Holly Hearts Headlines (Holly Hearts Hollywood Book 2) (23 page)

One of the cats had kittens when I was about seven years old. I begged my mom to come over every day so I could sit and play with these kittens. But, since I was a small child and had no concept about the proper way to treat tiny, fluffy creatures with needles in their feet, I had a bad habit of holding the kittens too tightly. I nearly ended up with a pierced nose when the kitten lashed out at me and locked his claws into my nostril.

Other than a minor puncture wound, I always had a good time at the farm, even if my grandparents were weird. I mean yeah, my grandpa plays his trumpet every morning at sunrise and it’s really annoying. And my grandma is mildly racist and tries to claim that Chinese food is “made up” and “isn’t real.” But they’re still my family, and even if they’ve been kind of awful these past few years, I still should treat them kindly and hope that they learn from my example.

And so that’s why I’m here, just in time for the auction. Amanda, Meredith, and I are easily the youngest people here. I guess teenagers don’t normally come to property auctions. I don’t know why all of these crusty old people are trying to buy my grandparents’ farm. What are they going to do with it? They are at the end of their lives! They should let someone young and vibrant like me buy it. It’s only fair.

I have a checkbook in my purse. A
checkbook
. I didn’t even know how to use a checkbook. Mom had to show me the proper way to write one right before I boarded the plane. Maybe I should take out my checkbook and fan my face with it so everyone thinks I’m rich and dangerous. Oh, the auction is starting. Wish me luck.

Later, 12:00pm—Taxi Ride to Des Moines International Airport

Have you ever felt so sad, so disappointed and lost that you can barely even move? I feel like my limbs have been stuffed full of sand. I feel like I’ve overdosed on Nyquil and the drug is trying to pull me into a deep, dreamless sleep. I don’t feel like myself at all. I’m just so … numb.

The auction started so quickly I barely had time to close my journal before this red-faced man started to rattle off information about the farm. “One hundred and sixty acres of fertile Iowa soil. The house was built in 1932 and is a very classic and charming farmhouse with yellow siding and a new roof. Bidding starts at ten thousand dollars.” He smacked his gavel against the podium.

“Ten thousand?” Meredith whispered to me. I quickly raised the numbered paddle they gave me when I arrived. “How on Earth do you have ten thousand dollars, Holly?”

The bidding went up to fifteen thousand and I raised my paddle. “I have a budget,” I said vaguely. I couldn’t really tell her that due to the album sales I had a budget of
fifty
thousand dollars. Luckily, the auction was too chaotic and fast-paced for her to push me further.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to an auction but it is very stressful. Everyone keeps shouting dollar amounts and raising their arm. At first, it was me and several other people bidding on the farm. Apparently, everyone else was just there to observe. Seriously, who wakes up in the morning and says, “I know what I want to do today! I want to go to a farm auction!”

As the price went up to thirty thousand dollars it was down to me, a sixty year-old man who looked exactly like Santa Claus, and an anonymous buyer who was bidding through a phone representative. I’m not kidding. Some very well dressed woman with her hair in a tight bun stood off to the side on her cellphone the whole time. Every time a new bid was made she’d repeat the bid to the other person on the phone, who would apparently tell her their offer, and she’d bid on their behalf.

And really, who would want to buy an Iowa farm so badly that they send in this woman who looked like she just emerged from the Matrix and is about to destroy us all?

Anyway, eventually Santa Claus dropped out of the running and then it was down to me and the creepy, anonymous phone buyer.

“Do I hear forty thousand?” Red-faced auction dude shouted.

I raised my paddle and a split second later the Matrix woman yelled, “Forty-five!”

I whirled around and glared at her. First of all, how dare she? I have more rights to this farm then she does. It’s just rude.

My heart was pounding. I’m pretty sure sweat was pouring down my face. This had only been going on for a few minutes but I was exhausted. I raised my paddle and shouted, “Fifty thousand,” and then I slumped into my chair like a ragdoll.

