Free Hollywood Hills by Aimee Friedman Page A

Holly whispered, her heart kicking. “He lives.”
    “What time is it?” Alexa whispered back, stunned by the surprise message. She had to admit that Jonah’s gesture was pretty…sweet.
    In slow motion, Holly brought her blue Swatch Skyball to her face and replied, “Six…forty…five.”
    The girls gasped, turned to leave the kitchen, then immediately turned back to each other, at a loss. “Where do we even start?” Holly cried, gesturing down to her ratty jeans. Though she wasn’t as dizzied by the house’s luxury anymore, this was a whole other brand of nervousness.
    Alexa, a near genius when it came to the mathematics of primping-to-go-out, had already calculated that waterfall-shower-plus-full-makeup-plus-trying-on-different-bikinis would equal a big bad zero. They needed to proceed wisely. Which was why she set about uncorking the bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses for herself and Holly.
    “To the most efficient fifteen minutes of our life,” Alexa declared as they clinked their flutes, and Holly nodded grimly.
    In a whirlwind, the girls managed to down their flutes of champagne, tipsily race to get their bags from the entrance hall, and sequester themselves in their rooms to change—Holly into the lime-green halter bikini that had been her good luck charm in SouthBeach, and Alexa into her new orange-and-gold bandeau. Cover-ups and shoes were slipped on: a white American Apparel polo dress and flip-flops for Holly, and silk short-shorts, a strapless, flowy black top with a small gold skull in its center, and gold Polly mules for Alexa. When Esperanza buzzed them to announce that the car was outside, Alexa, brushing out her hair, didn’t feel quite as model-glam as she’d hoped when making her debut at a Hollywood party. But then she reminded herself that she shouldn’t care. Be realistic. Be realistic.
    The “car” turned out to be a white stretch limo, complete with a capped chauffeur, a stocked bar, and a flat-screen TV. Pulses racing, the girls slid inside and, as the limo pulled away from El Sueño, Alexa opened the moonroof and convinced Holly to stand up with her. The girls poked their heads out into the early evening sea air, the wind wild, the scent of blossoms intoxicating. Alexa stretched her arms up as her hair blew out behind her like a blonde flag. This ride was certainly different from the one she and Holly had taken earlier that day.
    “We are officially in Hollywood!” Alexa exclaimed, blowing a kiss to an SUV packed full of bronzed boys and their surfboards. They whistled and waved at her as they tore past, and Alexa hoped she might run into more of their kind later on in the trip.
    Holly, meanwhile, was busy noticing the billboards. She didn’t think she’d ever seen quite so many all in one place, all brightly colored and enormous, trumpeting movies, TV shows, and hot new cars. Then Holly noticed a slightly smaller one that made her jaw drop. “Look!” she cried to Alexa, pointing as they passed:
WEDDING BELLES ARE RINGING ! EXCLUSIVE LIVE FOOTAGE OF MARGAUX EKLUNDSTROM’S WEDDING . THIS FRIDAY , ONLY ON E !— ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION .
    “Well, I’ve died,” Alexa shouted over the wind, shrugging her shoulders, “and gone to heaven.”
    “I don’t know,” Holly said, putting her hands on the moonroof so she could duck back inside. How would she explain it to her parents if she ended up on TV again ? That one time in South Beach, when cameras had caught her winning a bikini contest, her entire family had gone into a tailspin.
    As Alexa remained standing and saying her hellos to Hollywood, Holly sank down into the deep seats and flicked on the TV. Despite the latest E! revelation, everything else—the champagne, the limo, the way she felt in her favorite bikini—was conspiring to relax her.
    Then Holly noticed what was on the TV screen, and she gasped. “It’s destiny,” she announced to Alexa’s knees.
    “What is?” Alexa asked, sitting back down and