“I know I’m invited?” he asked as he did an LL-like lick of his lips.
She nodded as words escaped her.
Say something, Starr. Say something…
Smart.
Flirty.
Cool.
Funny.
Witty.
Teasing.
Just…say…anything!
Okay, anything but “I love you, Jordan Jackson, future superstar, and I want to get married as soon as we’re legal. We’ll be the next young, black and fabulous power couple. I’ll be the Beyoncé to your Jay-Z.”
Anything but that! That was way, way, way too much information.
“Oh, no, Jordan. Save all that sex appeal for your future fans…and not my daughter.”
They both jumped apart a bit and looked over toward the door as Starr’s dad, Cole, strolled in with a grin on his handsome face. Jordan’s father, Deshante, lead singer of the platinum-selling group Shyne, stepped into the room behind him.
Both men had on enough diamonds to blind a small town. They were the epitome of black, rich and famous. No suits, unless necessary. Designer jeans, crisp white tees, funky military-style jackets, custom-made shoes.
Starr loved her daddy’s style. There was never an embarrassing “what does my daddy have on?” moment. Of course he had one of the top stylists on his payroll and his speed dial. Whether he was chilling around the crib or strolling down the red carpet, Daddy Lester always represented well for the forty-and-fine crew.
Deshante pushed his shades atop his smooth bald head. “You know if they get married the tab for the wedding is all you, father of the bride.”
Jordan shook his head before dropping it in his hand.
“As long as pretty boy over there knows to keep his hands off until after the wedding,” Cole said, pointing toward Jordan playfully.
“Daddy!” Starr whined, completely embarrassed. Parents knew how to make something crucial when it didn’t have to be.
Starr quickly snatched up the rest of her exercise gear into one of her Louis duffel bags. After slinging it over her shoulder, she avoided Jordan’s teasing brown eyes and walked up to her father with her hand out. “Tonight, me and Mama are going to look for my dresses for my party,” she said. “It’s in two weeks, ya know.”
Cole slipped one of his hands from the pockets of his jacket to slap her hand like a high five. “Roll out. See you when you get back.”
Starr arched her brow and pursed her lips before she said, “Daddy, may I please have money to buy my dresses for my parties?”
“Now there you go,” he said, with a huge grin showing off the veneers that her mom made him get.
Starr fought not to roll her eyes. What was the purpose of the whole “ask me nicely” hoopla when she knew he was going to give her the money regardless? Just crazy.
My parents can trip when they want to.
He pressed the black Amex into her hand and Starr smiled sweetly and wiggled her fingers.
“Boy, she really looks like her mama now,” Deshante teased.
“Tell me about it,” Cole drawled, reaching in his pocket to pull out a wad of folded hundred-dollar bills. He peeled off ten and put them on top of the credit card still in Starr’s outstretched hand.
“You’re the one who taught me to never leave the house without cash and credit,” she reminded him, before strutting out of the room like she paid the hefty mortgage.
Starr fought the urge to sneak one last peek at Jordan. He really was yummy to look at…and probably even more yummy to kiss. No doubt his kiss was nothing at all like the innocent peck on the cheek she got from Hairy Harry when she was six. Or the icky grossness of Cheetos-breath Bubble-Butt Bobby when she was ten. Or the wetness of Gunther the Grabber when she was thirteen.
Kissing Jordan would be soft and sweet and tasty. It would be perfect and that’s why she was determined it would go down on the night of her birthday party. Of course, that she would do out of range of MTV’s My Super Sweet 16 cameras. That was her business and hers alone. Holla.
“Starr.”
She turned in the doorway, her cheeks still warm from the thought of her first kiss with Jordan. “Yes?”
“MTV can’t do the party,” Cole told her as he slipped his cell phone back onto the clip.
No!
Starr felt like the rug was being yanked from underneath her.
“Their production crews are already taping a show that week.”
No! No! No!
She had already told people her party was going to be on MTV!
Cole eyed his daughter like he felt the storm brewing inside her. “They will definitely tape your My Super Sweet 16 next year, baby girl, and trust me we will do it big,” he offered.
“Shoot,” Starr said in lieu of the real bomb she would love to screech. She forced a smile as tight as a Botoxed forehead.
Starr wanted to flip. She wanted to cry, pout, shout and turn this mother out. She wanted to demand that her daddy make it right just like always. But not in front of Jordan and his father. Later. Definitely a “to do.”
ten
Dionne
September 10 @ 8:30 a.m. | Mood: Confused
Dionne looked up from taking notes in algebra class to find Mrs. Kingsley’s short frame headed her way. She hoped the portly woman was headed for Rocksy Reynolds sitting directly behind her.
“Miss Hunt, report to the headmaster’s office,” Mrs. Kingsley whispered to her in her British accent, almost as strong as the smell of coffee on her breath.
Dionne felt the eyes of the other seven students on her as she slid back her chair and grabbed her book bag to sling over her shoulder. Dionne notched her head high and made her way toward the solid wooden door.
“See you at lunch, Dionne.”
