Holly Hearts Headlines (Holly Hearts Hollywood Book 2) (15 page)

His face was on full view for all to see and as we ran through the crowd (which was not easy because there were hundreds of people and they all had small children and strollers and giant Mickey Mouse stuffed animals) people turned and looked at us. Recognition passed over their faces when they saw Grayson but we were long gone before they had a chance to say anything.

By the time we made it back to the car, I had done enough running for my entire life. I’m not much of a runner, if you hadn’t guessed.

“I’m sorry about that,” Grayson said. “We just can’t risk it.”

“It’s fine, I got all of my cardio for the week done in one night.”

“Now,” Grayson purred as he leaned in closely. “Where were we?”

And then we were kissing. I was pushed against the door of his Escalade and we were making out (and kind of going to second base) in the Disneyland parking lot.

“We need to do that more often,” I said when we broke away.

“No kidding,” Grayson whispered.

We heard the laughter and screams of children behind us, so we had to hop in the car and drive away. I wish we could’ve stayed there in that parking lot for hours, just kissing and talking. But we had to go back to reality.

When Grayson dropped me off at home, I didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t just because we had a great night together; it was because I didn’t know when we would get to have another night together again.

“I don’t want to go either,” Grayson said, even though I hadn’t spoken aloud. I think Grayson is an occasional telepath. “But you need to get your beauty sleep, and I have to call my publicist to warn them about the reports they’ll start hearing soon about seeing me in Disneyland with half of an eyebrow.”

I laughed. “Call me?”

He kissed me again. “Of course.”

I can’t fall asleep. I keep remembering how nice Grayson smells and the feeling of his callused hand on mine. How can people even function when they’re in relationships? Because my bones feel like they’ve melted away, and if someone asked me to do something, like go to the grocery store or do a little bit of math, I think that I’d probably fall right over. I’m consumed with thoughts of Grayson. I’m totally useless for anything else besides thinking of Grayson.

TO DO LIST:

1.      Stop thinking about Grayson.

2.      Stop thinking about Grayson.

3.      Stop thinking about Grayson.

Later, 11:55pm—Home

I just opened up my purse and discovered that during our escape from Disneyland the egg shattered inside its protective bubble wrap.

I’m a horrible mother.

April 20
^th
, 11:15am—Home

When I woke up this morning, I felt like I was floating on cloud nine. I felt warm all over, like someone had just dumped a vat of melted butter over my head. The sun seemed brighter, the birds sang louder, and my pancakes tasted better than ever before. Mom knew that my night with Grayson went well; I could see her smiling secretly to herself. But even my GRANDPARENTS picked up on my good mood.

“Well someone woke up in a good mood,” my grandma declared in that warbled, old-lady voice of hers.

Grandpa furrowed his brow at me as he examined me. “You do seem a bit too happy, young lady,” he said gruffly. “What’s going on? Did some young feller ask you to go steady?”

I nearly snorted maple syrup out of my nose from laughing. “No, nothing like that. I’m just in a good mood.” There was no way I could tell my grandparents about Grayson. They wouldn’t understand our unusual situation. My grandparents don’t even believe in dating, they only believe in courtship. Which just essentially means that you can NEVER
EVER be alone with the boy, you can only go on group dates and you can’t even KISS. Courting means that you’re also planning on marrying that person BEFORE
YOU
EVEN
KNOW
THEM.

After breakfast, I went into our living room to see if there was anything in the news about Grayson in Disneyland, or better yet, some nasty story about Lacey. I know it isn’t right, but I very much enjoy all of the stories about Lacey in the news these days. She is not doing well.

Ivy was occupying the living room with fashion magazines galore. “Holly,” she looked up at me with wide eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here, I need your help.”

“With what?” I sat down on the couch and picked up one of the magazines. It was an old copy of
Seventeen
from 2004. Britney Spears was on the cover.

“The fashion show!” Ivy shrieked. “It’s just a few days away and I’m swamped. Have you found any boutiques that will loan us the clothes?”

