by Ni-Ni Simone
It took everything in me not to cuss her out. But I didn’t. I played it cool ’cause all I wanted was to get outta there.
And yeah, I was drunk, but so what? The cops knew who I was. They could’ve drove me home instead of hatin’ and locking me up. Straight up, that was effed up. But it’s all good. I’ma let ’em live. Besides I had bigger things to deal with, like making up with my man.
“Rich,” my attorney said, handing the processing officer the paperwork he’d signed, “your parents said they expect you home immediately.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t pop out and fall to the floor. “Puhlease. After they left me here all night, they are the last set of people I need to see right now. I need to relax, chill, and get my mind together. Not be stressed out by the gangster rapper and his wife.”
The attorney shrugged. “I’m going to have to call your parents.”
“Call ’em.” I tossed over my shoulder, as I stormed out of the building to the parking lot and into my car.
I hopped on the freeway and didn’t stop until I reached Manhattan Beach and was knocking on Justice’s door.
Justice opened the door and immediately handed me a twenty-dollar bill; then he snatched it back. “Oh, I thought you were my Chinese food. What? What you want?”
I bit the inside of my jaw. “I, umm, wanted to know if I could talk to you for a minute.” I took a step toward his doorway and he completely blocked it. “I know you don’t think you getting’ up in here? You betta go ’head wit’ all that.”
I felt so stupid. Breathe. Chill. Relax and just say it. “Justice, just hear me out. I’m sorry. I am. I know I’ve been trippin’ lately. But I miss you so much, and I know you miss me too.” I paused, hoping he would say something... anything . . . but he didn’t.
I continued, “I love you so much, and the last thing I want is to lose you. So I’m asking you to please find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Silence.
Nothing. Not one word. “Justice, please say something!”
“A’ight. I’ll say something. Are you finished?”
I blinked. Feeling my knees about to buckle, I pressed my hand into the wall. “Am I finished?”
“Yeah, you done?”
Before I could answer he said, “Good. Now beat it.” Then he slammed the door in my face.
29
London
“Well, well, well . . .” I felt my stomach churn as her heels clicked toward me. “If it isn’t London, the Laughing Cow. I knew I smelled dung wafting through the halls. It was you.”
Hand on hip. I slammed my locker shut and faced her. “What do you want, Spencer?”
She met my eyes with barely a blink, before she tossed bouncy curls from her face, her hair coiffed to perfection, scanning the length of me. “Ooh, your feet look cute stuffed in those heels. I didn’t know Louboutin made pointed-toe pumps that big.” She shifted her large satchel stamped with the Louis Vuitton logo from one hand to the other. “What are they, size fourteens?”
I could feel eyes peering over in our direction, waiting with anticipation for something to kick off between us. I couldn’t stand this girl. But I really wasn’t in the mood for a morning brawl or to be splattered on the pages of some sleazy magazine. I had more important things on my mind, like juggling my classes while monitoring the whereabouts of my father, instead of getting reeled into the ditsy antics of Spencer.
She was despicable, and embarrassingly stupid. So I refused to waste one brain cell trying to decipher her kind of crazy. And I definitely wasn’t about to argue with her.
No. Spencer wasn’t worthy of a good fight or having me plastered in the headlines with the likes of her. Not today.
Besides, my therapist told me to pick and choose my battles. To not let any of these atrocious so-called Pampered Princesses lure me into their drama.
And I wasn’t.
Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed several kids elbowing each other and pointing over at Spencer and me. Once again, this whore was trying to make a spectacle out of me, like I was some exotic animal on display at the local petting zoo. I could almost see it. A group of nosy hoes gossiping wildly in their chairs about what they’d seen in the hallway this morning. Even if it weren’t much of anything, they’d make up something juicy just for the sake of having something messy to say.
I looked up at the elaborately carved ceiling, then glanced down the teakwood corridor before landing my gaze back on Spencer’s annoyingly flawless face. “No. They’re the right size to clomp a hole in your—”
“Oh no, oh no, ohhhhh noooooo, chickie,” she hissed, stomping a Jimmy Choo heel into the gleaming floor. “If you can’t take a compliment, then say so. But don’t you ever threaten me, you ole whiskered Lorax. I will set it off on your face up in this mothersucker. I came over here loving and kind this morning.”
