Holly Hearts Hollywood (3 page)

Later, 1:45pm—Pink Palm Motel

Besides, what could they possibly want with
my
voice? I mean, seriously. Have they lost their minds?

Later, 1:55pm—Pink Palm Motel

Or maybe this could work. It could be a golden opportunity. I wouldn’t have to do televised interviews or present any awards. I would just sing the song and bada-bing-bada-boom! I’m doing it.

Later, 2:00pm—Pink Palm Motel

I am such a fraud.

Later, 2:05pm—Pink Palm Motel

Get over it, Holly. Sign the damn thing.

February 4
^th
, 11:30am—Pink Palm Motel

Turns out contracts have a lot of clauses in them. I’ve tried to read through the paperwork Mr. Salazar gave us, but it makes my eyes cross. Two parts stand out most.

1.
I’m not allowed to sing in front of anyone who isn’t Studio-approved, even if I think I’m alone.

2.
Obviously I’m not allowed to tell anyone about dubbing this girl’s voice. Does it count if I tell a diary? Hmm, I should find a better hiding place for this thing.

I think those sound totally reasonable. Of course the record company doesn’t want anyone to find out. This contract and these rules are them trying to cover their own hides so the secret doesn’t get out.

There’s a weird noise coming from the bathroom…It sounds like muffled screams.

Later, 1:30pm—Pink Palm Motel

It was my sister who was doing the screaming in the bathroom. My sister who’s currently hundreds of miles away in Iowa. Apparently my mom called Ivy to tell her about the contract and then said she was flying her out to LA on the next available flight. And that’s when Ivy started to scream.

Ivy is convinced that if she comes out to LA, she’ll land a big role modeling, singing, or acting fifteen minutes after her arrival. Never mind the fact that she’s fifteen, can’t sing a note, and has this horrible habit of giggling every time she’s in a skit or play.

So, I was in the bathroom with my mother, trying to calm Ivy down on the phone, when my own cellphone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize, and I was surprised when I heard Mr. Salazar’s voice through the other end.

“Ms. Hart. Not a bad time I hope?”

“No, not at all. What’s going on?”

Mom glanced at me from the doorway of the bathroom, her green eyes wide with wonder. I must’ve looked terrified with my phone clutched to my ear.

“Well, I wanted to offer you something extra to go along with your contract. How would you like a paid internship with Shell Shocked? It’d look
great
on a college application.”

I couldn’t be bothered to tell him I’d already applied to college because I was
FLOORED.
They were already going to pay me tons of money to sing for them, and now they wanted me to do this too? They must’ve thought I wasn’t going to sign the contract and obviously wanted to sweeten the pot. Either way, I’m so glad they did.

“That sounds great, Mr. Salazar, thank you.”

“Excellent. Can we see you here tomorrow at ten to sign the papers?”

My stomach fell. “What? I need to come in there?”

“The contract has to be signed with witnesses, Holly.”

I thought I could scribble my name on the dotted line and send the contract over via fax, snail mail, or carrier pigeon. After I hung up with Mr. Salazar, I felt awful. I couldn’t help but panic—was I really making the right choice? If I signed this paper, my whole family would have to move, and I’d have to
lie
to everyone about what I’m doing in LA. Even worse, they all thought I was going to get a recording deal, but I’ll have to tell them about some internship instead. I’ll look like an idiot.

As if I wished the awkward moment into existence, my phone rang seconds into my internal panicking. Squeals greeted me when I answered. It was Meredith and Amanda. I really don’t like talking to both of them on the phone at once. It’s a lot like listening to a flock of birds squabble over a sandwich crust.

“
HOLLY!
” they shrieked.

I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Hey, guys. How’re you doing?”

“What do you mean, ‘how’re we doing?’” Amanda asked. “Yeah, we aren’t the ones in California; who cares how we’re doing? We have to deal with the same stuff we usually do; that’s nothing new,” she said seriously.

