Holly Hearts Hollywood (5 page)

When we were done chatting, Jennifer offered to walk me to the lobby and wait with me until Mom came. I guess that was some kind of girl-code for chatting about her favorite Showtime shows and filling me in on the “deets” of
Homeland,
“which you would
totally
love,” as she put it. So, Jennifer was talking my ear off when suddenly a girl with electric-blue dreadlocks walked up and said hello.

“Um, hello?” I managed to say, never having seen a girl with that color hair before. She had a silver nose ring and an eyebrow piercing to boot. I was really jealous of her skin. It was a beautiful dark brown color and perfectly clear. She seemed super-familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen her before. I think I would’ve remembered seeing someone like
her.
She was wearing neon-blue skinny jeans, a pink striped top, and a shell necklace.

“I’m Serena,” she said brightly. Her tone and upbeat personality were a bit surprising, considering her somewhat alternative appearance.

“Serena,” I repeated before suddenly realizing who she was. “You’re Serena Salazar!”

Serena Salazar is the pop singer of choice for those who don’t like the bubblegum variety. She’s famous for her ever-changing hair color that always manages to match her clothing.

My heart turned over. “You’re Mr. Salazar’s daughter?”

Serena laughed, her white teeth flashing against her red lips. “Yes, I was actually one of the first people Daddy signed to the label.”

“Oh, cool,” I said smoothly. And by smoothly, I mean awkwardly.

“What’s your name?” Serena prompted.

“Oh, right. Holly. Holly Hart.”

Serena’s brow furrowed. “I think I remember my dad mentioning a Holly Hart.”

My stomach turned over and made a nice home near my kidney. “Oh, has he? Yeah, I’m interning at the studio.”

Serena smiled again, her nose ring glinting in the light. “Oh, really? You should meet Keller, he’s interning too!” Serena gestured to someone behind me. “Keller, come over here!” she shouted.

I turned around and nearly fainted. Keller was a serious hottie. He looked to be about my age. He was thin as a beanpole, tall, and had silver hair. Seriously, just like Anderson Cooper’s. I mean, what teenager has silver hair?

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. Behind his square glasses, his eyes were bright blue. “What’s up?”

“Keller, this is Holly. She’s also an intern.”

His nose ring flashed in the industrial lighting as he turned to me. Is it some kind of requirement to have nose rings at the studio? I’d never seen a boy with one before. He was so cute I nearly peed myself.

“Hi,” I said in a squeaky voice. I’ve never had much luck with boys. I can’t even flirt. I’m not even sure I know how to wink.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied. A warm, wide smile spread across his face.
That
was when my crush became official. God, I’m pathetic. It only took fifteen seconds of mild conversation for me to fall for him. Oh my God, I have a crush on a boy with a delicate facial piercing.

Someone called Keller’s name from across the lobby, and he gave us a half smile. “Hey, I’ll see you guys around. Nice to meet you, Holly,” Keller said as he strolled away. The way he said my name gave me goose bumps.

Before I knew it, Serena and I were at a coffee shop, talking and laughing like we were old friends. We
clicked
in that way you do with other people when you just know you’ll be friends for a long time. People kept taking pictures of her on their camera phone and asking for her autograph, but she acted like it was no big deal. Right now, she’s talking on her cell phone, which is why I’m writing in here in the first place. I wonder if people think it’s weird that I take this journal out the moment they walk away.

Oh, Serena’s coming back.

We’re wanted back at the studio.

Later, 2:00pm—Shell Shocked Studios

We walked into the lobby of the studio only to be hastily greeted by one of the super-model-looking secretaries.

“Lacey Bennett is here, and Mr. Salazar wants Holly to meet her,” the secretary said in a high-pitched voice.

“Who’s Lacey Bennett?” I asked.

Serena leaned in close to me. Her perfume smelled a bit like baby powder. “She’s the girl you’re singing for,” she whispered lowly.

My heart stopped beating. “You know?” I asked, astonished.

Serena shrugged. “My dad isn’t exactly quiet and confidential in his own house.”

“Holly,” the secretary prompted. “Are you ready? She’s in Mr. Salazar’s office.”

