Hollywood Hills (13 page)

“Okay, Jacobson,” Kenya said after a long moment. She wadded up her waxed paper and tossed it into a nearby garbage bin. “There’s something I need to tell you—I didn’t have a chance to bring it up last night because of all the dancing and stuff…” Holly held her breath, curious and a little nervous. “I stopped running track last semester,” Kenya finally said, holding Holly’s gaze.

“You
what
?” Holly asked, studying her friend in shock. Holly couldn’t for the life of her imagine Kenya Matthews existing
without
running.

“I know, I know—random, huh?” A smile tugged at Kenya’s lips. “But, Holly, UCLA has
all
these incredible sports programs, and I guess I wanted to try something…different.” She shrugged as a cute,
long-haired guy on a skateboard careened past them. “Earlier this semester I joined the intramural tennis team,” Kenya went on, her voice full of genuine enthusiasm. “And next year I want to look into water polo. There’s so much else out there to love besides track. But don’t tell Coach Graham I said that,” Kenya added with a grin, and then glanced worriedly at Holly. “You think I’m nuts, right?”

Holly didn’t answer right away; she processed Kenya’s news as the girls climbed a hill toward the quad. “Not at all,” Holly finally replied softly. In a way, Kenya’s radical change made perfect sense: She
had
reinvented herself out here, out west. Why shouldn’t she sample all that this new world had to offer? Holly felt a prickle of envy; even when she started at Rutgers, she’d still be in
New Jersey.
Tyler would still play lacrosse, she’d still run track, and the bunch of other Oakridge kids making the pilgrimage to Rutgers with them would still see her as shy, sporty Holly Jacobson. No wonder the gray Rutgers campus had never filled with her a sense of anticipation. Over there, everything would be the same.

“Jacobson?” Kenya’s voice broke into Holly’s moment of introspection, and Holly glanced over to see her friend smiling at her. “Thinking about college, huh?” Kenya nodded understandingly, her necklace of round purple beads knocking against her pale
yellow tee. “No worries—before you know it, you and Tyler will be all set up in your love nest in Rutgers.”

“Uh…right,” Holly said, feeling a pang of anxiety at Kenya’s words.
But what if that isn’t what I want?
she wondered, before pushing the thought aside. Kenya gave Holly a quick hug, announcing that she was going to be late to her anthropology class, and the girls promised to be in touch before Holly left LA.

With Kenya gone and some time to kill before meeting Seamus, Holly roamed through the quad, feeling the warmth of contentment. Holly knew it was unfair to compare the two, but the Rutgers campus would never measure up to this school. There was something exciting about knowing that the dazzle of the Kodak Theatre and the Malibu beaches waited beyond the college gates, as opposed to, well, the Oakridge Galleria. And when Holly came upon a serene sculpture garden, she felt suffused—as she had last night—with a sense of belonging. Smoothing out her drawstring linen capris, Holly sat on the warm surface of a black marble fountain, and took a deep breath, forgetting Oakridge, forgetting Alexa, forgetting everything that bound her to the past.

Then Holly noticed a girl sitting across from her on the grass, right below an abstract metal sculpture. Her light-brown hair was in a high ponytail, she wore a plaid, empire-waist sundress, and she was peeling
an orange, a textbook open in her lap. She looked absolutely at peace, and Holly thought:
That could be me.
Holly
had
gotten into UCLA, after all—the track coach had actively recruited her—and her destiny could have gone in a very different direction had she sent back the acceptance form with the
YES
box checked off. For one dizzying second, Holly caught her breath and wondered if there was still time—if she could take action—look up the track coach here—reverse the course of her life…

No.

Ridiculous.

Be realistic
, Holly told herself, channeling Alexa. There was no need to blow a simple visit to UCLA out of proportion. So what if she’d seen the campus and found it, in a word, awesome?

Tyler.
Holly retrieved her cell phone from her bag, her Claddagh ring glinting in the sun. Of course it had been difficult to talk to her boyfriend last night, she reasoned. It had been late, the Cabana Club had been noisy, and she’d been eager to get back to Kenya and Belle inside. Now, when she was feeling all chill and blissed-out, and Tyler was probably whiling away the afternoon shooting hoops outside his parents’ garage, seemed the perfect time to call back.

“You sound so…California,” Tyler declared as soon as Holly greeted him. Holly could picture him
standing outside his house, the front of his T-shirt stained with sweat, a basketball under his arm, and the Oakridge afternoon gray and humid around him.

