Holly Hearts Hollywood (7 page)

Am I becoming a totally different person? The Holly Hart who lived in Cedar Junction never cared about clothes or what cute silver-haired boys thought of her! But, seriously, why would Keller be interested in a girl who looks like she dresses in the dark?

There was only one thing to do: I called Serena. She seems like she knows what she’s doing and like she doesn’t mind my presence. She was very excited to hear that I wanted to go shopping. I’ve never gone shopping for fun, and I doubt it’s going to start being fun now. Especially if the paparazzi show up while I’m trying to wriggle my butt into a pair of designer jeans.

Later, 1:30pm—Le Grand Boutique Dressing Room

I can’t do this. I can’t handle all this fancy clothing. The fitting room is covered in silk and velvet. Earlier, one of the snooty sales ladies asked if I wanted a cappuccino. Oh yes, what I really want while I try on ridiculously expensive clothes is a hot, foamy drink.

I feel like an imposter. I don’t belong here—this is why Lacey is the star and I’m not. You should’ve seen everyone’s faces when I walked in. I felt so judged! Of course, they all know Serena, but they looked at me like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your Jimmy Choo's.

Oh, Serena walked in.

“Holly? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine.”

My self-esteem is just deteriorating. You know, the norm.

“You’ve been in there for ten minutes…Do you need help with a zipper or something?”

I’m an idiot. I don’t deserve friends
or
new clothes.

“Holly, did you hear anything I said?”

Whoops.

“No, sorry, I must’ve zoned out.”

“What are you doing in there?”

The velvet curtain in the dressing room was suddenly pulled aside.

“You’re writing? Writing what?” She blinked. “Did you just write down what I said?”

I should really stop doing this. I look like a court reporter.

“Look, it’s my journal,” I said. “I like to write things down as they happen. Is that okay?”

So much for making a friend. Ivy’s right; I’m a freak.

“Of course it’s fine.”

Wait, it is?

“Do you actually think I care that you write in your journal a lot?”

“Well, some people seem to mind.”

Like my sister. Every time I pull out the journal, she sneers at me.

“But what’s wrong with the clothes?” Serena asks.

“I don’t feel comfortable in them.” I hardly feel comfortable in the clothes I already own.

“Have you even tried them on?”

I shook my head and Serena groaned.

“No wonder. Trust me, when you see how designer clothes fit your body, you’ll change your mind.”

“Okay…” I still don’t like this whole thing.

Later, 3:00pm—Serena’s Car, heading home

I’ve never been one to say this, and I mean
never ever
have I said anything like this, but I look
HOT
. It’s actually amazing how nice clothes can complement your body, even if you’re huge. In this Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress, I feel like I’ve lost ten pounds. And even if I don’t actually look like I weigh less, people will at least say, “Wow, that fat girl dresses fabulously.”

What more do I need in life?

February 14
^th
, 10:00am—Pink Palm Motel

This is
so
typical of my mom. I don’t know why I expected anything different. It reminds me of the time she promised to bring in cupcakes for my second-grade class on my birthday. Instead, she brought in weird lentil and sprout scones that she made with ingredients from her own garden. And then there was Career Day in sixth grade. She rambled on for forty-five minutes about the ozone layer and how she wished that her plants could talk back to her when she waters them. But
this
was worse than all of that.

It all started this morning at breakfast. It’s Valentines Day, and while I’ve never had a boy waiting for me on the front lawn with roses and a giant teddy bear, my mom has always made the day special. Every Valentine’s Day morning, she leaves giant baskets filled with chocolates, candy hearts, and a super cute card for both Ivy and me. After Ivy and I tore into our traditional baskets, my mom said she had a surprise for us, so we went out.

We grabbed coffee and muffins at one of the many coffee shops on Hollywood Boulevard. It was the kind of place my mom hates. The walls were covered in terrible corporate artwork, and the coffee tasted burnt and mass-produced. Ivy was posing the whole time, flipping her hair and smiling at every person who walked by in the event that one of them was Brad Pitt’s agent.

