Holly Hearts Headlines (Holly Hearts Hollywood Book 2) (5 page)

“Holly, are you okay?” Ivy asked.

“I’m worried I’m being watched,” I whispered.

“Watched by who?” Ivy asked. She cautiously stepped into my room and over a pile of clean laundry I’ve been too lazy to fold and put away. Is there anything worse than folding and putting away clean clothes? I’d rather swim in an ocean of clean clothes then put my underwear away.

“The Craigslist Killer,” I told her. I explained the whole story and watched as she became more and more amused as I continued to tell her the details.

“Holly, if you are worried about this guy, just take someone with you when you meet him.”

Now, I love my sister, I really do. I may talk shit about her, but it’s what sisters do. I mean have you seen
Frozen
? That ice chick froze her sister into an ice sculpture, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t love her. My sister is like a beautiful bird with shiny feathers … and a peanut-sized brain. I’ve seen Ivy do some really stupid things like use hot glue to apply fake fingernails. She once asked me if the sun and the moon were the same thing.

So you can imagine how surprised I was when my sister suggested something that hadn’t occurred to my paranoia-addled brain. “Ivy,” I said as I slid out of my blanket cocoon, “I think you might be a genius.”

Ivy sat down on the bed next to me. “I wouldn’t say that. I just don’t watch as much
Criminal Minds
as you so my common sense is still intact.” On that last phrase, I closed my laptop just as the forensics department was carrying away the villain’s splattered dead body.

“So on a less morbid topic, I joined a club at school!” Ivy said gleefully.

It took me a moment to remember our previous conversation about finding a hobby or activity. To be honest, I didn’t really care. I mean, I had to email the maybe-murderer back and then find a threatening-looking chaperone to go with me when I pick up the tickets. Can you really blame me for not being super-interested in Ivy’s high school club?

“Oh really?” I asked, even though I was pulling out my phone to text Serena. I know that she’s mad at me and everything, but maybe she’s gotten over it and she’ll text me back.

“I joined the fashion club!” Ivy said proudly. I almost laughed. Ivy dresses like she’s on her way to film a scene in an early 2000’s high school movie.

“That’s great, Ivy,” I said halfheartedly as I typed a message to Serena that passionately begged her forgiveness and requested her help all at the same time.

“You could at least try a little harder to pretend that you care,” Ivy said sadly.

“I do care,” I replied as I pushed the send button on my iPhone. “Is
Entertainment Tonight
recording?”

Ivy huffed and said, “I’ll check,” dejectedly.

Doesn’t Ivy realize I have more important things going on than to sit and chat about fashion club? My whole
life
is a fashion club. But
couture
fashion.

Later, 10:30pm—Home

Serena finally texted me back! I am saved! She says that she accepts my apology (it took her long enough, I’ve only left her a hundred apology texts and voicemails) and that she wants to continue being friends. I tried to call her but when she answered the phone she just whispered, “I’m backstage at
Jimmy Kimmel,
I’ll call you later,” and then hung up.

I guess that is how Hollywood apologies work.

Later, 11:15pm—Home

Holy crap, Lacey just can’t catch a break.
Entertainment Tonight
just ran a segment comparing Lacey to Britney Spears circa her 2007 breakdown when she shaved her head. Apparently, sources are informing them that Lacey seems closer to a total meltdown every day. They’re saying she can’t handle stardom.

Tee-hee.

April 6
^th
, 9:00am—Home

Mom knocked on my door a few minutes ago and said, “Hey, your driving instructor is on her way to get you,” which is arguably the
worst
way to wake up. I think that my mother has been conspiring against me. Why else would she sign me up for a class and then neglect to tell me about it with enough time to weasel my way out of it? She knows me well enough to know I would try to get out of this, which is why she only gave me twenty minutes notice to get ready for this class.

Oh crap, I only have twenty minutes to get ready. I need to get dressed. What does one wear to drivers ed?

