Dionne was just glad she wore her oh-so-cute Louis Vuitton loafers with the cute little bows, dangling LV charm and cushioned insoles as she hurried up the steps of the main hall and down the long hallway to the rear of the building. She had no time to compare the comforts of the Pace Academy dining hall to Westside’s prison-looking cafeteria as she zoomed over to the Little Italy pizza station and grabbed a veggie pan and bottle of fruit juice.
Starr frowned as she eyed her. “Really, Dionne, you are sweating like a pig. And why are your hands so shiny?” she asked as she tapped her pink glitter pen on the top of her netbook.
Dionne just shrugged as she rushed through her pizza. She barely had time to listen and for sure she had no time to talk. Over the rim of her clear plastic cup, Dionne paused at the sight of Marisol. Of course, she had seen her Latina best friend plenty all day, but Dionne still couldn’t believe the…new Marisol.
No makeup on her already-pretty brown face.
No accessories to make her uniform stylish.
No ooh-aah curls in her hair, just a tight ponytail that looked completely product free.
Say what? Say who?
Not Marisol.
“Listen, ladies, I don’t know what’s going on with us, but we need to regroup,” Starr told them as she leaned in. “Between this party and sniffing out the Diva of Dumb, I can’t keep up with why you keep missing lunch, Dionne…and why you are in mourning or something, Marisol.”
Dionne gave a quick glance at Marisol before she turned away.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.
“Gotta run, girls. See you in art next period,” Dionne told them before she grabbed her book satchel and hurried from the dining hall.
twenty-two
Starr
September 24 @ 4:20 p.m. | Mood: Like Kimora (fabulous and in charge)
“Thanks, Marcus,” Starr told her driver as he stood tall with the rear door of the Bentley open. She grabbed her things and stepped down onto the brick walkway leading to the side entrance of her twenty-thousand-square-foot house.
“Everything okay, Miss Starr?” he asked politely.
Starr nodded. “Yes, thank you,” she lied without flinching. “See you in the a.m.” Like I’m going to unload my burden onto the shoulders of the help. Please.
Starr noticed that both her father’s newest Range Rover and her mother’s customized pink Denali were not in their usual parking spots in the five-car garage. Just once it would be nice to come home and at least one of them was here, she thought, as she hurried inside the house.
Starr made her way straight to her bedroom suite. As soon as she crossed over the threshold she began to strip out of the uniform that she ab-so-lute-ly hated. She took a quick shower and wrapped a towel around her slender frame before heading to her walk-in closet. She grabbed both doorknobs and flung the doors open wide. The lights immediately came on.
Starr bit her bottom lip as she stood in the center of the room-size closet. She was in a problem-solving mood and she definitely wanted to channel the take-no-nonsense fabulousness of Kimora…but she didn’t have time for her usual thirty-minute style session.
Being trapped in her dreary school uniform every day, Starr used any chance she could get to be fresh and fly. She had the kind of clothes most grown women would gnaw their foot off for. Might as well enjoy it.
With a sigh she snatched a navy linen Phillip Lim jumpsuit from one of the thousands of padded hangers. Since the front was a deep scoop neck, she grabbed a white ruffled camisole and a mix of pearls and long gold chains. Accessories were everything.
After moisturizing her entire body, spraying all her pulse points with Gucci Rush and removing the Gucci silk scarf she’d tied around her head during her shower, Starr dressed quickly. She was a woman on a mission.
PRIORITY LIST: 1) PARTY 2) FRIENDS 3) DIVA OF DUMB
Starr was the princess of lists. She sat down in her hot-pink leather chair. She opened her Mac, entered her password: DEATH2INTRUDERS.
Soon the rapid CLICK-CLICK of the keys echoed in her room as she updated TODAY’S TO-DO list:
HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO DO LIST
JOB DONE
COMMENTS
Approve sketches of final decorations for party
Have 2 tell Daddy that the event stylist deserves a HUGE tip. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it.
Double check thank you gifts arrived
The mini laptops are PERFECTLY FABULOUS (just have to pre-load them w/video of the party).
Check with Daddy for performers
So far seven acts confirmed. LUVS my Daddy. Ow!
Approve models for fashion show
No butt faces. Life is good. Lol.
Schedule fittings for models
Done and done.
Schedule dress rehearsal
Noon sharp @ venue.
Remind Daddy that camera crews are not a 24 hr thing
Waking up to a camera in your face while there is crust in your eye is just straight CRAZY. They will only tape the weekend’s activities.
The Fierce and Fabulous Fashionista Fifteen party was definitely in cruise control at this point and Starr was big-time glad of that because she could not focus on anything else until the party was straight. With just a little over a week to go, Starr was ready to just chill and enjoy the weekend-long festivities—including a huge slumber/spa party in the pool house Friday night before the party and a brunch the Sunday after the party.
Starr crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. Next she was going to tackle Dionne and Marisol. Something was up with her gal pals.
Although Starr was not above holding on to a secret or two, she never thought they would keep secrets from her.
“I’ll just kill two birds with one stone,” she said aloud as she leaned forward to pick up her cordless.