She looked down over her shoulder to see Reggie Monton smiling up at her with all of his chocolate cuteness—dimples and all. Even the ugliness of the uniform’s red blazer couldn’t knock him down on the Hot Boyz rank.
“You know my boy Reg likes you, right?”
In that moment as her eyes locked with Reggie’s she remembered Jordan’s words clearly.
He was big-time fine and his father played for the Nets.
Still in Dionne’s eyes—and heart—he was no Hassan. But Hassan was OUT and she needed a boy who was IN.
She gave him a glossy smile before she kept it moving out the classroom and down the hall. With Reggie flashing his dimples at her she didn’t have time to think about why Headmaster Payne wanted to see her.
Dionne’s black Gucci loafers barely made a sound on the polished tile floor or the steps as she made her way to the main hall on the first floor. She looked through the glass as she opened the door, offering a hesitant smile to Miss Lyon who lived up to her name with her massive, tightly curled red hair surrounding her chubby face.
“Have a seat, Miss Hunt.”
Dionne did, pulling her book bag into her lap as she looked around at the office that looked more like a nicely furnished living room. She would play with her side ponytail some and then switched to playing with her bracelets as she fought off her nerves.
“You can go in now, Miss Hunt,” Miss Lyon said from behind her wooden desk as she set the phone down.
A dozen questions ran through Dionne’s mind as she made her way back to the headmaster’s office.
Am I in trouble?
What did I do?
Will I get expelled?
Does that mean I have to go to Westside High?
Goodbye, Pacesetters. Hello…WHAT?
This is big-time crucial.
Dionne knocked once on the solid oak double doors leading into Headmaster Payne’s office.
“Come in.”
Dionne opened one of the doors and walked in. Wow, he really has a lot of books, she thought as she took her seat and primly crossed her ankles.
“Miss Hunt, we have been unable to contact your father regarding a serious matter—”
Dionne’s
heart pounded. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, feeling like her heart was about to take a one-way cruise up her throat.
Headmaster Payne shook his head and Dionne tried not to notice that his stiff toupee shifted just a bit. Not much. But some. “Not at all,” he assured her.
That made Dionne feel a little better.
“It’s concerning your tuition. I’m sure it’s just an oversight on your father’s part. And…if not, unfortunately the deadline for applying for tuition assistance has passed.”
Okay, that made Dionne feel big-time bad and she wished that she could shrivel into a little ball and roll out of his office from shame.
“We know your parents aren’t together.” Headmaster Payne shook his head with a look of pity. “We didn’t have any contact information for your mother on file.”
Dionne frowned a bit as he pushed two huge manila envelopes toward her with one finger that felt like it was pointing at her accusingly.
You owe us.
You better pay us.
You don’t belong.
“Please give one to your mother and the other to your father.”
Dionne avoided his eyes as she grabbed the envelopes and quickly shoved them into her book bag.
“That’s all, Miss Hunt.”
With that her tuition-owing behind was dismissed.
Em-bar-a-sssssing.
She avoided eye contact with Miss Lyon as she scurried past her desk like a rat.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, but Dionne didn’t head to her next class or her locker or even to find Starr and Marisol.
Dionne zoomed through the hallway filling up with students headed to the first-floor bathroom. It was funny that even with the sound of students’ voices that mingled together like background noise, she could clearly hear the light ding of her bracelets hitting against each other.
LOVE, FAITH, PEACE and STRENGTH.
She needed all that and much, much more.
Dionne barely released her breath as she slammed inside one of the stalls and locked it. She dropped down onto the toilet seat and used shaking hands to yank her father’s manila envelope out of her book bag. She tore into it—knowing she could get away with opening it. Her eyes and mouth widened bit by bit as she read the letter, silently mouthing the words that sealed her fate.
Her mother’s words of advice had never seemed so clear:
I don’t want you to base your life on what your father has. If the money goes—and Lord knows that’s possible with the way he spending it—then the clothes and the thirty-grand-a-year private school and all the other bling-things you didn’t have a year ago will go, too.
Her father had until the end of next week to pay her tuition or it was definitely deuces to Pace Academy and that meant deuces to Starr, Marisol and her semi-fabulous life.
eleven
Starr
September 10 @ 11:30 a.m. | Mood: Vengeful
Starr was the queen of perfection.
Her boring uniform was perfectly pressed.
Her asymmetrical bob was perfectly coiffed and gleaming.
Her MAC lip gloss had her lips shining…as she kept her fake smile perfectly in place.
Starr cleared her throat as she stepped up from her spot between Dionne and Marisol to claim the mic at the center of the stage lit by a huge spotlight shaped like a star—of course. Where else would it be for the Starr?
Starr glanced over her shoulder at her party planner, Kyra Stone, standing off in the wings hidden by the long, cascading drapes. Starr gave her a look like “You better not screw this up.”
Kyra had handled both big-bash parties and small, intimate gatherings for her father and his closest celeb friends and business associates. She had been her mother and Starr’s first choice for making sure that Starr had a party to top all parties.
Starr faced the three hundred students filling the seats of the auditorium. “Attention everyone. Attention,” Starr said into the mic as she grabbed it with her perfectly manicured Crush on You red nails.
