Fabulous

by Simone Bryant

  “Guess what?” she gasped, still trying to catch her breath after her mini-sprint across campus.

  Starr sat down in one of the chairs surrounding the large round wooden table. She frowned at Marisol’s attire—a very fitted unitard. “Is that a camel toe?” she asked, eyeing the wedge between Marisol’s thighs.

  “Why you looking so hard, Starr?” Marisol snapped, even as she whipped her gym bag in front of her body.

  “It was pretty hard to miss,” Starr volleyed back as she stirred the smoothie with her straw.

  “An-y-way…there’s a blog about Pace Academy. Everyone was talking about it in gym class,” Marisol told them as she reached for Dionne’s cup and took a deep slurp. She frowned at the taste of mango as she passed it back to Didi. She hated mangos.

  Starr sighed like she was bored.

  Dionne took a deep swallow of her smoothie.

  Oh, no they didn’t, Marisol thought. She was not one to be ignored. She dropped her duffel bag on top of the table and dug her hand inside its side pocket to pull out her BlackBerry. She cleared her throat and licked her pouty lips. “Only half the school day is gone and the drama is already flying as thick as Tyra Banks’s weave.”

  Marisol averted her eyes and when she looked back at her friends she was more than a little satisfied to find their eyes on her. They all loved juice and the best was yet to come.

  Starr reached up to grab Marisol’s phone but Marisol stepped back out of her reach with a wicked na-nana-na-na smile.

  Marisol continued on. “What heiress to her mommy’s makeup fortune—and resident Paris Hilton wannabe—returned to good old Pace with less nose than she left with last June? Looks like she spent her summer ‘refreshing’ her face. Careful, sweetie, Little Kim had to start somewhere…”

  “No!” Starr gasped in shock as she slammed her hand on the tabletop and rose to her feet. “Kylie Kilnon or Margaret Asner?”

  Marisol cleared her throat again and read on. “No need to guess. The divaofdish is bringing it to you straight with no chaser. Check out the before-and-after pics below hot off the press,” Marisol read with satisfaction.

  Dionne reached over to yank Marisol down onto one of the chairs around their table. The three friends strained their necks to eye Marisol’s screen.

  “Kylie Kilnon,” they all said in unison.

  All three heads swung to the right as their eyes zoomed in on Kylie and her crew of Paris/Lindsay/Nicole wannabes huddled around the tables of the members of the varsity basketball team. They hadn’t even noticed any change in her, but then the cheerleaders and jocks were definitely not on their social radar.

  “Forget her and her new nose,” Starr insisted, drawing their eyes back to her. “Who’s the blogger?”

  “No one knows.” Marisol loosened her ponytail and then finger-combed her hair.

  Now that she raced straight from gym with her news she was very aware of her appearance in the crowded dining hall. Juicy gossip was momentarily pushed to the back burner as she dug her gold Chanel compact from her purse. “A lot of people are nervous. This blog takes being ‘talked about’—” Marisol did the air quotes “—to a whole ’nother level. Crucial.”

  “Definitely,” Starr and Dionne agreed before taking long slurps of their fruit smoothies.

  Marisol used her key to unlock the massive mahogany door to the house. She barely nudged the door open when something stopped her, causing her to walk face-first into the door. She fixed her face into a frown and pushed against the door again with her shoulder.

  “Ow!”

  The holler of pain gave her eyes an extra twinkle—especially when the door was suddenly jerked from her hand. Her complaints evaporated from her lips as she slowly tilted her head up to look into the face of what had to be the finest hot boy ever. He looked to be seventeen or eighteen years old. Marisol’s “HOW TO FLIRT 101” went into full effect: tilt the head, lick the glossy lips just so and smile (with your mouth and your eyes). Thank God I changed out of those funky-looking gym clothes, she thought. “Hi,” she greeted him softly as her eyes peeped his game.

  He was tall and just as deliciously fine—even down to the light spray of freckles across his nose. His hair was cut low in a buzz and it only made his dimples even more deliciously deep.

  She smiled.

  He smiled back.

  One LUV CONNECTION coming up.