Later, 12:00pm—Home

I need to get rich fast so I can hire a full time chauffer to drive me around for the rest of my life because NO
WAY am I driving myself anywhere. I’m not suited for it. It’s just not for me. Just like some people aren’t good at playing sports, I am not good at driving. I can sing. I can tell you all kinds of obscure television trivia. But I cannot drive.

Just as I was throwing some lip gloss on I heard the sound of a car door slamming outside. I peered out the window in time to see a short, big breasted, Kristin Chenoweth clone making her way to our front door. On the side of the white Ford parked outside it said “A to Z Driving Lessons.”

“Hi, I’m Alice!” she said in a voice that was much deeper than I expected when I answered the door. “Are you Holly?”

“Yeah,” I said. I couldn’t exact say, “
Hey, please get out of here and leave me in peace. I do not want to wrap a car around a tree and meet my untimely end.”

“Are you ready to go? Everyone’s ready to go.”

“Everyone?” I repeated.

“Yeah, I already picked up the rest of the class.”

I peered around Alice’s very voluminous blond hair and saw that there were two other heads bobbing around in the back seat of the car.

I probably would’ve turned around and left right then and there but my mother, who seems to have a sixth sense, suddenly appeared behind me and blocked my path. “Have a great class, Holly!” she said as she shoved me out the door. Now that I think about it, my mother either wants to kill me or she wants to desperately stop driving me around everywhere. I guess it is much more likely that my mom wants me to drive myself places, rather than send me six feet under.

Alice introduced me to Sierra, who seemed to be channeling Avril Lavigne with her blond and black highlights, and Akbar who said that he was turning sixteen in a month but looked like he was actually thirteen. We were definitely a strange bunch.

“Mom said that I can have her old Toyota Corolla when I get my license,” Sierra said while Akbar got into the driver’s seat, “and she’s going to buy herself a new car! And I’m like, um hello? That’s totally not fair. Why should I get the old car, and she gets a new one?”

Akbar was cautiously making a right hand turn in a residential neighborhood, but he still managed to calmly say, “I’m pretty sure that you should be grateful to be given a car in the first place. Many girls your age don’t get a free car from their parents, they have to work for it.”

Sierra glared at him from the back seat and sighed resentfully. “Whatever,” she replied.

After Akbar made a successful drive around the neighborhood, Alice announced that it was my turn to get behind the wheel and I knew that death would soon be at my doorstep.

“You’re pretty good at driving,” I told Akbar as he got out of the front seat. “Is this your first time?” I thought it had to be, since he looked so young.

Akbar shrugged. “Whenever I visit my uncle in Dubai he lets me take his Maserati around the block a few times.”

Whoa. Maybe if I had an uncle with a Maserati I would be better emotionally prepared to learn how to drive. Now, the only thing with a motor I’ve ever driven was my grandfather’s tractor. And even then, I just sat on his lap while he drove around for a little bit. And I was eight years old.

I put my seatbelt on and then Alice started the excruciating process of trying to teach me the difference between the brake and the gas pedal and how to move the car out of park and into drive. I’m sorry to say I didn’t adapt to automobile driving very quickly. I think that I gave everyone in the car whiplash because I haven’t learned the fine art of pushing on the brake slowly. On the other hand, if I ever have to stop suddenly I’m an
expert
at that already.

April 6
^th
, 2:30pm—Parking lot of a Circle K

I talked myself into going back to the gym for another grueling workout with Hakim. I was very proud of myself. I could’ve easily stayed away and never come back. But I know that I can’t make the changes I want if I don’t make an effort. I’m happy that I did go. Not only was everything a little bit easier, but I also had a brilliant idea!

“Hakim,” I said halfway through my second set of sit-ups, “are you busy this afternoon?”

“Busy? No? Single? No.” He winked. “Are you trying to ask me out?”

“No!” I protested a little too loudly. I told him about my maybe Craigslist murderer and asked if he’d go with me to the meeting I set up with him.

“Sure,” Hakim agreed. “Can’t have one of my clients getting put in a mince meat pie.”

