‘I know.’ He grins. ‘Fun, huh?’
My heart is leaping around like a fish. Hollywood! Me, Becky Brandon, née Bloomwood, in Hollywood!
Luke’s saying something else. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him. My mind is too stuffed with alluring images. Me rollerblading down a boardwalk, all tanned and fit. Me driving down Sunset Boulevard in a convertible. (I must find out how to drive American cars.) Me and Sage Seymour hanging out by her shell-pink pool, wearing bikinis from some really hip downtown boutique, while Minnie looks adorable in a sundress.
People will call me The Girl with the English Accent. Or maybe The Girl Who’s Best Friends with Sage Seymour. Or maybe … The Girl in the White Sunglasses. (Yes. I’ll get some tomorrow. That can be my look.)
And it’ll be sunny all the time! And we can drink smoothies on Rodeo Drive! And maybe we’ll go to the Oscars … maybe we’ll meet Johnny Depp … maybe I can be an extra in a film …
‘Becky?’ Luke’s voice finally impinges on my consciousness. ‘What do you think?’
I feel as if my smile is going to break my face in two.
‘When do we go?’