Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood(38)
Author: Abby McDonald

“I’m not hungry.” Hallie’s voice was listless, and Grace’s heart fell as she remembered the black weeks after their father’s death: the weeping, and the sleepless nights, and the way Hallie had barely touched her food.

“You will be.” Grace kept her voice bright and upbeat. “The minute you smell those fries, you’ll be stealing all of mine.” She guided them across the street, Hallie still following obediently like a little child. “And I bet a hundred bucks, you’ll hear from Dakota before they even land in New York. They have Wi-Fi on the flight, don’t they?”

Hallie brightened, just a little. “I think so. . . .”

“See? With text, and e-mail, it’ll be like he’s not even gone,” Grace insisted. “You can Skype on your phone, too. You’ll see him every day!”

Hallie wiped her cheeks. “You’re right. And anyway, I’m going to go visit in a couple of weeks. They’ll be settled in then, and we can maybe look for a place together.”

“Right,” Grace agreed, too relieved that Hallie wasn’t in total collapse to start asking about this new plan for her to go move across the country. “See? It’s not the end of the world. He loves you, he’s not going to just disappear.”

But he did.

Not completely, and not all at once. No, it happened so gradually that Grace thought her sister was just exaggerating: playing up the wretched lover, abandoned by her soul mate. Dakota still called, and texted, and even sent mail during the first few weeks away: gift-wrapped care packages of N.Y.C. memorabilia; Polaroid pictures; scribbled lyrics. But the mail petered out, and his calls became farther and farther apart, until by the end of his first month away, Hallie was subsisting on occasional text messages that arrived at three a.m., and short fragments of phone calls that were always over too soon. Grace watched helplessly as Hallie sank into another dejected haze, watching TV all day — phone clutched by her side, just in case he called — and poring over every word and message like they held some kind of divine revelation.

“I don’t understand!” she would say, blinking at Grace in confusion. “He said he’d call, but I haven’t heard from him all week! Why is he doing this to me?”

Grace had no answers. She’d always thought Dakota was a good person. He’d cared about Hallie — about them all — so why would he fade Hallie out like this?

“Because he’s an ass**le.” Palmer had no such qualms about Dakota’s character. She slurped her iced coffee, sitting across from Grace at their usual café patio on South Beverly Drive. Their table was spread with homework, but studying was the last thing on Grace’s mind.

“No, don’t say that,” Grace protested.

“Why not? He saw a chance for bigger, better things, so he cut loose and ran. Happens all the time in this town.”

“But you saw them together,” Grace argued. “He loves her.”

“And?” Palmer shrugged. She propped her cowboy boots on their spare seat and sat back in the sun. “Trust me, love is the last thing these guys care about, not when their careers are on the line.”

“But Dakota’s not like that,” Grace said weakly. “He doesn’t care about being famous, he just wants to make his music.”

Palmer hooted with laughter. “Please! It’s not like we live in the Dark Ages, he could be talking to her all the time if he wanted. But he isn’t. Which means he doesn’t.”

Grace slumped. “I can’t believe it. He seemed like such a great guy!”

Palmer slurped some more. “They always do.”

Grace stared out at the street forlornly. No matter what Palmer said, she couldn’t accept it. He loved Hallie, he had to. Dakota wasn’t just another ruthless, shallow wannabe: he’d driven Grace home from school, run out to fetch special oil paint glaze for their mom, and spent almost every night for four months with his arm draped around Hallie’s shoulder, tenderly brushing hair away from her face. No, Grace was sure, this was all some terrible mistake. He was distracted by band stuff right now, but soon he’d call, or even fly back to make things right. Hallie would make him suffer and grovel awhile, and then everything would be calm again.

“Are you going to Harry’s thing tonight?”

Grace blinked, turning back to Palmer. “What?”

“His ‘gathering.’ ” Palmer made air quotes, the pink glitter on her nails flashing in the sun. “I heard some of the gloss posse talking about it, so I guess it’s going to be a big deal.”

“I don’t know . . .” Grace tapped her pen restlessly. “That might not be a good idea.”

“Why?” Palmer gave her a sly grin. “Because you might go crazy and hook up with him in a moment of wild abandon?”

Grace laughed. “That’s never going to happen. You know I don’t have feelings for him.”

“So you’re not in love?” Palmer rolled her eyes. “We’re sixteen, who is? He wants to date you, not get married. Go out, make out, have some fun.”

“I couldn’t.” Grace blushed, glancing around in case anyone heard. “Not if I don’t like him like that.” She paused, studying Palmer. “Why, do you do it?”

“What, hook up?” Palmer gave her a look. “In case you haven’t noticed, guys aren’t exactly lining up to ask me out. Or in.”

“But you’re great,” Grace said, confused.

“I like to think so.” Palmer grinned. “But the male population of this town doesn’t seem to agree. Apparently, I’m too intimidating.”

“What?” Grace exclaimed. “How do you figure that?”

“Let me see.” Palmer began to count off on her fingers. “There’s my charm and beauty, obviously.”

Grace laughed. “Obviously.”

“Plus, my inability to tolerate bullshit; penchant for multisyllabic words; the fact I don’t care what anyone thinks. According to the world, that all adds up to one angry feminist bitch.”

“Then they’re crazy,” Grace told her. “And it’s their loss.”

“Sure, I know that.” Palmer sighed, her sarcasm slipping for a moment. “But that doesn’t stop me from sitting home alone, wondering if I’ll ever get to go on an actual date.”

“Then we’ll stay home together,” Grace said. “Because I’m not dating anytime soon either.”