Authors: Ni-Ni Simone
Hollywood High (2 page)
2
Rich
T
he scarlet-red bottoms of my six-inch Louboutins gleamed as the butterfly doors of my hot pink Bugatti inched into the air and I stepped out and into the spotlight of the California sun. The heated rays washed over me as I sashayed down the red carpet and toward the all-glass student entrance. I was minutes shy of the morning bell, of course.
he scarlet-red bottoms of my six-inch Louboutins gleamed as the butterfly doors of my hot pink Bugatti inched into the air and I stepped out and into the spotlight of the California sun. The heated rays washed over me as I sashayed down the red carpet and toward the all-glass student entrance. I was minutes shy of the morning bell, of course.
Voilá, grand entrance.
An all-eyes-on-the-princess type of thing. Rewind that. Now replace princess with sixteen-year-old queen.
Yes, I was doin' it. Poppin' it in the press, rockin' it on all the blogs, and my face aloneâno matter the headlineâglamorized even the cheapest tabloid.
And yeah, I was an attention whore. And yeah, umm hmm, it was a dirty job. Scandalous. But somebody had to have it on lock.
Amen?
Amen.
Besides, starring in the media was an inherited jewel that came with being international royalty. Daughter of the legendary billionaire, hip-hop artist, and groundbreaking record executive, once known as M.C. Wickedness and now solely known as Richard G. Montgomery Sr., President and C.E.O. of the renowned Grand Records.
Think hotter than Jay-Z.
Signed more talent than Clive Davis.
More platinum records than Lady Gaga or her monsters could ever dream.
Think big, strong, strapping, chocolate, and handsome and you've got my daddy.
And yes, I'm a daddy's girl.
But bigger than that, I'm the exact design and manifestation of my mother's plan to get rich or die tryingâhailing from the gutters of Watts, a cramped two-bedroom, concrete ranch, with black bars on the windows and a single palm tree in the front yardâto a sixty-two thousand square foot, fully staffed, and electronically gated, sixty acre piece of 90210 paradise. Needless to say my mother did the damn thing.
And yeah, once upon a time she was a groupie, but so what? We should all aspire to be upgraded. From dating the local hood rich thugs, to swooning her way into the hottest clubs, becoming a staple backstage at all the concerts, to finally clicking her Cinderella heels into the right place at the right timeâmy daddy's dressing roomâand the rest is married-with-two-kids-and-smiling-all-the-way-to the-bank history.
And sure, there was a prenup, but again, so what? Like my mother, the one and only Logan Montgomery, said, giving birth to my brother and me let my daddy know it was cheaper to keep her.
Cha-ching!
So, with parents like mine my life added up to this: my social status was better and bigger than the porno tape that made Kim Trick-dashian relevant and hotter than the ex-con Paris Hilton's jail scandal. I was flyer than Beyoncé and wealthier than Blue Ivy. From the moment I was born, I had fans, wannabes, and frenemies secretly praying to God that they'd wake up and be me. Because along with being royalty I was the epitome of beauty: radiant chestnut skin, sparkling marble brown eyes, lashes that extended and curled perfectly at the ends, and a 5'6”, brickhouse thick body that every chick in L.A. would tango with death and sell their last breath to the plastic surgeon to get.
Yeah, it was like that. Trust. My voluptuous milkshake owned the yard.
And it's not that my shit didn't stink, it's just that my daddy had a PR team to ensure the scent faded away quickly.
Believe me, my biggest concern was my Parisian stylist making sure that I murdered the fashion scene.
I refreshed the pink gloss on my full lips and took a quick peek at my reflection in the mirrored entrance door. My blunt Chinese bob lay flush against my sharp jawline and swung with just the right bounce as I confirmed that my glowing eye shadow and blush was Barbie-doll perfect and complemented my catwalk-ready ensemble. Black diamond studded hoops, fitted red skinny leg jeans, a navy short-sleeve blazer with a Burberry crest on the right breast pocket, a blue and white striped camisole, four strands of sixty-inch pearls, and a signature Gucci tote dangled around my wrist.
