Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm

Four years later, I was twenty one, living in New York with my three roommates, and preparing to take over the family business; Autumn. Ever since summer of Hamilton, as I had come to call it, the paparazzi have been swarming me, desperate to figure out what was going to happen with the now legal heiress to the Williams fortune. I couldn’t step off my property without being attacked, which made attending Fairgrove’s extremely difficult. Claudia had transferred out of our dorm and into another girl’s, while I was left by myself. We have yet to reconnect, and at the pace of our last meeting (which ended in broken furniture and Marshmallow Fluff coating the inside of my closet and all its contents), it was highly unlikely that we’d ever be able to reach the same friendship status as before.

Claudia moved to L.A., attending UCLA’s fashion program, while I went onto NYU. Sure, it wasn’t the top of the line and it sure as hell wasn’t what the world was expecting, but it was perfect for me. I just needed to take a step out of the lime light and go somewhere where I knew I’d be treated the way I should; and I was. There, I met my three new best (only) friends; Layla McCarthy, Selene Mariachi, and Dakota Wash. They were at first, star struck and completely unreasonable, but after suffering through the first semester together, we bonded over ice cream and chick flicks. It felt like we knew each other our entire lives.

Layla McCarthy had an amazing life. The daughter of a nurse and a French teacher in a small town in Alabama, she managed to get straight A’s throughout high school and was accepted into NYU early acceptance. She graduated valedictorian, was still going steady with her high school sweetheart, and had a solid job working for a high profile law firm. Layla was tan with delicate features and a southern twang. She was short and slightly plump, and like a mouse, shy at first but able to turn into a fearsome creature when provoked. She was currently in a relationship with her high school sweetheart Leroy Cotulla, a Southern gentleman that we all loved.

Selene Mariachi was a wild child, born to be bad and to break the rules as much as she could. Supporting a mess of jet black hair that fell like water down her back and accentuated her almond eyes, Selene was every rebel’s dream and every parent’s nightmare. She had a cutthroat attitude, steely grey eyes that could cut you like a razor blade, and at least three tattoos that I knew of that graced her tanned skin. However, behind the rebellious and I-don’t-care philosophy resided a brilliant mind full of mathematical equations begging to be released and a heart as soft as a worn teddy bear. She depended on boys and music like a boat depends on the water; in that order. When she walked, it was though she swirled treble clefts and bass beats in the wind, and managed to swirl every boy’s head to follow her footsteps. Boys orbited towards her, and she in no way refused their attention.

Dakota was our resident flower child. It was like Dakota was born in the wrong era; she was a vegan, anti-anything violent, earthy, and the sweetest person I had ever met. She was natural and real, and didn’t care if someone laughed at her long skirts or the wreath of sunflowers she wove in her dark hair. Dakota was a breath of fresh air from the Barbie-infested streets of L.A. She was a dreamer, an artist, and a dancer. Although Dakota was gorgeous, she wasn’t big on dating, nor boys, seeing as she refused to date anyone who was a meat eater, nor someone who wasn’t environmentally aware. We were her exceptions, seeing as we were her best friends. Dakota was a second-grade teacher, and utterly adorable with children; she could make even the fussiest of kids fall asleep within minutes, and the amount of gifts she received from parents and students was remarkable.

I loved them all like they were my sisters, but there were things I could never tell them. None of them knew of my past, and I doubt that they ever would. I kept my secrets hidden, and was half way into paranoia about anyone finding out. I knew that Dakota at least suspected me of secrets, but I was doubtful she knew exactly what happened. But they were relentless, and would do anything for me to dish. And that, my friends, is where this all begins.

[&cut]

“Holly, why did you turn him down?” Selene sighed, exasperated as we trouped into our apartment, tossing shopping bags aside.

“Selene, I don’t date musicians,” I explained while I moved towards the kitchen. “Plus, he’s not at all my style.”

“But he’s so dark and dreamy!” gushed Dakota as she followed behind Selene. “Avery Clark is everything you could ask for!”