  Cute Stranger

  + Marisol

  —————

  Love 4Ever

  “Corey!”

  Her new crush whirled around and it was then that Marisol finally noticed that the foyer of their house was filled with camera equipment and plenty of jeans-and-T-shirt-clad people and her dad…and they all were looking over at them!

  Marisol swiped a strand of hair behind her ear and played it cool even though she felt her entire body flush from her high cheekbones down to the French pedicure on her toenails.

  Embarrassing, she thought.

  She’d been caught flirting with a cutie big-time.

  “Is that thing on?” Marisol asked, pointing a dainty finger at one of the two cameras pointed in their direction.

  Suddenly a huge bright light shone on her face.

  “It is now,” someone said loudly.

  Marisol immediately shook away any creepy flatness from her hair and gave the camera her very best America’s Next Top Model pose.

  She was a natural!

  seven

  Dionne

  September 5 @ 6:45 p.m. | Mood: Excited

  Dionne was the last of the three to walk into Starr’s suite and that’s because the lavishness always…always…always took her aback. The apartment where she lived with her mom was dwarfed in size by Starr’s bedroom suite. One year into their friendship and she still couldn’t believe it, conceive of it, nor was she ever going to achieve it.

  Puh-leeze.

  It wasn’t her usual weekend with her dad—he was in L.A. VMAing it, but her mom felt bad enough about nixing her VMA plans that she let her spend the whole weekend at Starr’s. This weekend she would be right there for all the fabulous festivities. She absolutely hated those Mondays when Starr and Marisol wanted to fill her in on all she missed during the sleepover: the tasty treats, the deluxe spa treatments in her personal salon, the gossip, the boy talk. And of course the hours spent playing dress-up in Starr’s parents’ closet.

  All of it.

  Well, she wasn’t going to miss any of the fabulousness…this time.

  Dionne covered her awestruck feelings well though, as she strolled in like this life of luxury was something she was used to. The girls all dropped their bags carrying the spoils from their trip to the mall next to their book bags underneath Starr’s desk. The first week of school was behind them. They were all good students, but there was no need to ruin a perfectly good weekend with homework from school. Seriously.

  Starr kicked off her Gucci shoes before she strutted across the plush carpeting to her walk-in closet. She flung the double doors open and the large interior of the closet was immediately bathed in soft light making it look like a high-end fashion boutique. One entire wall was filled with shelves filled with perfectly folded rows of jeans, and sweaters, T-shirts and accessories that filled dark brown wicker baskets.

  She headed straight for one of the baskets and pulled out three pairs of flip-flops. She slipped on the bubblegum pink ones, tossed the lemony-yellow pair to Marisol and the coconut-white ones to Dionne. “Heels. Can’t live with them, won’t live without them,” she grumbled as she flip-flopped her way back across the room to her desk.

  “Tell me about it,” Dionne agreed, as she gladly kicked off her own shoes for the soft, padded cushiness of the flip-flops. “I was a Reebok and Nike vandal before I met you two.”

  “You’re welcome,” Marisol drawled.

  Dionne flipped her the bird.

  “Countdown to Kimora, ladies,” Starr called over to them after logging off of her laptop. She walked over to the dou
ble doors on the far wall of her bedroom.

  Usually they watched reruns of the oh-so-fab Kimora on Sunday nights. But the VMAs definitely preempted Kimora.

  Dionne wiggled her toes freely before rising to her feet as Starr flung the doors open wide. In Dionne’s mind the doors to heaven were opened as Starr’s very own personal movie theater was revealed. There was plenty more of her signature pink carpeting. Twelve plush leather recliners were positioned in a semicircle around a pale gold curtain-covered wall. The entire rear of the room held a concession stand filled with all their favorite snacks—healthy and not so healthy. Behind the bar was a drink dispenser of frosty, fruity, virgin drinks. There were hot dogs, gourmet popcorn, frozen ice cream bars and bonbons. Just like a real movie theater. It was a teenager’s dream.

  “Don’t we just love Mimi?” Starr sighed as she dug right into a glass jar filled with her favorite candy, Goobers. It was Mimi’s job to make sure Starr’s movie theater was fully stocked and ready for her guests.