A wide smile crept upon me.
Crèmedelacrème.com
.
.
I stepped across the glass threshold and teens of all shapes and sizes lined the marble hallways and hung out in front of their mahogany lockers. There were a few newbiesâbetter known as new-moneyâwho stared at me and were in straight fan mode. I blessed them with a small fan of the fingers and then I continued on my way. I had zero interest in newbies especially since I knew that by this time next year, most of them would be broke and back in public school throwing up gang signs. Okay!
Soooo, moving right along.
I swayed my hips and worked the catwalk toward my locker, and just as I was about to break into a Naomi Campbell freeze, pose, and turn, for no other reason than being fabulous, the words, “Hi, Rich!” slapped me in the face and almost caused me to stumble.
What the...
I steadied my balance and blinked, not once but four times. It was Spencer, my ex-ex-ex-years ago-ex-bff, like first grade bffâwho I only spoke to and continued to claim because she was good for my image and my mother made me do it.
And, yeah, I guess I'll admit I kind of liked herâsometimesâlike one or two days out of the year, maybe. But every other day this chick worked my nerves. Why? Because she was el stupido, dumb, and loco all rolled up into one.
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, slowly rolled them back down and then hit her with a smile. “Hey, girlfriend.”
“Hiiiiii.” She gave me a tight smile and clenched her teeth.
Gag me.
I hit her with a Miss America wave and double-cheeked air-kisses.
I guess that wasn't enough for her, because instead of rolling with the moment, this chick snatched a hug from me and I almost hurled. Ev'ver'ree. Where.
Spencer released me and I stood stunned. She carried on, “It's so great to see you! I just got back from the French Alps in Spain.” She paused. Tapped her temple with her manicured index finger. “Or was that San Francisco? But anyway, I couldn't wait to get back to Hollywood High! I can't believe we're back in school already!”
I couldn't speak. I couldn't. And I didn't know what shocked me more: that she put her hands on me, or that she smelled like the perfume aisle at Walgreens.
OMG, my eyes were burning...
“Are you okay, Rich?”
Did she attack me?
I blinked.
Say something...
I blinked again.
Did I die . . .?
Say. Something.
“Umm, girl, yeah,” I said coming to and pinching myself to confirm that I was still alive. “What are you wearing? You smellâ”
“Delish?” She completed my sentence. “It's La-Voom, Heather's mother's new scent. She asked me to try it and being that I'm nice like that, I did.” She spun around as if she were modeling new clothes. “You like?” She batted her button eyes.
Hell no. “I think it's fantast!” I cleared my throat. “But do tell, is she still secretly selling her line out of a storage shed? Or did the courts settle that class action lawsuit against her for that terrible skin rash she caused people?”
Spencer hesitated. “Skin rash?”
“Skin to the rash. And I really hope she's seen the error of her . . . ways . .
.
” My voice drifted. “Oh my . . . wow.” I looked Spencer over, and my eyes blinked rapidly. “Dam'yum!” I said tight-lipped. “Have you been wandering skid row and doing homeless boys againâ?”
.
” My voice drifted. “Oh my . . . wow.” I looked Spencer over, and my eyes blinked rapidly. “Dam'yum!” I said tight-lipped. “Have you been wandering skid row and doing homeless boys againâ?”
“Homeless boysâ?” She placed her hands on her hips.
“Don't act as if you've never been on the creep-creep with a busted boo and his cardboard box.”
“How dare you!” Spencer's eyes narrowed.
“What did I do?!” I pointed at the bumpy alien on her neck. “I'm trying to help you and bring that nastiness to your attention. And if you haven't been entertaining busters then Heather's mother did it to you!”
“Did it to me?” Spencer's eyes bugged and her neck swerved. “I don't go that way! And for your information I have never wandered skid row. I knew exactly where I was going! And I didn't know Joey was homeless. He lied and told me that cardboard box was a science experiment. How dare you bring that up! I'm not some low-level hoochie. So get your zig-zag straight. Because I know you don't want me to talk about your secret visit in a blond wig to an STD clinic. Fire crotch. Queen of the itch, itch.”
