Starr and Dionne punched their fists in the air. “Oh, it’s on now!” Starr assured them. “Watch your girl’s shoe game now. Just watch it.”
“Quiet down, students. Quiet down.”
Everyone settled into their seats but there was still an air of excitement.
“In homeroom you will receive the revised student handbooks with the new dress code for Pace Academy and I strongly advise you to avoid any infractions,” the headmaster continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, remember that first impressions are important. Be mindful of the image you present.”
Over the rim of his glasses, Headmaster Payne’s eyes swept from the left to the right of the auditorium as if giving each and every student a stern look. “Assembly is dismissed.”
Marisol grabbed her Coach wristlet—a small luxury she allowed herself over the huge designer totes she used to love—and followed an excited Dionne and Starr out of the auditorium. Just my luck, she thought. They finally get rid of uniforms while I’m on a fabulous strike!
Marisol rolled onto her side as she lay in bed. She looked up at the full moon through the windows, wishing she could sleep…but it was hard when her parents were arguing.
“Leave, Alex! Just go.”
Marisol closed her eyes and curled into the fetal position in the middle of her bed.
Things between her parents were getting worse. She wanted to be home with her family, but at the same time she wanted to be free of the tension she felt there.
Tears welled up in her eyes again as she thought of the constant bickering and the growing distance between her parents. The way they passed each other in the hall, making sure neither touched the other. She’d even caught her father sneaking into the house in the middle of the night to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms.
Marisol buried her face into the down pillows as she tried to soothe away her own tears.
“I am so sick of your lies, Alex.”
“Lower your voice, Yasmine. You’ll wake the children.”
Marisol reached out and grabbed her cell phone from the glass-topped nightstand. The phone illuminated as she flipped it open. She quickly dialed.
“Marisol? Marisol?” Starr said, sleep heavy in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I think my parents are getting a divorce,” she admitted in a whisper. There. I said it.
“Oh, Mari,” Starr sighed pitifully.
It only made Marisol cry harder.
“Is that why you been looking and acting depressed lately?” Starr asked.
Marisol reached under the silk Gucci scarf tied around her head to scratch her scalp. She flopped over onto her back and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands as she looked at the huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Mari?” Starr asked.
“I didn’t want to talk about it,” she admitted, thankful that her parents’ argument had ended or at least quieted down enough to not escape the walls of their suite.
“Then we won’t talk about it,” Starr assured her. “Hold on. I’m calling Dionne.”
Click.
“Whassup?”
“What are you wearing to school tomorrow?” Starr asked, sounding more like a perky cheerleader than a laid-back style diva.
“Are you two that excited about no uniforms tomorrow?” Dionne joked. “It’s after midnight.”
“I’m sending you two a picture of my outfit all laid out.” Starr told them. “Oh, your girl will be best dressed.”
“Oh…okay. Let me go back in my closet.”
“Both of you just be glad I’m on strike,” Marisol tossed in.
The girls continued their playful banter and Marisol was grateful for the obvious diversion. What would she do without her friends?
thirty
Dionne
October 2 @ 7:30 p.m. | Mood: Happy
Dionne loved hanging out with her great-grandmother on her mother’s side. Mama Belle was funny but would get serious in a heartbeat. She loved the Lord and going to church but she could flip and curse a fool out without batting an eye. She was loving and affectionate, but she would whip some behind if one of her grandkids went to the wrong side of crazy.
“There go my Didi just as cute as me,” Mama Belle said as soon as they walked through the front door of her small three-bedroom house in Irvington.
Didi went right to Mama Belle and hugged her close as she sat in her beloved recliner that she kept stationed by one of the living-room windows. “Hey, Mama Belle.”
“Mama Belle, you need to turn down your heat,” Risha complained as she peeled off the short jacket she wore with jeans.
“Well, you can slip that lil’ jacket right back on because we headed to Route 22,” Mama Belle said, rising to her full almost six-foot height.
Dionne froze. She loved her Mama Belle, maybe even more than her grandmother who lived in North Carolina. But she knew a shopping adventure with Mama Belle meant some clothes for her.
The thing was, Mama Belle swore by three stores when it came to shopping: Walmart, Kmart and Target. That was it.
Uh-oh. Dionne cut her eyes over at her mama, who was smiling like, “Yup, let’s go.”
As they filed back out into the fall air, Dionne said a silent prayer that Mama Belle stuck to the housewares section of the store and left the juniors department alone.
“Didi, your mama tells me you don’t have to wear uniforms to that fancy school your daddy sends you to—”
Didi’s stomach bubbled.
“So Mama Belle gon’ buy her baby some clothes.”
Didi felt like she could flatline right there. Boom. Hit the floor. No coming back.
“That’s okay—”
Dionne pressed her lips all the way together when Mama gave her “the look” as they climbed into the car. The last time she tried to turn down Mama Belle’s Kmart offerings her mama had forced her to wear them and confiscated all the clothes her father had bought.
“Thanks, Mama Belle,” Didi said, definitely not wanting a repeat of that incident.
Dionne’s bedroom door opened and she looked up from her spot on the floor to see her mother standing in the doorway. “You know you’re going to wear those clothes, right?”