  Dionne and Marisol “big upped” in agreement before they grabbed their own pink trays, stenciled with a star, to get some treats.

  Starr moved to the recliner in the center with her name engraved on the headrest. She shifted the tray attached to the side of the chair into place before sitting her goodies on it. She grabbed the remote control from the small pocket on the other side of her chair.

  Just as Dionne and Marisol took seats on opposite sides of their host the familiar strains of the catchy theme song played loudly around them from the Bose sound system.

  “The fabulous, fabulous…” the girls sang along as Kimora’s image filled the 120-inch widescreen flat-panel TV.

  Dionne wasn’t as much of a fan of Kimora Lee Simmons as Starr was, but she enjoyed watching her reality show…especially at Starr’s. She sank deep down into her recliner and took a big bite of her hot dog and a huge slurp of her drink.

  This was the life.

  “The fabulous, fabulous…”

  Dionne couldn’t agree more.

  eight

  Starr

  September 7 @ 8:15 p.m. | Mood: Hating

  Starr couldn’t be-lieve that she was watching the VMAs from the front row of her screening room and not live with her parents in L.A. Plus she got stuck babysitting her brothers. Life sucks right now.

  “Taylor Swift looks cute,” Marisol said, from her spot lying on the floor.

  Starr rolled her eyes heavenward.

  “I still can’t believe Kanye,” Dionne said, before shoving a mouthful of Goobers into her mouth.

  Starr sighed.

  Dionne clapped excitedly as she lounged next to Starr. “Ohmygod! Your mom looks gorgeous, Starr.”

  Starr cut her eyes toward the screen just as her mom flipped her shoulder-length hair over her tattooed shoulder. Sasha was the ex-R&B-singer-turned-wife of music mogul Cole Lester, who was already used to living the high life as a star in her own right. She made sure that her kids lived the good life right along with her.

  “Ow!” Marisol exclaimed, reaching behind her to rub her derriere through the smooth terry cloth of her Juicy Couture robe. Her mouth dropped open in shock as she eyed Malcolm—or was it Martin?—innocently standing over her with a huge grin on his face and his pudgy little fingers still poised for another pinch.

  Starr hopped up to her feet and marched across the plush carpeting, barely missing stepping on Marisol’s head, to scoop her little brother into her arms. “Puh-leeze stop acting like a perv, Martin.”

  “But I’m Malcolm,” he protested in the cutest little voice.

  Starr placed him in the theater seat next to hers, before she turned around just in time to see his brother reach up and pull the entire jar of jelly beans down over his head.

  “Uh-oh,” Dionne said gloomily from behind her.

  Starr felt like crying from the utter injustice of it all. “Don’t you eat off that floor!” she screamed in a high-pitched tone as she pointed her finger at him and stomped her foot in frustration.

  “Look, there’s your dad, Dionne!” Marisol exclaimed.

  Starr was too busy scolding Martin—or was it Malcolm?—in her arms to see Lahron the Don, Dionne’s father. She was confident she wasn’t missing much but the usual grills, shades, platinum and diamond jewelry and sagging jeans the artists favored.

  As her friends continued to ooh and aah over all the celebs, Starr sat in between her twin nightmares wondering if a big spoonful of cough medicine would bring on beddy-bye just a little bit quicker.

  “Starr, we love you,” Malcolm (or Martin) said as he leaned forward to press a wet kiss to her arm.

  “We love you, Starr,” Martin (or Malcolm) agreed before he made her other arm sticky with a kiss.

  “Awwwww,” Marisol and Dionne said in syrupy unison.

  Starr looked from one doe-eyed cutie to the other and felt her heartstrings tug. She kissed her index and middle fingers before she pressed them to each of their cheeks. “I love you, too,” she told them.

  “Awwwww,” Marisol and Dionne chorused again.

  Starr wasn’t crazy. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the twin terrors’ good behavior and affection would be behind them, and they would start to work her nerves again. But for now she decided to enjoy the moment.

  nine

  Starr

  September 9 @ 6:40 p.m. | Mood: Agitated

  “Relax, Starr, relax.”