My chocolate skin turned flaming red, and the South Central in my genes was two seconds from waking up and doing a drive-by sling. I swallowed, drank in two deep breaths, and reloaded with an exhale. “Listen here, Bubbles, do you have Botox leaking from your lips or something? Certainly you already know talking nasty to me is not an option, because I will take my Gucci-covered wrist and beat you into a smart moment. I'm sooo not the one! So I advise you to back up.” I pointed my finger into her face and squinted. “All the way up.”
“You betterâ”
“The only commitment I have to the word better, is that I
better
stay rich and I
better
stay beautiful, anything other than that is optional. Now you on the other hand, what you
better
do is shut your mouth, take your compact out and look at the pimple-face bearrilla growing on your neck!”
better
stay rich and I
better
stay beautiful, anything other than that is optional. Now you on the other hand, what you
better
do is shut your mouth, take your compact out and look at the pimple-face bearrilla growing on your neck!”
She gasped.
And I waited for something else nasty to slip from her lips. I'd had enough. Over. It. Besides, my mother taught me that talking only went thus far, and when you tired of the chatter, you were to slant your neck and click-click-boom your hater. But, never with the hands, that was so unlady like. Instead, one was to clip their nemesis with a threat that their dirtiest little secret was an e-mail away from being on tabloid blast. “Now, Spencer,” I batted my lashes and said with a tinge of concern, “I'm hoping your silence means you've discovered that all of this ying-yang is not the move for you. So, may I suggest that you shut the hell up? Unless, of course, you want the world to uncover that freaky videotaped secret you and your mother hope like hell the Vatican will pray away.”
All the color left her face and her lips clapped shut.
I smiled and mouthed, “Pow! Now hit the floor with that.”
3
Spencer
I
can't stand Rich! That bug-eyed beetle walked around here like she was Queen It when all she really was, was cheap and easy. Ready to give it up at the first hello. Trampette should've been her first name and Man-Eater her last! I should've pulled out my crystal nail file and slapped her big face with it. Who did she think she was?
can't stand Rich! That bug-eyed beetle walked around here like she was Queen It when all she really was, was cheap and easy. Ready to give it up at the first hello. Trampette should've been her first name and Man-Eater her last! I should've pulled out my crystal nail file and slapped her big face with it. Who did she think she was?
I fanned my hand out over the front of my denim mini-dress, shifting the weight of my one-hundred-and-eighteen-pound frame from one six-inch, pink heeled foot to the other. Unlike Rich, who was one beef patty short of a Whopper, I was dancer toned and could wear anything and look fabulous in it. But I
chose
not to be over-the-top with it because unlike Rich and everyone else here at Hollywood High,
I
didn't have to impress anyone. I was naturally beautiful and knew it.
chose
not to be over-the-top with it because unlike Rich and everyone else here at Hollywood High,
I
didn't have to impress anyone. I was naturally beautiful and knew it.
And yeah, she was cute and all. And, yeah, she dressed like no other. But Trampette forgot I knew who she was
before
Jenny Craig and
before
she had those crowded ass teeth shaved down and straightened out. I knew her when she was a chunky bucktooth Teletubby running around and losing her breath on the playground. So there was no way Miss Chipmunk wanted to roll down in the gutter with me 'cause I was the Ace of Spades when it came to messy!
before
Jenny Craig and
before
she had those crowded ass teeth shaved down and straightened out. I knew her when she was a chunky bucktooth Teletubby running around and losing her breath on the playground. So there was no way Miss Chipmunk wanted to roll down in the gutter with me 'cause I was the Ace of Spades when it came to messy!