“I hate that they import coffee,” Ivy chirped. “It takes away work from American farmers.” She’s been acting weirder lately. I think the people she goes to high school with are slowly transforming her into a hipster version of my mom who cares about the polar ice caps and boos when we drive past Sea World billboards.

After we finished our coffee, we walked down the street until my mom stopped at an empty storefront in between a record store and a bakery.

“Ta-da!” She gestured widely, the golden bangles on her wrists clanking with the motion.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Ivy smacked her gum. “Yeah, I don’t get it. It’s so dirty here.”

“I’ve signed the lease!” my mom squealed in uncharacteristic excitement. She’s usually quite Zen and doesn’t
squeal
over anything. “This is my new flower shop! I’m calling it ‘Buds of Love.’ Don’t you love it?”

“Mom, are you telling me that while you were supposed to be looking for a place to live, you were doing this
instead
?”

My mom’s face fell. “You don’t like it?”

“Mom! We’re living in a
motel
.”

“I need to make money, don’t I?”

“I’ll be making more than enough money for all of us.”

Mom’s radiant face became steely, and her leaf green eyes became sharp. “I will not be a kept woman because my daughter makes money. I want something to do that’s my own. You’re acting like your grandparents.”

I sucked in a shocked breath. Even Ivy made an audible whimper at the comparison. It might not
sound
like a big deal, but being compared to my grandparents is really not cool. While Dad was super supportive of Mom and her interests, his parents were the opposite. They didn’t want to let her have her own bit of land on the farm to grow her hybrid plants. They didn’t understand why she couldn’t just clean the house, cook dinner, and knit or something. I don’t know how Mom put up with them. At least, this is what I’ve deduced through years of eavesdropping and common sense. After that comment, Mom turned on her heels, her clogs scraping against the concrete.

“Come on, let’s go back to that hellhole I’m forcing you to live in,” she muttered.

I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings, but it’s true. She’s so scatterbrained sometimes. She doesn’t seem to notice that all of our things are in boxes, and Ivy and I are sharing a twin bed.

Ivy seriously needs to cut her toenails.

Later, 6:30pm—Pink Palm Motel

I’m not sure if I’m lucky or actually in a scripted reality show and not aware of it; sometimes things work out a little too perfectly to be real. Serena called me completely out of the blue today and asked if I wanted to go out.

So, we went to Rodeo Drive to walk around and window-shop. However, I had completely forgotten that she’s famous and everything. To me, she’s a normal girl in abnormal clothing. Moments after stepping out of Serena’s Mercedes, men with cameras popped out of the bushes and started snapping pictures. They were so mean too! They kept shouting things at Serena like:

“Going to the gym, Serena? Trying to lose some weight? Looks like you need to.”

“What do you say to the rumors about you and Harry Styles?”

“Come on, Serena, give us a smile. What do you have to be sad about?”

They were
heckling
her, as if they were trying to get her to punch them or something! I’m glad that Lacey is in the spotlight and not me. If they were giving Serena a hard time for being
slightly
curvy, they’d tear me to shreds.

Later, we were standing outside of a cupcake store debating whether or not to ignore the six-hundred-calorie chocolate peanut butter cupcakes when a familiar figure with silver hair, a nose ring, and a plaid shirt appeared in the reflection of the store glass.

“Let me buy you one of those,” Keller said in my ear. His breath brushed against my neck and I shivered.

Serena looked toward me, and her mouth actually fell open slightly. “She’d love one,” she cut in, shouldering me closer to Keller. “She likes chocolate peanut butter,” she added, her mouth twitching at the corner.

I swear my legs wouldn’t move. My knees turned to jelly, and I wanted to fall down on the pavement. But Keller took me by the arm and led me into the cupcake store, leaving Serena outside with her nose pressed against the glass. That’s not an exaggeration; her breath was fogging up the window.

“You keep interesting company,” Keller commented, looking at me sideways while he perused the menu.

“What do you mean?”

He turned to face me, and I caught a whiff of his cologne over the smell of cake and frosting. “It’s not every day a studio intern goes out to Rodeo Drive with Serena Salazar.”

