Famous (5 page)

Starr
October 20@8:47 a.m.| Mood: Jealous

“We
have to win this.”

Starr's eyes were locked on the huge and colorful glossy poster positioned below the announcement board in the hallway of Pace. Dionne and Marisol looked over her shoulder to look at the poster for themselves.

“A talent show?” Marisol asked, taking in the huge microphone in the center of the graphic of a shining star. “In two weeks?”

Starr shifted her eyes from Marisol to Dionne.

“You're trippin'. We're not ready for that,” Marisol protested.

Starr sighed. “Do I always have to be the ear, the shoulder and the spine for the three of us?” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

“Look who's been paying attention in history class,” Marisol mumbled under her breath.

Other students began to gather around the Pacesetters and the announcement board. Starr grabbed her friends' hands.
“Excuse us,” she said loudly over the excited murmur of the students.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

The girls walked right on through. Starr turned the corner and headed straight down the hall to the first-floor ladies' bathroom. Her Manolos faltered as she took in Jordan and Heather sitting together on the windowsill at the end of the hall.

Enough morning light came through the glass and highlighted the couple as Jordan squeezed Heather's hand. “How touching,” Starr snapped, her eyes taking in Heather's fullness—breasts, hips and thighs, in her denim jumpsuit.

Heather made Starr's body look like a boy's with all its video-vixen-like dips and curves. Obviously that was what Jordan wanted.

Starr couldn't stand the sight of either one of them. It was funny how thin the line was between crush and disgust. She hitched her head higher, knowing her girls were looking at her for her reaction. Starr was planning on delivering a performance worthy of an Oscar.

If he'd rather have the worn-down cow over the tender cut of filet mignon then eat away because Starr wasn't serving up
her
goodies anyway. If Heather wanted to keep her legs open more than a twenty-four-hour Walgreens then she could have a ball. But Starr didn't play follow the leader.

“Hey, Starr—”

Starr paused and shot Heather a fierce look that made the poor desperate-to-fit-in child immediately clamp her mouth shut. The look she gave Jordan was filled with the animosity she had for him. For the past two weeks he'd
tried to talk to her, but as far as she was concerned her life was Facebook and he was BLOCKED.

Marisol and Dionne continued into the bathroom and Starr reached in her satchel for their fake Out of Order sign, slapping it on the door as she continued to shoot them both hate lasers.

“Starr—”

But she held up her hand, stopping Jordan before he could even begin, and then walked into the bathroom.

“Oh my God, do you think they were talking about child support and Pampers?” Marisol asked, stepping in front of the triptych of floor-length mirrors in the corner.

Dionne plopped down onto one of the two chaise longues, her eyes on the wall mural depicting some garden. The light from the crystal chandeliers reflected against her upturned face. “That's the craziest mess I ever heard, Marisol.”

Starr shook her head. “I cannot believe Jordan is throwing his life away like this,” she said, hurt beyond words. Seeing him around school just brought it all back—the hope of a crush, and the disappointment when it goes nowhere.

She hated that she so clearly remembered the day he sang to her in the athletic building—
that
Jordan, she thought would be hers. This one with a baby on the way—she didn't know him at all.

“Especially with a record contract with your dad. That's major and I hope he can stay on track,” Dionne said.

The bathroom door opened and they all turned ready to blow away whoever had been bold enough to come in once they had posted their Out of Order sign. They were surprised when Jordan walked in.

“You can't come in here,” Starr said, whispering as if the headmaster had a listening device hidden in the bathroom.

“And you can't hold a bathroom hostage every time the three of you want to gossip,” he said, his voice angry.

“I can do whatever the hello and goodbye I want to do, Jordan Jackson…including ignoring you,” Starr said, crossing the room to step in his face.

“Ignore me for what, Starr?” he asked, not backing down from her. “You didn't use to ignore me. Huh? What? Did you? Huh? No?”