I shook my shoulder-length curls out of my face, pulled out my compact, and then smacked my Chanel-glossed lips. I wanted to die but I couldn't let pie-face know that, so I said, “Umm, Rich, how about
you
shut
your
mouth. After all the morning-after pills you've popped in the last two years, I can't believe you'd stand here and wanna piss in my Crunch Berries. Oh, no Miss Plan B,
you
had better seal your own doors shut,
first
, before you start tryna walk through mine. You're the reason they invented Plan B in the first place.”
you
shut
your
mouth. After all the morning-after pills you've popped in the last two years, I can't believe you'd stand here and wanna piss in my Crunch Berries. Oh, no Miss Plan B,
you
had better seal your own doors shut,
first
, before you start tryna walk through mine. You're the reason they invented Plan B in the first place.”
I turned my neck from side to side and blinked my hazel eyes. Sweet . . . merciful . . . kumquats! Heather's mother's perfume had chewed my neck up. I wanted to scream!
Rich spat, “You wouldn't be trying to get anything crunked would you, Ditsy Doodle? Youâ”
“Ohmygod,” London interrupted our argument. Her heels screeched against the floor as she said, “Here you are!” She air-kissed Rich, then eyed me, slowly.
Oh, no this hot-buttered beeswax snooty-booty didn't!
London continued, “I've been wandering around this monstrous place all morningâ” She paused and twisted her perfectly painted lips. “What's that smell?” London frowned and waved her hand under her nose, and sniffed. “Is that, is that you, Spencer?”
“Umm hmm,” Rich said. “She's wearing La-Voom, from the freak-nasty-rash collection. Doesn't it smell delish?”
“No. That mess stinks. It smells like cat piss.”
Rich laughed. “Girrrrl, I didn't wanna be the one to say it, since Ms. Thang wears her feelings like a diamond bangle, but since you took it there,
meeeeeeeeow!
” The two of them cackled like two messy sea hens. Wait, hens aren't in the sea, right? No, of course not. Well, that's what they sounded like. So that's what they were.
meeeeeeeeow!
” The two of them cackled like two messy sea hens. Wait, hens aren't in the sea, right? No, of course not. Well, that's what they sounded like. So that's what they were.
“I can't believe you'd say that?!” I spat, snapping my compact shut, stuffing it back into my Louis Vuitton Tribute bag.
“Whaaaaatever,” London said, waving me on like I was some second-class trash. “Do you, boo. And while you're at it. You might want to invest in some Valtrex for those nasty bumps around your neck.”
I frowned. “
Valtrex?
Are you serious? For what?”
Valtrex?
Are you serious? For what?”
She snapped her fingers in my face. “Uh, hellllllo, Space Cadet. For that nastiness around your neck, what else? It looks like a bad case of herpes, boo.”
Rich snickered.
I inhaled. Exhaled.
Batted my lashes.
Looked like I was going to have to
serve her, too
.
serve her, too
.
I swept a curl away from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
Counted to ten in my head. 'Cause in five... four... three . . . two . . . one, I was about to set it upâwait, wait, I meant set it offâup in this mother suckey-duckey, okay? I mean. It was one thing for Rich to try it. After all, we've
known
each other since my motherâmedia giant and billionaire Kitty Ellington, the famed TV producer and host of her internationally popular talk show,
Dish the Dirt
âalong with Rich's dad, insisted we become friends for image's sake. And in the capital of plastics appearance
was
everything. So I put up with Rich's foolery because I had to. But, that chicken-foot broad London, who I only met over the summer through Rich, needed a reality checkâand
quick
, before I brought the rain down on her.
known
each other since my motherâmedia giant and billionaire Kitty Ellington, the famed TV producer and host of her internationally popular talk show,
Dish the Dirt
âalong with Rich's dad, insisted we become friends for image's sake. And in the capital of plastics appearance
was
everything. So I put up with Rich's foolery because I had to. But, that chicken-foot broad London, who I only met over the summer through Rich, needed a reality checkâand
quick
, before I brought the rain down on her.
