Hollyweird Read Free Page A

my otherwise clean sink drain. Birth may have made us sisters, but polar opposite personalities made us incompatible. And wonder of wonders, there’s no embroidered Hallmark pillow that says that.
    â€œWhat are you two doing?” Missy asked with peevish exasperation. Dressed in four-inch, gold-toned heels and oversized sunglasses, body-molding Rock & Republic capri jeans, and a low-cut top that drew people’s (men’s and women’s) attention to her chest before her face, Missy flung her perfectly bed-mussed blond hair behind her shoulders. (All the better to see her cleavage, my dear.)
    I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to will her back onto a broom headed for home. The persistent gum-smacking in my ear told me she hadn’t poofed away.
    That Missy had somehow convinced Dad she could be a “responsible chaperone” still boggled our minds. Yes, we needed someone “Twenty-one years or older” to accompany us—she qualified by a measly two months and two days—and sure, Dad didn’t always know the right thing to do since Mom could no longer guide him, but Missy as our guardian? It was ludicrous. She’d already told us we were on our own.
    â€œI’m focusing on two things in L.A.,” she’d said on the plane, clicking them off on her acrylic nails. “My tan and getting discovered. Just keep your cells at the ready and stay out of trouble.”
    How’s that for trustworthy? She must’ve delivered one heckuva speech to convince Dad she should be our escort. Hmm , I thought, maybe she really would be an ac-tor (she always put a ridiculously strong, self-important emphasis on the second syllable) one day. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me. Missy was such an attention whore, what else could she be? I just found it hard to imagine our mom had once been an actress. Granted, it was way back when, before she had us girls, but still … I could never see her being like Missy. Whatever the reason behind my sister’s burning desire for stardom, I had to at least give her kudos for going after what she wanted.
    When it came to knowing what I wanted … I was struggling … maybe even floundering. I was a bit like a newbie swimmer in the deep end without water wings. My only goal for this trip was to have some fun and live a little, something I really hadn’t let myself do since Mom died. Getting that phone call from EnterTEENment Magazine had been the first time I’d truly gotten excited about … well, anything. And it had felt good.
    Mom’s death had been so sudden and unexpected. “Tragic” was the word most often used. For me, it had been total devastation. My rock-solid, safe world had been shattered and I’d lost the one person I felt closest with. But, quite frankly, Mom would’ve kicked my boo-tay if she realized just how much I’d allowed myself to disconnect and fade away. Facing my senior year, and anticipating all the momentous occasions Des was constantly reminding me about, I’d come to the realization I had withered enough and needed to unfurl in the California sun.
    â€œGive me a sec,” I told Missy, intending to finish my “Dakota’s just a regular person” pep talk with Des.
    â€œNuh uh.” My sister grabbed me by the arm and started hauling me down the tunnel. “Get a move on,” she ordered. “Hollywood awaits and she shouldn’t hold her breath any longer for my arrival.”
    I snorted in disbelief and grabbed Des’s hand. “Don’t be nervous,” I whispered to her as I tripped down the carpet. The thing of it is, I’m too klutzy to wear pumps, but Missy actually has the skills to be one of those stupid sudsy heroines who chases after the bad guy in a short skirt and lethal Manolo Blahniks.
    Anyhow, when we stepped out of the tunnel, Missy did what any audacious wannabe would do—she made a scene. With practiced precision she