“Well,” I said. “
I
care how you’re doing! How’s everything? Did Rachel Pritchard get asked to the Valentine’s Day Dance?” Rachel Pritchard’s annual dance-date-meltdown is always the highlight of the winter semester.

Someone groaned on the other end, but I couldn’t tell who it was. “Don’t even get me started on the dance,” Amanda said sadly.

“What?” I said dumbly. “What happened?”

“In order to prevent Amanda and me from going together, the school made a new rule that if you want to go the dance, you have to have an
opposite gender
date.”

“You’re kidding! What about the poor kids who don’t have a date but still want to go?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Amanda said loudly. “I’ve already called the local news stations. I’m going to have this story on
Anderson Cooper 360
by tomorrow.”

Amanda is the girl who managed to get over a thousand petition signatures protesting the gender segregation of the Sex Ed class at school. When the school said they separated the boys and girls so no one would be embarrassed, Amanda gave a speech about how the sexist mindset in our culture tells us that puberty is shameful when it should be celebrated, instead. If she could manage that when she was fourteen, I think she can handle the Valentine’s Day Dance.

“Tell us about California!” Meredith said, obviously trying to change the subject before Amanda gave a speech.

I launched into a detailed description of the bit of California that I’d glimpsed so far. I’m definitely not an expert, considering I’ve only been here for a day, but it felt nice to tell my friends about something new I’m experiencing, since none of them have ever gone anywhere or done anything interesting.

“So what did the record company say? Are you getting a contract?” Meredith asked.

I sighed. I could picture them huddling over Meredith’s phone in my mind. Meredith’s dark, curly hair was probably getting in Amanda’s eyes and mouth like it usually did. In contrast, Amanda’s hair is also dark, but long and sleek. They’re two sides of the same coin. I could see their eager faces in my mind, and it was so hard to lie to them.

“No, I’m not getting a contract,” I finally said.

The tormented wails and gasps of
No!
nearly deafened me.

“Seriously, Holls, they must be out of their minds,” Amanda said.

“Yeah, Holly. I mean, we’ve never heard you sing or anything since the company made you delete the videos, but I know you’re good or else they wouldn’t have called, right?” I forgot about deleting the videos. It was one of the things Shell Shocked asked me to do before I came to LA. It sounded strange at first, but now that they’ve made this offer to me, I understand.

“I guess they found someone better,” I halfway lied. Well, this other girl, whoever she is, is better than me, just not a better singer.

“So you’re coming back to Cedar Junction, right?” Meredith practically begged.

“Holly, we need you,” Amanda added.

I took a deep breath. I’d been dreading this. “Well, the thing is—”

“Don’t make me start a petition to bring you home,” Amanda said sternly into the phone. It was a sweet gesture, but I knew no one in Cedar Junction would want me back.

“If you keep making petitions, the town will petition against your petitions,” Meredith said.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Amanda replied.

“Yes, it does; if you’d listen to me, it’d make perfect sense!” Meredith said loudly.

“Guys!” I shouted over the argument that ensued. “They offered me an internship at the studio. It’ll look good on future job applications.”

There was a long pause, and I thought they might’ve killed each other in some lover’s quarrel.

“Holly,” Meredith said feebly. “Are you really going to stay?”

“I am. I’m signing it at ten tomorrow.”

There was a weird muffled sound, and I realized that they were covering the receiver and arguing with one another. A few moments later, Amanda started telling me how it was.

“Listen, Holly. Meredith and I are getting part-time jobs, we’re saving our money, and then we’re coming out there to visit. That, or we’re running away from this town and living with you.”

My heart ached. “You don’t have to do that. I might be able to come back and visit.”

“Don’t you worry about that. It’s decided: we’re coming. It might take us two years, but we’re coming.”

I laughed. “Okay, we’ll see. It was good talking to you guys. I miss you already.”

“I miss you the most,” Meredith grumbled. “You’ve left me alone with Amanda, and all she wants to do lately is canvass the neighborhood.”

