Heels, Heartache & Headlines

by Ni-Ni Simone

  Hmmm . . .

  And since Heather and Spencer no longer rock out...

  And since Spencer tried to play me out...

  And since Spencer hates Heather—at least right now she does—I know exactly how I could serve my sweet revenge.

  Yaaaaaaaasssss, baby. Yaaaaaaaasssss!

  Let the games begin.

  I was cheesing all over the place. My eyes danced in delight, and my smile was a mile wide.

  I looked up the hallway, and I swear the God of Get That Hoe Back For Being The World’s Stankest Friend must love me again, ’cause Spencer was coming this way.

  I quickly shut my locker, leaned against it, and looked Heather directly in the face. “Hey, girl. I see you.” I snapped my fingers in a Z-motion. “That’s a cute costume you got on.”

  Heather looked at me like I was crazy, then twisted her lips and gave me her back to kiss as she walked away.

  Oh hell no. She needed to be punched in the face.

  I tossed a quick eye over at Spencer and flipped her the bird for even looking my way. She flipped her hair and continued down the hall. Whatever. Now back to Heather. I can’t believe she walked away from me . . . and on TV.

  Remember, you’re on a mission, my guardian angel whispered.

  So I rushed over to Heather and draped my arm over her shoulder. “Heather, girlfriend. Did you hear me speak to you when we were over at the lockers?”

  Heather took a step forward, causing my arm to fall off of her shoulder. “I heard you. Now watch my fatty shake as I walk away.”

  Oh no, she didn’t leave me in the middle of the floor with the cameras zooming in on my face! Deep breath. Don’t lay her to rest, yet.

  I almost tripped over my feet to catch up to her. “Eww, girl.” I fanned my face. “I’m tryna be nice and peaceful witchu now, but you tryna bring out the Watts in me. Whatchu mean you heard me? Whatchu can’t speak, homie? Crack crippled your mouth?”

  Heather arched one brow. “Excuse you.” She paused. “First off, I’m not your homie, and I’m not your girl. And second of all, yeah, I heard you speaking, but I ignored you. Which I’m trying to do now.”

  I wonder if I have that box cutter in my bag. I cleared my throat. “What’s the problem? You don’t know how to act when someone’s being nice to you? Like really? Word. Can’t nobody say hi to you?”

  “And why would you want to speak to me? You don’t do me, and I definitely don’t do you. Or did you forget that the last time I saw you, you tried to bully me, I had to cuss you out in the cafeteria, and my whole crew was about to body slam you.”

  “Body slam! I wish a tramp would try it! ’Cause I will,” I paused.

  Tsk, tsk, Rich. Stay focused. My guardian angel stepped in.

  I cleared my throat. I needed to stay on track. “Oh, Heather, honestly, I don’t remember that ever happening.” I sniffed and dapped at the corners of my eyes. “I’ve been, umm”—I bit the corner of my lip and forced my voice to quiver—“I’ve been diagnosed with selective amnesia.”

  Why is this trick giving me a blank stare?

  I continued, “So let’s just let bygones be bygones and move on. Life is too short to hold on to something so petty. Agreed?”

  She didn’t respond; she simply blinked.

  I carried on, “Now look, girl. I’ma need the four-one-one on how you got your money up and was able to afford that helicopter. I hope Spencer didn’t give it to you because if she did, girrrrrrrrrl! Prepare to be talked about like a dog, honey. ’Cause she straight puppy clowned you and told all yo’ lil business when you sold that car she gave you. Don’t do it, Heather. Don’t.”

  “I have my own money, thank you.”

  Chile, cheese. Boo, please. Low-income housing is written all over you. “Of course you have some coins. But anyway, I was just saying the helicopter was dope. And you are so rude, Heather. You didn’t even introduce me.” I looked into the camera and said, “I’m Rich Montgomery, dahlins. Heather’s new bestie, baby!” Then I looked back at Heather. “I just took your show to a whole other level. Now, you wanna eat lunch together? I’ll have the chef prepare sushi. You wanna have some drinks after school? Beer is on me. And no is not an option. Plus, I need something to take my mind off of JB.”

  “I don’t know about that, Rich . . .” Heather said, as Spencer walked by again, giving me the evil eye.

  Yaaaaaaaasssss, bish, eat it!

