Fabulous (9 page)

Starr
September 22 @ 6:30 a.m. | Mood: Disappointed

Starr
was headed out the door when she remembered the parent-teacher conference was today. She dropped her Vuitton book bag and turned to head back up the stairs to her parents’ bedroom suite. She knocked twice on the towering double doors.

Yes, it was early.

Yes, she knew they were asleep.

No, she didn’t care.

“Come in,” her mom called out groggily.

Starr opened one of the doors and peeked her head inside. The room was pitch-dark and she could barely make out their massive bed in the center of the room. “Ma, don’t forget the parent-teacher conference today,” she said, squinting her eyes.

“We won’t,” was the groggy reply.

Starr persisted. “Please don’t forget. They’re starting to think I raise myself,” she said.

“Starr, we’ll be there,” her father added.

Starr knew she was pushing it when her father stepped in, but she didn’t care. “Your word is supposed to be your bond.”

“Starr!” they both exclaimed.

She could barely make out the two of them both sitting up in bed. “See you later, then,” she said before closing the door.

As she jogged down the stairs, grabbed her satchel and headed out the door, Starr wondered if this school year was going to be any different than last year.

Cole and Sasha Lester missing school activities.

Cole and Sasha Lester late to school activities.

Cole and Sasha Lester forgetting school activities.

Starr sighed as she smiled at Marcus and then climbed onto the backseat of the Bentley.

Her parents could really be a trip when they wanted to.

Starr kept eyeing her watch as she sat with her face in her hand as she doodled on her notebook and completely lost focus in her English class. It was hard to get lost in the pages of a book when she had her own minidrama unfolding before her. Her parents could be so embarrassing.

The parent-teacher conference wouldn’t be big-time necessary if they had shown up for the school’s open
house this summer where parents were supposed to meet their children’s teachers. That night a yacht party with Diddy had won out over open house at Pace.

Of course, they reasoned since she was a straight-A student that they were doing an oh-so-fabulous job. Not.

Starr sighed as she waited for Mr. Appleton to call her name and send her to the main office because her parents had arrived.

They better come through. They better.

“Starr, can I borrow a pencil, please?”

Rolling her eyes, Starr turned her head to look at KiKi Broner—daughter of a powerful software tycoon, whose breath smelled of onions and feet. “Listen, KiKi, tell your dad to buy you a Walgreens and then make sure you stock it with pencils and puh-lenty of gum,” Starr finished snidely as she blocked her nostrils with her index finger.

KiKi looked offended as she threw up a hand in a retro diss and said, “Tell it to the hand.” Starr just rolled her eyes again before she checked her watch and then shifted her eyes out the window.

Their appointment was for eleven o’clock and it was already past that.

Starr knew that the real reason she clowned on KiKi was her anger and hurt over her parent’s no-show…again.

She was glad when the bell sounded and class was over. She hopped up from her chair, nearly knocking it backward as she rushed through the few students to step
outside the door. She quickly reached for her BlackBerry and dialed her father’s phone number.

Starr released an aggravated breath as she rolled her eyes. “Daddy, puh-leeze,” she drawled. “Where are you?”

“About to go in the studio,” he said simply.

“You forgot the meeting at the school!” she shrieked in pure frustration, drawing the curious stares of students lurking in the halls heading to their next period classes.

“Yeah, we forgot about that.”

“Again,” Starr stressed.

“I’m sorry, Starr, but we just found out Mary is on her way here. It couldn’t be helped.”

Starr sighed. “Where’s Mama?”

“Right here. She’s helping me produce this track and she might even sing on it.”

And that made Starr freeze. What if she wants to strike up her singing career again? Her mother back in the studio? Between shopping and socializing, Sasha barely had enough time for Starr now. Back in the studio? Possible hit record? Touring?

She would NEVER see her mother.

“I just wish that you two would be just as interested in seeing
this
Starr as you are with hanging out with other stars. I need parents.”

Starr flipped her phone closed.

Before she had time to drop it into her satchel it began to vibrate. “Let them get some of their own medicine,” she thought, completely ignoring their calls.

Dionne
September 24 @ 11:50 a.m. | Mood: Determined

Dionne
was beyond grateful that her father did ante up the tuition but she was very aware that she wasn’t helping his financial drama by always asking—and getting—expensive things. She figured that it was time for her to help out.

With one last pat to Linton’s freshly braided hair, Dionne stood up from the steps and came around him to hold out one greasy hand for her pay. He slid the fifty-dollar bill to her without question and Dionne shoved it into the side pocket of her Gucci tote.

“Thanks, Dionne,” Linton told her before he stood up and slid his red uniform blazer back on.

“No problem.”

Dionne gathered her hair comb, brush and small jar
of hair grease into a plastic bag, tied it securely and then dropped it into her Gucci book satchel.

Between braiding hair in the hood and catching the few boys at school who didn’t have fades, Dionne had already saved up five hundred dollars.

And she was quite proud of herself for not blowing it all on the cutest pair of Louboutins she saw at the mall yesterday.

Ding.

Dionne dug out her cell phone as she made her way across campus to the main building. Her stomach was straight growling and she only had ten minutes to scarf down lunch.

UR#1STARR: LOCATION???

DIVADIDI: ON MY WAY 2 CAF.

UR#1STARR: K.

Of course, Dionne had not clued the Pacesetters in on her side hustle. What would she say?
My big-time rapper daddy is going to go broke overspending so I’m helping out.
(HINT: She would never say that.
N-E-V-E-R!
)

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.

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:

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 down 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.