I had completely forgotten, once again just cementing the fact that I’m a terrible, horrible sister. “No, but I thought we’d go together today to a few places on Rodeo Drive.”

Ivy’s face lit up. “I’ve never been there!” she said excitedly. “Let’s go right now.” She stood up and then looked down at her acid wash jeans in mild horror. “What should I wear? What if they won’t let me in the door?”

Normally I’d just offer up something from my own wardrobe, but Ivy is less than half my size. “Just put on a simple, nice dress,” I told her. “And no platform sneakers!” I added as she pranced off to her bedroom.

I’ve been waiting for Ivy for almost thirty minutes now. What could she possibly be doing?

Later, 12:30pm—Home

Well that was … unexpected. Just as Ivy
finally
came out of her bedroom dressed in a nice, floral dress someone knocked on our door. I got up to answer it, since I was the closest to the door and saw that it was
Bernadette
on my front steps.

“What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?”

Bernadette rolled her eyes and snapped her gum. “I’m here to get the egg, you idiot.” She stepped past me and into the house. She was obviously tanner than the last time I saw her,s and she smelled faintly of coconuts.

“But how did you know where I live?” I repeated.

She waved her hand in the air like I was asking a ridiculous question. “Your address is in the school database, duh,” she said like I had soup for brains. I didn’t bother to point out to her that it is probably classified information. She probably paid or intimated someone in the school administration office to get what she wanted. “Now,” she continued, surveying my living room with distaste, “where is the egg?”

I suddenly remembered sticking my hand in my purse last night only to discover a puddle of yolk at the bottom. Al-egg-xandra’s remains had ruined my bag.

“Um, it’s around here somewhere. Why do you care, you gave me full custody.”

Bernadette sighed and placed a hand on her hip dramatically. “I did, but Miss Ansell emailed me and told me that I have to send her pictures of me with the egg in my house or I wouldn’t pass. I guess she knew that I was trying to pawn the thing off on you. Now can you just give it to me so I can go home?”

“Sure, one second.” I ran off to the kitchen and flung open the fridge. Mom isn’t always great about having a fully-stocked fridge and the chances of us having eggs in were really low. However, when I opened the door and saw a dozen unbroken eggs sitting on the fridge shelf I heard an angel choir sing. I grabbed one of the eggs and walked back out to the living room.

“Here you go,” I said and handed it to Bernadette.

She furrowed her perfectly shaped brows at the egg. “Why is it cold?” she asked.

I paused. “I’ve been keeping it in the fridge. To keep it fresh,” I added.

“You think that a fridge is a good playpen for a kid?” Bernadette asked.

“Sure, why not. You don’t want the kid to be a bad egg,” I said, hoping the bad pun would be a distraction.

Bernadette turned the egg over in her hand and examined it. She looked up at me suddenly. “This isn’t the egg!” she declared like a dramatic lawyer would to a jury. “Miss Ansell signed all of the eggs so she’d know it was the original and not a replacement. There’s
no signature
on this egg.” Her face started to go a bit red. “You do realize that we have to return the egg with
her
signature in order to pass this class, right?”

And I’ll tell you, I kind of cracked in that moment. Not unlike the egg, as a matter of fact. “Who even cares,” I snapped. I was a hundred percent done. With everything I’ve had going on in my life I wasn’t about to lose sleep over a broken egg and a failed sex education class that I’ve
only just started
AND has no bearing on my ability to go to college or graduate. I wasn’t about to have this very scary freshman girl chew me out for something so trivial. “It is just a sex education class, it doesn’t matter.”

I’ve always had problems standing up for myself, so for a split second I felt super proud of myself. But then Bernadette’s eyes welled up with glistening tears and my feeling of self-satisfaction crumbled. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“If I don’t pass this class I’ll have to repeat ninth grade!” she wailed.

“What, are you serious?”

Bernadette sighed in frustration as she wiped the tears off of her cheeks. “I’m failing like, everything. If I don’t get an A in this class then my grade average won’t be high enough to go to tenth grade. I’ll never survive at BHHS if I get held back. My social status would be ruined.”

