Hollywood High

by Ni-Ni Simone

  I felt desperate and crazed.

  Everything in me ached. I needed to see Justice. Needed to hear his voice. Needed to feel his touch. I picked up my cell and called him. Fifteen minutes later, I sent him a text. Then I sent another and another, each one more desperate than the one before, begging him to please call me. But, two hours and thirty-seven text messages later, he still hadn’t called.

  And I was alone.

  31

  Rich

  A month later

  “Rich, wake up . . .”

  I opened my eyes slowly and for a moment I couldn’t place where I was.

  I felt awful.

  I’d been sick for about three weeks. Throwing up in the morning, at lunchtime, and again at eight o’clock in the evening—on the hour—without fail. I barely ate, had nightly bouts with the chills, and for about a week straight I thought for sure that I had a stomach virus.

  Until I checked the calendar and realized I was close to two weeks late.

  I knew then this wasn’t a stomach virus and this was nothing that antibiotics would cure.

  I was pregnant.

  And the double lines on my EPT test confirmed it.

  Problem was, I didn’t know what to do about it... or if I wanted to do anything about it . . . .

  This situation was not new to me. The last one ended on the doctor’s table with my feet in cold stirrups and me counting backward until I drifted into a forced sleep, and woke up with my mother instructing me that this had never happened; I didn’t know if I wanted to relive that.

  “Rich, come on baby, you got to get up.”

  “I just need another hour of sleep.”

  “Babe, you don’t have another hour. We overslept.”

  “Overslept?” My eyes popped open and I sat straight up in Knox’s full bed. “What time is it?” I asked in a panic. My eyes scanned the room and landed on the clock; 9:30 A.M.

  My heart dropped to my stomach and my mouth started to water. I was delirious, nervous, scared as hell, and about to throw up at any minute.

  “Rich,” Knox said as he stroked my back. “You a’ight?”

  You need to tell him.

  “I don’t want no babies... We need to use condoms...”

  “What if I was pregnant . . .?”

  “I’d be pissed off. Neither one of us are ready for any kids. I’m eighteen and you’re only sixteen. No haps. I got too much to do, which is why we’ll be using condoms from now on . . .”

  Too late...

  I shook my thoughts, doing all I could to erase the conversation that Knox and I had last night before we made love. This time with a condom. If only he knew it made no difference.

  I flew from the bed and into the bathroom. Before I could close the door I was bent over the toilet throwing up my guts into the water.

  “Are you all right?” Knox came to the door, dressed in loose basketball shorts.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just the pizza from last night didn’t agree with me.” I stood up and washed my mouth out over the sink. I glanced at his reflection in the mirror and saw that he was studying me. We clashed gazes. “You sure you a’ight?” he asked.

  I shifted my eyes, scared that he was reading my mind and was uncovering my dirt. “I just gotta get out of here.” I rushed past him and back into his bedroom. “I am in so much trouble!” I panicked, snatching my clothes off of the chair next to Knox’s bed. “This is crazy, how did I oversleep?” I bit my lip as my heart thundered. I couldn’t help but think about my parents’ morning routine:

  Up by six.

  Breakfast together by six thirty.

  Daddy calling my name by seven to say, “Have a good day, baby girl.”

  And by eight my mother knocking on my door telling me it was time to wake up and get ready for school.

  “OMG! Of all days, this is the day I had to oversleep, this would be the one that my mother convinced my father to have Drake perform and we give out invitations to the Pampered Princesses party!”

  “What party?” Knox asked, looking at me like I was crazy.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, tossing my clothes on like a whirlwind.

  “What do you mean it’s nothin’? A party is more than nothin’.”

  I stopped for a moment, turned around, and looked at him. He had to be crazy. “Are you serious right now? Really? I don’t have time for you questioning me about a party!” I slipped my heels on.

  “No, you don’t ever have time. The only time you have is eleven thirty, twelve o’clock at night, for a late night creep. You don’t think I notice that? You’re never here on Saturday or Sunday. I never see you during the day—”

  “What do mean, you don’t see me on the weekends? I have things to do. My mother has me doing things—”

  “Now you’re lying to me. According to Teen Weekly, TMZ, and Popsugar you were at a party, no, two parties, last weekend. And one of ’em was in New York. And when I texted you and asked you what you were doing you told me nothing. The same damn nothing that you just told me about this Pampered Princesses party. What kind of crazy is this? I don’t even know why I’m doing this! This is too much! Yeah, go ’head home.”

  What did he just say? “Oh really? You don’t know why you’re doing this? This is too much?! I’ll tell you what’s too much. It’s too much that I’m lying to my mother just so I could be with you! That I’m going to school, no, that I’m messing up in school because I keep creeping down here every night to be with you!”

  “Obviously, it can’t be too much because as soon as you get here you stripping out of your clothes ready to get busy. And that’s all we do, stay up in here laid up in the bed, like that’s cool. And every time I ask you to go out you always have some excuse. And then the one time we do go out I had to drive fifty, no, sixty miles out of the way just to get some damn pizza and a movie. And if that wasn’t effed up enough you spent the whole time ducking and dodging cameras, worried about who was going to snap your picture. You don’t think I notice that. So yeah, it’s too much. You go home. And I’ll hollah.”