The crowd murmured. I wasn’t sure if it was because fifty thousand is an exorbitant amount for a farm or if it was because I made my bid very dramatically. Like seriously, I deserve an Oscar. There was a long pause and the red-faced man said, “Do I hear fifty-five? Going once, going twice … ” and I was certain that I had won. Until …

“SIXTY
THOUSAND!” she shouted, her gloved hand in the air. And then, I’m not even kidding, my heart shattered into a thousand, tiny pieces. My chest felt like it was caving in on itself.

“Did she just say sixty thousand?” I mumbled to Meredith.

“I think so,” she whispered.

“Do I hear sixty-five?” Auction man asked. “Going once. Going twice. SOLD!”

The crowd stood up and left without a pause the moment he banged the gavel. Amanda, Meredith, and I just sat there in our chairs like statutes.

“Holly, we’re sorry,” Amanda said. She patted my back softly.

“I don’t want to go home,” I said quietly.

“No one can accuse you of not trying, Holly. You flew all the way out here and tried your very best. It isn’t your fault,” Meredith added.

I couldn’t even hang around and mope because my flight leaves in just an hour and a half. I wanted to sit with Amanda and Meredith and maybe walk around the farm one last time before it is passed into the hands of some stranger. Right as I was walking to the taxi cab I called to drive me to the airport, I took a photo on my phone to bring back home. It is, apparently, the only thing I’m bringing back.

Later, 1:00pm—Terminal at Des Moines International Airport

Maybe I’ll go to Florida instead of coming home. I hear Florida’s lovely this time of year.

Later, 1:08pm—Terminal at Des Moines International Airport

There are no more seats left to Florida today.

Later, 1:10pm—Terminal at Des Moines International Airport

Cancun should be just as nice as Florida, right?

Later, 1:15pm—Terminal at Des Moines International Airport

Apparently, I need a passport to go to Cancun.

Later, 1:50pm—Flight 936 to Los Angeles

Well, my plans to flee the country have been thwarted due to stupid international travel laws and a complete lack of available flights. Since when are Iowa folks world travelers? Did they all get together and decide that TODAY would be the best day to travel because it would be the best day to inconvenience me?

Mom has texted me several times asking how the auction went, but I can’t tell her. I just can’t. I know that it would be easier to text her and tell her so I could avoid having to tell her to her face. But, something tells me that disappointment is written all over my face. My mom can’t read lips, but hopefully she can read body language.

How am I supposed to be an independent, emotionally healthy college student if I can’t even win a bank-owned farm auction?

TO DO LIST:

1.      Obtain passport and move to Siberia.

Later, 4:30pm—Atlanta Airport

Remind me to never get another flight that has a layover because I’m pretty sure I’ve just landed in the seventh circle of hell. After nearly killing myself to get to the second plane on time, we are having delays and we’ve been sitting here at the gate waiting for forty minutes to board the plane and leave.

We landed in Atlanta after the flight from Des Moines, and I immediately got off the plane as fast as I could so I could make it to my connecting flight. And that wasn’t very fast in the first place. I don’t know if you’ve flown a lot, but it’s really frustrating trying to get off a plane. Everyone has to stand and wait and wait and wait for those in front of them to get their carry-on luggage and leave. So, if you have a connecting flight and you’re waiting for a wanna-be Duggar family to gather up their nineteen kids and nineteen carry-on bags to hurry up in front of you, it could drive you to commit murder. I wonder how the Behavioral Analysis Unit from
Criminal Minds
would profile me if I was a murderer?

Unknown suspect is most likely a depraved teenage girl who struggles with self-esteem issues. She probably lives with her quirky family and lives a double life. Be on the lookout for a girl who tries to look like she belongs by getting her hair done by a German man in a small shirt and wears designer clothing she has no business wearing.

Anyway, so when I finally got off the plane and made it to the right gate I was, at first, relieved to see that they hadn’t boarded the flight yet. I was panting and dripping sweat. I had to run from one end of the airport to the other with my bag. Not a single one of those golf cart things the security guards drive around would stop for me so I had to go on foot the entire way.

