Read Online Hollywood Hills by Aimee Friedman - Free Book Online
Authors: Aimee Friedman
Tags: Fiction
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map, Alexa glanced up and announced that Seamus was going in a fatally wrong direction and that they would arrive in Mexico by nightfall. Holly’s stomach dropped.
“I know I don’t look it,” Seamus said, ignoring Alexa’s prognosis and changing lanes. “But I’m a California boy—born and bred.” As he spoke, Holly took note of the slightly raspy tenor of his voice; the birthmark under his ear, half-hidden by a lock of blond hair; his scent of incense and soap. She wasn’t attracted to him exactly but she hadn’t sat this close to another guy, besides Tyler, in a while. “I spent a lot of high school driving all night from LA to Vegas,” Seamus added with a grin. “So not to boast or anything, but I think I can find my way.”
Ew! Alexa was too disgusted by this display of arrogance to even respond. So she handed the map back to a relieved-looking Holly, stretched her legs across the seat, rested her head on her folded hands, and announced that she was going to take a long overdue beauty nap. Drifting off proved impossible, though, because Seamus’s music—“Band of Horses, they’re gonna be huge,” she heard him pompously tell Holly—was blaring, and he and Holly kept breaking into spontaneous laughter.
When they pulled up at a roadside McDonald’s for a bathroom break, Alexa continued fake-sleeping; despite growing up in suburbia, she’d only been inside a Mickey D’s once, a horrifying experience she didn’t care to repeat. It was only after Holly and Seamus returned sipping Cokes, and Seamus drove on, the road humming beneath the wheels, that Alexa was finally able to sink into a dream about playing a slot machine while wearing a spangly black dress, a nameless, faceless boy holding her around the waist and laughing into her hair.
The dream filled her with warmth, and then she felt true, full-bodied warmth on her face, and all along her skin. The warmth of streaming sunshine.
Alexa let her eyes flutter open. She was staring up at a sky of such pure cobalt blue that it looked painted. But no, she realized, it was real. As real as the rows oftall palm trees with fat, shaggy trunks that she was riding by. Blinking, Alexa sat up, brushed her windswept hair out of her eyes, and felt a glow of pleasure as she took in her surroundings. To her left was the great sapphire swath of the ocean—waves sparkling, tiny surfers bobbing—and to her right were craggy cliffs dotted with green gardens and cream-colored houses, each one more magnificent than the next. The air blowing in through the open roof smelled of budding flowers and fresh oranges.
“Where are we?” Alexa asked, still sleepy. Seamus’s music had stopped, but she could hear that Phantom Planet song “California” playing in her head: We’ve been on the run, driving in the sun…
Holly glanced over her shoulder, her bare feet up on the dashboard. “Look who’s awake,” she singsonged, and Alexa narrowed her eyes at her. Holly knew Alexa had only been pretending to doze for most of the trip, but she’d enjoyed the quiet too much to call her friend on it. She and Seamus had chatted easily about music and college, and then fallen into a comfortable silence, Holly composing an e-mail to Tyler in her head, and Seamus smiling at the open road, likely thinking up lines of poetry or something.
“We’re on the Pacific Coast Highway,” Holly explained to Alexa, quoting what Seamus had told her when they’d arrived oceanside. Holly had beenlooking in vain for the Hollywood sign, but Seamus had explained that it was in a different part of the city, one Holly hoped she would see later; that , to her, would make the LA experience real. But the unimaginable beauty of the coastline had caught Holly by surprise, as did the freeing sensation of tearing down that highway, the sounds of hip-hop and the Beach Boys floating over from passing cars, the energy both relaxed and relentless. California would definitely take some getting used
“I know I don’t look it,” Seamus said, ignoring Alexa’s prognosis and changing lanes. “But I’m a California boy—born and bred.” As he spoke, Holly took note of the slightly raspy tenor of his voice; the birthmark under his ear, half-hidden by a lock of blond hair; his scent of incense and soap. She wasn’t attracted to him exactly but she hadn’t sat this close to another guy, besides Tyler, in a while. “I spent a lot of high school driving all night from LA to Vegas,” Seamus added with a grin. “So not to boast or anything, but I think I can find my way.”
Ew! Alexa was too disgusted by this display of arrogance to even respond. So she handed the map back to a relieved-looking Holly, stretched her legs across the seat, rested her head on her folded hands, and announced that she was going to take a long overdue beauty nap. Drifting off proved impossible, though, because Seamus’s music—“Band of Horses, they’re gonna be huge,” she heard him pompously tell Holly—was blaring, and he and Holly kept breaking into spontaneous laughter.
When they pulled up at a roadside McDonald’s for a bathroom break, Alexa continued fake-sleeping; despite growing up in suburbia, she’d only been inside a Mickey D’s once, a horrifying experience she didn’t care to repeat. It was only after Holly and Seamus returned sipping Cokes, and Seamus drove on, the road humming beneath the wheels, that Alexa was finally able to sink into a dream about playing a slot machine while wearing a spangly black dress, a nameless, faceless boy holding her around the waist and laughing into her hair.
The dream filled her with warmth, and then she felt true, full-bodied warmth on her face, and all along her skin. The warmth of streaming sunshine.
Alexa let her eyes flutter open. She was staring up at a sky of such pure cobalt blue that it looked painted. But no, she realized, it was real. As real as the rows oftall palm trees with fat, shaggy trunks that she was riding by. Blinking, Alexa sat up, brushed her windswept hair out of her eyes, and felt a glow of pleasure as she took in her surroundings. To her left was the great sapphire swath of the ocean—waves sparkling, tiny surfers bobbing—and to her right were craggy cliffs dotted with green gardens and cream-colored houses, each one more magnificent than the next. The air blowing in through the open roof smelled of budding flowers and fresh oranges.
“Where are we?” Alexa asked, still sleepy. Seamus’s music had stopped, but she could hear that Phantom Planet song “California” playing in her head: We’ve been on the run, driving in the sun…
Holly glanced over her shoulder, her bare feet up on the dashboard. “Look who’s awake,” she singsonged, and Alexa narrowed her eyes at her. Holly knew Alexa had only been pretending to doze for most of the trip, but she’d enjoyed the quiet too much to call her friend on it. She and Seamus had chatted easily about music and college, and then fallen into a comfortable silence, Holly composing an e-mail to Tyler in her head, and Seamus smiling at the open road, likely thinking up lines of poetry or something.
“We’re on the Pacific Coast Highway,” Holly explained to Alexa, quoting what Seamus had told her when they’d arrived oceanside. Holly had beenlooking in vain for the Hollywood sign, but Seamus had explained that it was in a different part of the city, one Holly hoped she would see later; that , to her, would make the LA experience real. But the unimaginable beauty of the coastline had caught Holly by surprise, as did the freeing sensation of tearing down that highway, the sounds of hip-hop and the Beach Boys floating over from passing cars, the energy both relaxed and relentless. California would definitely take some getting used
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