Holly Hearts Hollywood Read Online Free PDF

and the girl they deemed more attractive than me.
    Then again, I’d be stupid to not sign, right? Mr. Salazar made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t star material. What are the chances of getting another record deal? Besides, I’d never be able to sing on stage in front of thousands of people in a pleather tube top or whatever it is singers wear these days.
    I went over to the lawyers and tried not to lose it as they told me to “sign here” and “initial here” about fifteen times. And just like that, I sold my voice to a complete stranger.
    “Thank you, Ms. Hart. I’m very excited about the future of Shell Shocked now that you’re on board,” Mr. Salazar said as he smothered my hand in a handshake.
    I almost couldn’t get the words out to say anything back. I don’t know why, but it suddenly felt like I had no control over my voice anymore. The words got caught in my throat, which felt as dry as dust.
    I finally croaked, “Um, thanks. Me too?” I sounded like an idiot. Oh God, these people are going to eat me alive.
     
     
    February 9 th , 10:50am—Pink Palm Motel
     
    When I logged onto my Facebook account this morning, for the first time since I’d arrived really, I was bombarded with messages. It seems people are suddenly interested in talking to me now that word has gotten out that I’ve left.
    It’s too bad I’m not in Cedar Junction, because I’d be the most popular girl in town right now. Everyone is asking me what California is like and how I got such a cool opportunity. Even scarier, people I haven’t spoken to in years are posting things like, “You’ll be missed around here, Holly! You always were a bright spot at school.”
    They make it sound like I’ve died.
     
     
    Later, 1:50pm—Pink Palm Motel
     
    I thought grandparents were supposed to be sweet and feed you Werther’s Originals. They’re supposed to love every single thing you do and knit you unnecessary scarves and potholders for every holiday. Not my grandparents, oh no. They’re too busy being bitter to bother with candy and mittens. My grandparents called a few minutes ago, and they were not happy.
    “So, that mother of yours is making you move?” Grandma Hart asked.
    “No, she’s not making me. It’s something I want to do; she’s moving to support me.”
    “It’s so like your mother to make people do what she wants them to do,” she said, obviously ignoring me. “Look where that got my son. It got him dead, that’s where.”
    My dad died when I was six years old. When he got sick, he needed constant in-home care, and my mom wasn’t able to leave work completely to care for him around the clock. She was in the middle of an important research project she’d been in charge of for two years, so she wanted to work part-time instead and have in-home care. Well, Grandma and Grandpa thought she wasn’t being a good wife, and it turned into a whole thing. Eventually, she did take a leave of absence for over a year, but her research projects went belly-up, and someone eventually replaced her.
    When my father died, my grandparents blamed her and have never forgiven her. My mom ended up losing her husband, a job she loved, and the love of her in-laws in one year. Mom doesn’t really talk about that period of her life much.
    “Grandma, I want to do this. Don’t be mad at Mom.”
    The rest of the conversation was pretty much the same—Grandma and Grandpa complaining about my mother while I tried to put out the flames.
    With such a great family support system, it’s a wonder I don’t have a complex or anything. Time to go to bed. We’re going to see Hollywood Boulevard tomorrow. Ivy’s been preparing like crazy—she seems to think some big shot producer is going to discover her while she’s placing her hands inside Marilyn Monroe’s handprints at the Chinese Theatre.
     
     
    February 10 th , 11:45am—On the way to the studio
     
    My mom is officially the coolest. Most moms would force their child into a high