“Whaaat?” I shrieked. “Are you kidding me? You call that loving and kind? Girl, bye. You’re delusional.”
I held my breath and walked off, leaving her standing in the middle of the hall. I wanted so desperately to exhale, but my body was still tense and my stomach knotted.
I despised that trick! I was so over—
“See. Next time I’ll just leap up on your wide back and claw your edges out,” she said, startling me as she stalked up alongside of me, her footsteps falling in sync with my own.
I huffed. This girl was contaminating my space. “Spencer, do me a favor. Stay the hell away from me.”
She giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her slender index finger. “Ooh, that’s the team spirit, London.”
I sighed, agitation coursing through every nerve ending in my body. I counted to twenty in my head. Steadied my breathing. I couldn’t afford to be hauled off the school grounds with the paparazzi lurking around outside, waiting for their next scandalous headline. I had to keep it together.
I stopped in my tracks. Clenched my teeth. “What is it you want, Spencer?”
“Oh, London, stop playing coy with me,” she said, lightly touching my arm as if we were long-lost pals. “You know I want to know how you’re holding up . . .”
I frowned. “I’m holding up just fine. Why do you care?”
She smirked. “Oh, trust me. I really don’t. But I don’t want you doing anything stupid, either. The world knows how unstable you are, London. Now what kind of frenemy would I be if I didn’t at least touch base with you, huh? It’s no secret I can’t stand you—”
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” I snapped, cutting her off. “So how about you do us both a favor and go find a cliff to jump from.”
She threw her head back and laughed, clutching my upper arm as if we’d just shared a delicious joke. “Heeheehee. Cute, London. But no thanks. I’ll save the cliff-hanging for you.”
I yanked my arm free. “Get your damn hands off me.”
“Ooh, see. This is the feisty London I came to despise. Not that other girl you’ve been pretending to be. Anyway, I need to make sure you aren’t considering jumping over any rainbows now that Rich finally knows what type of scheming, conniving slore you are. Too bad she doesn’t believe you were whoring yourself out with that Brooklyn thug dog before she was. Rich is just stupid like that. But, oh well. How does it feel to be America’s Most Unwanted?”
“Screw you, Spencer.”
Her eyes widened. “Tramp, I don’t go that way! Don’t you ever come onto me like that! If you’re trying to clean carpets, you had better call on Heather, booger-bear!”
I blinked. Opened my mouth to say something, but then stopped myself. It wasn’t worth it.
Spencer snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait. I have a little treat for you.”
I quickly stepped back in case it was a bomb or something corrosive she might have wanted to toss in my face. After the way she attacked me at my home with hair removal, I wasn’t crazy enough to take any chances when it came to her.
She reached down into her satchel and pull
ed out an issue of Teen Weekly. She tossed it at me. “Page seven. Read and weep.”
And, then, just like that... she was gone. Melting into the crowd of upperclassmen as they made their way to their respective homerooms. I knew I had less than three minutes to get to mine, but I couldn’t resist. I needed to know what was on those pages. JEALOUS HOES THIRSTY FOR SOMEBODY ELSE’S MAN screamed the headline. The story read:
Is it true what they say about a Clean Up Girl lurking around the love nest for another princess’s manly treasures? A source close to Hollywood High’s Pampered Princess Rich Montgomery says flop model London Phillips—and ex-friend to Rich—is desperately trying to sink her claws into Rich’s fi-ancé for her own pleasures. After being dumped by her longtime beau Anderson Ford, the son of an oil tycoon, London seems to have become obsessed with the idea that Southern Cal’s latest heartthrob, Justice Banks, was her man first. When asked if there was any truth to the rumor, Rich blatantly said, “Look at me, and look at her. You see all of this fabulousness? That whore is straitjacket crazy. She could never get my baby’s loving. My man would never have that trick.” And there you have it, dolls. We’ll take that as a yes.
