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I went into the stall and thought—what a strange thing. I’d had an entire conversation with that girl about her hopes and dreams and fears, and I didn’t even know her name.

When we got to the resort, it turns out that it wasn’t a traditional hotel. We would all be sleeping in these little palapas on the beach. Chela and I had one all to ourselves. So many people I knew were there. Melody, while not on the cover, would be featured in the magazine, and both Andy and Syreeta would be doing my hair and makeup.

Every morning, at five a.m., Melody led us all in a yoga class on the beach. We were in hair and makeup at six, started shooting at eight, then worked until two p.m., when the sun got too hot.

Every afternoon at four, Chela and I had surf lessons. Which was, as you can imagine, pretty funny. Chela kept popping up too soon. And I kept paddling out too long. But it was so cool.

The last night of the shoot was my birthday, and all day long, nobody said anything. So I thought, You know what? No biggie. I’m in Mexico, modeling these fabulous swimsuits, hanging with two of my best friends, and having a great time. That night, Chela and I were finally going to do some dancing because I hadn’t been able to go out any of the other nights because of my early call time.

Chela wore this floral print Roberto Cavalli dress that the stylist had given her, and I wore a long Caribbean blue dress I’d bought from J. Crew. We both decided to go barefoot since we’d walk along the beach from our palapa to the hotel restaurant and bar.

The bar overlooks the pool, and there’s like a hundred tin Mexican lanterns hanging above the bar, all throwing off different-colored light. When we got there, it was strangely quiet. Then I heard a very familiar voice call out, “Happy birthday, Beatrice!”

It was Leslie, who must’ve flown in special for the occasion, Melody, and the whole photo crew. There was a long table in the restaurant set for twenty, and there was an orchid on every plate.

Before we sat down, Doug, the photographer, handed me a gigantic box to unwrap. Inside, there was a hot pink surfboard signed by the whole Sports Illustrated team.

“Congratulations, Bee,” Doug said, giving me the fashion two-cheek kiss. “It’s rare in this industry to find such a combination of brains and beauty. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

“I’d like to toast to that,” Leslie said, raising her glass.

“Salud!” Chela called out.

“Salud!” we all answered back as we clinked glasses.

At the end of the evening, after dinner and a round of margaritas, the waiters brought out a cake with eighteen candles. I blew them out, but I have to tell you a secret. For the first time I didn’t wish for a thing, not for a pair of the latest hot jeans or for a boy to like me back, nothing—except for the good sense to know how lucky I was and to appreciate each and every otherworldly moment that being a model threw my way.

27

Bee Loved

I
didn’t think anything could top the Sports Illustrated shoot, but the week after we got back, Leslie called to say that I’d been chosen to host the Teen Choice Awards.

It was my first time hosting an awards show, but the rehearsals had gone well, and as Leslie liked to remind me, it doesn’t take a college degree to read a teleprompter. Although I have to say, it’s a whole lot harder than it looks.

I had my outfit picked out for the show. An Alice + Olivia minidress because I figured it was a teen thing, not a fashion thing. It was funny. I was technically still a teen, but I felt much, much older.

That morning, when the doorbell rang, I almost didn’t bother to answer it since I wasn’t expecting anyone. Andy and Syreeta were going to meet me at Lincoln Center to do my hair and makeup there. When I buzzed the intercom, I heard, “It’s Chela; I was in the neighborhood. Let me in.”

I am here to tell you that while being a supe is a pretty amazing thing, getting your best friend back after a big tuss up is even better. I love my modeling friends, but I love that Chela’s not part of that world and that she was my pal way before anyone ever put me on the cover of a magazine.

When I opened the front door to my apartment, I could hear a gaggle of noise making its way toward me. Maybe Chela’s sisters were in town again. She had like five sisters, and wherever the crew of them went, it was a party. I got up, still dressed in my Bedhead I Love Lucy pajamas, and saw that Chela was there. But she didn’t have her sisters with her; she had the Baby Phat girls in tow: Melody, Prageeta, and Elsie.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, hugging Prageeta first.

“Hanif had a meeting with his American publisher, so I decided to come over and see my friends,” she said.

“Oh, this is cute,” Elsie said, examining my pajamas. “Not at all sexy, but cute.”

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. “It’s so early.”

Melody laughed. “Now we know you’re a supermodel. It’s not early; it’s almost eleven o’clock.”

I looked over at my CD alarm clock; why hadn’t Snoop and Pharrell woken me up? Then I remembered that I’d been up so late studying for my physics final that I’d fallen asleep without setting the alarm.

“Okay, right,” I said. “I mean, it’s nice to see you, but what are you guys all doing here? Are we going to brunch? Did we make a date?”

Chela grabbed me by the arm. “No, we’re not going to brunch—we’ve brought brunch to you.”

Melody held up four shopping bags from our favorite brunch spot. “We got all your favorites: oysters Rockefeller, the Maine lobster roll, the four-flowers juice.”