“I don’t date musicians,” I repeated.

“Oh please, that's such bull. I highly doubt that you'd have any plausible reason for not dating musicians," Selene teased. “I think you should give him a chance.”

“What’re y’all talking ’bout?” Layla yawned as she exited the bedroom she shared with Selene. “And what time is it? I fell asleep while studying.”

“It’s like, nine-thirty, and we’re currently discussing how cute Holly would look if she gave Avery Clark a chance,” Dakota giggled.

“Ooh, I agree,” Layla joined in, plopping onto one of the kitchen stools. “You guys would be adorable together!”

“What do you see in him? He’s just another fame-starving musician set on riding my coat-tails to stardom.”

Layla rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You’re so cynical, Holly.”

“I just…” I bent over the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, and turned away to pour myself a glass. “I’m not really interested in dating right now.”

“Liar, liar!” Selene shouted, pointing a manicured finger in my direction. “You are so! You were all flirty and kissy-kissy with that hot boy in Starbucks yesterday! And the day before, you were this to handing your number to that one actor…what’s his name? Chace Crawford!”

“You met Chace Crawford?” Layla squealed, sitting up straight. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I in all honesty forgot,” I shrugged as I sipped my juice. “Look, guys, I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’m not going to be dating anytime soon, alright?”

“Okay, how can you say no to this face?” Dakota shoved the latest magazine Selene had subscribed to in my face, causing the topic of our conversation’s face to be magnified.

Avery Clark was currently the top selling artist on the music charts; he was a clean cut Texas boy with a silky voice and killer guitar skills. With his dark hair that swooped across his icy blue eyes and his lightly freckled skin, Avery was God’s gift to teenaged women across the nation. Left and right girls screamed over his name and drooled at the thought of seeing him perform his latest hit “She’s Got That Butterfly Smile” live. Yes, Avery was gorgeous, yes he was talented, and yes, as the paparazzi, Layla, Selene, and Dakota liked to point out, he was head over heels for me.

“Alright, now find one adjective that you think fits him best in this picture,” Dakota continued. I tilted my head to the side, scrunching up my nose at the glossy cover.

“He looks…pensive.”

They all burst into shouts of horror, annoyance, and hidden laughter. Layla dropped her head to her arms, letting her dark hair hide her face, while Dakota pretended to hit me with the magazine. Selene, however, was ranting about how stubborn I was.

“Pensive isn’t an insult,” I defended. “I mean, he just looks like he’s really concentrating on the camera.”

“You are probably the only female on the entire planet that doesn’t melt when they see this photo,” Selene sighed. “And the only female he’s in love with.”

“He’s not in love with me, you guys.”

“Holly, he wrote his entire album for you! You’re the only person in the entire universe who doesn’t see that!” Layla groaned. I pulled a face and waved her words from the air.

“Can we please just drop it? I really don’t to have this conversation every single day of my life,” I sighed, turning away from the kitchen. “I’m beat; I’m going to my room.”

As I left the room, Layla lunged for the radio and turned it on, blasting Avery’s music through the house. Even after I had closed my door, I could still hear his gentle crooning and the rhythmic bass.

[&cut]

I awoke with a start, my eyes straining into swirling blackness, illuminated by the tiny screen of my cell phone. I scrambled to pick up the ringing phone, desperate to answer before either the caller hung up or Dakota woke up.

After about a minute of useless hand flopping against my desk, I managed to grab my phone and cradle it against my ear. Sitting up, I turned my alarm clock towards me and checked the time, wincing at the thought of who could be calling me at two o’clock in the morning.

“Hello?” I grimaced at the sound of my voice, groggy and blanketed with sleep. I pulled the phone away from my mouth and cleared my throat, desperate to lose the coarseness and rasp.

“Holly?”

Panic clouded my mind as I stared at my phone in amazement and horror, listening to a voice I hadn’t heard in about four years, and never planned on hearing again.