Fabulous Page 7

  “What’s up, stranger?” he asked as he jogged down the stairs to pull her close for a hug.

  “Nothing much, what’s up with you?” Dionne asked as she stepped back out of his embrace.

  Hassan leaned back and looked at her before he shrugged and slid his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Just thought I’d come and check on you since—”

  Just then Dionne’s Sidekick began to vibrate on her hip.

  His eyes dropped down to it. “So your phone do work.”

  Dionne licked her glossy lips. “Hassan, I—”

  “Uhm, uhm, uhm. How you doin’, Hassan?”

  Dionne looked over her shoulder at Joshia and Kim walking up to them. Joshia ignored Dionne as she reached up to stroke his square cheek. “Still fine as always,” she said in a soft and flirtatious voice.

  Dionne went from being hurt that they were ignoring her, like Starr ignored out-of-season clothes, to being mad. Unlike Marisol and Starr, they knew she liked Hassan. So one of them stepping to Hassan in such a bold way was like a dare for her to say something. Dionne wasn’t even going to get punked by nobody. “And he’s busy, so bounce,” Dionne snapped, ready to swing out at one or both of them if necessary.

  Joshia was short, thick and curvy but she knew Dionne could and would spank that butt if necessary. Still she turned and stepped in Dionne’s face anyway.

  Dionne dropped her book bag.

  Hassan held up his hands and jumped in between them. “Dang, man, ain’t y’all friends?” he asked in surprise.

  “Humph,” Joshia said with plenty of attitude as she eyed Dionne from head to toe with attitude. “Forget that bourgie chick.”

  “Forget that jealous chick,” Dionne threw back at her over Hassan’s broad shoulder.

  “Jealous?” Both Joshia and Kim screeched as if in shock.

  “Don’t hate…CON-GRA-TU-LATE,” Dionne screeched back.

  Hassan bent down to snatch up her book bag before he guided her up the stairs of the porch by her shoulders. “Come on, Didi,” he urged.

  Dionne glared at her old friends/new enemies over her shoulder until she walked into the dimly lit entry hall of the building. “I can’t believe them,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she paced in front of the mailboxes in the wall.

  Hassan handed over her book bag and shook his head sadly. “I can’t believe you either,” he told her.

  Dionne paused and turned to look up at him. “Huh?”

  Hassan reached out and stroked her cheek, before he turned and opened the door. “I’m not callin’ you no more, Dionne. And if you take too long to call me I’m not gonna answer.”

  With that he walked out the door leaving Dionne feeling big-time crushed.

  sixteen

  Starr

  September 19 @ 10:45 a.m. | Mood: Pissed!

  Starr paced the length of the sitting room of the bathroom as she waited for her friends. They needed each other now more than ever.

  Until now she had been having a good day—a great day, in fact. First, she woke up to the news that her dad had hired her her very own production crew to capture every moment of her party planning and the ultimate party night. Second, the tastings for her Sylvia Weinstock cake were divine. She couldn’t wait for the moment when the cake would rise up from the floor of the stage for all to stare in awe and envy. And last, all of the students who had not been invited to her birthday bash were falling at her feet begging for an invite. Of course, they could forget about it. Her guest list was set, but she loved all the extra attention anyway. And best of all?

  Starr whipped out her cell phone and scrolled through her incoming texts.

  JORDAN: NEED 2 TALK 2 U. CAN U MEET ME AT THE GYM DURING LUNCH?

  UR#1STARR: K.

  Starr had been floating on clouds one through nine since she’d gotten Jordan’s text. But all her joy faded when someone showed her the latest post on the Diva of Dish’s blog.

  The door opened and Marisol walked in with her cell phone still in her hand, her brown face flushed.

  “What’s the emergency? I was in my music class across campus.”

  “Wait on Dionne,” Starr told her, as she continued to pace.