  Starr rolled her eyes before settling on her pink-and-white acrylic-covered pedicured toes. Feeling her Pilates instructor Kante’s hand press gently on the small of her back, she bent down until her buttocks were in the air. He bent over to check her form and Starr fought the desire to blast a seriously malodorous fart into his almost-pretty-enough-to-be-a-girl face. She bit back a giggle.

  Exercise was definitely a “to do” but that didn’t stop it from making her anxious. If it wasn’t for the fact that Kante was sweeter than a thousand bags of jelly beans and had a “partner” named Jackson, Starr would seriously worry about his closeness during their sessions. Dating older boys (ahem, anyone twenty and over) was one thing her parents didn’t have to worry about. Starr didn’t do old. She didn’t even like vintage designer clothing. Secondhand armpit sweat? Definitely a “don’t.”

  “Okay, Starrlet, one last deep breath and rise slowly to reach for the sky, sweetie,” Kante said in his soft voice that was almost a whisper.

  Starr did as she was instructed, opening her eyes just as she raised her slender arms high above her head. She winced at the tension all across her shoulders.

  “You’d be a lot more comfortable and at ease, sweetie, if you didn’t have a wedgie as deep as the line for free cheese in the hood,” Kante drawled from behind her.

  Starr whipped her head around to glare at him. If looks could kill, the tall and slender, baldheaded black man with the really soft-pink-and-icky glossy lips would drop like a roach in a losing battle with Black Flag. “Since it’s bothering you like it’s jammed up your butt let me correct that for you,” she said sarcastically as she stared him dead in the eye and pulled out the wedgie with her index finger and thumb.

  Her thong went POP as it slapped against her hip when she released it.

  “Whaddup, Starr.”

  She made an ugly face filled with dismay at the sound of the voice coming from the door of the solarium. Not even closing her eyes and doing a quick count to five could get her together enough to recover from being seen digging out a wedgie…by Jordan.

  Kante just flung his headband back, licked his lips that were way more glossy than even Starr’s and laughed like a hyena as he began to gather his equipment. Kante and Starr definitely had a love-hate relationship that was way more love than anything. Most times they loved sparring with each other and right now Kante was enjoying the joke on her. Bet I can erase that Kool-Aid smile with one word. FIRED, she thought.

  Starr plastered on her best fake smile and turned to find Jordan leaning ever so slightly in the doorway w
ith his eyes—those eyes—on her. He looked delicious in the camel-colored leather racing jacket he wore over a white tee and dark jeans. He looked good and he knew it. Starr absolutely loved his confidence. “Hi, Jordan,” she said calmly, like her heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute and her stomach didn’t feel as busy as a mall on a Saturday afternoon.

  “S-V-F, baby. S-V-F,” Kante said over his shoulder with a smug expression on his face as he headed toward the door. “See you Monday, Starrlet.”

  Starr smiled at the way Jordan stepped away from the door as Kante passed him switching like he was using his butt to sweep the floor.

  “What’s SVF?” Jordan asked, as he walked over to help her pick up and roll her exercise mat.

  “Nothing,” Starr lied as she picked up one end of the mat and Jordan grabbed the other. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it stood for So Very Fine.

  “Your party is the talk around Pace,” he said, stepping closer to her with each roll of the cushy mat.

  She flipped her bangs out of her face as she looked up at him. “Really,” she answered, feeling her usual tongue-tied self around the cutie.

  It was hard to think when each of his steps surrounded her deeper and deeper into the deliciously divine scent of Gucci Rush.

  Jordan was the only boy who made her feel like their chemistry was just as powerful and crazy explosive as fireworks blasting off. Right now, she could care less about his flirting with Heather on the first day of school. Besides, he wasn’t her boyfriend…yet.

  Their fingers brushed as he handed her the mat and took one last step forward to stand just inches from her.

  Needing space and feeling way too nervous in his presence, Starr stepped back. His hands covered hers quickly. They felt warm.

  Starr felt like she could literally throw up. Why couldn’t boys be as simple as hooking up a banging outfit with just the right accessories?