Almost as soon as she said it everyone settled down just…like…that.
“Thank you all for coming to my invite party for my Fashionista Fifteen Paaaaarrrrtyyyy!” she yelled into the mic.
Her smile became more genuine as everyone started applauding and jumped up to their feet yelling.
Starr held up her hands and motioned for them to quiet down again. “If you all would look under your seat you’ll find your invitations to my party/fashion show!”
Commotion broke out as everyone in the auditorium scurried to reach under their seats for the star-shaped gift box that was filled with plenty of swag—including iPods filled with her favorite playlist and several unreleased tracks from some of her father’s bestselling artists, hundred-dollar gift cards to five of her favorite designers, the newest makeup for girls and designer shades for the boys, a five-year subscription to each of her favorite mags and lastly…
“Since I’m cutting into your lunchtime I thought I’d provide some gourmet pizza and a little lunchtime entertainment courtesy of TopStarr Records!”
As the doors to the auditorium opened up and waiters strolled in with personal pan-size gourmet pizza and fruit smoothies, Starr stepped back as the star-shaped spotlight disappeared and the stage darkened. When the stage lit up again, her father’s top-selling artist Reign bounced onto the stage and began singing his number-one hit, “King Me.”
The students forgot about their lunch as they flew up to the front of the stage.
“This is nice, Starr, and it’s just the party invite,” Marisol whispered to her before grabbing her hand to squeeze tightly in excitement. Dionne looked preoccupied but Starr didn’t have time to wonder why.
She was too busy pretending to be perfectly pleased by the official start of her party festivities, while the whole time she was big-time pissed that none of this would be on television.
twelve
Dionne
September 10 @ 10:45 p.m. | Mood: Afraid
“You wanted my baby girl to go that bourgie-ass school, Lahron. So before your chicks, before your diamonds, before all your whips, you shoulda paid the tuition!”
Dionne winced in the darkness of her room as she stood close to her door with it opened just enough for her to peek out as her mother paced back and forth, her finger slashing through the air, and her earrings clanging like cowbells as she read her father the riot act.
“I don’t need them people sending me a dang thing about Dionne’s tuition, Lahron. You need to handle that.”
Dionne closed her eyes. She had to admit this was one argument she hoped Mama won. She didn’t want to leave Pace Academy. Her daddy had to pay that tuition.
“If you straight baaallllin’, you Jim Jones wannabe, then why these people threatening to throw Dionne out of school. Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?”
Okay, Ma, that was a low blow, Dionne thought as she let her head rest against the door.
“What you say to me? Lahron the Don ain’t nothin’ but a big ole frontin’ con. How you like that rap?”
Dionne actually smiled when her mama did a beat box.
“Well, I’m glad you have the money, Lahron. And your driver better have that check for my baby in the morning.”
Dionne’s heart soared until she felt like she had to swallow it. Yes! Yes! Yes! Dionne did a little dance in the dark, having her own little celebration party.
Beep.
“Dionne!”
She froze mid-dance.
“I know you not asleep with your little eavesdropping self. Go to bed, girl.”
Still smiling, Dionne jumped across the room and landed in the center of her bed. Even though she landed with a little whoosh she felt like she was still floating on air.
Me See No MTV!
Posted in uncategorized on September 14 @ 6:00 a.m. by thedivaofdish
Just got word that Starr Lester’s hopes of being on MTV’s My Super Sweet 16 were horribly dashed with yesterday’s
trash. Speculations ran wild after her splashy Invite Party Thursday was lacking any camera crews and bright lights.
The party is still on…but wasn’t it completely more exciting when we thought it was going to be on MTV? How embarrassing!
In other news, let’s play guess who, shall we? Word on the street is the father of one of our student’s latest album is a major flop. Forget platinum, this doozy didn’t even hit nickel status. I definitely have my eye out for a repo alert. LOL. So…guess who.
Smooches,
Pace Academy’s Diva of Dish
54 comments
thirteen
Starr
September 14 @ 6:02 a.m. | Mood: Angry. Very Angry.
The words “how embarrassing” echoed in her head like a schoolyard mocking as Starr sat at the computer with her eyes piercing the laptop screen. Up until now Starr had found the little blog amusing and made it the first thing she checked when she got up in the mornings. But now? Starr was P-I-S-S-E-D.
The supposed Diva of Dish had just made an enemy.
How embarrassing. How embarrassing. How embarrassing.
Starr picked up her new wireless mouse and stretched her arms high in the air. Just short of chucking it across the room, she forced herself to breathe and do the whole “Let go, let God” thing. She calmly sat the mouse back on the desk.
Being Starr wasn’t easy. She would always draw attention. She would always have her fans, her stans, and her enemies. All of them were compliments to her steelo.
Still…
How embarrassing. How embarrassing. How embarrassing.
Starr had been in a horrible mood since the MTV news and she was letting her parents feel all of her funk. She did’t leave her room unless she had to and she didn’t speak unless spoken to. She was punishing them—that is when they were home to even notice her mini-rebellion.
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