  I smiled, and as Heather continued to talk, I pretended to listen. I knew she was giving me some excuse about having somewhere else to go after school or something like that. Truthfully, I didn’t care what she said. I was more concerned with Spencer turning beet red.

  Mission accomplished.

  I smiled as I zoned back into Heather and realized that she was serving me.

  “Now bye, Felicia.” Heather said, swerving her neck and flicking her fingers at me and leaving my face cracked on the floor.

  7

  Spencer

  “Oh no, you two-faced, backstabbing slut,” Rich sneered as she looked up from her platter of crab cakes and garlic/cheese grits and noticed London at our table.

  We were having lunch in the Déjeuner Café, where the juniors ate their meals. And it was where the Pampered Princesses—well, what was left of us—held court. Perched high up on our pedestals at the table of all tables, one fit only for Hollywood High royalty. The one positioned right in the center of the room for all to see.

  And, no, no, I wasn’t even about to say anything messy because I was loving and kind, at least six days a week.

  But...

  Rich was busy chasing kinky romps and making eggplant stew with her thug daddy. Mmmph. And I know that ole chocolate hood daddy laid hands across her face last night, especially since she went street-whore-ratchet and clawed his car up. She thinks I didn’t see that little bruise on the side of her precious face this morning when we were in the bathroom. But Mother saw it. Mother sees everything. I didn’t say a word, though. Nope. Not one blubbering word.

  No, no, no.

  My cute lips were sealed.

  Mmmph.

  For now.

  Then London, bless her little stank raggedy soul, that walking cuckoo clock was busy chasing crazy. And I had nothing more to say on that.

  Heather was too busy bouncing her Brazilian-bought booty, chasing rainbow flags and skittles—tricking up her coins on Korean knockoffs and cheesy animal coats, like this morning dropping down from the sky wearing some nasty wolf up over her shoulders, like it’s her best friend.

  That ole wolf walker! She’s lucky I didn’t call the SPCA on her.

  And, me . . . well, heehee, I was chasing the next scandalous takedown.

  I didn’t know who should be first to get dropped.

  London or Heather?

  That was the question.

  Ooh, there was a time when being one of the Pampered Princesses meant you had arrived at the queendom of fabulousness. It meant you had climbed the mountaintop and dropped skunk bombs on the peasy heads of everyone else below you. You’d dug your stilettos into the sand and drawn a deep line that separated you from the riffraff.

  But these days so much had changed, thanks to Rich scrounging around in the gutters—like I told her not to—taking in strays, like London and Heather. I knew London was rancid roadkill the first time I laid eyes on her East Side trashy self.

  And, Heather . . . well, that junkyard trash was on her way to becoming the next front-page tragedy with all of her trickery.

  Mmmph.

  I could claw Rich’s dang tonsils out for not listening to Momma. And now look at us. In constant shambles. The Pampered Princesses’ popularity stock was way down in the poop chute. And I was sick and goshdang tired of being knee-deep in turd soup!

  Something had to give. And fast.

  But first . . .

  Rich pointed her fork at London, then at the chair in front of her. “Don’t even think about sitting down over here, Benedict Betty, until you apolog
ize to me.”

  London frowned. “You don’t own me. I’ll sit where I damn well please.” She pulled out a chair and sat. “And what do I need to apologize to you for?”

  “What do you need to apologize to me for?” Rich shrieked, repeating London’s words. “Umm, let’s see, boo-boo. How about for having me waste all of my love and energy on some two-faced leech like you, for one. For trying to breathe the same air as me, for two. And for being the hateful, jealous trick you are, for three. I gave up good karma messing with you, London. And all you did was turn around and backstab me.”

  I tooted my lips, shifting back in my seat and crossing my legs.

  Do Momma proud, Rich, I thought, folding my arms over my chest.

  “Mmmph,” I grunted. “She shanked you real good. Gutted you all up in your jelly fat, then licked the blade clean.”

  “Ewww! Clutching pearls!” Rich snapped. “Get your nasty mind out of the gutter, Spencer. The only one licking blades clean is you. Ugh! Gross!” She glared back over at London. “Now back to you, tramp. You ran out the bathroom this morning before I could get you together. And you’re lucky I’m sitting here feeling sorry for you, London. Otherwise, I’d hop up and peel your face off. But it’s Monday, and I’m taking a day off from beating tricks and hoes down today. But don’t test me. Now, like I said, you owe me an apology.”