“
Dude
, what do you mean?” she drawled, doing her best stoned-surfer-boy impression. Tyler didn’t laugh, but Holly figured it was because he didn’t really know LA. She slipped off her green jelly flats and tucked her bare feet up under her. “I’m on the UCLA campus, the sun is in my hair, and I just had ice cream…so maybe
that’s
why I sound ‘California,’ ” she added, giggling. The brown-haired girl in the grass looked up and smiled at Holly, as if she understood.

“I—you’re—awesome,” Tyler replied, but his voice sounded broken up and distant.

Holly pressed her cell phone tighter to her ear, as if she could press Tyler closer. “Sweetie, I think we’re breaking up,” she said, getting to her feet and feeling like she was in a Verizon commercial. “What did you say? Are you there?”

“I’m here.” Tyler’s voice came through clearer now, and Holly thought she detected a flicker of impatience in his tone. “I said, ‘I know you’re having an awesome time.’ ”

“Oh…yeah. Yeah. I am,” Holly admitted, gazing up at the arc of blue sky above. Who would have ever guessed she’d feel so strongly about the city she had
dismissed as shallow and strange? She considered telling Tyler that only a moment before, she’d imagined withdrawing from Rutgers and coming
here.
But talking to her boyfriend now and thinking of Oakridge only reinforced how crazy that daydream was. She was on
vacation
, that was all, and La-La Land often filled people’s heads with stupid notions. New Jersey—Tyler, her parents, Rutgers—was reality.

“That reminds me.” Holly heard the faint dribble of Tyler’s basketball on the ground as he spoke. “I went to the mall this morning—my mom
forced
me to go to Nordstrom to get a new tie for graduation—and I ran into Meghan and Jess.” Holly smiled at the mention of her friends, but her smile froze when she heard what Tyler said next. “I told them all about your LA adventures, and how you—”

“Tyler, you didn’t!” Holly cried in exasperation as she leaped to her feet. The girl in the grass glanced up, and Holly tried to lower her voice. “They weren’t supposed to know I was here,” she hissed. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Tyler to keep her trip on the down-low, but she’d hoped he would’ve had the common sense to figure that out. But now, thanks to his spaciness, Meghan and Jess would be all huffy with Holly when she got back.
That
would make graduation fun.

“Look, Holly.” Tyler’s tone was surprisingly short.
“I didn’t know it was some kind of secret. If we were able to talk for more than two seconds this week, you
could’ve
filled me in on that situation.”

Holly’s jaw dropped; just as she hardly ever reamed Alexa out, it was a rare occasion when Tyler told
her
off. Usually, both Holly and Tyler tended to back away, their hands up in surrender, with no resolution reached. Now, though, Holly felt annoyance shoot through. “It’s not
my
fault you always call me at a bad time,” she spat.

“Every time is a bad time,” Tyler retorted instantly, and Holly could tell that his resentment on this topic must have been simmering for a while. “You’re always busy, always at some club, always about to go surfing. It’s like you’re avoiding me or something—”

“Tyler, you know that’s insane!” Holly gasped, startled by the turn the conversation had taken.

“Like even now,” Tyler went on. “You’re probably calling because you have some small window of time, but in a second you’ll have to run off to meet, like, Jonah or Seamus for drinks at the Hollywood sign. Right?”

“No one’s actually
allowed
to go to the Hollywood sign,” Holly snapped, rolling her eyes at Tyler’s ignorance; Kenya had filled Holly in on that fact last night. Then, with a jolt, Holly realized that Tyler was half right; she was due to meet Seamus at the Getty soon,
and if she didn’t get back in the Hybrid now, she’d be late. But of course Holly didn’t tell Tyler that; she only informed him, in a cool, clipped tone, that she’d have to call him back later.

As Holly slid her feet back into her jellies and marched toward the north campus exit, she was trembling a little, but she was, once again, amazed at how she’d managed to hold her own in an argument. True, she’d had some practice with Alexa that morning, but overall she knew she’d become quite adept at the art of bickering with Tyler.

Even, it seemed, when there was no apology hookup on the horizon.

Maybe I’ve had too many hook-ups
, Alexa mused, her heart squeezing as she stood barefoot on the pearlwhite Malibu beach, her sun-streaked hair whipping in the wind.
And now I’ve lost the capacity to fall in love. For the rest of my life.

Alexa never thought small.