Newsflash: I might not have been as braggadocious as the two of them phonies, but I came from just as much money as Rich's daddy and definitely more than London's family would ever have. So she had better back that thang-a-lang up on a grill 'cause I was seconds from frying her goose. “You know what, London, you better watch your panty liner!”
She wrinkled her nose and put a finger up. “Pause.”
Did she just put her finger in my face?
“Pump, pump, pump it back,” I snapped, shifting my handbag from one hand to the other, putting a hand up on my hip. My gold and diamond bangles clanked. “You don't
pause
me, Miss Snicker-Doodle-Doo. I'm no CD player! And before you start with your snot-ball comments get your facts straight, Miss Know It All. I don't own a cat. I'm allergic to them. So why would I wear cat piss? And I don't have herpes. Besides how would I get it around my neck? It's just a nasty rash from Mrs. Cummings' new perfume. So that goes to show you how much you know. And they call me confused. Go figure.”
pause
me, Miss Snicker-Doodle-Doo. I'm no CD player! And before you start with your snot-ball comments get your facts straight, Miss Know It All. I don't own a cat. I'm allergic to them. So why would I wear cat piss? And I don't have herpes. Besides how would I get it around my neck? It's just a nasty rash from Mrs. Cummings' new perfume. So that goes to show you how much you know. And they call me confused. Go figure.”
“You wait one damn minute, Dumbo,” London hissed.
“Dumbo?!
I'll have you know I have the highest GPA in this whole entire school.” I shot a look over at Rich, who was laughing hysterically. “Unlike some of
you
hyenas who have to buy your grades,
I'm
not the one walking around here with the IQ of a Popsicle.”
I'll have you know I have the highest GPA in this whole entire school.” I shot a look over at Rich, who was laughing hysterically. “Unlike some of
you
hyenas who have to buy your grades,
I'm
not the one walking around here with the IQ of a Popsicle.”
Rich raised her neatly arched brow.
London clapped her hands. “Good for you. Now... like I was saying,
Dumbo
, I don't know how you dizzy hoes do it here at Hollywood High, but I will floor you, girlfriend, okay. Don't do it to yourself.”
Dumbo
, I don't know how you dizzy hoes do it here at Hollywood High, but I will floor you, girlfriend, okay. Don't do it to yourself.”
I frowned and slammed my locker shut. “Oh ... my... God! You've gone too far now, London. That may be how
you
hoes in New York do it. But we don't do that kind of perverted-nastiness over here on the West Coast.”
you
hoes in New York do it. But we don't do that kind of perverted-nastiness over here on the West Coast.”
She frowned. “
Excuse
you?”
Excuse
you?”
I huffed. “I didn't stutter, Miss Nasty. I
said
you went too damn far telling me not to do it to myself, like I go around playing in my goodie box or something.”
said
you went too damn far telling me not to do it to myself, like I go around playing in my goodie box or something.”
Rich and London stared at each other, then burst into laughter.
I stomped off just as the homeroom bell rang. My curls bounced wildly as my stilettos jabbed the marbled floor beneath me.
Welcome to Hollywood High,
trick
! The first chance I get, I'm gonna knock Miss London's playhouse down right from underneath her nose.
Welcome to Hollywood High,
trick
! The first chance I get, I'm gonna knock Miss London's playhouse down right from underneath her nose.
But first, I had more pressing issues to think about. I needed to get an emergency dermatologist appointment to handle this itchy, burning rash. My heels scurried as I made a left into the girls' lounge instead of a right into homeroom. I locked myself into the powder room. I had to get out of here!
OMG, there was a wildfire burning around my neck.
Ooooh, when I get back from the doctor's office, I'm gonna jumpstart Heather's caboose for her mother trying to do me in like this.
Ooooh, when I get back from the doctor's office, I'm gonna jumpstart Heather's caboose for her mother trying to do me in like this.
I dialed 9-1-1.
The operator answered on the first ring, “Operator, what's your emergency?” Immediately I screamed, “Camille Cummings, the washed-up drunk, has set my neck on fire!”
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