I immediately sympathized. My freshman year was really hard too, and there was a moment where I could have easily been held back also. I was so terrified. I was already a social outcast; it would be worse if I was held back. My emotional growth surely would’ve been stunted, and I would’ve never entered adulthood fully developed. I couldn’t let that happen to Bernadette as well.

“What are we going to do?”

Bernadette ran her fingers through her thick auburn hair and she looked around frantically as she thought hard. “I know this senior boy who apparently can imitate all of the teacher’s signatures!” she said quickly as the thought came to her. “We will get him to sign the egg with Miss Ansell’s signature.”

“Great! You talk to him and get back to me, okay?”

“All right,” Bernadette said, suddenly with a brighter tone of voice. “I hope this works. My mom will kill me if I have to repeat a grade.”

I don’t believe in cheating, but I can’t let my mistake hold this girl back and potentially ruin her entire high school career. Girls have to look out for each other, we spend way too much time trying to outdo one another or sabotage each other. I wish this was something I would’ve put into better practice when Lacey was still my friend, because I definitely didn’t do anything to help her out.

Ugh, I got to go. Ivy is anxious to get going, and she’s started to tap her feet to the rhythm of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Later, 3:45pm—Be My Sugar Daddy Cupcakes

If time travel was suddenly possible, and I went back to visit a past version of me, back when I was in Iowa, and told myself what my future looked like, I wouldn’t have believed me at all. In fact, I probably would’ve flipped my lid. Number one, the time space continuum is a very fragile thing, and I’d be furious at future me for risking the fate of the planet. Secondly, let’s be real, I have an overactive imagination, and I probably wouldn’t have believed my own eyes.

I would never have believed that I would suddenly transform into a confident, self-assured girl almost overnight. Mom dropped Ivy and me off on Rodeo Drive, and we set off for Serena’s favorite boutique, Rue 42. Rue 42 is very fancy. There’s marble EVERYWHERE. They have marble floors, marble countertops, even marble tile on the walls and ceiling. It’s all black and white marble. I always feel like I fell into some kind of
Alice in Wonderland
fun house.

The emaciated salespeople glanced at us with feigned interest. One of them slunk over to Ivy and me and said, “Welcome to Rue 42, can I help you today?” in the most monotone voice I’ve ever heard in my life.

I straightened my back and tried to summon all of the self-confidence I could muster. “Yes, I am Serena Salazar’s assistant, you’ve probably seen me in here before, and I need to speak to your manager.”

The saleslady blinked her large, alien-like eyes at me. “Excuse me?” she asked, still without any tone or inflection.

“Serena Salazar, the singer? She’s in your store almost every day, I’m sure you’ve seen me with her before. She needs the assistance of this boutique for a charity event, so I need to speak to your manager.” The words tumbled out of my mouth like I said them all the time.
I
almost believed me.

“I’ll go get her right away, miss,” she replied, and she slunk off to the back room. The other salespeople looked at me from their positions behind the cash register with startled awe.

“Holly,” Ivy whispered, “what are you doing?”

“Improvising,” I replied.

We meandered around the store while we waited for the manager, who seemed to be taking her sweet time. I didn’t mind too much, because it allowed me to check out the latest fashions that were starting to arrive for the summer season. If I keep going to the gym every day and started dedicating myself to healthier eating, maybe I could fit into a lot of these trendy clothes by the time the fall line is out. Most designer clothes aren’t built for someone like me. I’d love to be able to wear the same stuff that like, Mila Kunis or Emma Stone wears.

A few minutes later, an ice-blond woman emerged from the back room of the store. She was also wearing all black, but her confident stare and walk made me sure she was the manager. I walked right up to her. “Hi, I’m Holly Hart, Serena’s assistant.” I introduced myself the way I’ve seen Lacey’s managers and publicists do a hundred times, and it looked like she fell for it.

“Yes, I’ve seen you with her before,” the manager said in a low, sultry voice. “I didn’t realize you were her assistant.”