Sighing, she lifted her Nikon from where it hung around her neck, careful not to get it tangled in her gold anchor pendant, and brought it to her eye. Surfers, their shadowy forms outlined against the bright horizon, rose and dipped on their boards. Alexa, wondering if the surfer Holly had saved yesterday was out there among his brethren, snapped one
picture, focused the lens, and snapped another. Ordinarily, photography could lift Alexa’s spirits no matter what was happening in her life. But today, after the sharp words she’d exchanged with Holly on the sundeck, and Alexa’s subsequent nosedive into selfreflection, nothing seemed to buoy her dark mood.

After Holly had stormed off, a sour Alexa had asked a sympathetic-looking Miguel how to get to the nearest beach, and he’d told her where it was possible to cross the Pacific Coast Highway on foot without getting killed. The whole time Alexa had felt a storm of emotions—about Jonah, about Holly, about boys, and about love—coursing through her. Had she been too rash in turning down Jonah last night? What was wrong with her in the first place, not falling head over wedge heels for a boy as perfect as the blue-eyed actor? Maybe, after so many different guys, so many fleeting kisses, and her recent spring break heartache, Alexa St. Laurent was through with love—and love was through with
her.

Alexa frowned, zooming her lens in on another group of surfers, and Holly’s words echoed in her head:
I feel bad for the poor guy…
Perhaps Alexa would be doing the male world a favor by retreating into a shell forever, like Botticelli’s Venus on rewind.

A seashell poked Alexa’s toe, and as she glanced down to see its coral-pink whorls in the sand, she felt
a rush of inspiration. She knelt on the sand, brought the camera close to the shell, and took a very tight picture, knowing it would come out well. Alexa imagined the photo inside a frame, with her name printed on the wall beside it in bold letters: an exhibit of her work. Alexa’s cheeks warmed and for a minute she forgot all about her sad romantic fate. With her
Vogue
internship around the corner, Alexa had been feeling more and more like a true, professional photographer; she’d begun to entertain images of herself taking photos on African safaris, changing her film on a run-down city street, or standing in a darkroom with her sleeves rolled up and her hair piled up on her head. There was so much in the world to examine, to investigate and record. At the thought, Alexa’s heartbeat sped up in a way that Jonah could never prompt.

The next thought Alexa had, almost in spite of herself, was of the Diane Arbus exhibit at the Getty. Alexa knew that a real photographer would never let a disagreement with Holly or a dislike of Seamus stand in her way of seeing great art. And Alexa sensed that communing with art would help get her mind off her boy troubles. Her decision made, Alexa got to her feet, brushing sand off her knees, and took herself and her camera back to
El Sueño
, where a quick intercom-buzz to Esperanza resulted in the “car” pulling up to take Alexa to the Getty.

By the time the limo dropped her off, and Alexa had ridden the weightless, white air tram up a snaking road into the craggy mountains, she was feeling a little calmer about everything. And, when her red Farylrobin straw wedges stepped onto the Getty’s gleaming white stone terrace, Alexa saw that Holly and Seamus weren’t among the people admiring the staggering mountain view, or the white-domed buildings of the museum. Maybe, Alexa thought with a flicker of hope, leaning over the terrace’s railing to take a picture of the emerald-green garden below, she’d even missed the two of them altogether.

But as soon as she entered the airy, sun-splashed exhibit hall, she saw that her momentary luck had run out. In between the murmuring art-lovers and strolling security guards, there stood Holly and Seamus, right in front of Alexa’s favorite Diane Arbus photograph: an intense black-and-white shot of identical twin sisters. Alexa noticed that Seamus, one hand pushing back his floppy blond hair, was intently focused on the photograph while, Holly, who was hanging back, looked a little distracted. Alexa wondered if she could duck behind a security guard and avoid running into them, but then Holly turned her head and gave Alexa a tentative wave.

Damn it.

Then Seamus glanced her way, and anger swelled
in Alexa when she saw his mouth curve up in a smirk. In his cuffed jeans, slip-on Pumas, faded Sound Team T-shirt, and pin-striped blazer, he looked just as Hipster Boy annoying as he had in the car ride from Vegas. She noticed that he also appeared a little tired, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep.
Probably up late writing shitty poetry.
She scowled back at him, and Seamus’s smirk blossomed into a full-blown grin. Alexa once again got the sense that he was silently laughing at her, especially as she walked toward him and Holly, her head held high.