“I know.”
Risha walked into the room and sat down on the bed, watching Dionne as she pulled the clothes from the plastic bag and put them on hangers. “There was a time when all you wore was Walmart and Old Navy or GAP clearance. I talk to you all the time about not letting your daddy’s money go to your head, Dionne. You were perfectly fine before Pace Academy. You don’t have to pretend to be someone else.”
“I know,” Dionne said again.
Risha reached down and picked up a khaki camp shirt. “This is cute and I bet if I sew a designer label in it you and your little crew at Pace would snatch it up and pay ten times what your Mama Belle paid.”
Dionne smiled up at her mom as she peeled the black paint from her index finger. “That’s true.”
Risha got down on the floor next to her daughter. “Now if you take this shirt and white tank with those two-hundred-dollar jeans your daddy buys, with your shoes and your designer bags, no one would ever know this is a seven-dollar shirt.”
Dionne visualized the outfit. “So just mix it up, huh?”
Risha leaned over to bump her shoulder against her daughter’s. “Girl, I thought all those fashion magazines y’all read woulda taught you how to do that.”
Dionne laughed.
“You better now? No more moping in your room?” Risha asked, rising to her feet as her earrings went clang-clang.
Dionne realized she was acting like a brat. She was gone a lot of weekends and she usually spent time hanging out with her mother during the week. Tonight she went straight to her room as soon as they got home.
“I’m good,” Dionne said, looking up at her with a genuine smile.
Risha reached out with her fist. “Love you,” she said.
&n
bsp; Didi made a fist and lightly touched it to her mom’s. “Love you more.”
thirty-one
Starr
October 2 @ 7:30 a.m. | Mood: FABULOUS!
Starr loved, loved, loved that Pace Academy was a complete and total fashion battleground. And she was making it her business to be the biz-ness every single day.
As her chauffeured Bentley pulled up to their usual meeting spot, Starr checked Marisol and Dionne out through the tinted glass. She shook her head upon seeing Marisol still wearing the old Pace uniform—she gave her friend a bye since she was in the throes of family drama. Shifting her eyes to Dionne, Starr nodded in approval at the casual yet chic look she sported. Dark denim jacket. Stark white fitted tee. Linen maxi-skirt. She accessorized with a mix of a half-dozen gold, turquoise and jade long chains in varying lengths. The Michael Kors platform gladiator sandals and a huge orange patent leather Valentino bag—the bright colors worked well with her mocha complexion.
Although there was a nip in the air and the sun wasn’t one hundred percent, Star slid on her shades and climbed from the Bentley as Marcus held her door. Starr flipped her long bangs from her face as she slid her tote onto her arm. “Thank you, Marcus,” she told him before strutting over to her waiting friends.
“Have a good birthday, Miss Starr.”
“I will,” she told him with a huge grin.
Moments later the vehicle pulled away.
“Happy birthday, Starr!” Dionne and Marisol screamed before they both hugged her close.
“Thank you. Thank you.” Starr did a little curtsey once her friends released her.
“Starr, your outfit looks even better in person than it did on iChat,” Dionne told her.
Starr couldn’t agree more.
The charcoal wool skinny pants, leather-heeled booties and a light gray silk shirt were set off by a lightweight, charcoal wool oversize sweater that flared just a bit around her knees with the collar flipped up. Onyx chains and oversize rings accessorized the outfit.
She knew the look was a bit much for school, but Starr loved being a bit much—especially on her day. Loved it!
Ding.
Starr reached in her crocodile Prada bowler bag for her cell. She rolled her eyes at yet another person texting her for tickets to the party. “I have to change my number…again,” Starr told them as they walked up the stone path to the main hall.
“Starr, you have to understand that no one wants to miss your party this weekend,” Dionne told her before sliding her aviators up on her forehead, pushing back her Pocahontas-styled hair.
“I know,” Starr said with a huge grin. “Heck, I don’t want to miss it myself.”
They laughed as they made their way inside the main hall to their lockers. Starr paused at the sight of a huge crystal vase of pink roses sitting in front of her locker.
“Ohmygod, they’re be-oooooo-tee-ful,” Marisol sighed as she bent down to pick them up and then shoved them into Starr’s hands—which wasn’t easy since the arrangement was tall enough to sit in the foyer of a mansion.
Several students gathered around them.
“Thank God there’re no thorns,” Starr drawled jokingly as she reached in with black painted nails for the card.
“Who’s it from, Starr?” Dionne asked excitedly.
Jordan, Starr thought, as she removed her shades. They have to be from Jordan.
She opened the black envelope and her smile faded just a little bit. She cleared her throat:
To our Baby Girl, we hope you have a birthday that is as beautiful and fabulous as you are.
—Love Always, Mommy & Daddy
As the girls in the hall of Pace Academy all oohed and aahed over the flowers, Starr let the disappointment of them not being from Jordan settle around her shoulders.
Ever since that day she screamed on him, Jordan had left her alone. No e-mails. No texts. No funny jokes. No more dropping by her house to chill. No stopping by to speak when he had to go to the studio with her dad. Barely a smile in the hall when they passed.