Starr's hands went into fists at her sides and she gave him a straight-on Aunt Esther one-eyed stare. “That's when I was too dumb to know you were around here picking up sex cooties and making babies with the local ‘welcome to my vagina squad' at Pace.”

“Oooh,” Marisol and Dionne said in unison, making ugly faces.

Jordan threw his hands up in the air. “I did not sleep with Heather and I don't have a baby on the way,” he screamed.

Starr's hair flew back from the air he released. “Liar!” she roared back.

“O-M-G,”
Marisol said.

Dionne's mouth was wide-open.

The bathroom door opened again and Heather flew in.

“Hellooo. I'm not pregnant!” she said, holding up a used pregnancy test.

Flat line.

Starr would have gladly crossed her arms over her chest
and went peacefully to her Maker for the foolishness she was in the midst of.

Jordan covered his head with his hands.

“No, she didn't,” Dionne said to Marisol, talking out of the side of her mouth.

Marisol nodded and curled her lips. “Yes, mami. Yes, she did.”

“First off. Ew! Ew! Ew!” Starr held her hand up to Heather. “Don't come near me with
that.
”

Dionne stepped forward, her cotton-candy-painted nails held high. “Listen, it said in
Teen Vogue
—”

“Oh Lord,” Jordan sighed, turning around to hit his fist on the wall.

Dionne looked aghast at his response. “What you got against
Teen Vogue?
” she snapped in a high-pitched voice.

Jordan just dropped his head against the wall.

“Um, Heather, you can put down your pee-ridden pregnancy stick now,” Marisol added calmly. “I can confirm the negative sign. Okay?
Gracias.
”

Heather dropped her arm.

Starr felt like she was starring in a sitcom. She was looking for Ice Cube or Tyler Perry to jump out of one of the stalls and hand her a check. “We're out of here,” she said, snatching her Louis Vuitton messenger bag before she strolled into the hallway, taking long strides like she was headed to war. Dionne and Marisol were right behind her, with Marisol clutching their Out of Order sign.

Their heels hit the tiled floors in perfect unison as they made their way down the hall like Charlie's Angels.
Starr said nothing—absolutely nothing—as she processed everything that had happened.

They reached their lockers.

“At least Heather's not pregnant,” Dionne said. “You ever see that show on MTV,
16 and Pregnant?
Like, seriously, who wants to go through that?”

Starr busied herself freshening up her makeup and composing herself.

“I would've just taken her word for it without flinging pee all around from her little stick,” Marisol joked.

That eased Starr's mood and she broke down and laughed with her friends.

 

“Starr. Pssst. Starr. Staarrrr.”

From her seat in between her mother and father, Starr tried hard to ignore Malcolm or Martin from the rear seat behind her.

“Starrrr!”

The entire family was headed to a dinner party at someone's house. They were in the bulletproof Denali with two of her father's burly security guards in the front seat. She was in the middle row with her parents and the twins were in the rear seat.

Her father was taking calls from all three of his cell phones.

Her mother was listening to a track a producer wanted her to use on her new album.

Starr was being big-time aggravated by her brothers taking turns calling her name like a thirsty man begging for water.

“Staaaaaaaarrrrr.”

“Answer your brothers,” Cole Lester said, covering his iPhone with his hand.

Starr froze. “Daddy?” she said in disbelief.

They were being annoying and
she
got riffed on?
Life is such a dollar store sometimes.

Starr turned around in her seat and the twins both began to giggle, holding their chubby hands over their mouths, wearing matching outfits.

“What?” she snapped.

Malcolm's or Martin's eyes widened. “Starr mad at choo,” he said, pointing at his mirror image.

“Not me. Choo,” Martin or Malcolm said, pointing back at his twin.

They both turned to look at her with the biggest eyes ever. “We're sorry. We love you, Starr,” they said in unison, their chubby fingers reaching out to her.

She rolled her eyes. She couldn't stay mad at the little crumb-snatchers. Turning around a bit more on her seat, she reached back and squeezed their hands.

They smiled broadly.