  Seconds later the door opened and Dionne walked in. Her long straight hair was in a ponytail and she was still dressed in gym clothes. “What’s the emergency?” she asked, parroting Marisol.

  “Outside of my party, we have one goal and one goal only, ladies,” Starr told them, turning on the heels of her new Fendi pumps.

  Dionne and Marisol shared a long look before turning curious eyes back to their friend and leader, or was it leader and friend?

  “The Diva of Dumb just posted ten reasons why everyone at Pace should hate the Pacesetters.”

  “Ooh,” the girls said in unison with angry scowls on their faces.

  Starr continued pacing. “It’s probably one of those losers, who didn’t get an invite to the party,” she pondered aloud as if plotting battle strategies. “But!”

  Dionne and Marisol jumped back as Starr whirled around on them like a tornado.

  “If I find out that someone I have invited to my Fierce and Fabulous Fashionista Fifteen party—”

  “I thought it was just Fashionista Fifteen?” Marisol said, her Spanish accent more pronounced.

  Dionne nodded. “Yeah, me, too. When did you change it, Starr?” she asked, turning to look up at her.

  Starr clenched her fists and released a high-pitched scream at the top of her lungs. “WHO GIVES A FLIP ABOUT THAT RIGHT NOW?” she roared.

  “Woooooooooooow,” Dionne and Marisol said, leaning away from her.

  Starr immediately pulled herself together as she smoothed her hands over the stiff pleats of her uniform skirt. “Ladies, let’s just find out who’s the Diva of Dish.”

  Starr stuck her hand out, her short manicured nails covered with Bad Girl Black.

  Marisol placed her hand on top of Starr’s, her Back-to-the-’80s neon-green nails glowing brightly.

  And then Dionne covered Marisol’s hand with her new pink-and-white French manicure.

  “One…two…three…PACESETTERS!”

  Starr didn’t tell her girls about her “meeting” with Jordan. If things turned out well—like Jordan dropping to one knee to shout out his love for her—then she would consider it. But for now—good or bad—it was her little secret. Plus, it didn’t matter because she had a dozen more.

  She barely took in the well-manicured landscape of the campus as she made her way toward the sports complex. She had barely made her way through the automated revolving doors when she spotted Jordan sitting on the metal steps leading to the second floor. His head was down and she could tell he was lost in the music playing through the earphones of his iPod.

  She paused when he lifted his head and sang:

  “‘Don’t know how to tell you that I love ya…Can’t find the words to even explain…Whenever I’m near you I just want to touch ya…you’re the type of girl to make me lose my game.’”

  Starr completely lost her breath. It wasn’t just the words, but Jordan’s voice. It was Jordan’s vocal arrangement. His emotions showed so clearly on his face. He was just simply being Jordan.

  He opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly to find her standing there.

  Starr took a breath to compose herself before her crush on him was written all over her face, not just deep in her heart. She clapped as she strolled over to him. “How much do I owe you for the front-row seat to the concert?” she asked him, remembering all the rules of covert flirting.

  Soft eyes. Soft smile. Softly spoken words. Starr had it down pat.

  “I’d sing for you anytime, Starr. Just ask,” he told her with a smile as he rose to his full height and walked down the stairs to come and stand before her. Somehow he made that stupid red blazer and stiff gray slacks look like Gucci.

  Speak, Starr. Speak!

  She just laughed kind of nervously, completely hating that she sounded li
ke a big-time cornball.

  Jordan reached out to lightly touch her hand. “Hey, I’m sorry about that stupid blog.”

  Starr was amazed that standing there in front of Jordan, feeling his touch, smelling his cologne, she could care less about the blog or the Dumb Diva—at least for now anyway.

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked him softly.

  Jordan glanced away for just a second. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He glanced away again…for another second. “I wanted…I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Starr didn’t completely believe him, but she let it be because, she wasn’t quite ready to reveal her cards either.

