Hollywood Hills

  “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.

  “So you’ve decided to join us mere mortals,” Seamus said, crossing his arms over his chest and then glancing at Holly. “What do you say? Should we genuflect?”

  Alexa couldn’t believe it when Holly actually giggled. Gritting her teeth, she fought back the urge to snap at them both; instead, she marched over an
d positioned herself in front of the twins photograph, telling herself to remain civil. After all, if she wanted to soak in all this inspiring photography, she’d have to simply grin and bear Seamus’s and Holly’s attitudes.

  Well, maybe she didn’t have to literally grin.

  “Why did you change your mind?” Holly asked, sidling up to Alexa. Though Holly was still a little sore toward her friend, she was pleased that Alexa had deigned to show up. Though Seamus had been considerate and thoughtful as ever, he’d also been far too absorbed by the boring photo exhibit, and Holly knew she couldn’t confide in him about her exhilarating morning at UCLA—or her sudden sparring with Tyler. Only Alexa could help Holly make sense of the confusing, clashing emotions that the fight with Tyler had stirred in her.

  “Well, it wasn’t because of either of you,” Alexa responded icily, turning to glare at Holly and then Seamus. She about-faced and studied a photograph of a giant towering over his parents. “I spent the morning taking pictures on the beach, so I decided to come see how another photographer—one that I love—sees the world. Okay?” Alexa paused, surprised at the words that had come rushing out of her, almost without her own accord. She was rarely so candid about her thoughts on photography.

  “Ah, then let us not disturb the artiste’s concentration,” Seamus stage-whispered to Holly, and Alexa pursed her lips. She refused to satisfy him by responding.

  Holly sighed; now that enough time had passed, she felt bad over what she’d said to Alexa that morning, and wished she could clear the air between herself and her friend. However, Seamus’s and Alexa’s sniping was not helping matters. Holly was certain that if she ever got the two of them to have an actual conversation, they’d find that they had stuff in common. She was opening her mouth to suggest that they all move to the outdoor café for lunch when her cell brringed loudly in her bag. Instantly, the nearest hypervigilant security guard appeared at Holly’s side, scolding her for bringing a phone inside the museum. It was obvious that the guard had had the same showdown with one too many cell-addicted Hollywood types.

  “Be right back,” Holly muttered to Alexa and Seamus, turning to leave the gallery. She pressed the silent button on her phone, and checked the screen. It was Tyler calling. Great.

  As Holly walked away, Alexa looped her fingers through the belt-holes of her slim-fitting Bermudas, willing herself to keep ignoring Seamus. She could feel him studying her with that same bemused expression. “You’re an Arbus fan?” he asked, and Alexa was positive that he sounded surprised.

  “Well, my favorite photographer is Robert Frank, especially his book, The Americans,” Alexa replied, once again wishing she could stop being so forthcoming around Seamus. “But I guess Diane’s a close second. Even if that Nicole Kidman movie was kind of weird.”

  “I wrote my thesis on Diane Arbus in college,” Seamus replied. “My whole argument was that she was really a journalist, a photographer-journalist, in a way, and—whatever—” He cut himself off and shook his head, straightening his glasses. “I was such a dork.”

  “Well, not much has changed, has it?” Alexa retorted, shooting Seamus a sideways glance; in truth, though, Alexa thought the idea of writing a paper on photography sounded kind of cool, and she’d long dreamed of majoring in art history.

  “You’re a paradox, Alexa,” Seamus replied, clearly unruffled by her remark. He gestured to the camera Alexa had kept around her neck, where it swung against the rose-colored tank she’d cinched in the middle with a big-buckled, bronze belt. “You spend the morning taking pictures, but then you put on heels and makeup. Not many true photographers play the part of a girly-girl so convincingly,” he continued, his voice deep and thoughtful. “See, maybe the thing is, Alexa, that under that carefully constructed veneer, you’re a dork.”

  Alexa’s lips parted as her skin flooded with heat. How dare he? Not for the first time, Seamus reminded Alexa of Holly—of the way Holly could boldly pinpoint, as she had that very morning, Alexa’s most secret, deep-down fears about herself. Those two deserve each other, Alexa thought venomously, wishing Holly would return from her phone chat. But, through her fury, Alexa also felt the smallest shiver of joy; a true photographer, Seamus had called her, somewhere in between all those other insults. Those words gave Alexa a quiet jolt, the same jolt she might feel if a stranger shouted her name on the street. Like someone had recognized her.

  “You can’t presume to know everything about me, you arrogant jerk,” Alexa finally replied, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes. She saw no need for niceties.

  To Alexa’s surprise, Seamus nodded, looking sheepish. “Good point. After all, you don’t know everything about me. Actually…” He paused and straightened his glasses again. “There’s something I should have told you and Holly—”

  “Alexa.”