They never made it to girlfriend-boyfriend and now even their friendship was big-time over…and she missed him.
Starr was completely exhausted by the end of the school day. So many people had given her cards and gifts for her birthday that she felt bad about not inviting them—and so the count for the party swelled by another twenty-five.
Marcus’s arms were loaded as he carried the brightly wrapped gifts into the foyer for her. “Had a good day, huh?” he joked.
“Call me Tony the Tiger, ’cause I had a grrrreat day.”
Starr made her way over to the intercom system. “Mimi, there’re some presents on the foyer table, could you put them with the rest of the gifts?” she asked politely, before heading across the sunken two-thousand-square-foot living room and up the marble stairs to her suite.
The scent of her room was a mixture of Gucci perfume and the strawberry essence of her huge scented candles. She kicked off her heels, dropped her purse by the door, and plopped down in her hot-pink-and-white paisley chaise longue by the French doors.
Tonight her father was taking the entire family to one of her favorite New York restaurants, Bungalow 8, for dinner and Starr had just a few hours to put together an outfit.
Starr walked over to her desk and pushed the intercom button. “Mimi, are my parents home yet?” she asked, dropping down into her chair.
“Not yet.”
Starr picked up her cordless and called her father’s private cell phone.
“Whaddup, birthday girl?”
Starr smiled. “Nothing much, Daddy. Mama and the twins with you?” she asked as she propped the phone between her ear and shoulder as she logged on to her computer.
“Yes, we’re on the way home now.”
Starr closed her eyes as relief flooded her. She half expected them to say they were off to some party or some meeting or some red-carpet walk-through and would miss spending her birthday with her. It’s not like she had never been disappointed before.
“Are we still going to Bungalow 8?” she asked, tensing again. “Yes.”
“Okay. Good.”
As soon as Starr placed the cordless back in its charger there was a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called out, as she logged in to her MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, Ning, AIM and e-mail accounts.
Mimi walked in holding a huge white box with a hot-pink bow.
“Another gift? It can go with the rest of them in the media room, Mimi,” Starr told her over her shoulder.
“It’s from Jordan,” Mimi said, sitting it on the end of Starr’s bed.
Starr’s heart stopped and then went back to beating full force. She shrugged. “I’ll open it later,” she said, pretending to focus on the computer screen.
As soon as Mimi left the room, closing the door behind her, Starr whirled in her chair to eye the box. For the longest time she stared at it sitting there, forcing herself to go about the rest of her routine. She answered e-mails. Tweeted. Showered. Moisturized. Did her makeup. Dressed.
And as she stood in the doorway of her room, with her finger poised at the light switch, she eyed it once more before turning off the light, bathing the room and the gift in darkness.
thirty-two
Dionne
October 3 @ 7:45 p.m. | Mood: Excited
Ding.
Dionne snatched her cell phone up from the counter-top where she was sitting with Marisol along with the twenty other giggling, terry-cloth-robe-wearing girls scattered around the pool house.
BIG REG: SEND PICS OF THE SLUMBER PARTY.
DIVADIDI: STOP BEING A PERV.
BIG REG: IM UR PERV.
DIVADIDI: FAIL.
Dionne frowned and tossed her cell phone back onto her tote bag. Reggie was beginning to work her nerves with his corny double-talk. After a week of talking to him on the phone, most of his conversations revolved around body parts. And now he wanted her to send him photos of girls—probably hoping they were in their nig
htgowns. Uggh!
“Okay, ladies, focus.”
All eyes turned to Starr as she stood up at the front of the living room of the guesthouse wearing the only hot-pink terry-cloth robe in the house. “Thank you all for coming to my pre-Fierce and Fabulous Fashionista Fifteen birthday slumber/spa party!”
All the girls clapped; most were glad to just be a part of Starr’s fabulous inner circle.
Dionne smiled and shook her head at the way Starr was so obviously aware of the two cameramen in the room as they caught every moment of the weekend-long festivities.
“You having fun, girls?” Starr’s mom, Sasha, asked as she walked into the guesthouse through the rear patio doors looking laid-back and casually fabulous in a white flowing sundress that showed off the tattoo on her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, with shades and trendy jewelry.
“Yes, Mrs. Lester,” Dionne told her after accepting a quick hug. Honestly, Dionne was still completely star-struck by Sasha Lester. She used to sing into a hairbrush to the songs she made famous.
Marisol accepted a brief hug, as well. “Even though I am trying to shed the trappings of wealth, I am having fun,” she admitted with a dimpled grin.
Sasha Lester removed her shades as she looked down at Marisol. “Say what? Say who?” she asked, with a funny expression.
Dionne covered her laugh with her hand. “It’s a long story, Mrs. Lester,” she told her. “But Marisol is on a strike against fabulous. Go figure.”
Sasha eyed Marisol again before she patted her cheek and moved past her to reach Starr. A lot of the girls whispered excitedly at the sight of Sasha Lester.
“Hello, ladies. Welcome. Welcome. Our home is your home. I just wanted to welcome you and tell you all to have a good time. If there is anything you need just let me or one of the staff know, okay?”
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