My knees knocked. I didn’t realize I was standing in the middle of the hall, shaking, until Rich brushed past me—with a hint of an elbow jab—and slipped inside her homeroom just as the bell rang.
30
Spencer
“Now, c’mon, Cleola, I gotta get you out of here before them Mississippi boys come and get you . . .”
“Daddy, I’m not Cleola! I’m Spencer, your daughter! Now put that gun down right this instant!”
“I know who you are, pumpkin,” he shot back, lowering the rifle. “My mind hasn’t gone completely bye-bye, yet.” He shot a look over at Kitty. “I’m talking about that fine, sexy gal right over there beside you.”
I laughed. “Daddy, you’re so silly. Hahaha. That’s soo cute. That’s not Cleola. That’s Kitty. My mother. Your exwife.”
He shook his head. “No, no. That gal right there”—he tossed a knowing glare over at Kitty—“is Cleola Mae from Leflore County, Mississippi. Wanted for murder. Aint’ that right, Cleola?”
A horn blows in back of me. I flutter my lashes up into the rearview mirror, narrowing my eyes. The old geezer in back of me gives me the finger, cursing me. I throw my car into PARK, swing up the car door—and just so I make myself loud and clear—I reach for the one-mile bullhorn in the backseat and hop out of my car, jamming up traffic as I give him a piece of my mind, talking through the bullhorn.
I storm back over to my car, shutting the door tight, then shifting my car into gear and running through the red light. I had things to do. Places to be. And people to meet. Well, uh, um, one person, to be exact.
My Dick. Tracy, that is.
My PI.
Enough time had already been wasted playing footsies with the unknown. Trying to decipher all of Daddy’s incoherent storytelling was slowly starting to shred my brain cells to pieces. Daddy had half his noodle missing. Most days, he couldn’t remember the days of the week or where he was. Yet, somehow, all he could remember was some motherstinking Cleola Mae!
It was time to get real acquainted with the truth.
Who in the heck was this enigma from Le Flore County, Mississippi, that Daddy was so obsessed with?
Daddy was insistent that Kitty was her, Cleola, this mystery woman he’d felt compelled to hide from the po-po. “You better hide, Cleola Mae. They coming for you, baby.”
But why would they be coming for her? This Cleola?
“Them boys down in Mississippi. It isn’t safe, Cleola. You know I been keeping your secret... Did you hide the gun?”
What secret?
What gun?
It was no secret that Kitty was messy and hateful and ruthless. That she was an ole nasty cougar that stalked boy toys in schoolyards, then mauled at their most precious organs until she’d rendered them helpless and of no more use to her. Kitty was a user! She was a nasty hotbox. A dirty slosh bucket. A stank hot pocket. A gold-digging tramp who threw her Hello Kitty up in the lap of a desperate old man who was forty-two years older than her, then spawned him an heir to his fortunes. And when that wasn’t enough for her, she rotated her hips and pumped her pelvis up and down the ladder of opportunity for her own riches.
Yes, she was calculating and cunning.
But was she deceitful enough to be involved with guns, and police, and murder? Was she scandalous enough to concoct a whole new identity?
I didn’t know. However, what I did know was, I was going to peel back the truth covered in layers of lies. Somehow, Kitty was the rancid meat stuffed inside this clandestine box. And, betchabygollywow, I was going to dig up every rock, every stone, every dang inch of earthly soil and get to the bottom of this dang mystery. Then I was going to butter Kitty’s biscuits real good and drag her through the mug-gahfuggin’ gotdanggit gutter!
Yes, honey, yessss! I was going to singe Kitty’s cat hairs and burn a hole in her liner the minute I uncovered the truth. My mouth watered with anticipation.
I could feel it clinging on the tip of my tongue.
So sweet and thick and ooey-gooey delicious.
I licked my lips.
The honeyed taste of something real juicy oozing out all over me.
I floored it, swerving in and out of traffic, tires kicking up dust and stones as I sped off the freeway toward salvation.
Seek and you shall find. Isn’t that what the good book said?
Well, as of today, I was looking high and low, leaving nothing unturned.
