Fabulous (12 page)

Marisol
September 26 @ 6:45 p.m. | Mood: Spiteful

Marisol
couldn’t believe her mother had forced her to go shopping—and at the mall, no less. She loved Starr to death but she wasn’t in the mood to buy her some fabulous birthday gift. She really wanted to give her something with more meaning to it than its hefty price tag. Maybe a gift certificate promising a lifetime of friendship?

The thought of Starr’s reaction made Marisol smile. She bit her bottom lip and shook her tightly curled hair back from her face as she studied the jewelry display through the glass case at Bloomingdale’s. She had browsed the entire store for every possible birthday gift she could think of for Starr and she just kept drawing a blank. Just as she had for the last few weeks, Marisol wondered what do you get for someone who has everything?

Yasmine walked up to stand next to her daughter. “Marisol, you go through this every year. Why do you drive yourself crazy over Starr’s gift?”

Marisol shrugged. “I can never find the right thing,” she admitted. “Will you help me?”

Yasmine hugged her daughter close to her side. “Wow, that’s a first,” she exclaimed.

“I’m going to check the shoe department and you look here,” Marisol said, already walking across the store.

She really wanted to get away from the department store, having decided that whatever gift her mother selected would be the one Starr received in a pretty wrapped package. She loved her friend but she was big-time over the shopping.

Marisol used a band to pull her hair into a side ponytail as she walked out of Bloomie’s and into the mall. Her heart slammed against her chest as she came to an immediate stop at the sight of Corey, her ex-crush, hugged up with some extra-tall and extra-thin blonde as they walked out of the movie theater. It had been a while since she had given him any thought, but seeing him with another girl just brought on all of her pent-up feelings and the hurt came crashing down.

In her eyes, he was a miniversion of her father—a cheat who didn’t deserve to have a good time, a loser who needed to be put in his place.

Marisol arched her eyebrow as she watched them walking together and window-shopping. She stomped her flats against the tiled floor as she made her way over to them.

Corey looked like he unsuccessfully tried to swallow a tennis ball.

His boo (as in booboo the fool) eyed Marisol in a curious way. “Excuse us,” she said sweetly, shifting to the left to try to move past Marisol politely.

Marisol stepped in front of Corey. “Is this the girlfriend you had when you were trying to get my number or is this another one?”

He glanced at the girl with him and then frowned. “Do I know you?” he asked, his eyes slightly mocking.

“So you’re still trying to be a playa, huh?” she asked him as her stomach boiled with anger.

To her, Corey and her father were one and the same. She couldn’t get all she had to say to her father off her chest, but she was going to unload on Corey the Cheat.

“Corey, who is she?” his girl asked.

Marisol shot her a brief look before shifting her eyes back to Corey, who was starting to look ill. “This has nothing to do with you…unless you don’t care that your boyfriend is a lying, cheating, good-for-nothing whore who tried to holler at me while you two were together. Now if it doesn’t bother you that your boo is a stupid cheater, that’s your business. But trust and believe, he knows me and I sure know his loser behind. Isn’t that right, Corey?”

“Come on, let’s get out of here, Clarissa. This little girl is crazy,” he said, hugging her closer as he attempted to move past Marisol as a crowd of onlookers began to stare.

Marisol blocked their path again, her eyes fiery as she went into full-throttle attitude mode: her Spanish accent became more pronounced, her finger wagging in his face with a little head rolling as well!

“You are an opportunist. You are a dog. You are stooooopid! You will grow up to be the worst kind of man, one who only cares about what he wants and doesn’t give a scootie-boot-da-loop about who he hurts.”

The onlookers began to applaud and Marisol looked around surprised by the number of people in the mall surrounding them. She hadn’t even noticed them in her angry spiel.

She turned to a nervous-looking Clarissa. “Run while you can, Clarissa. Because whether you know it or not you have a dog on your tail.”

With one last withering look at Corey that Starr would have rated an A+, Marisol hit Corey with her bag and then whirled around and pushed through the crowd.

Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Her face felt warm.

She felt more alive than she had in a long time.

She felt like throwing her fist up in the air like she was Rocky at the top of the steps in the movie.

She wished she could tell her father the exact same things.

She knew the pain she felt toward Corey could not compare with how her mother must feel, and Marisol wished she could make it all better for their family.

