What was I supposed to tell Lacey? I’d never gone through anything like this before, and the last thing I wanted to do was give her bad advice. I was overwhelmed with guilt.

“Don’t lie,” I said instinctively. “You’re his daughter. With only a little digging, it’d be easy to prove, and then you’ll be the one who looks bad.”

Lacey nodded enthusiastically. Strands of her greasy hair fell into her face, and she pushed them aside.

“You need to tell everyone the truth about your dad,” I told her, sudden confidence overwhelming me. I knew if Lacey got the upper hand, Mr. Salazar wouldn’t hurt her. He’d lose.

Lacey’s face paled. She looked like she was going to throw up.

“No, I can’t. What will people think?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong; you were abused!”

Lacey shook her head.

“They’ll think I’m some damaged white-trash girl, and they’d be right. I don’t want to be that anymore.”

“You don’t have to be! That doesn’t define you. All of these years later, you’re still afraid of him. You’re letting him win!”

“Holly?” Serena mumbled and propped herself up on her elbow. “What’s going on?”

Lacey’s jaw slackened.

“I gotta go,” she said quickly and stood up. Lacey looked to the floor with a surprising lack of confidence and ran out the front door. Serena looked at me, remnants of her eyeliner smeared under her eyes like a raccoon and her dreadlocks stuck up like she’d been electrocuted.

“What was Lacey doing here—” she glanced at the clock on the cable box—“at three-thirty in the morning?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. It wasn’t my secret to tell.

I really hope Lacey doesn’t lie about her dad, even though I know it’s hard for her to face her demons. I can’t even think about this clearly at this time of night. I wanted to ask Lacey about the tour she’s neglected to tell me about, but it didn’t seem like the right time.

March 8
^th
, 9:45am—Home

Serena’s bare foot shoving against my side was my alarm clock. Let’s just say, she doesn’t like to wear socks with her closed-toed shoes. It was a smelly wakeup call. My eyes felt like they were full of sand, no thanks to Lacey’s late-night visit.

“Holly! Wake up, you have to see what’s on the news,” Serena said.

I wriggled out of my sleeping bag and nearly fell onto my face. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a plate of syrup-covered pancakes. A large forkful of pancake was halfway to her mouth, and a dollop of syrup dripped off her fork and onto her shirt.

“Lacey’s on the real news, not
Entertainment Tonight
,” she said dryly. She shoved the bite of pancake into her mouth. “Also, your mom makes the best pancakes,” she said around the food,

I finished rubbing my eyes in time to see the words “
Lacey Bennett’s father tells all!
” scroll across the screen while the morning-show hosts interviewed a man with a sizable beer gut stuffed inside a light-blue dress shirt.

“Katie was a very sweet girl,” he said with a particularly strong Texas accent. “But I never thought her mom would take her away from me. Katie never once tried to reach out to me, her loving father.” The guy started to
cry
, and the hosts handed him a tissue.

“Can you believe it?” Serena said. “I knew ‘Lacey’ couldn’t be someone’s
real
name.” She looked at me. “Is this why she was here in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice scratchy from sleep. “She wasn’t sure how to respond.”

“She must still be deciding.” Serena sucked syrup off of her fork. “All they’ve been talking about is how Lacey Bennett has ‘yet to comment.’”

“I’ll text her and see how she’s doing.” I reached across the floor and grabbed my phone from its charger. There were seven texts from Grayson but nothing from Lacey.

GRAYSON:
Have you seen the news?

GRAYSON:
Has Lacey told you about this?

GRAYSON:
She’s not answering my calls!

GRAYSON:
Did you know about this? How could she tell you and not me?

GRAYSON:
This guy is a jerk. I want to punch him in the beer gut.

GRAYSON:
He’s lying, right? I don’t want to call my girlfriend by a new name. It took me a week to learn her current one.

GRAYSON:
Did you watch SNL last night?

Is this an attempt to try to be my friend? I don’t know what to do with these people anymore.

I’m tapping out for the day. If someone calls, I’m not in.

Later, 10:45am—Home

I hope Mr. Salazar isn’t tapping into my phone calls and monitoring my texts. I’d hate for him to leave a bag of flaming dog crap on my front porch because Grayson texted me about
Saturday Night Live
.

Later, 1:00pm—Home

How could Lacey not have called yet? I wouldn’t have taken her call anyway, because of my mini-vacation, but you can’t storm into my sleepover, pour your heart out, and then leave me hanging! I’ve been glued to the TV hoping to see Lacey at some point giving some magnificent speech that moves people to tears and puts her dirt-bag dad in his place.

On top of that, Keller has decided to stop taking my calls. I don’t even know what I did wrong. I’ve gotten a million phone calls today—from Amanda, Meredith, my mom, Ivy, and even my grandma—but not a single one from the two people I really want to talk to.

Life is unfair.

Later, 4:30pm—Home

I was on the couch, scrolling through Tumblr while watching television, when the doorbell rang. My hair was unwashed, I didn’t bother with mascara, or any kind of makeup for that matter, and I was in my Grinch pajama pants. But it’s my day off! I’m supposed to do what I want. I don’t know why I was surprised to find Grayson on the other side of the door, guitars in hand. I probably should start wearing makeup and dressing fancy all the time, even to bed, just in case my famous friends want to take a private jet to Cancun or have a rave in my living room.

“I couldn’t sit at home alone anymore,” he said sheepishly.
Sheepishly!
Grayson Frost is many things, but he has never been sheepish. It took me off-guard.

“Um, sorry, I’m not ready for the day,” I said awkwardly, gesturing to my pajama pants.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re such good friends, right?” He smiled widely. I guess it’s kind of sweet that he’s calling me his friend and not suddenly kissing me or anything. But still, it’s weird. He held the guitars aloft. “Come on, you’ve only had one lesson. If you don’t keep at it, you’ll forget everything I’ve taught you.”

I stepped aside to let him in. “I already have.”

As I closed the door, I looked from side to side to make sure there wasn’t a suspicious, unfamiliar vehicle monitoring my every move. Mr. Salazar seems more and more like the kind of guy who has mob connections everyday.

Grayson looked at the sleeping bags and piles of maple-syrup-crusted plates I hadn’t bothered to remove.

“Camping trip?” he asked.

“Sleepover with Serena. Sorry about the mess.”

“No pillow fight? I’m disappointed.” He propped the guitars up against a wall and picked up the stack of plates.

“Oh no, don’t bother with those,” I said.