South beach by Aimee Friedman Page B

Why would Diego be here, in a hotel? He lived in South Beach! I'm an idiot, Holly thought.
    Numbly, she followed Alexa through the lobby, past a tinkling fountain and gilt-framed paintings of seascapes. Why am I obsessing so much? Holly obsessed. I'm thinking every boy I see is Diego. She waited while Alexa politely asked the concierge where the rest-rooms were. Then, as they left the concierge's desk, Holly noticed a phone booth nearby. On a shelf beneath the phone sat a thick white-pages directory. That's it, Holly thought, suddenly relieved. She'd look up Diego in the phone book. That was the mature, logical thing to do -- much more practical than hoping she'd bump into him at random.
    But I'll do it later, Holly thought as they walked into the restroom. Not with Alexa around. Before leaving Oakridge, Holly had briefly mentioned to Meghan and Jess that she hoped to reconnect with her First Kiss boy on this trip. They'd thought it was a romantic mission. But Alexa would probably tease Holly mercilessly for harboring a crush on a guy she hadn't seen in three years. Maybe it is borderline pathetic to look for him, Holly reflected. But I won't forgive myself if I don't try.
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    The ladies' room was just as deluxe as the rest of the hotel, complete with gleaming chrome surfaces, sinks in the shape of swans, a fully stocked table of grooming products, and an attendant handing out towels and mints. After Holly and Alexa were finished (and Alexa had tipped the attendant), they strolled back into the lobby.
    "Pool time!" Alexa said gleefully. She'd reapplied her lip gloss and dabbed powder under her eyes and was now feeling much more up to snuff.
    "Uh ... give me a minute?" Holly said, tugging on her tote. "I need to call my parents."
    In truth, Holly did need to call home -- her dad had already left her two messages that morning -- but she wanted to do a little Diego detective work first. And she was sure that the mere mention of parents would get Alexa out of her hair, for the time being.
    "Oh, totally stay here. You do not want to make that phone call outside," Alexa said. "If someone overheard you saying 'Hi, Mommy, how's New Jersey?' that would give us away instantly."
    "I don't call my mom Mommy,'''' Holly muttered. Gould Alexa be any more condescending? And just when Holly was starting to almost tolerate her.
    "Right. I'll go outside to snag us a prime spot," Alexa said, walking toward the double doors. She
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    waggled her fingers back at Holly. "If you come out and find me kissing a boy in the pool, don't bother me!" she added, then flounced off.
    Perfect, Holly thought. She glanced around furtively as she made her way back to the phone booth. There were guests strolling in and out of the lobby, and waiting to speak to the concierge. Holly tried to act natural as she slipped inside the booth and reached for the white pages. What was it Alexa had said? Act as if you belong.
    Holly opened the directory and turned to the "M" section. She tried to tune out the loud, obnoxious woman at the concierge desk. Wearing a silken head wrap and a flashy diamond choker, the woman was berating the poor concierge about delivering her package to the wrong room. "Don't you know who I am?" she shrilled.
    Who cares? Holly fumed silently struggling to focus on the task at hand. She scanned the page in front of her. Unfortunately, there were several Mendietas in South Beach. Ana Mendieta, Carlos Mendieta, Juan Mendieta ... no Diego. But if he were living with his parents, Holly realized, he wouldn't be listed under his own name. Holly tried to remember the name of Diego's father or mother, but came up blank. For some reason she could only think of her own parents' names, Lynn and Stanley. At the thought
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    of her parents, Holly felt newly determined. She certainly wasn't going to be hooking up back in Oakridge. She'd better act now, while she had some modicum of freedom.
    Holly pulled her cell phone out of her tote and started punching in