“Oh, well, she’s kind of taken me under her wing,” I managed to say. Words definitely seem to fail me when Keller and his cologne are around.

“Looks like it.” Keller gestured to the glass case of oversized and overpriced cupcakes. “Which one looks good to you?”

“Way too many choices,” I replied. The local bakery in Cedar Junction only had basic flavors—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.
Red velvet
was considered an exotic delicacy at home. This place had strawberry rhubarb with cream cheese, marshmallow crème, and pear with a ginger glaze.

“I find that, when in doubt, it’s best to stick to with what you know.”

I looked up at him, and I couldn’t help but smile. He was
SO CUTE
with his wide-rimmed glasses, nose ring, and dimples.

“Chocolate peanut butter, then,” I managed.

Keller turned to the bored girl behind the counter. “I’ll take a marshmallow crème.”

The girl popped her gum. “’Kay.”

The cupcake store was small and didn’t leave a lot of room for personal space, something I was painfully aware of. I could hear Keller breathing in and out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear my heart pounding.

“So, how long have you been in LA?” he asked.

“Oh, about a week. I moved here from Iowa.”

He raised a brow. “Oh really?”

“What about you? Are you from here?”

“Oh yeah, born and raised. I’m hoping to head off to Stanford next year. Hopefully this internship will help.”

“What do you want to study?”

“Music Tech. I want to work in a studio and produce albums.”

“Wow, seems like you’re definitely on the right path.”

Keller snorted. “Let’s hope so. All I’m doing right now is fetching coffee and making copies of inter-office memos.”

“Nine dollars and sixty-four cents,” cupcake girl said, popping her gum.

Keller pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, allowing me a moment to take a peek at his amazingly cute rear end. “I’m pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” he said dryly, gesturing to the large bubble she was blowing.

Cupcake Girl dropped the change onto the counter nonchalantly. “Thanks, come again,” she said with an astonishing amount of false joy.

Keller turned around and proudly held out the cupcake box to me. “For you, milady.”

“My hero,” I said, surprising myself. Did I actually manage to say something flirty to Keller? I’ve never flirted in my life, not even a little bit. I must be chemically imbalanced.

We headed to the seating on the pavement. Luckily, Serena had gone to the Gucci store across the street, although I saw her steal a few obvious glances at us. My cupcake was seriously too big for my mouth. They pile three inches of frosting on an oversized cupcake; how is that supposed to fit?

“Good?” Keller asked around a mouthful of frosting.

“Mhmm,” I said, or sort of said, considering my mouth was cemented shut with peanut butter.

“Here.” He held out his cupcake. “Try mine.” He shook the baked good at me. “Go on, try it,” he urged again.

I took a dainty bite, or as dainty as I could manage. It was delicious, but all I could think about was the fact that I probably had bits of his saliva rolling around in my mouth.

“It’s good, thanks,” I mumbled. I could feel my face burning red.

“Holly, come on. We need to go!” Serena shouted behind me, nearly surprising me into cardiac arrest.

“What?” I swallowed the cake. “Why?”

Serena’s cheeks were almost as red as her lipstick. “I made mani-pedi appointments that we can’t miss.”

“Oh.” I looked over at Keller. “Sorry to cut this short.”

He waved his hand. “No, it’s fine; mani-pedis always take priority.”

“Thanks for the cupcake,” I said as I gathered up my things.

“My pleasure,” he said with yet another smoldering wink. Serena grabbed my arm and pulled me away before I could respond.

“He’s super cute and totally into you,” Serena gushed.

“You think so?” I asked breathlessly. She was walking
so
fast.

“Oh yeah, guys like him don’t feed girls cake if they don’t like them,” Serena said, her voice squeaky with excitement.

“Really?” I gasped. “I’ve never had a boy like me before.”

She chuckled. “Prepare yourself for confusion. One moment he’s hot, the next he’s cold. Hormones suck, girl.”

“Well, I’m not going to get my hopes up,” I said as I sidestepped a gaggle of
Real Housewives
rejects. “Where’s the salon?”