I was panicking. I’ve never had a nervous breakdown before, but I imagine I came close during the long walk to Mr. Salazar’s office. My heart was beating irregularly, and I broke into a cold sweat. I had no idea what to expect.

A dark brown door with Mr. Salazar’s name on it swung open in front of me as if it was automated. His office was exactly how I imagined it’d be: cold, with sharp angles and stainless steel accents. A blonde girl was sitting in front of Mr. Salazar’s desk. Then, the worst thing happened; the girl turned around.

She was beautiful. Her hair was a perfect shade of gold, and her eyes were sky-blue. And when I say “sky-blue,” I mean that literally.
Of course she’s drop-dead gorgeous.
My life sometimes seems like it’s nothing but one big cliché. If there’s a fat, awkward girl, there has to be a beautiful, confident one. It’s like Newton’s law. Lacey is my opposite reaction.

“Oh hi, Serena,” Mr. Salazar said. “Yes, Lacey this is Holly, one of our
interns
,” he added meaningfully.

Lacey’s eyes examined me painfully from head-to-toe. “Hi,” she said coolly.

“Hey,” I said with a shaking voice. I felt like I was back in Cedar Junction, dealing with the venomous glares of Rachel Pritchard and crew.

“Listen, Heidi,” she said, “I’m exhausted, and I’ve been here for hours working on my
performing
contract. Get me a cup of coffee, three creams and three sugars,” she said in a snobby tone. She talked and acted exactly like Regina George in
Mean Girls
. I think my bones almost melted out of fear.

“Lacey…” Mr. Salazar started.

“What?” Lacey said airily. “She’s an intern; she’s supposed to like, assist me, right?” She smiled at me in a way that said
I know you aren’t really an intern, but what are you going to do about it?

“Do you want me to get you a dictionary so you can look up the definition of ‘intern?’” Serena said dryly. I had to stop myself from smiling triumphantly. If Meredith and Amanda had been there, they would’ve run away at the first sight of a girl like Lacey. Well, who am I kidding? I would’ve ran away myself, but Serena was blocking my path.

Lacey pursed her perfectly plump lips. “I, like, know what it means. I just thought the staff here should be accommodating to the talent.” She even tossed her hair while she said it.

Seriously, I thought only the mean girls in movies did that. Talk about art imitating life. Everyone looked at me as if I was supposed to have all the answers. I’m new here—I’m fresh off the plane, and I’m supposed to know everything, apparently.

“I’ll get the coffee,” I finally stammered. Lacey’s stare was too intense to ignore. “It’s no problem; I was going to get one anyway.”

Lacey made a satisfied noise. “Perfect,” she simpered.

I turned around and high-tailed it out of there. I couldn’t spend another moment around Lacey.

“Holly,” Serena called out behind me. “You don’t have to get it, you know.”

I didn’t stop walking or turn to look behind me. “I know,” I said over my shoulder.

“Holly.” Serena grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face her. “She needs you, not the other way around. Without you, she’s nothing.”

I looked at Serena—a famous, wealthy pop star who has lived nothing but a privileged life. “Maybe, but she can make my life a living hell all the same. I know girls like her, Serena. I sat next to them in English class. I know what I’m doing.”

So, I went and got her the damn coffee. Now I’m sitting in the lobby, waiting for Mom to pick me up. I don’t understand why she’s always late. I know she spends a lot of her time communicating with nature and everything, but is Mother Earth more important than her own daughter? I know I’m being hard on her. For all I know, she could be stuck in traffic. The traffic here is
horrible
, and it
is
rush hour.

Wait a minute; something’s going on over there. Geez, everyone is freaking out. I think someone super famous came in! All of the girls are panicking. Is that…
Lacey
running toward the crowd? It has to be her; no one else has hair like that. How is she running in those stilettos? And why are the bottoms of her shoes red? Why would you make the
bottoms
red? It looks weird.

I wish someone would move so I could see who it is. Oh wait; I can see the back of him. Good Lord, no one’s rear end should look that good in jeans. The boys back home never looked as good in their Wranglers. I think he’s turning around!