  “Oh you’ll hollah. Okay. So when will you hollah? Before or after this baby is born? Because based on my calendar in about eights months you’ll be a daddy. So you put your condoms back in the drawer because you’re two weeks and two days too damn late!”

  I stormed out and slammed the door behind me.

  I pulled up in the driveway and according to my cellphone I had ten missed calls: seven from Logan, one from Daddy, and two from London.

  I had to find a way to get in and out of here quickly and the only way to do that was through the servants’ entrance and tiptoe up the back staircase to my room. I eased in through the French doors and did all I could not to make eye contact with the house manager. The last thing I needed was her opinion.

  The kitchen was clear and I was practically home free until I stepped onto the staircase and there was Logan—not smiling—waiting for me.

  “Where. Have. You. Been?”

  I hesitated. “Umm, Ma, I was at London’s and she—”

  “No you weren’t.”

  What is he doing here? I swallowed. Hard. That was my father. He looked at me coldly. “Your mother asked you a question. And don’t lie again. Because you weren’t at London’s.”

  “Yes, I was, you can call London right now.”

  “Really,” Daddy said. “Do you really think I would call your cell mate and ask her if you spent the night with her, knowing that she would lie for you? How about this. I called Turner and he told me that you weren’t there. Now, who do you think I’ll believe, my lawyer or my lyin’ daughter?”

  I felt like I was about to pass out at any moment. I could feel my stomach bubbling and I knew that I was seconds away from throwing up again. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Go on,” my mother said. “And while you’re in there, take that pregnancy test that I left on the counter. Because you are about two weeks and two days late. And the last time this happened I
didn’t know what the problem was. But this time I do. Now do you still have to go to the bathroom or do you have some explaining to do?”

  “Run this by me again?” my father said as he turned to my mother. “The last she was what?”

  My mother looked toward me. “Tell him, Rich. And you better not lie. Or you will be down the rest of those stairs and the last service we had will be for free.”

  Tears poured down my face.

  “Don’t cry,” my mother said. “Little girls cry. Grown women own their behavior. Now square your shoulders, stand up right, and tell your father what happened this summer when we were in the Hamptons. And made the mistake to believe that you were responsible enough to be here alone. Tell him how you had your legs all up, spread wide. How you were far from Daddy’s little girl. You had a different kind of daddy. You laid up here where your father pays the bills and the only two who are supposed to be getting action is us. Not you. But explain to your father. Better yet, tell me if I left anything out. And you still haven’t said where you’ve been.” She walked down two steps closer to me. “Now speak.”

  I grabbed the rail as I took a step backward and almost lost my balance. My heart felt as if it were jumping out of my chest.

  “Logan,” my father interjected. “Forget all this talking. Rich, get up these stairs and take that pregnancy test. And Logan, you stand in there with her. And it better be negative or it will be a problem.”

  I looked at my father with a river of tears falling from my eyes. “There’s no need to take the test.”

  My mother lifted her hand in the air and as it landed across my face she said, “Just as I thought.”

  32

  Heather

  Cell phone goin’ off in my hand!

  Poppin’ Beauties, sippin’ yak!

  Keak Da Sneak on deck.

  Skittles at the door.

  More than enough yak in the back.

  Privileged kids snortin’ and gettin’ their thizzle on.

  So how you wanna act? Wu-Wu straight killin’ the track.

  I’m holdin’ it down.

  I don’t think they know.

  That’s my word!

  I’m reppin’ for the mofos who know how to act!

  My definition of hyphie is leaving your pills at the door, sniffin’ lines, and tossin’ back. Wu-Wu in the building and I’m feelin’ fine. And I’m blowin’ minds. R.I.P. to the phonies!

  I shot up a peace sign and the crowd went wild. My extra-large gold bamboo earrings swung from side to side as I directed the crowd which way to move. My bangles clacked in the air and my extension ponytail, which hung past the small of my back, swung from side to side. My whole presence was laid. My neon pink micro mini clung to my booty pads, making the back of me look like pow! I put every chick in here to shame. I wore a neon green sequin bra top that made my Betty Boops pop. I grabbed Co-Co’s head and smeared his face into my cleavage. “Eat it up! Who loves you, baby!”

  The crowd had lost control.

  And they expected me to be at Hollywood High with those drab hoes, posing for the camera and talking about Gucci. But Gucci didn’t have a thing on this!

  I released Co-Co’s head from my bosom and he broke out and kicked up a split in his tight white leather booty shorts and black thigh-high six-inch boots. Bare chested and nipples pierced. He was doin’ it and doin’ it well.

  The D.J. had the music on full blast and I was rocking the mic in the center of my backyard on a makeshift stage. Camille was passed out drunk. And the treat that I slipped her in her drink made sure she stayed that way.

  I didn’t give a damn about no phony Pampered Princesses-Hollywood High party. I don’t think they heard. That I was in my zone and yeah I took their white party idea and turned it into my own. But so what.

