Famous (11 page)

Marisol
October 31@10:40 p.m. | Mood: Excited

“Go,
Percy! Go, Percy!” Marisol laughed as she watched his head dunk under the water again and come up with a shiny red apple in his teeth.

The people around them applauded, but no one clapped louder than Marisol as she gave him a hand towel to wipe his head and some of the water on the shoulders of his pin-striped suit.

Percy took the apple from his teeth and proudly presented it to Marisol, who looked like a couture-clad Bonnie Parker in her silver flapper dress and sequined headband and boa.

They left the games tent and headed for the dance floor as DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince's “Nightmare on Elm Street” filled the air. They started doing old-school dances.

Marisol was doing the Cabbage Patch when she saw Natalee standing on the edge of the dance floor by herself. She danced over to her and grabbed her wrist. “Come on,” she said over the music, turning to pull the shy girl behind her.

Marisol started doing The Butt and Natalee laughed before she joined in. The three of them danced to the next five songs, enjoying the mix of Halloween-themed music with popular tracks. As Usher's “O.M.G.” faded into the next song, Marisol had to fan herself as they finally walked off the dance floor.

“Let's go outside,” Percy offered, taking Marisol's hand and waving for Natalee to follow.

“All that dancing made it hot in there,” Marisol said, breathing in the chilly air.

“Thanks for coming to get me. I was getting a little bored not knowing anyone,” Natalee said.

Marisol noticed the way the sound of Natalee's voice surprised Percy.

“That's nothing. You should hear her sing,” she told him, accepting Percy's jacket to drape around her shoulders.

Percy eyed Natalee. “I don't listen to country or none of that Justin Bieber,” he said. “No offense. It's just not my thang.”

Natalee nodded. “I understand.”

Marisol watched Percy's interaction. They were young and just having fun hanging out together—nothing too serious. But she didn't want a cute athlete, who was girl crazy and a flirt.

She knew she risked the wrath of Starr for bringing him at the last minute. But she was having so much fun that she really didn't care what Starr thought.

“Sing that Usher song,” Marisol suggested, as Percy wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“Usher?” Percy scoffed.

Natalee cleared her throat as she began to rock and snap her fingertips.

Percy looked doubtful.

“There goes my baby…boy you don't how good it feels to call you my man,” she sang, closing her eyes and leaning back a little as she patted her hand against her chest.

Percy leaned back like, “Say whaaat?”

Marisol moved away from Percy and began to dance with her hand held high in the air.

Natalee sang the song like it was written for her, with all the soul and all the fire of Mary J. She hit the high notes, the riffs—all of it.

The sudden applause brought them out of their groove.

Natalee clamped her mouth shut.

Percy stopped snapping his fingers.

Marisol looked up to see Mr. Lester and his wife standing in the doorway watching them. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lester,” she said, pulling Percy's suit blazer closer around her bare shoulders.

Cole released his wife's hand to step forward toward Natalee. “That's a lot of voice in there,” he said, picking up the hem of his tunic.

Marisol said a silent prayer that the winds didn't pick up.

“Who are you signed with?” he asked.

Natalee looked confused. “Signed?” she asked.

Sasha moved to stand beside Marisol, her eyes amused by Natalee's demeanor.

“Who's your manager?” Mr. Lester said.

Natalee shook her head. “I don't have a manager,” she said.

“You should, Natalee,” Sasha said. “Your voice gave me chills.”

Natalee looked like she was about to faint at any moment. “My voice gave
you
chills.”

Marisol laughed.

“Your father never mentioned you could sing?” Cole said, sounding slightly suspicious.

Natalee looked bashful. “He doesn't know. I usually just sing in my room.”

Mr. Lester stepped back to eye her for a long time before he turned and walked away.

Marisol looked as confused as Natalee.

“That was the money shot,” Sasha said softly. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

She turned and followed her husband back inside the ballroom.