“Marisol, look what I found!” her mother exclaimed when she walked up to her still in the jewelry department.

Marisol barely took notice of the beautiful, chunky gold charm bracelet as she wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and hugged her tightly. “I love you very much, Mami,” she whispered to her in Spanish as she inhaled deeply of her familiar perfume.

Yasmine returned the hug without question. “You really like the charm bracelet that much?” she asked.

Marisol couldn’t have cared less about the charm bracelet. In that moment she just wanted her mother to know that she was loved. Big-time.

Dionne
September 27 @ 10:45 a.m. | Mood: Excited

Dionne
had been glad to climb out of the SUV and into the chartered private jet at six in the morning. After a late night with her girls, the early morning start was testing her stamina. All she wanted to do was cuddle in one of the plush leather seats and sleep—just like her Pops and the entire eight-man crew.

She’d been just as happy for the jet to land in Miami. She was ready to experience the party city to the fullest. Well, as much as she could at fifteen.

Dionne paused at the top of the steps as she slid on her aviator sunglasses and let the Miami wind blow her jet-black hair.

“Come on, baby girl,” her dad said at the foot of the steps of the plane.

Dionne threw him her best daddy’s-girl smile as she
jogged down the steps to the tarmac and climbed into the Cadillac Escalade ahead of him. Dionne knew she was smiling like a fool and she didn’t care one bit. Spending the entire weekend with her dad
and
being on a private jet
and
getting to see a real video shot was fabulous. Life was
so
good right now.

“Dionne, call your mama and let her know we landed safe,” Lahron told her as Mindy, his personal assistant, handed him yet another BlackBerry for yet another business call.

Dionne dug into her red patent leather embossed Louis V tote for her cell phone and dialed away since she knew her mother was worrying. She had her proof when the phone barely rang. “Ma?”

“Hey, baby girl.”

Dionne smiled. “We’re in Miami. We just landed.”

“Good.”

Dionne looked out the window at the stretch of palm trees. “Don’t worry. ’Kay?”

“Okay. Just have fun. Be safe. And don’t wander off alone, Dionne.”

“I love you, Ma.”

“Love you, too.”

While her father took phone calls left and right, Dionne just sat on the edge of her seat and enjoyed the beautiful view of Miami. She couldn’t lie. She was having a ball being spoiled. Living with one foot in the fabulous world really got to her at times. She loved her mom and she knew her mom loved her. But the difference in her
life Monday through Thursday with her mom, and Friday through Sunday with her dad was obvious.

As they walked into their penthouse suite at The Palms, Dionne felt like she was the lead in some swaggerific video as she looked past the plush furnishings to the private terrace overlooking the ocean.

“Mindy, show my daughter her room and let her order whatever she wants to eat,” Lahron instructed his assistant before using the remote to turn the surround system on. Soon the sounds of his newest single filled the air.

“You hungry?” Mindy asked, looking more and more out of place in her father’s hip-hop world.

“Starving,” Dionne admitted as she followed Mindy into her bedroom. “Just a salad and cheeseburger would be good.”

“Coming right up.”

Dionne was happy when Mindy left her alone. She quickly unpacked her clothes and took a quick shower before she changed into a striped bikini with a bandeau top and low-slung bottoms that tied at the sides. Her mama would have made her wear a cover-up. “Mama ain’t here,” she sang, checking her appearance in the mirror as she put on large gold hoop earrings and twisted her hair up into a messy topknot.

She opened the door and paused at all the activity in the suite. She had barely made it into the hall when her father came walking toward her. “Let me holler at you, Dionne,” he said, breezing past her to walk into her bedroom.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, closing the door behind them.

“Where’s the rest of your bathing suit?” he asked, removing his shades to look at her.

Say what? Say who?

Dionne looked down at herself. “There isn’t any more,” she explained.

Daddy never flexes.

“Did my mama call you?”

Lahron the Don in all his blinged-out gloriousness reached in the front pocket of his loose-fitting seersucker shorts for a wad of money. “First put on some clothes. Then burn that bathing suit. Then go shopping to buy you another one. A one-piece.”

Dionne’s eyes widened. “But Daddy—”

“But Daddy hell,” he said in a stern voice as he gave her the once-over. “In life, men judge you by appearances. It ain’t right, but it is what it is. The most important thing a woman has is her reputation. Don’t be in a rush to grow up, Dionne. You hear me?”