  I hosted an impromptu Skittles party with white tents all around, white linen tables filled with flowing fountains of liquor, and an assortment of colorful pills at your fingertips: Oxycodone, Ritalin, Tylenol with codeine, Adderall, and a list of others. At least a hundred and fifty teens brought their medicine cabinets with them.

  I supplied the place, the booze, the D.J., and the free-stylin’.

  Who had time for a Hollywood High party? This was where the real party jumped. “Who shotcha, baby!” I spat into the mic, dropped down low, popped back up, and as I waved my arms in the air I realized that there was Spencer. Her eyes popped out like a deer caught in headlights, mouth hung open, and anti-high blower written across her face.

  What. The. Hell. Is. She. Doing. Here...? I turned the mic off and as Co-Co continued to dance across the stage, entertaining the crowd, I stepped off the stage and walked over to Spencer.

  “What is this! Ohmysweetholyghost. I need some oil up in here. What are you doing? Why is hell all through your backyard? I just saw the devil taking a handful of pills and shoving it down her throat!”

  “What do you want, Spencer?”

  “I want to know why you aren’t at school? And why are all these people in your backyard? And why are all those pills at the door? Who are all these people? And why is Camille passed out on the sofa, drooling? You didn’t kill her, did you? Please tell me that this is not celebrating her death. I know she wasn’t the nicest but this is ridiculous. I don’t know who you are but you need to go and find Heather. Because she had a party at school to attend!” Spencer slammed a hand on her hip. “And these people need to clear out of here now. And you need to get ready.”

  She snatched the mic from my hand, cut it back on and announced, “The party is over!”

  I snatched the mic back out of her hand. This trick had lost every bit of her scattered brain. “Attention, everyone, the party is not over. It’s just beginning! And it’s starting with me putting this trick in her place.”

  “What did you just call me, Heather? Heather, I know you are not trying to shut it down. I came over here concerned and trying to get you ready for the party!”

  “I don’t need your concern. And I will not be going to your whack party. So I don’t need you coming up in here disrupting my thug thizzle. ’Cause you’re way out of line. Now either you get yourself a handful of Skittles, chase it with some yak, and get with the party. Or step off!”

  “First off I don’t eat Skittles!”

  “You are the dumbest ho I’ve ever come across. Your name is wedged in between dumb and dumber. You take stupid to new heights—”

  “Heather, Heather, I thought we were friends—”

  “Friends? Friends? You thought? We were never friends and never will be! I don’t like you. You’re a sneaky, dirty, conniving little ho. Oh no, excuse me, big ho. Who loves to snatch, sneak, and run up on other people’s boyfriends. Now gather your heels and walk back out the way you came in here. And since you’re concerned about Camille, take her with you. ’Cause you are disrupting my get-right and disturbing my guests. Now get out of here before we all stomp you down!”

  Spencer looked around and all eyes were on her. She swallowed back her tears. “Heather, I don’t believe you.”

  “Well believe this. Y’all ready to party?” I said into the mic and headed back toward the stage.

  “Yeah!” the crowd roared.

  “D.J. hit me with that ‘Put You on the Game’ beat.” I shook my head like a rock star and Co-Co continued on like he was the backup dancer and the hype man. “One time for your mind!” Co-Co yelled as I started rapping:

  Let me tell you how...

  I brought the Gucci clique down...

  Click, click,

  With the camera... behind the bathroom door

  And smiling away.

  Thought they could get away with the dirty tricks and their best friend’s boyfriend.

  Little did they know I was recording on the other end!

  Click, click...

  “Two times for your mind!” Co-Co yelled. And the crowd chanted, “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!”

  My rap continued:

  And then I pressed sen
d.

  Brought their world right to an end.

  Next thing I know Spencer got whupped down in the ditch.

  Rich found out she was tricked by the dizzy bitch.

  London got caught up in the matrix.

  And the Gucci clique was clearly not ready for war!

  Click. Click...

  “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!” the crowd chanted. “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!”

  As I ended my rap and dropped down to do a booty pop, I searched the crowd and Spencer was nowhere to be found. I chased that ho up out of here. “Somebody hand me some Skittles!” I yelled into the crowd. “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!”

  33

  London

  I paced in my seven-inch Versace platform sandals with my cell pressed up against up my ear calling Rich for the fourth time, wondering where the hell she was. We were all supposed to meet up this morning at our lockers to go over the last-minute details before the Invitation Party kicked off this afternoon in the school’s ballroom. Heather and Rich were no-shows. And Spencer, who is useless and I can’t stand, had just arrived with no Heather in tow, after she left here forty-five minutes ago to go look for her.

  “Rich, this is London, call me as soon as you get this. Where are you? The party starts in thirty minutes.” I disconnected and called back again, leaving another message. Truth of the matter, I was livid.

  Today was the day where we were to serve everyone with a taste of what the Pampered Princesses had in store for our upcoming Diamond & Stilettos Masquerade party next month. The entertainment was on lock. The ballroom was filling up. The color-coded invitations with the embossed seal were ready to be hand-delivered to five hundred carefully chosen guests. The trumpeters were positioned on both sides of the door, announcing the guests as they arrived.