I felt my face go white. “You don’t think that could actually happen, right?”

Hakim shook his head. “Holly, I was totally kidding. Wow, you are a little paranoid.”

I smacked him with my sweat-soaked towel. I can’t believe Hakim thought I was asking him out. I mean yeah, he’s super gorgeous, but I’ve never asked anyone out
ever
. In fact, Grayson never officially asked me out either. He just showed up at my hotel room and made out with me. So now, Hakim and I are sitting in the parking lot of a Circle K waiting for the Craigslist dude to show up.

He said he’d be driving a tan Toyota Camry. An unsuspecting vehicle … the exact kind a murderer would drive actually. Hakim just saw what I wrote and he dryly commented, “A Camry won’t stash a body very well.”

Rude.

THINGS TO DO:

1.      Write out my will in the event that I mysteriously disappear or am murdered.

2.      Pick up milk on the way home (if I’m not dead).

Later, 3:45pm—Home

I have two orchestra section tickets to
Book of Mormon
in my purse and thankfully I am not currently lying in the bottom of the Santa Barbara Bay. I’m still not convinced that he wasn’t a murderer. Maybe he was planning on killing me, but had to suppress his murderous rage when he saw Hakim. When Grayson hears how I risked my life to get him these tickets maybe we’ll actually go to second base.

I was feeling less stressed for the first time in awhile so when I got home I was hoping to have a nice, relaxing night. But no. The universe is not so kind. I walked into a battlefield at home.

Mom and Grandpa were standing in the living room, facing each other like they were about to start boxing for the title championship of the world.

“Are you delusional?” Mom was asking. “Ian has been dead for years. Are you saying I have to be a grieving widow for the rest of my life?”

Grandpa was about to respond when Grandma saw me. “Hello, Holly!” she said extra loudly. “How was your day?”

“Good,” I said cautiously.

Mom’s face relaxed noticeably when she saw me. “Holly, I’m glad you’re home.” She paused for a moment. “Are you hungry? Let’s go get dinner together as a family.”

Grandma and Grandpa protested quickly, like racehorses out of the starting gate. “Nonsense,” my mom said. “We haven’t had a real meal all together yet. Holly, you know where all of the trendy places in town are. Pick somewhere special so Grandma and Grandpa can experience Los Angeles.”

I don’t know what Mom is trying to do. She keeps trying with my grandparents even though they’ve proven time and time again that they don’t care as much as she does. Whenever I point this out to Mom she just says, “Kill them with kindness, Holly.”

Later, 5:45pm—Restroom at The Pizzeria

So the night is going pretty decently so far. I guess my grandparents decided to call a truce for the evening. Normally they’re full of negativity and criticism. But they’ve been on their best behavior. Ivy, however, is mad at me for some unexplainable reason. She was talking about her high school fashion club and their upcoming presidential election. All I did was tell her the truth: student elections are a popularity contest and are totally useless. Ivy got huffy with me and my mom said my name in that warning tone that moms use.

“What? It’s the truth,” I replied.

Mom looked at me in the rearview mirror and shook her head. “That’s not the point and you know it.” I love how I’m supposed to be psychic all the time.

Right now, we are at this super-hip pizza restaurant called “The Pizzeria,” which is super presumptive, if you ask me. They act like they’re the only pizza place in the greater LA area. Then again, what pizza restaurant has attendants in the bathroom?

I’m hanging out in a stall and she keeps asking me if I’m okay or if I need anything. Remind me to not write in my journal in upscale bathrooms anymore. Some girl just came in and started chewing out the bathroom attendant for not having wintergreen breath mints. I can’t believe stuff like this actually happens in real life and not exclusively on
Gossip Girl
or
Pretty Little Liars
. There are people out there who don’t have clean water to drink and this girl has the nerve to complain about breath mints when she’s wearing $1,500 Louboutin high heels.

Oh my God. I know that girl.

Later, 8:00pm—Home