She dialed Marisol’s cell first.
“Hello.”
Starr frowned at the sound of her voice. What the…?
“Starr?”
“Hold on. Let me get Dionne.”
Starr dialed Dionne on three-way.
“Whaddup, Starr?”
Starr drummed her fingertips against the top of her desk. “Here’s a better question: Whaddup with you two?”
The line remained quiet and Starr rolled her eyes, before she leaned forward to log on to Twitter. Starr’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she sent a tweet/update to her 2,500 followers:
STARRLESTER: Getting annoyed w/2 best friends. Hate secrets. Uggh!
“Okay, Dionne, what’s up with you missing lunch? You and Reggie finally making a connection?” Starr asked, as her eyes browsed the updates or “tweets” of the few people she followed on Twitter.
Dionne laughed. “Yeah, right.”
Starr arched her perfectly groomed brow. “He’s perfect for you.”
“He’s a’ight.”
Starr frowned but she decided to stay on one road…for now. “So what’s going on with you at lunch then?” she asked as she smiled at Diddy tweeting everyone to once again “LOCK IN.”
“I’ve just been running late from my class. I guess I haven’t recovered from lounging all summer because classes are getting to me now.”
“Uhm, okay.” The line went quiet.
“Marisol?” Starr prompted. “Why the fashion strike?”
Marisol sighed and Starr sat up a bit straighter, thinking she was about to get the real ish. “There’s more important things in life than the who, what, when, where and why of clothes, Starr.”
Starr’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Sometimes I wish we were poor,” Marisol added softly.
Starr nearly fainted and had to correct her slender frame from falling out of her chair.
“No you don’t,” Dionne threw in with attitude.
Marisol was as much a clothes fiend as she was. Something was up. You don’t go from oh-so-fab to downright drab…and like it???!!! “Marisol, maybe you should lie dow
n and go get a head massage because you’re losing your mind,” Starr snapped.
“No, I’m not,” Marisol stressed. “Sometimes money is nothing but trouble.”
“Puh-leeze,” Dionne added.
Starr’s brows almost furrowed into one line. “Oh, God, you’re not going to stop wearing deodorant and grow dreadlocks, are you?”
Dionne laughed. “Starr, you stooopid.”
Marisol sighed. “I gotta go. My mom needs me.”
Seconds later the click let them know she had hung up.
“I gotta go, too, Starr. Call me when 106 & Park comes on. My dad’s gonna be on there.”
Starr was too stunned over Marisol’s abruptness to even speak.
Click.
Starr hung up the phone before her fingers flew across the keyboard. She hit Enter with a flourish.
STARRLESTER: Headed to the mall because I need some serious retail therapy. Gucci here I come. 4Real.
twenty-three
Marisol
September 24 @ 4:50 p.m. | Mood: Disappointed
Marisol never ever thought she would see the day that she hated her father’s wealth and celebrity, but she was completely there now. In the days since the screening the atmosphere around their sprawling estate was awful.
Marisol’s eyes were always looking up to God, praying that her family would make it through this.
Her mother’s eyes were always red and puffy.
Her father’s eyes were constantly looking anywhere but at his wife or his children.
Marisol hated it!
And she hated their money for drawing women to her father. She wanted so badly to pack up all her pretty designer things and give them away or throw them away.
“All of these women only want you for your name and your money. You think if you had nothing all those women would throw themselves at you. You risk your family for that, Alex? I loved you when you had nothing.”
And Marisol wished they had nothing because all the pretty things in the world meant nothing if her mother was hurting.
Marisol was rebelling against the fabulous life. She’d declared a moratorium on materialism. She just wasn’t in the mood for it when it was the reason for her parents’ drama.
Sighing, she left her bedroom suite and went to look for her mother. She found her on one of the balconies off the living room. Marisol forced herself to ignore the incredible view outside the French doors of their house.
Yasmine Rivera, glamorous in a DKNY burnt-orange cashmere sweaterdress and leather boots, looked over her shoulder and smiled softly at the sight of her daughter. Everything about her mom was perfect: the seemingly casual way she wore her hair, the makeup and the jewelry. It evoked an image of beauty and class.
“Come.” Yasmine held her jeweled hand out while beckoning Marisol toward her with a nod.
Marisol came forward and slid her hand into her mother’s as the quiet background of their beautifully landscaped estate surrounded them. Her mother slid her arms around her shoulders and hugged her close to her side. Marisol felt so many regrets. Mostly she wished that she had never eavesdropped on her parents’ conversation. She got a glimpse into a part of their lives that she never wanted to see.
twenty-four
Dionne
September 25 @ 3:20 p.m. | Mood: Deceitful
Pace Academy definitely had a more laid-back atmosphere than any school she had ever attended before. It was so crazy to Dionne that the campus had fewer students than Westside but more land, more buildings, more everything. If she was honest with herself, it didn’t seem fair at all.
Pulling her Louis V satchel higher up on her shoulder, Dionne shoved her hands into the hidden side pockets of her blazer as she made her way from the arts building to the main hall.
“Hey, Dionne, wait up.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her ponytail doing a semicircle around her head. She smiled at Reggie running to catch up with her. “What’s up, Reggie?”