  At the sound of Holly’s voice, Alexa whirled around to see her friend reentering the gallery. Holly’s freckled cheeks were very pink and her cell phone was clutched tightly in her hand. Alexa felt a rush of concern, wondering if the call had brought bad news from home.

  “I think I need to go,” Holly said, sounding more frustrated than upset as she neared Alexa and Seamus. “Tyler’s being all weird…We kind of got into this fight before, and he says we should talk when I can be alone.” Holly blew her bangs up with a sigh. “Tyler’s my boyfriend,” she explained, looking apologetically at Seamus.

  Quickly, Alexa also glanced at Seamus to see if jealousy might be flashing across his face—she was still certain there was something brewing between him and Holly. But if Seamus was writhing in envy, he didn’t show it. He merely nodded, furrowing his brow. “Do what you have to do, Holly,” he said understandingly. “Thanks for coming to meet me in any case.”

  “You can stay if you want,” Holly said to Alexa, her gray-green eyes wide. “I’m going to take the Hybrid back to El Sueño and call Tyler from there.” Alexa noticed that Holly was twisting her new ring around and around on her finger, a sure sign she was worried.

  For a second, Alexa looked back at Seamus—who was watching her with an unreadable expression in his eyes—and then at the photos she hadn’t seen yet. I can’t stay, she decided. Even though Holly had upset her that morning, Alexa still wanted to help her friend deal with what sounded like some potential drama. Alexa shrugged at Seamus by way of good-bye, and he shrugged back.

  “I guess I’ll see you girls,” he said, lifting his hand in a wave.

  No, you won’t, Alexa thought as she turned to leave the gallery with Holly. Tomorrow would be their last full day in LA, and the girls wouldn’t have time for anything but wedding preparations before the big event. Alexa felt a prickle of sadness at the realization; their visit was almost over.

  When she and Holly stepped out into the sunshine, Alexa glanced over her shoulder into the gallery, but she couldn’t spot Seamus anymore. She guessed she would never find out what his deep, dark secret had been.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Shifting Gears

  “Call him now,” Alexa recommended as she and Holly breezed through the canyons, the late afternoon wind catching their hair. “It’s obvious you want to.” Alexa shot a sidelong glance at her friend, who was sitting tensely beside her in the passenger seat. Ever since they’d left the Getty, Holly had been clutching her cell to her chest. In Alexa’s opinion, Holly was too attached to that phone. On all the trips they’d taken together, its presence had caused nothing but trouble.

  “I don’t know,” Holly said, flipping open her phone to study the background—a close-up of Tyler, grinning after a lacrosse game. Her stomach twisting, she thought back to the quick, tense conversation they’d had on the Getty’s terrace; usually Tyler got over their fights pretty quickly, but this time he’d seemed cold. Holly assured herself that it was probably just a bump in the road of their relationship, one that would be smoothed over quickly. “He said I should only call him back when I was by myself,” Holly added, looking up at Alexa.

  ?
??Please,” Alexa snorted, easing the car over a speed bump. “I so don’t count. I mean, you’d fill me in regardless, right?” Alexa peeked at Holly again, and smiled, deciding to forget about their own clash that morning—for now, anyway. “Speaking of which,” Alexa said, turning the car toward the famous Mulholland Drive. “What are you guys fighting about? I thought everything was all peachy in Holly-Tyler Land.” Except for that bicker session at my mom’s party, Alexa added silently.

  “So did I,” Holly groaned. “Though I hope you don’t actually think of us in those scary terms,” she added, grinning at her friend, and suddenly grateful to have her there. “This morning, things got strange,” Holly went on thoughtfully. “When I called him from UCLA, I was having a great time, and I sounded all giddy and maybe he was worried that—” He wasn’t the one making me happy, Holly thought, surprised by her own thought.

  “You?” Alexa teased, raising her eyebrows in mock shock. “Holly Jacobson, giddy about…Los Angeles?” Alexa smiled, watching the curvy road ahead, as Holly laughed in sheepish agreement. It had been increasingly clear to Alexa that Holly was actually sort of loving LA. Lately there had been a brighter sparkle in Holly’s eyes, and a melodic, hopeful timbre to her voice whenever she spoke about the city. Alexa wondered if Tyler had picked up on the changes in Holly as well, which would explain his weirdness. Tyler Davis was not a big fan of change.

  As Alexa steered the car along the twisting, clifflike edges of Mulholland Drive, Holly sat up straighter, drew in a deep breath, and then pressed 1 on her cell phone to call Tyler. A blur of mansions and a dizzying view of the valley flashed by beneath them, and Alexa bit her lip, fully expecting I-hate-heights Holly Jacobson to have a panic attack beside her. But it was obvious that Holly was preoccupied with bigger problems at the moment. “Sweetie,” she was saying into the phone, her voice taut. “What’s going on?”