  I tilted my head and stared at London. But Trixie pretended to not see me eyeing her down as she kept her stare locked on Rich.

  Oooh, I wanted to hop up and smack Big Foot four ways into silly for trying to ignore me. Skank-a-dank!

  London huffed. “Fine, Rich. You want an apology? Then so be it. I apologize for whatever you think I might have done to you. But being jealous of you is not what I am.”

  Rich slammed her fork down. “Tramp, lies! Look at me. Look at you. And look”—Rich twirled her left hand up in the air, flaunting her ring—“at the ring finger, boo. Bam! You see the bling? You see the sparkle? Got your eyes blinded by envy because I got the man and the ring. And what did you get, boo-boo? Dumped by Dr. Corny. And weeks laid up in a bed with an IV drip.”

  Yessss! Yessss, goshdangit! Go for the jugular, Richie Pooh!

  “Anderson didn’t dump me, for your information,” London hissed, defensively. “We both just decided to take a break and give each other some space. Not that it’s any of your business. Or that I owe you any explanations.”

  I giggled. “Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days, taking a break? From what, London? Sharing beauty tips? Exchanging panty and bra sets? Or taking a break from your little cover-up? You and I know your little love affair with Anderson Ford was a sham.”

  “Spencer,” London sneered, “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but—”

  “No, girlie, I’m not trying to imply anything. I just said it. Anderson Ford likes fishnets and garters, not girls.”

  “Whaaaaaat?” Rich squealed. “Clutching pearls! Clutching pearls! Say it ain’t so, Heather. Doctor Corny is a . . .”

  I nodded my head. “Yes, honey. He is.”

  Rich clutched her chest. “Dead to the bed! Flat-lined!”

  “Shut your trap!” London snapped, shooting an icy glare at me. “Just shut your filthy, jizz-guzzling mouth. You don’t know anything about Anderson, or about what he and I shared.”

  I smiled. Tilted my head. It was so, sooo good to have London back. “Oooh, give it to me, Big Face. Give it to me real good and juicy. Let me see you twerk with it. Yes. Yes. Leap little froggy, leap.”

  She flicked a dismissive wave at me. “Whatever, Spencer. Like I said, Anderson and I are taking a break from each other.”

  Rich twisted her lips. “Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. And you just thought my boo Justice would want you, which is why you tried to toss hate all up on me when you came at me down at Club Tantrum—don’t even think I’ve forgotten about that, either, trick. Telling me he was no good. After you were the one trying to force him on me in the first damn place. Then when I finally give him a lil taste of this sweet honey, you get all Olivia Pope on me, wanting to be the next gladiator. Girl, bye. You couldn’t even be happy for me when I announced my engagement to him.”

  London gave Rich an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? You insidious bish! You waltzed up in my room throwing me shade, wearing my engagement ring.”

  “Whore, lies! See, there you go. Still being your delusional self. Still showing just how desperate you are. What do you want, London? For me to show you how to take a permanent dirt nap? Justice told me you’d say anything to try to break us up. Like he’d ever buy you a ring.” Rich laughed. “Girl, bye.”

  “Can we say, med check,” I said, joining in on Rich’s laughter.

  “Whatever, Rich. And screw you, Spencer. Believe what you want. I have no reason to lie to you. If Justice is whom you want to be with, then be with him. That boy is nothing to me, anymore.”

  Rich tossed her head back and let out a loud laugh, then stopped. “Lies. He was never anything to you in the first place.”

  “He is everything to me. And you are nothing to him, up here lying,” I smirked. “Oooh, somebody’s got a dirty little secret. Do tell, London. Heehee.”

  London rolled her eyes at me, then eyed Rich. “Rich, think whatever you want. It’s obvious you think you’ve won the door prize, so have at it. If you think Justice is ever going to be capable of loving you, good luck with that. All you are is a meal ticket and an easy lay.”

  “Boo, trick, booooo!” Rich clapped her hands, emphasizing each word. “Here you go with your desperate behind. Tryna come in on my shimmy-shimmy boo-boo love.” She rolled her eyes in disgust, flopping down in her seat. “Instead of tryna kill yourself, you should have tried to kill your hatred. That’s what you should have done. So save your wasted breath, skank. Coming up in here with your nastiness on an all-time high.”