  So the flirting dance continued.

  seventeen

  Dionne

  September 21 @ 11:45 a.m. | Mood: Afraid…Again

  “Yo, Dionne, come here!”

  She looked up from the teen magazine she was flipping through before she rolled off her bed. She padded barefoot to her father’s office, standing in the doorway. “Whaddup, Daddy?” she asked, eyeing him sitting behind a huge black desk with his laptop in front of him.

  “Come look at what somebody sent me?”

  Dionne walked across the spacious room and around the desk to look down at the computer screen. She frowned a little and then smiled. “Ooh, I look cute,” she said, eyeing the black-and-white photo of her posing with her father. “That’s going in Essence, right?”

  “Damn right,” Lahron the Don said, leaning back in the chair to look up at her.

  The celebrity magazine had a feature spread with up-and-coming hip-hop artists and their families. It had been fun modeling, getting makeup done and being dressed by a stylist—but Dionne had especially enjoyed sharing her father’s celebrity world with him. She was excited to see all the photos.

  His cell phone on top of his desk vibrated and Lahron grabbed it up. “Yo, whaddup?”

  As soon as her father hopped out of his seat and walked out of the office, Dionne dropped into it to open each and every photo file.

  “Oooh, cute,” she whispered as she eyed her casual but fab style in the photo. Her hair, her natural-looking makeup and her outfit were all on point.

  She was deciding whether to forward the picture to her own e-mail address when she caught sight of an open letter on top of the desk. Her frown deepened as she glimpsed the words: DELINQUENT, URGENT, LEGAL.

  Glancing out the door to be sure her father wasn’t coming back, Dionne turned the letter so that she could read it. And she didn’t like what she read one bit.

  Her father’s stylist was requesting payment in full for nearly five thousand dollars for services rendered. First her school tuition and now this. Dionne picked up the letter and underneath it lay several more letters along the same lines of the first letter.

  “What the…”

  She thought of the check her father used to pay her tuition in full. Oh, good grief, is it gonna bounce? she thought. Em-barr-a-ssing!!

  She set the letter back down, the photos forgotten as she leaned back in the leather chair.

  Lahron walked back into the office and Dionne cut her eyes over at the three diamond chains dangling around his neck. “Daddy, is everything okay?” she asked, her stomach in knots.

  He glanced at her before picking up his glass of soda from the edge of the desk. “What you talking about?”

  “Money wise. Is everything okay—because you don’t have to buy me all those clothes, especially since I wear uniforms to school.”

  Lahron’s eyes shifted to the letters on his desk. He came around the front of the desk to lean against it as he looked down at her. “First off, I didn’t call you in here to read something that doesn’t belong to you. Secondly, I’m not broke—I’m just bad at paying bills on time.”

  Dionne’s eyes were immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I shouldn’t have been snooping,” she told him.

  “That’s cool, but remember I ain’t broke at all,” he continued to protest…perhaps a bit too much.

  Dionne leaned forward in the chair to continue clicking through the pictures. “Got it,” she said, wishing she had never brought it up.

  Lahron reached in the pockets of his vintage faded jeans and pulled out wads of money. Dionne’s eyes shifted to take in the crisp bills. “I got it, Dad,” Dionne drawled again.

  Lahron tapped his chest and held his arms outstretched. “Do you see where your daddy is living and what whips I’m driving?”

  Dionne turned in the chair, leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Daddy. Seriously. I just asked a question. I got it. You’re not broke.”

  “If I was broke would I offer to buy you and your mama a house?” he stressed.

  Dionne sat up straight in the chair. “Our own house?” she asked excitedly.

  At his nod, she bounced from the chair and flung herself into her father’s arms. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “No, don’t thank me yet because you know your mama don’t want nothing from me.”

  Dionne leaned back to look up at him. “She said no?”

  Lahron moved past Dionne to reclaim his seat at the desk. “You know that.”