“Have I missed the flight?” I asked breathlessly to this young woman as I ran up to the gate. She had a baby strapped to her back and at first, I thought it was a fashion statement, but now I realize it was just a more practical way to carry an infant through an airport and had nothing to do with couture.

“No,” she said in a very irritated tone. “But
he
missed his naptime,” she said and gestured over her shoulder to indicate that the “he” in question was the bald infant attached to her. As if on cue, the baby started to scream and I made a quick getaway.

I’ve been sitting on the floor of this airport the whole time waiting to take off. Apparently, there’s some kind of technical issue. But you know what? I’m not in a hurry to get home. Maybe I’ll just stay here in Atlanta. I could be happy here. I could be a zombie extra in
The Walking Dead
.

Later, 5:00pm—On the way to Los Angeles

FINALLY, I am on this godforsaken plane. Now all I have to do is hope and pray that it doesn’t have a technical issue midair and plummet to the Earth where we are all consumed by flames. Maybe this is all a sign from the universe that I shouldn’t be going back to LA. What is there for me anyway? A boyfriend who I never see? A family who just tolerates me? A music career I can’t tell anyone about? A pile of college rejection letters?
Complete and total failure at life is all that waits for me!

The woman sitting next to me just saw what I wrote and said, “Oh, honey, you are way too young to think you’re a failure!”

While I appreciate her attempt at supporting me, I do not appreciate the fact that she read over my shoulder while I wrote in my
private journal
.

She just said, “Oh, I didn’t know it was private. I saw how much you’d written in that book and assumed you must be an author.”

“Oh, no worries,” I said. I guess that makes sense. Besides, she seems like a nice lady. Although she looks very uncomfortable in her seat. She’s
very
pregnant. I don’t know how big pregnant women are supposed to get, but she looks too big. Why did they seat two big women next to each other on this flight? I mean, I may not be participating in the biological miracle that is reproduction, but I still take up a lot of space. This nice lady could be in a much more comfortable spot on the plane so that she and her unborn fetus can have some breathing room.

Maybe I should ask a flight attendant if there is anyone willing to trade seats with me so that she could have some wriggle room. Oh, one is on her way down the aisle with some snacks. I’ll see if … my feet are suddenly soaking wet. Did someone spill a cup of water? But they haven’t given us any water yet …

Oh. The pregnant woman’s water just broke. She’s going into labor.

Later, 5:15pm—On the plane

The pregnant woman is named Allison. I know that her name is Allison because she screamed it at the nurse practitioner who rushed over to help. The conversation went like this:

NURSE: I’m a nurse practitioner, I can help! What’s your name?

PREGNANT WOMAN: Isn’t there a doctor on this plane?

NURSE: I’m a nurse practitioner, ma’am. What’s your name?

PREGNANT WOMAN: I said a
doctor
.

NURSE: Sorry, it’s only me. What is your name?

PREGNANT WOMAN: ALLISON
!!!
AND
FOR
THE
LOVE
OF
GOD
CAN
YOU
SEE
IF
THERE
ARE
AT
LEAST
ANY
MEDICAL
STUDENTS
ON
THE
PLANE
?

The moment her water broke, I got up and a bunch of passengers helped move her to the middle aisle so she could stretch her legs. She’s sitting next to me right now, gripping my left hand in hers while I write with my right hand. Women in labor squeeze hands
very
hard. She would probably shatter my bones if I was thinner, but luckily I have a thick padding of fat around my hands to protect me in these kinds of situations.

Later, 5:45pm—On the plane

When my mom had Ivy I was very little. I was excited about having a little sister, but the concept of pregnancy and birth was a very far away grown up thing for me. All I knew was that one day Mom told me I would be a big sister and from that day onward my mom seemed to get bigger and bigger, like a balloon filling with air. One day that balloon popped and my sister magically appeared in my mom’s arms. Now I know that it is not that simple. Sitting here next to the screaming, groaning, sweating Allison I
definitely
know it isn’t that simple. The pilot was going to make an emergency landing in Texas, but there’s a huge storm and we won’t have a safe place to land for a while.