Starr could only shake her head as she turned back around to face the front windshield while smoothing the large above-the-knee-length skirt of her asymmetrical, one-shoulder dress. Her cropped leather jacket and Gucci ankle boots gave the dress a youthful, slightly edgy feel.

“You have reached your destination.”

Starr looked up at the sound of the OnStar GPS. Their Denali pulled up to a huge wrought-iron gated entrance that led to a slightly sloped, brick-paved driveway that fronted
a beautifully lit house on the top of a hill.
Wow!
It took a lot to impress Starr Lester, and this place took her breath away.

Once the gates opened and they cruised up the driveway she saw more and more of the palatial estate that included a helicopter sitting on the concrete pad in the distance. The mansion was the same size of theirs if not bigger.

She couldn't wait to get inside.

As soon as they pulled up in front of the massive brick structure a tuxedo-clad valet opened the passenger door. Starr climbed out with the help of the bodyguards and stood at the bottom step of the veranda.

She liked that her father stepped out of the car to help her mother out. Kinda like, “This is my woman. I
got
this.” Plus, the way her mom was looking, Starr couldn't blame him for wanting to be so attentive.

Sasha, an R&B icon, was a triple threat: her voice, her looks and her body. In the body-hugging Givenchy dress she wore, the first talent didn't even matter. She had curves for days. The knee-length hem of the dress emphasized her legs, while the ruffles down the center of the dress emphasized her curves all the more.

Their stylist, FiFi, had done very well. Tasteful jewelry, just the right makeup and her hair in an updo.

My mom is the ish,
Starr thought as she watched her mother as she turned to take each of her brothers' chubby hands in hers.

They walked up the stairs, their bodyguard falling back a respectful distance as the double doors opened. Starr half expected to hear an angelic “aaaaaah.”

She looked past the shoulders of the tuxedo-clad balding white man and his red-haired wife who towered over him by at least a foot—maybe a foot and a half. “Welcome partner,” the man said, shaking Cole's hand vigorously. “How does it feel to be the owner of a football team?”

“Feels damn good,” Cole said as her mother and the man's wife quickly exchanged air kisses.

Starr stiffened as she caught a glimpse of the hem of a pale gold sequined dress coming down the massive staircase leading to the upper levels. As they all moved inside the foyer, Starr kept her eyes trained on the dress. She soon recognized it as Gucci…of course. No one knew Gucci better than her—no one.

Starr's face tightened and then nearly cracked as Natalee Livingston's face appeared.
This is her house,
Starr thought, through her fake smile as she eyed the tall white teenaged girl with a riot of bright red curls. Game recognizes game, style recognizes style and Starr knew this girl was her equal.

“Hi, Starr,” she said, her husky voice seeming incongruous with a teenage girl, just as it did the first time Starr met her.

“Starr, you know Natalee,” Mrs. Livingston said. “You two should catch up.”

Starr felt a hand lightly massage the stiffness from her thin shoulder. She caught the subtle hint of her mother's perfume. “Yes, especially since Natalee might be attending Pace Academy soon,” Sasha said.

Competition for me at my school? Nooooo!
she mentally screamed.

The Way I See It!

HUSTLENOMICS/BABYWATCH

Posted in
uncategorized
on October 20@12:02 a.m. by thedivaofdish

 

Hmm. Someone still fresh to the halls of Pace Academy has a part-time job braiding hair. I guess you thought I would say something droll like, is her rapper daddy on the repo list for his extravagant cars and jewelry. Nope. Actually I'm proud of her. Maybe she has more to her than clothes, lip gloss and the smell of Starr Lester's butt on her nose.

 

Okay, baby watch is over. Pace Academy maintains its 0% graduation rate for teen mothers (side-eye on the total lack of reality on that). Anyway SHE isn't preggers and has been carrying around a negative pregnancy test all day to prove it. One word, honey: TRASH. (I'll leave it up to you to decide if I'm talking about her or the used pregnancy stick.)

 

Smooches,

Pace Academy's Diva of Dish

 

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