My mission was to track down Cleola Mae.
And air out her filth for all to see.
31
Heather
WHAM!
Splash!
Smack!
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!
“NOW EAT IT!”
I hopped outta bed, the shock of my eyes suddenly being on fire forced me to do a possessed dance. I couldn’t believe it! My face was drowning! And my neck dripped in Camille’s musty scotch!
My room hadn’t been cleaned since me and Rich tore it up yesterday, and now I was stumbling over everything.
WHAM!
Splash!
Smack!
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!
I hit the floor.
More scotch scorched my eyes.
“I swear to God!” I managed to spit out, “When I get up from here, I’ma bust you dead in the mouth, Camille!”
“I wish you would!” Camille’s hand blazed the side of my face, forcing my neck to the left. And then suddenly the room was spent. And all I could see was dark, blurred clouds and monstrous waves.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!
My arms thrashed everywhere. I jumped up and down, wringing my hands into my eyelids, desperately trying to rid my eyes of the liquid hell Camille had shot into them.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!
Whap!
“I’ma kick yo’ ass, Camille!” I promised her. Angry tears mixed in with the singeing scotch.
“And you will die up in here today!” She knocked me down to the bed and yanked my hair. She forced my neck back with one hand, then took her other hand and crammed a balled-up piece of paper into my face and twisted it.
“I should shove it down your freakin’ throat! Now read it!” She yanked my hair again, forcing my eyes to bulge open.
I tried to wrestle my hair from her grip, but it only caused her to snatch it harder. “I see you didn’t get enough of Rich whupping your behind, Heather Suzanne. Just know if you even think about attacking me today, you will die. You little trick.” She pushed the paper deeper into my face. “I SAID READ IT!”
“I CAN’T!” I tried to wiggle free, to no avail.
“Okay, well, let me read it for you!” She managed to keep her grip firmly on my scalp with one hand while flinging the paper open with the other. “ ‘Guess who’s on the down low?’ says one blog! ‘Girl power on another level!’ says another. ‘Teen star Heather Cum
mings caught making out with college cutie Nicole Ashford of San Diego State. Both pictured below.”
WHAM!
Camille’s hand slammed into my cheek. She tossed the paper at me and mushed me along the side of my head. “How dare you do this to me?! How dare you embarrass me like this?! First you wanna be a junkie, and now this!” She screamed. “Now this . . .”
I knew Camille continued to scream, but my heart thundered too loud for me to make out what she was saying.
My mind was scrambled. I couldn’t believe this was happening! I was going to kill Rich. I was going to slaughter her today at her breakfast table.
Either the scotch had stopped stinging or I was too numb to feel it.
I opened the wrinkled paper Camille had tossed at me and saw that it was an e-mail from Kitty. FILMING RESTARTS TODAY. HEATHER BEING GAY IS TOO HOT OF A STORYLINE TO MISS. READ THE HEADLINES BELOW AND CLICK ON THE LINKS TO THE ARTICLES! THIS SHOW WILL BE A HIT! ONE CAMERA CREW WILL ARRIVE TO YOU AT ANY MOMENT AND THE OTHER CREW IS ON THEIR WAY TO SAN DIEGO.
Nikki!
My heart stopped.
I looked up, and there they were, the camera crew, all around the room. Zooming in on me.
Had they been here all along?
Was Camille tossing scotch in my face and ripping me from the bed scripted?
Was this a role Camille was playing?
I looked over at Camille, and I knew then that this was no act.
She was disgusted.
Enraged.
Disappointed.
Tired of me being too much and not enough all at the same time.
I looked back up at the camera crew and screamed, “Get that freakin’ camera outta my damn face!” I jumped up and pushed one of the cameramen, then I moved on to shove Philippe, the producer. He smiled and said, “Yes, dahling! Bring it on! Bring it on! Push me again. I wanna see that rage, that anger. I know just the music to play over this when we edit it!”
“I SAID GET OUT!” I screamed, and just as I prepared to slap the ish outta him, my cell phone rang, and my chest caved in. I knew it was Nikki by the ringtone.
