“That’s why I love you,” Holly replied, resting her head back on the chair and smiling fondly at Alexa. As surprised as Holly was, she was also secretly impressed; the Alexa she’d always known would never have turned down a guy like Jonah, no matter the circumstances. What was it Kenya had said last night? It’s this city. It changes everyone.
Remembering Kenya, Holly sat up straight, checking her watch. “Could I take the Hybrid this morning?” she asked Alexa. Driving home last night along the dark Pacific Coast Highway, listening to the ocean, and singing along to pop songs on KIIS FM, had been strangely freeing—and Holly was eager to get back on the road. Wait until she told Tyler that LA was turning her into a driver.
“Sure, but where are you rushing off to?” Alexa asked, straightening her Noir gold anchor necklace against her collarbone.
Holly swung her legs off her chair. “Well, I’m going to stop at Fred Segal and return my dress before I meet Kenya at UCLA, and then guess who called me—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Alexa cut in, whipping off her sunglasses. “Why on earth are you—”
“Because I have to,” Holly interrupted, her shoulders slumping. “I thought about it all of last night, Alexa. There’s no way I’ll be able to pay off that credit card bill and still manage to buy stuff for college.” Holly was sorrowful at the thought of giving back the pink Catherine Malandrino, but she knew in her gut that it was the right, responsible thing to do. The Holly thing to do. “My prom dress is pretty cute, after all,” she added defensively.
“Okay…” Alexa said slowly, tilting to her head to one side. “But that wasn’t what I was about to ask. Why are you going to UCLA today?” Alexa couldn’t believe it. Was Holly actually abandoning her in her hour of need? Alexa had been hoping to rehash her Jonah experience at least two more times, as was her and Holly’s custom when discussing boy issues. And she was curious to hear all about Holly’s seemingly exciting night with Kenya, which Holly hadn’t time to get into because, well, Alexa had been talking nonstop since they’d gotten up.
“Oh, right.” Holly bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I assumed you were gonna be, uh, busy this morning, so I told Kenya I’d meet her before she went to class.”
Alexa scowled and flopped back against the chair, her loose golden bun bouncing. “No, I’m not busy this morning. And I’ll probably never be busy again.” Alexa thought of the fake nuns she’d seen on the Paramount lot yesterday; since she’d passed up her chance to hook up with the most beautiful guy on earth, Alexa figured she might as well join their ranks. Get me to a nunnery.
Alexa’s pay-attention-to-me expression sent a flash of annoyance through Holly. She knew that Alexa wanted her to cancel her plans with Kenya, and tell Alexa that of course she’d get busy again, of course she hadn’t ruined her love karma by ditching Jonah, and of course everything was going to work out for the best. But Holly didn’t know if all that was even true. And maybe, for once, she didn’t want to be the one to pull Alexa out from beneath the undertow of her own drama.
“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” Holly said, feeling proud of herself as she leaned over to peck Alexa’s cheek. Miguel continued to clip the hedges around the sundeck, filling the morning air with the pungent scent of fresh grass.
“When later?” Alexa asked petulantly, squeezing a dollop of sunscreen into her palm. “Aren’t you and Kenya going to spend all day, like, stretching together or some crap?”
Holly got to her feet, shaking her head in annoyance. “No. If you’d ever let me get a word in edgewise, I was going to tell you about my conversation with Seamus last night.”
“Who?” Alexa looked up from the sunscreen she’d begun massaging into her legs.
“Seamus—the guy who drove us here, remember?” Holly clarified, rolling her eyes, but she felt a pleasant tickle of warmth remembering her chat with Seamus outside the Cabana Club.
“Unfortunately, I do,” Alexa replied. Did Holly think that news of Mr. Hipper-than-Thou was going to put Alexa in a better mood? And why had he decided to rear his obnoxious head?
“He called and asked if we wanted to meet him late this afternoon,” Holly continued with a smile. She’d thought it very generous of Seamus to have included Alexa in his invite, considering there was clearly no love lost between the two of them. “At the Getty Center,” she added, checking her watch again. “He said it’s some kind of museum up in the—”
“Santa Monica mountains,” Alexa cut in, nodding. She’d read about the Getty in the travel section of Vogue last month. The museum supposedly had a kickass photography collection—including an incredible exhibit of Diane Arbus, one of Alexa’s favorite photographers—along with stunning white terraces, lush gardens, and winding streams. Since Holly generally found museums dull, Alexa had been hoping for a chance to sneak away to the Getty alone. But now, she had absolutely no desire to join Holly and Holly’s new soul mate there; Alexa recalled the agonies of sharing a car with them all too well. “Give my regards to the know-it-all,” Alexa added coolly as she busied herself with her sunscreen once more.
Holly remained where she was, her irritation growing by the second. “Alexa, you’re not going to come? You love museums. Even I’m looking forward to going.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Alexa replied, plucking at the strap of her Petit Bateau navy-blue polka-dot bikini. In that instant, she decided she’d spend the day shooting photographs of Malibu beaches. She’d gotten the craving for it last night, in the hot tub with Jonah, and she wasn’t one to be deterred. “There’s something else I’d much rather do.”
“God, I’m really flattered,” Holly snapped, anger flushing her cheeks. She rarely raised her voice to Alexa, but something—the fact that she was running late to meet Kenya, or perhaps the slightly bitter aftertaste from last night’s talk with Tyler—was putting her on edge. “You know,” she added, certain she would regret the cruelty in her voice a second later. “Maybe Jonah’s lucky that you decided to ditch him. You’re so difficult, Alexa. Don’t worry—you won’t stay single forever. But I feel bad for the poor guy who is gonna end up with you one day.”