  Dionne smiled as she allowed herself to dream. She thought of all the fabulous things that would be hers with their own house: a bigger room, a better neighborhood, no more lying to Starr and Marisol, she could even finally have sleepovers.

  “Dionne.”

  Ooh, maybe even a house with a pool and a big backyard! FAB-U-LOUS!

  “Dionne.”

  She cut her eyes over at her father as her imaginings came to an abrupt end.

  “Are we straight about this money thing?” he asked as he reached for his drink again.

  “Yeah, uh-huh,” she said almost dismissively as she turned and walked out of the room with a million plans as to how to talk her mama into accepting the house.

  eighteen

  Starr

  September 21 @ 7:08 p.m. | Mood: Studious

  Starr was sitting on the cushioned window seat reading her history textbook for an upcoming quiz when the doorbell to her suite rang. She frowned as she picked up the oversize remote pad and switched on her plasma television to the channel linked to the surveillance camera outside her door.

  She assumed it wasn’t her parents, since they knew the combination for the electronic keypad. And she hadn’t asked Mimi to bring her anything, so she was beyond curious about who was interrupting her study time.

  “Who in the…hello and goodbye…is she?” Starr said with an attitude as she eyed the tall white teenage girl with a riot of bright red curls standing outside the door to her suite, looking totally bored.

  Barefoot and in leggings and a fitted tee, Starr walked across the plush carpet to get a closer look at the girl on her plasma TV. She worked the control pad to make the surveillance camera slowly angle up and then down to take in everything about the stranger standing at her door.

  Her eyebrows arched as she quickly took in the girl’s trendy laid-back style in her skinny jeans, high-heeled booties and fitted tee with several gold chains around her neck, which gave her look more polish and edge. Starr knew just by looking at her that her style was effortless, just like her beauty.

  Who is she?

  Starr set down the remote control console on the edge of her bed. Her doorbell chimed again as she scooped up her cordless and dialed her parents’ private line.

  “Hey, Starr,” her mother said, the sound of laughter and chatter in the background. “Are you and Natalie getting along?”

  Starr rolled her eyes heavenward. “No, because Natalie is standing outside my door working my doorbell and my nerves,” she snapped. “Who is she?”

  “Excuse me for a second?” she heard her mother say to her guests.

  Starr tapped her foot and turned to watch the girl still standing at her door.

  “Starr Lester, you open up that door and let her in,” Sasha said in a scolding whisper t
hat really wasn’t a whisper at all.

  “Mama,” Starr protested.

  “Her parents are good friends of mine and I know she doesn’t want to hang around with us.”

  “Ma-aaah,” Starr whined.

  “You should invite her to the party,” Sasha suggested.

  Starr pulled the phone away to stare at it as if her mother had lost her mind. “No invites. I don’t even know this girl—why should she experience all the fabulousness of my party?”

  Sasha sighed.

  “All right, I’m letting her in.”

  “That’s my Starr.”

  She made a face as she hung up the phone and flung it onto the center of her bed. “Coming,” she called out, already bounding across the room and through the open doors of her closet. She quickly undressed and started changing her clothes.

  In no time she was dressed in an ivory Nanette Lepore tunic, gold gladiator sandals and had even touched up her lip gloss. There was no way Starr Lester was letting anyone outdress her in her own house. Oh, no. That was a big-time no.

  Starr pulled open the door and had to tilt her head back to look up at the Amazon.

  With a nonchalant expression she looked past Starr as she openly scrutinized the suite. “Whaddup, I’m Natalie. Your mom said I could come up and chill with you.”

  Starr’s mouth fell open. This girl looked paler than someone from Utah. But when she opened her mouth, she sounded like Alicia Keys—husky and throaty, like she was black! What the hello and goodbye?

  “Uhhhm, come in,” Starr said, stepping back to wave her into her suite.

  “Nice room,” she said, walking around.

  “I have my own screening room, spa bath and room-size walk-in closet,” Starr boasted.