  London huffed. “Girl, get over it. You’ve been nasty toward me from the moment I left for Milan up until the time I returned.”

  Rich sneered. “Mmmph. And we all see how that turned out for you. With you bleeding out, flat on your face.”

  I blinked. Rich could be so, so callous and condescending. She was insensitive and heartless. Ooooh, and I loved it!

  But this wasn’t the time for that. The bobcat needed to reel this field mouse in. Toy with it. Box it in. Then go in for the kill. Not chase it, her, away.

  Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. I swear. Rich never stayed on script.

  “Oh no, ohhh, noo,” I said, shaking my head. “Play nice, Rich.”

  “She doesn’t have to play nice,” London retorted, twisting her shiny, painted lips, “or do nothing else except be the nasty trick she is. If she wants to keep throwing shade, let her. I don’t need to be friends with her. And I’m definitely not gonna kiss her behind.”

  “And I’m not kissing yours,” Rich snapped back. “But I don’t go that way, anyway. So keep your sexuality right on over there, and go find some other nasty trick to kiss crack with, because you’ll never get your mouth, lips, or anything else on my sweet and juicy.”

  “You know what, screw this.” London stood. “I’m out.”

  “Lonnnnndon,” I cooed, twisting a lock of hair around my finger. “Don’t be messy, Pumpkin Head. Look around you, girlie.” I waved an arm around the café. “Where do you think you’re going? There’s nowhere for you to hide. So sit. Down.”

  “Spencer, eff. You.” She flipped me the finger. “I’ve just about had it with you.”

  I clapped. “Oooh, yes, yes, yes, Amazon.com. Do me, baby! Wet my liner, girlie! Ding dong, the witch is dead.” I shook my curls. “Push it real good. Give it to me dirty, boo. Give. It. To. Me. Real. Good.”

  She huffed. “Oh, shut up, Spencer. You dimwit.”

  I smirked. “Uh-huh, says the girl who lost her secret thug boo to a man addict. And her phony-baloney cover-up is now off pretending with some other model, who’ll probably end up the next runway catastrophe once she finds o
ut what he really wants to be.”

  She started gathering her things. “Whatever, Spencer. Think what you want! I don’t need to sit where I’m not wanted. Good day, hoes.”

  Rich slammed her hand down on the table. “Whaaaat?! Clutching pearls! That’s so typical, London. Go run like the coward you are!”

  “Coward? Bish, the only coward in the room is you.” London jabbed a finger in Rich’s direction. “You’re nothing but a loudmouthed, evil-spirited bully. And I don’t have to put up with it. And I don’t have to put up with you. You don’t ever want to be friends, fine. But you will not talk to me like I’m trash, whore.”

  Oooh, nookie nookie chocolate chip cookie. This was starting to get real juicy. Almost as juicy as my . . . oops. Never mind.

  Heehee.

  Annnnyway . . .

  These two hookahs had already gone at it in the bathroom the moment London slithered herself out from the back stall this morning, surprising Rich and me.

  Eavesdropping on grown folks.

  Stall-stalking us.

  And now they were back at it again. I already had the front row seat. All I needed was a bag of Twizzlers and a cold Sprite.

  Rich flicked a gaze over at me. “Spencer, you see this? This whore wants to run off instead of taking her lickings like a woman. Who does that?”

  “Low Money does that,” I said, giggling. “Broke Back London.”

  “Oh no,” London sneered, shouldering her bag. “Both of you trifling hot pockets are not worth my time. I’m—”

  Rich hopped up from her seat. “I should bash you in your face with my clutch!”

  “Now, now, Rich,” I said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back down in her seat. “All eyes are on us.” I narrowed my eyes over at London as Rich took her seat, then said, “London, sit your ole ugly self back down, girlie. Or would you like me to remove your eyeballs, instead of another coat of hair. And, Rich, stop scaring her.” I started stroking her weave, petting her like the wild beast she was.

  She eyed London. “Why are you so two-faced, London, huh? Why can’t you accept you can never be me?”

  “No, no, Rich. Down, girl. Down. Let me muzzle you real quick.”