She nodded as he hugged her close to his side and pressed money into one of her hands. “Let Mindy take you shopping,” he told her.

Dionne shook her head. “I have other bathing suits, Daddy. I’ll just wear one of those,” she told him, pushing the money back into his hand. Thoughts of him blowing all his money still plagued her.

Lahron tilted his head back to laugh, exposing his diamond grills. “Since when do you say no to shopping?” he joked.

Dionne just smiled and hugged him close. “You don’t
have to buy me all that expensive stuff all the time, Daddy. I’m just happy to hang out with you.”

Lahron leaned back to look down at her. “You mean that, don’t you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Dionne nodded.

“I just want to give you everything I couldn’t have,” he said.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like those nice things, but I don’t need them to spend time with you,” she said honestly.

“In this business it seem like everybody want something from you, baby girl. You just don’t know,” he said, sounding sad.

Her heart tugged for him. She really had no idea how it felt to be him—to go from struggling and hustling to making a lot of money. She didn’t know everything her daddy had to put up with. She watched enough TV and read enough gossip blogs to know that the music industry and those in it could be crazy.

“You always got me, Daddy,” she promised him. “No matter what, you got me and I got you.”

Marisol
September 29 @ 7:45 a.m. | Mood: Bored

Marisol
took the iced mocha coffee topped with whipped cream that Dionne handed to her. Because it was from McDonald’s and not Starbucks, Marisol didn’t feel so bad about the indulgence.

“I have the Diva of Dumb narrowed down to three people,” Starr said, pacing the length of the bathroom as she, too, took a deep sip of her frothy drink.

“You really are on a mission,” Dionne drawled, as she flipped her newly relaxed hair over her shoulder.

If looks could kill, Marisol was sure Starr would’ve dropped Dionne where she sat.

“Not a mission, Dionne. This is war. She, he or he-she started it, and we’re going to finish it.”

Dionne nodded.

The outside door to the bathroom opened and the
three girls whipped their heads around to see who would dare enter.

Peyton Parker strolled in with all her bleached-blond glory. The junior’s father was a hedge-fund manager who was rumored to be swindling millions from his clients. Yet, Parker walked around like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Starr stepped forward as she eyed Peyton. “Excuse me, but the sign on the door is not a mistake,” she snapped.

Peyton frowned. “Look, I have to pee. I don’t care about your stupid little Pacesetter meeting, Starr,” she said, sounding bored as she tried to move forward.

Starr stepped in her path.

Marisol and Dionne stepped on either side of her.

“Are you three serious?” she said, stepping back.

The Pacesetters stepped forward and crossed their arms over their small chests.

“You don’t own Pace Academy, Starr.”

The girls said nothing and moments later a pitiful-looking Peyton turned and left.

“So, any-way,” Starr said as they all resumed their positions pre-intrusion. “There’s Monica Julius, Jennifer Hartan and Franklin Franklin—side note, his parents are dead wrong.”

Marisol frowned. “Who are they?”

“Exactly,” Starr stressed.

“Huh?” Dionne and Marisol said in unison.

“None of them were invited to my party. They are all
computer geeks who already have blogs, and word is they resent—and I quote—‘the ostentatious display of wealth here at Pace Academy.’”

Dionne licked the extra whip cream from her mouth. “Then why go here? Everyone knows Pace is what it is and there are plenty of people who would love to get in.”

“You have to admit that everything at Pace is over the top. It can be hard to swallow,” Marisol told them. “Money
isn’t
everything.”

Starr rolled her eyes. “I don’t like labels—”

Unless they’re designer,
Marisol thought as she stirred her drink with her straw.

“But these three are complete losers who would want to take me down,” Starr finished, ignoring Marisol.

The first bell rang.

The girls gathered up their book bags and tossed the rest of their beverages into the trash bin before walking out of the restroom. Marisol grabbed their sign and handed it to Starr to slide in her satchel.

Beeeep.

“Attention all faculty and students. Please report to the auditorium for a first-period assembly.”

Marisol felt relieved. “Thank God. I was not in the mood for my algebra class anyway.”

The girls made their way down the hall to the auditorium.

“Wonder what this is all about?” Starr asked as they claimed seats at the rear of the auditorium.