Then Holly put her hands to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say all that. Or had she?
Alexa heard her own breath as it caught in her throat. Holly hardly ever criticized Alexa in such a blatant—and ballsy—way. And this time, instead of reacting instantly, instead of firing back, Alexa remained still in her chair and wondered if what Holly had said was true. Maybe she was difficult. Too difficult to fall in love, and too difficult to be a truly good friend. As difficult, perhaps—dare she think it?—as her mother. The thought was so depressing that Alexa felt a lump form in her throat.
“Glad to know you feel that way,” she finally responded, fighting to keep her tone cold and steady. She slid her sunglasses back on, the better to hide what she suspected was a wounded expression in her eyes. Then she tilted her face up to the sun, silently willing Holly to disappear.
Holly tapped one flip-flopped foot against the sundeck, surprised that she didn’t feel more guilty about her blowup. Equally surprising was Alexa’s silence; in the past, her friend would have surely retorted with some bitchy remark about Holly’s lack of boy experience, which would have then led to a full-on snipe-fest. Now, only awkwardness lingered between the girls, thick as the heat. Holly tried to slice through the tension by looking at her stony-faced friend and speaking again. “So maybe we’ll see you at the Getty later?” she offered, her voice softer.
“Uh-huh,” Alexa muttered. She reached down for her frosty-cold Fiji water as Holly flip-flopped off noisily, almost colliding with Miguel. Alexa watched her go, then took a sip from the bottle. She felt she’d made it sufficiently clear that her showing up at the Getty Center later was about as likely as her mother showing up at Oakridge High’s graduation.
“I can’t wait to graduate from Oakridge,” Holly announced, apropos of nothing, as she and Kenya walked down the wide stone steps of the Ackerman student
center, holding ice-cream sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. After Holly had successfully driven from Malibu to Fred Segal—returning the dress with only a small pang of regret—she’d made her way to Westwood Village, pissed at Alexa the whole time. But meeting Kenya at an adorable offcampus ice-cream shop called Diddy Riese had cheered her up. Savoring their unhealthy breakfasts, the girls had then headed on to UCLA’s campus, where they now stood, at the foot of the student center’s steps.
“What prompted this declaration?” Kenya laughed around a mouthful of espresso ice cream, tucking her books under her free arm.
“I think being here,” Holly replied, gazing around at the sun-soaked, bright green campus. The winding paths, grassy hills, and old-fashioned academic buildings were bursting with student activity. A group of girls in tank tops, with multi-colored boogie boards under their arms, flip-flopped past, sipping Jamba Juices and discussing a politicial science class. And clusters of tanned, mellow-looking students lounged on towels in the grass, reading Descartes and Virginia Woolf. Something about the vibe made Holly’s pulse spike, made her look forward to college in a way she never had before. Rutgers was perfectly pleasant, but visiting the campus had never quite been a thrilling experience.
Now, she was feeling pretty differently.
“In high school,” Holly elaborated, taking a bite out of her cookies-and-cream sandwich. “It’s like you hardly have any choices. But this place…” Holly gestured around. “Seems like it’s all about being able to pick and choose what’s right for you. Or am I imagining things?”
“No, it’s true,” Kenya said thoughtfully, brushing a stray braid off her cheek. “Even that first step of choosing the best school for yourself is kind of amazing, and all the rest…just gets even better.”
Did I choose Rutgers? Holly wondered, feeling a heartbeat of hesitation. The fact that she would go to school there had always seemed preordained—now that Holly thought about it, there hadn’t been much choice in the matter. But if she could have, would she have selected differently?
“For instance,” Kenya was saying as she and Holly started down the nearest path. “I have to say there’s something really nice about being kind of far from home…knowing that my parents are only a plane ride away, but that they’re not keeping tabs on me every minute.”
“Okay, you basically just described my fantasy,” Holly joked, imagining a life beyond her parents’ reach. Holly felt a swell of excitement, and pictured herself alone, independent, wandering across campus with her books in her arms and the sun lightening her hair…
“Wait,” she said suddenly, grabbing Kenya’s arm. “Is that a bear?”
“Right on,” Kenya said as she and Holly arrived at the statue of a bronze, roaring grizzly. Kenya grinned and proudly patted the bear’s side. “He’s the mascot for our sports teams—the Bruins, of course. California’s big on bears,” Kenya added wisely. “Just check out the state flag.”
“The Bruins,” Holly echoed as she and Kenya started walking again. Holly cast a smile back at the bear, which now seemed a little friendlier to her. She remembered when UCLA’s track team coach had called her back in January to recruit her, and had told Holly about the Bruins’ impressive records. “So what’s the track program like here?” Holly asked Kenya, swallowing the last of her ice-cream sandwich. Earlier, Kenya had taken Holly past the gorgeous, crimsoncolored Drake track—which had practically invited Holly to go for a run. It was funny how easily she was able to picture herself on this campus.
“Well…” Kenya said, as if she were stalling. She took another bite of her ice-cream sandwich and straightened her red Timbuk2 messenger bag across her chest. The girls were heading down Bruin Walk, a tree-lined path along which students shouted about political petitions, free movie tickets, and upcoming concerts, all while waving bright yellow flyers and blue-and-gold Bruins pennants. Holly felt another rush of appreciation for the energetic, college-y feel.
“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 Cladda
gh 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.