I So Don't Do Famous Read Online Free Page B

Academy Awards together. The two of us on the couch with a giant bowl of buttered popcorn, the TV blaring, our guesses written down in sealed envelopes on the coffee table.
    My hand clenches in excited anticipation.
    â€œAnd Marilyn Monroe’s ghost shows up in a mirror at the Roosevelt,” she says. “You know how long I’ve been fascinated by the mystery surrounding her death.”
    My elbow bends.
    â€œI’m sure the foreign Academy would love to tie up the loose ends on that case. Any academy would,” Mom says. “What if I approached the administration about working the Marilyn Monroe mystery? It wouldn’t exactly be a vacation for me, but I could attend your awards ceremony. We could hang out and do some touristy things together in Hollywood.”
    â€œYes, yes, yes!” I punch the air with a victory fist.

chapter
five

    Things I do to get ready for Hollywood:
    â€¢chores to earn extra spending money
    â€¢shop for travel-sized shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, toothpaste; magazines and snacks for plane ride; swimsuit cover-up from Trendy’s
    â€¢convince Brianna that we will not be constantly texting her our every move because we don’t have unlimited texting
    â€¢give my brother explicit instructions on how to look after my fish
    â€¢visit my grandmother
    Things I don’t do:
    â€¢text Josh
    â€¢phone Josh
    â€¢see Josh
    â€¢stop thinking about Josh
    Finally, it arrives—the day of our trip.
    The plane ride from Phoenix to LAX—Los Angeles International Airport—is short. Junie and I talk for the entire flight. My dad starts off reading a business book, but we’re barely in the air before his head is bobbing and his book tumbles to the pull-out tray table.
    The plane lands and we follow signs to the baggage area. While we’re waiting for the carousel to crank up, my dad pulls a packet of papers from the front of his carry-on. He slaps at his jeans pockets, trying to locate his reading glasses. “Let’s look at the information Paula typed up.”
    â€œDad, seriously.” I watch for my bag as the carousel jerks to life. “Junie and I memorized the itinerary.”
    â€œNext is a limo ride to the hotel,” Junie says.
    We pull off our luggage, then head for the exit. Junie strides fast, which she can do easily, as her suitcase is the size of a tissue box. I’m a little worried that she didn’t pack enough clothes.
    We drag our bags through the automatic doors. It’s warm. It’s muggy. It’s noisy with honking horns and screeching cars.
    A hand on her forehead to shade her eyes, Juniescans the horizon. I dig through my purse for my new blingy sunglasses. My dad catches his breath.
    â€œHere it comes,” Junie sings out.
    Shining and gleaming in the California sun, a sleek black stretch limo glides up beside us.
    I run my palm along the fender. I thought I’d have to wait until my prom to snag a ride in a limo.
    Junie knocks on the front passenger’s window.
    The driver’s door yawns open, and a guy clambers out. A guy Amber would totally glom onto. He’s twentyish, with bleached-blond hair, a beach tan and mirrored sunglasses. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, cutoffs and flip-flops. This guy’s a WAB and a BUB all rolled into a cute California package.
    He holds up a piece of cardboard with one word on it: SHERRY . “This name apply to any of you?”
    â€œMe.” I give a half-wave.
    â€œ
Hollywood Girl
sent me to take you to the Roosevelt.” He leans through the open door and presses a button to pop the trunk. “This your party?”
    â€œYeah. My dad and my friend Junie.” I gesture with a shoulder.
    Dad sticks out an arm.
    â€œHello, sir.” The chauffeur shakes my dad’s hand. “Welcome to the City of Angels. I’m Stephen.” He grabs our bags and swings them into the back of the vehicle.
    We hop in, scooting along