Oh God.

I’m going to throw up.

Later, 2:15—Ladies’ room at Shell Shocked Studios

I swear to God, I’m never coming out. I’ll use the rest of these pages to write the story of my life. When I use up this book, I’ll use the toilet paper to finish writing it, like that one chick in
V for Vendetta
. My mortification knows no bounds. This is a nightmare. He’s a ghost come back to haunt me. It’s freaking Grayson Frost.

GRAYSON FROST

Yes, Grayson Frost: mega country music star. Grayson Frost: teenage heartthrob and winner of the Grammy Award for Artist of the Year and Album of the Year at age sixteen. But to me, he’s Grayson Frost: school bully. He was my tormentor, the person who called me names and threw mashed potatoes at me during lunch. Of course, he moved to Nashville right out of middle school and scored a record contract a few months later. Some people have all of the luck. I thought I’d never see him here! Why is he visiting Shell Shocked when he’s signed with another label?

I can’t let him see me! He probably won’t even remember me, but I don’t think I could handle his malicious look if he did. He’d be all, “What are you doing here among all the beautiful people?” And I know I wouldn’t have the guts to body-flip him like I learned in that self-defense class Mom made me take before we came here. I haven’t seen him in
four years,
but it turns out that eighteen-year-old Grayson is even more disgustingly handsome than fourteen-year-old Grayson. The last time I saw him, he had that attractive, gangly pre-teen thing going for him. Now he’s all…filled out and…well, he’s practically a man now. I guess he’s legally an adult, but there’s a huge difference between being able to vote and looking like
that.
There’s no justice in this world. Lacey nearly lost it when she saw Grayson. She sprinted over to him with her eyelashes fluttering. I could practically see her creating couple nicknames in her bleach-blonde head. Layson? Gracey?

She was probably successful—who could say no to her nymph-like physique? I ran away with vomit halfway in my throat before I could see the outcome. They’re probably making eyes over a candlelight dinner and congratulating each other on their mutual perfection right now.

Shoot, someone came in. Someone who’s swearing like a sailor under their breath. Someone with red-bottomed stilettos…oh man. Why is
she
in here? Shouldn’t she be planning her wedding? And why does she sound so angry?

“Who’s there?” Lacey asked. I must be breathing loudly, or she has superhero hearing.

“Who’s in there?” she screeched.

Oh, right.

“It’s Holly; I was the one who brought you coffee.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Um, do you need details?”

“Ugh. No!”

“Well, what’s wrong? Do you need something?”

“No! Besides, what do you care?” I can practically visualize her sneer.

“I don’t know. I was just asking.” She’s silent. Maybe she left.

“Well, if you must know, Grayson Frost came to see Mr. Salazar. His contract is up at his old label, and Mr. Salazar is trying to sign him. Grayson didn’t even
look
at me! Am I hideous? Oh God, what if he’s into
brunettes
?” She hissed the word like she was talking about racists or child molesters. It’s strange that she’s opening up to me, if you can call complaining about brunettes “opening up.” But compared to who I met less than an hour ago, this girl is a massive improvement.

“I’m sure he had a lot on his mind. You’re beautiful.”

Lacey sniffed. “You really think I’m pretty?” Geez, if this girl doesn’t know she’s gorgeous, she needs an eye exam. She sounded like a thirteen-year-old, not the eighteen-year-old she actually is.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” And it’s the truth.

“Aw. Thanks, girl.”

No one has ever called me “girl” before. Is Lacey emotionally stable? Seriously.

“I’m all finished here. Do you want me to give you a ride home?”

Am I in
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
? Who is this girl, and what did she do with Lacey?

“Um, thanks for the offer, but my mom will be here any minute.”

“Okay, see you later!”

I think I just escaped the uncomfortable event of having to show Lacey the Pink Palm Motel in all its salmon-pink glory.

THINGS FOUND FOR COLLECTION:

1.
Melted, congealed plastic thing that could’ve been a fork once.

2.
Postcard of the Hollywood sign.

3.
Limited-edition silver spoon with California avocado design on the handle

February 11
^th
, 1:45pm—Pink Palm Motel