Marisol leaned over and used her finger to push Percy's mouth closed. “She farts and poops just like the rest of us,” she said teasingly, as she patted his chiseled jawline.

A cold wind raced across the patio, making them shiver. “Let's go in,” Marisol said.

Some up-tempo song Marisol didn't know was playing, but she and Natalee headed back to their table. Percy stopped to talk to Jordan sitting on the edge of the stage alone.

Marisol followed Jordan's line of vision and saw a couple of girls—one dressed as Tinkerbell and the other a cowgirl—dancing. Starr and Dionne.

“There're the girls,” Marisol said to Natalee.

They headed in their direction.

Marisol stopped suddenly and grabbed Natalee's wrist tightly. “Do not mention what just went down on the patio to Starr?”

Natalee looked a little frightened by Marisol's intensity—especially under the eerie lights—so Marisol loosened her grip and smiled.

“But I don't want to sing,” Natalee protested.

“That's not the point.”

Marisol noticed Starr and Dionne looking their way. She waved like she just noticed them.

“But you guys have a group?”

Starr and Dionne were headed their way.

“Starr can't sing,” Marisol whispered quickly, her words running together.

“What?” Natalee asked.

“Shecantsing. Shecantsing,” Marisol said urgently, just as Starr and Dionne reached them.

“There you are,” Starr said.

“I've been here,” Marisol said.

“Yes, you and Percy,” Starr pointed out. “Yes,
Percy and I
are having lots of fun. It's like our first non-Cooley's date,” she said, turning to wave at him.

“My dad is getting on my nerves so I'm spending the night here,” Dionne said, sliding into her usual spot as the peacemaker.

“Me, too,” Natalee said.

“You in?” Starr asked Marisol.

Marisol nodded. What girl wouldn't want to stay up all
night filling her besties in on her BF? Plus avoid pretending to be happy about the new
bambino?

“Definitely in,” she said with a smile.

The Way I See It!

GHOULY GROSS CONSUMPTION

Posted in
uncategorized
on November 1@12:02 p.m. by thedivaofdish

 

Horrible economy? Growing homeless population? Increase in foreclosures rates? The greatest country in the world horribly in debt?

 

Most people care about these things. Most. But not the Lesters. Last night was their Halloween hoedown for “charity” (side-eye! o_O). This was extravagance to the extreme according to the reports received. (Sorry no photo ops like Starr's Fashionista Fifteen Foolery.)

 

But here's a thought. Instead of spending two hundred fifty grand to raise probably way less than that, just cut the charity a check and scrap a party that is SO inappropriate.

 

The whole idea of it all scared me more than Freddy Krueger.

 

But not as much as what our Fakesetters will be doing in the upcoming talent show. Is being elitist a skill now?

 

Last but not least…this photo of the headmaster shows what he likes to do in his spare time…sneaking a booger…and in the caf of all places. Let's all say it together: Ew! Click the link to see the evidence and be thoroughly disgusted!

 

Smooches,

Pace Academy's Diva of Dish

 

230 comments

Starr
November 2@7:30 a.m. | Mood: Aggravated

Starr
was livid. The Diva of Dumb had stepped on her toes one too many, many, many times since school began. But taking a below-the-belt shot at her parents with a blog post filled with lies and speculations? Humph.

“This is war,” Starr said as she pulled out the cheap prepaid phone she had Marcus pick up from Well-Mart, Q-Mart, Turgett or wherever people bought them from. He had already loaded the phone with the minutes from a ten-dollar card.

As her driver, Marcus, turned her customized Range Rover through the ornate wrought-iron gates of Pace Academy, Starr barely noticed the Jaguars, Benzes, BMWs and other high-end vehicles dropping students off in front of the main building before circling out of the driveway. Marcus steered the car to the parking area reserved for visitors and parked. He knew the routine: once Marisol and Dionne arrived, then Starr would get out. The Pacesetters always walked into school together.