“You know you love me and my political agenda,” Amanda said playfully. “Have fun, Holly,” she advised. “If you see that shitbag, don’t let him push you around.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

“And for my sake, send pictures so I can live vicariously through you,” Meredith demanded.

“Okay, okay. I will. Bye,” I said.

“Bye!” they both chimed.

I’m really going to miss them. They’re annoying, they’re loud, they’re both so different, and things are way more complicated now that they’re hooking up with one another, but they’re the only friends I’ve ever known. I’m going to be a tan, California-dwelling, friendless freak; I know it.

Well, minus the “tan” part. I don’t tan; I burn.

Later, 2:00pm—Pink Palm Motel

If we’re moving here, how on Earth are my collections going to get here safely? My collections could actually fill
boxes, tons of boxes
. That can’t be cheap to ship. What if Mom makes me abandon them? It’s taken me
years
to amass a broken fork collection this great, and I’m so close to having a dozen of each state quarter. I’ll have to beg Mom to let me keep them all.

Later, 2:05pm—Pink Palm Motel

Mom rolled her eyes when I asked her about my collections and told me not to be an idiot. I’m assuming that means the collections are coming to California. Ooh, I better start looking for more things to add!

February 5
^th
, 11:30am—Pink Palm Motel

My sister is here, and I already want to rip my hair out strand by strand. Ivy’s going
BANANAS.
She’s already pestering me to introduce her to Mr. Salazar to get her a record deal of her own, never mind the fact that she forgets the words to the “Happy Birthday” song on a regular basis.

Mom left a while ago to grab some Chinese food and left me alone with my lunatic sister. Ivy has been primping non-stop and asking me a million questions about the record deal.

“So, I can’t, like, tell Jessica or anything?” Ivy snapped her gum.

My heart skipped a beat. “No! Not at all. You can’t tell a single person.”

Ivy rolled her eyes; flakes of ice-blue eye shadow dusted her cheeks. “What’s the point of having a record deal if you can’t tell anyone? God, you’re stupid.”

“Well, thanks.”

Ivy flipped her hay-blonde hair, identical to my own, over her shoulder and sighed. “Well, what is Mom going to do here?”

“I’m sure she could be a botanist somewhere in California; it’s a big state.”

“But, do they, like, have a university here?”

I couldn’t even bother to answer her question. First, it was a stupid question. Second, my mom just got back with food and…is that a
wreath
on her head?

Later, 12:15pm—Pink Palm Motel

My family is full of freaks.

“Holly, look at these beautiful sprigs of jasmine I found. They were so beautiful, I had to share them with you gorgeous ladies,” Mom said as she walked through the front door.

“So you made them into wreaths?” I asked.

“No, I made crowns for my two princesses.”

That’s the thing about my mom; she totally lives in her own little world. Sometimes I’m surprised Iowa State gave her a job in the first place. She looks and acts like she should be living in a vintage Volkswagen Bus, covered in henna tattoos, and hosting drum circles on Tuesday nights.

“I am
not
wearing that thing on my head,” Ivy squawked. Now that we’re out of Cedar Junction and living in LA, Ivy thinks she’s all that and a bag of chips.

But then again, I’m not much better. I collect things with the conviction of a squirrel. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something so satisfying about collecting things. Singing makes me feel even happier, so collecting stuff is a perfect thing for me to do when I’m not belting power ballads in the shower. I love looking at my shelves of what others call “useless junk” and wondering about the previous owners.

Mom handed me one of the crowns. “Wear it, Holly. It’ll look so pretty.”

I pushed it aside. “I’m fine, Mom. Thanks.”

Mom’s leaf-green eyes narrowed, and I knew I was in trouble. “We’re all going to wear these and eat dinner together,” she said firmly. “We are a family, and we’ve moved to a new place. We need some unity in our lives.” She firmly shoved the crown onto my head.