“You,” he said as he came to a stop in front of her.
Dionne became a ball of nerves. She knew nothing at all about boys. Everything with Hassan just came naturally.
“I thought I could call you sometime,” he said, not quite looking her in the eye as he shifted his hands from the straps of his book bag into the pocket of his gray pants.
Dionne pulled her side ponytail forward with her hand as she tilted her head to the side and smiled up at him. Reggie was her height with a dimpled grin and caramel skin with a light sprinkle of freckles across his nose. “Okay,” was her simple reply before she turned and walked away.
“But what’s your number?” he called after her.
Dionne turned again and walked backward. “That’s for me to know and you to find out…if you want it bad enough.”
He licked his lips and smiled as he shook his head just as Dionne turned and walked up the stone path leading to the main hall. As she made her way through the students at their lockers and on their way outside to their cars, Dionne remembered when things were simpler.
Hassan had walked up to her and flipped his phone open with his thumb poised and ready to get at the numbers. “What’s your number?”
And she’d given up the digits just…like…that.
“Dionne, we’re headed to Cooley’s,” Starr said, double-checking her appearance in the small mirror hanging from the door of her locker.
Dionne’s eyes shifted to Marisol standing across the hall at her own locker. “Mari, you going, too?” she asked, taking her Sidekick out to quickly text her mom.
DIVADIDI: MA, CAN I GO TO THE ICE CREAM SHOP W/MARI AND STARR?
“I guess.” Marisol just shrugged before she closed her locker and leaned against it.
Dionne watched several freshman boys walk by her and Marisol, turning to look over their shoulders at Mari. They were probably wondering the same thing I am. Where is Marisol, the real Marisol? The flashy Marisol? The Marisol we’re all used to.
Ding.
DIDISMOM: CALLED THE DRIVER. BE HOME BY 6 PM. SHARP DIONNE. LUV U.
Just as sure as Dionne knew her name she knew her mom was going to call her driver first. Dionne smiled. She was just glad her mama was in a good mood or whatever.
Starr eyed Dionne slipping her Sidekick inside her book satchel before she opened her locker. “Your mom said it was cool?” she asked.
Dionne shrugged, slightly embarrassed that she had to ask when Starr and Marisol did not.
Starr eyed Dionne as she touched up her lip gloss. “When are we going to meet your mom, Dionne?” she asked, pressing her lips together as she screwed the cap back on the tube of clear gloss with tiny gold flecks. Glitzy indeed.
Dionne felt like she just received a punch to the gut. “She’s always so busy,” she said, the excuse sounding lame even to her own ears.
Starr reached inside her locker for her new python-and-suede Gucci shoulder bag. “It’s your turn to have a sleepover, you know…and not at your dad’s all the time.”
Dionne’s stomach did somersaults after that one.
That old elementary school song came floating to her in a mocking childlike voice:
I was walking down the hall, when I felt something fall…diarrhea, diarrhea.
It fell down my leg like two scrambled eggs…diarrhea, diarrhea.
Dionne literally shook her head. “My dad’s gonna buy us a bigger house—an even bigger house—and she’s busy house-hunting right now,” she lied. It was becoming easier and easier to lie with time and practice.
Marisol closed her locker, her book bag hanging from her shoulder. “Bigger house. Bigger troubles. Trust me.”
Starr just sighed at Marisol’s little bit of advice. “Really, Marisol, you are falling off.”
Marisol looked at Starr. “So our friendship is based on what I wear?” she asked, snapping back.
Starr looked incredulous. “And that’s new to you because…”
Uh-oh. Dionne stepped in between them. “Why
are y’all trippin’?” she asked.
Marisol’s full lips twitched. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you so I’ll pass on the ice cream.”
“Drama queen,” Starr drawled before she slammed her locker.
“…And your stupid Fashionista Fool Fifteen party!” Marisol added over her shoulder before she walked down the hall and out the building like her pants were on fire.
“Marisol!” Dionne called after her, her voice echoing down the hallway.
“Jealousy doesn’t look any better on you than the natural look,” Starr flung back.
“Starr!” Dionne gasped, whirling to face her.
“What?” Starr asked innocently, looking completely unconcerned. She sucked her teeth and waved her hand dismissively. “Marisol will be fine. Like she’s really gonna miss my party. Whateva. Let’s go to Cooley’s.”
Dionne frowned. “Are you sure?”
Starr walked down the hall with her head held high like she was on a runway, leaving Dionne to follow.
Cooley’s was the hangout spot for Pace Academy students. Besides great food—the best Reuben sandwiches—the atmosphere was made for teens, especially since the entire building was in the shape of a huge ice cream cone. The very sight of Cooley’s made Dionne want to climb the cone and lick the swirl. The mood continued inside with its nearly all-white decor and music playing just loud enough to make it interesting.
Different cliques were gathered all over the restaurant, but everyone looked up and waved as Starr strolled inside. The girls slid into a cushy booth right by the door. “I wish Marisol was here,” Dionne admitted as she scanned the menu.
Fabulous Page 9