It was like some sort of a dream. All the girls coming to see me, my favorite foods, nowhere to go and nothing to do until the awards show that night. They were all crowded around my room, and I thought, This is what I always imagined college to be like—hanging out with a posse of smart, worldly girls.

“But Sarabeth’s doesn’t do takeout,” I said, my mouth full with the heavenly taste of a cheese blintz.

Prageeta gave me her biggest megawatt grin. “They don’t do takeout for civilians. But we’re models, darling.”

Chela said in a mock-hurt voice, “Hey, I’m not a model.”

Melody said, “That’s okay, you still get perks.”

We had moved into the dining room so that we could eat on proper plates and use cutlery. (We had begun to tear apart the pumpkin waffles with our bare hands in my utensil-free room.) Luckily, the apartment was outfitted with enough chairs and a table big enough to accommodate our feast.

“This is great,” I said, knocking back the rest of my four-flowers juice. I’m not sure why they called it four flowers ’cause it was really a mix of orange, banana, pineapple, and pomegranate. The only thing that was wrong with it was that unlike the iced tea, they never gave free refills of juice. “The Teen Choice Awards are going to have to be pretty great to top this.”

“Well, since you mention it,” Chela said, breaking into a freestyle beat box. “That’s why we’re here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I was beginning to get a little nervous.

“We’re going to give you a makeover,” Elsie said.

I looked down at my I Love Lucy pajamas and tugged a strand of my greasy hair. “What? It’s not like I plan on going out looking like this.”

“We know,
niña
,” Chela said, putting her arm around my shoulders. “We just want to make sure that when that show goes on live tonight, you look like the supe that you are.”

Chela and the Baby Phat girls had put together a whole day of beauty for me.

“To start with, I think it would be good if you took a shower,” Elsie said, pretending to hold her nose.

“Take a bath,” Melody said. “While you’re in there, you can read this month’s
Yoga Journal
.” She reached into her bag, a very cute, very covetable Yves Saint Laurent Muse bag, and handed me the magazine.

“Thanks,” I said, checking it out. I loved taking yoga classes with Melody and was convinced that they were keeping me sane.

“Think peaceful thoughts,” Melody said.

I ran a bath and read a couple of the articles in Melody’s magazine while soaking in the tub. I threw on a Four Seasons terry-cloth robe, a gift from Leslie, and walked down the hallway into the living room. The simple, Ikea-style living room had been transformed into a fashion shoot dressing room. I’d heard the racket, but I assumed it was Chela and Elsie showing everyone the latest reggaeton moves.

There were literally racks of clothes and shoes and accessories. Moreover, Andy and Syreeta had joined the crowd. Andy had laid out his hair tools all over the dining room table. Syreeta had commandeered a desk and turned it into a makeup station.

Melody was putting out platters of fresh fruit on the coffee table, and there were two champagne buckets filled with ice, sparkling water, and fruit spritzers.

“This is unbelievable,” I said, fighting the urge to pinch myself. It was one thing to get the full glamour gal treatment at work and quite another to get it in your own apartment.

“When we said we’d hook you up . . .” Elsie began.

“We meant we’d hook you up!” Chela said, finishing her sentence.

I could feel the tears coming, and I could barely get the words out. “Youguysarethebest,” I said, everything I wanted to say tumbling out in a soppy jumble. “Idon’tknowhowtothankyou.I’mtheluckiestgirlintheworld.”

“Go ahead, girl,” Syreeta said, putting her arm around me. “Get it all out now. Because once I start doing makeup, you better not shed a single tear.”

“Wardrobe first,” Elsie said, leading me over to the racks of clothes.

“How did you guys get all of this stuff?” I wondered. “It’s like I died and went to Bergdorf’s heaven.”

“We’ve got friends in stylish places,” Elsie quipped. “Now, what were you planning on wearing?”

I went to my room and came back with the Alice + Olivia dress. Elsie held it up and gave it a once-over.

“It’s cute, but I think you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard,” Melody said, pulling out a pair of jeans. “I think you should wear these and a silky halter top.”

“Okay, that’s a look,” Elsie said. “Let’s pull some shoes to try on with that.”

Melody went over to the shoe area and picked up a pair of four-inch Sergio Rossi gold heels. She laid it all out on the sofa.

“Great, that’s look number one,” Elsie said, taking on the role of ringleader/chief fashion diva with pleasure and ease. “Chela, what do you think?”

“I think Bee does preppy so well,” Chela said, pulling out an emerald green J.Crew silk taffeta skirt and a hot pink cashmere cardigan with a jeweled neckline.

“Good job, Chela, that’s look number two,” Elsie said.

“I LOVE that,” I said. “Can I buy that to keep?”

“We’ll hook you up, promise,” Elsie said. “But time is flying, and we need to make sure we get all the looks together before we decide what you’ll wear. And of course, Andy and Syreeta can’t decide on hair and makeup until you’ve picked an outfit. So Chela, shoes.”

Chela walked over to the shoes and chose a really sweet pair of ballet flats.

“No way,” Prageeta said. “She can’t wear flats.”