“Hi, girls.”

All three looked up to find Heather waving at them from a few rows in front of them. They ignored her.

Heather’s face looked sad before she turned around.

Marisol actually felt sorry for her. Heather had officially been labeled and no matter what she did, many students at Pace would never let her forget it.

Jordan and his friends came in and Marisol’s eyes shifted to Starr. She didn’t miss the hurt she saw in her friend’s eyes. The same hurt she felt about Corey. Boys
S-U-C-K
big-time.

Marisol reached past Dionne to squeeze Starr’s hand and offer her a smile.

“Quiet down, students. Quiet down!”

Marisol crossed her legs, pulling her plaid skirt down over her knees, as she locked her eyes on Headmaster Payne standing onstage.

“Good morning, students,” he said into the microphone, as he wiped his bald head with his hand.

“Good morning, Headmaster Payne,” the entire assembly greeted him in return.

He cleared his throat. “Based on the survey conducted by students and parents at the end of the last school term, the board of trustees has decided—”

“Why does he always look like he just ran a marathon in his suits?” Starr whispered.

“—to revise the policy on uniforms by making them optional effective immediately,” said Headmaster Payne, finishing up his announcement as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his upper lip.

The entire auditorium erupted in thunderous applause and many students jumped to their feet.

Starr and Dionne punched their fists in the air. “Oh, it’s on now!” Starr assured them. “Watch your girl’s shoe game now. Just watch it.”

“Quiet down, students. Quiet down.”

Everyone settled into their seats but there was still an air of excitement.

“In homeroom you will receive the revised student handbooks with the new dress code for Pace Academy and I strongly advise you to avoid any infractions,” the headmaster continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, remember that first impressions are important. Be mindful of the image you present.”

Over the rim of his glasses, Headmaster Payne’s eyes swept from the left to the right of the auditorium as if giving each and every student a stern look. “Assembly is dismissed.”

Marisol grabbed her Coach wristlet—a small luxury she allowed herself over the huge designer totes she used to love—and followed an excited Dionne and Starr out of the auditorium.
Just my luck,
she thought.
They finally get rid of uniforms while I’m on a fabulous strike!

Marisol rolled onto her side as she lay in bed. She looked up at the full moon through the windows, wishing she could sleep…but it was hard when her parents were arguing.

“Leave, Alex! Just go.”

Marisol closed her eyes and curled into the fetal position in the middle of her bed.

Things between her parents were getting worse. She wanted to be home with her family, but at the same time she wanted to be free of the tension she felt there.

Tears welled up in her eyes again as she thought of the constant bickering and the growing distance between her parents. The way they passed each other in the hall, making sure neither touched the other. She’d even caught her father sneaking into the house in the middle of the night to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms.

Marisol buried her face into the down pillows as she tried to soothe away her own tears.

“I am so sick of your lies, Alex.”

“Lower your voice, Yasmine. You’ll wake the children.”

Marisol reached out and grabbed her cell phone from the glass-topped nightstand. The phone illuminated as she flipped it open. She quickly dialed.

“Marisol? Marisol?” Starr said, sleep heavy in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I think my parents are getting a divorce,” she admitted in a whisper.
There. I said it.

“Oh, Mari,” Starr sighed pitifully.

It only made Marisol cry harder.

“Is that why you been looking and acting depressed lately?” Starr asked.

Marisol reached under the silk Gucci scarf tied around her head to scratch her scalp. She flopped over onto her
back and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands as she looked at the huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Mari?” Starr asked.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” she admitted, thankful that her parents’ argument had ended or at least quieted down enough to not escape the walls of their suite.

“Then we won’t talk about it,” Starr assured her. “Hold on. I’m calling Dionne.”

Click.

“Whassup?”

“What are you wearing to school tomorrow?” Starr asked, sounding more like a perky cheerleader than a laid-back style diva.

“Are you two
that
excited about no uniforms tomorrow?” Dionne joked. “It’s after midnight.”

“I’m sending you two a picture of my outfit all laid out.” Starr told them. “Oh, your girl will be best dressed.”

“Oh…okay. Let me go back in my closet.”

“Both of you just be glad I’m on strike,” Marisol tossed in.

The girls continued their playful banter and Marisol was grateful for the obvious diversion. What would she do without her friends?