It was a red carpet arrival every day, especially since
the school had gotten rid of those awful uniforms. As she awaited her friends, Starr got busy trying to smoke out the blogger. She sent a link to the blog from a throwaway cell phone and then used that number to email the link to the headmaster and his loyal secretary, Mrs. Lyon.

She wanted the blogger exposed, but she didn't want to be known as a snitch.

Starr started to toss the phone, but changed her mind.
Might come in handy,
she thought, powering the phone off and shoving it deeply into her messenger bag.

Rule #1 for doing something you have absolutely no bizness doing is to tell no one. Not even your besties. It was okay to keep some secrets from friends. Right?

Starr was checking her hair and lip gloss status in her rhinestone-covered compact when she saw both Dionne's and Marisol's cars pulling into the visitors' parking lot. Marcus saw them arrive as well, and climbed out of the car to walk around and hold the door for Starr. She was careful not to scuff her new boots as she climbed out and swung her Vuitton messenger bag over her shoulder.

She wore just a pair of jeans, booties and a long-sleeved, black silk tee under a leather-trimmed wool trench coat. She was so pissed at the blogger that she didn't have the time or energy for anything more creative.

“Morning, ladies,” Starr said as soon they flanked either side of her.

“That's messed up what that stupid blogger said about the party,” Marisol chimed in.

“Seriously messed up,” Dionne added.

Starr hitched her head higher and shrugged. “I don't
care. Let them say what they want. She's just mad because she didn't get any photos. Let her get the red carpet photos like all the other bloggers.”

Marisol and Dionne laughed, moving on to other topics than the Diva of Dumb, just the way Starr wanted.

 

Beep.

“There is a mandatory assembly for all Pace Academy students. Instructors, please quietly escort your class to the auditorium immediately,”
came the announcement over the public address system.

“Th-th-that doesn't s-s-s-s-sound good,” Ms. Pickles said, closing her textbook and looking up at the class over the rim of her wire-framed glasses. “Okay, class, pack up your belongings quietly and form a line.”

“What do you think it's about, Starr?” Madelyn Jeffries said as she leaned over to whisper.

Starr shrugged at her classmate. “No clue,” she said.
Don't tell me my email kicked things off already?

As they made their way to the auditorium the halls were filled with the constant chatter of student conversations and the echo of footsteps as they made their way down the hall. Starr looked around and waved to Dionne and Marisol, who were seated with their classes. Starr settled in her seat on the end directly behind Ms. Pickles.

“Settle down, students. Settle down,” Headmaster Payne said from a lectern at the center of the stage.

Starr kept her eyes on the headmaster as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his upper lips and his bald head.
That is the sweatiest man,
Starr thought, frowning
at the thought of what the armpits of his shirts must have looked like in his beloved houndstooth blazer.

“Now it has come to my attention that one of our students here at Pace has started a blog—”

Starr perked up, her eyes skimming the massive crowd for any sudden movements.

“I am terribly disappointed in the nature of this blog, including any posting about me,” he said, self-consciously swiping at his long birdlike nose with a handkerchief.

Giggles raced across the auditorium.

“The blog is to be taken down immediately and there will be no further postings,” the headmaster said, his handkerchief busy swabbing. “I am launching a full investigation into the matter and any parties affiliated with the site will be punished.”

A murmur arose among the students in the auditorium. Starr glanced around, looking for a nervous face. She was far from done with the Diva or Divo of Dumb—far from it.

 

Starr entered the caf and paused when she saw their table filled with so much testosterone.
Is dining with boyfriends the new black for Pacesetters?

She eyed Marisol and Percy with their heads buried over her phone. Eric was talking to Dionne and she definitely wasn't in the mood by the look on her face. And Jordan? He definitely had a tag on his toe screaming
fifth wheel.

Taking a breath to get her ish together, Starr pulled out her chair. “Hello, people,” she said, accepting the plate of fresh fruit she had already texted the girls to get for her.

“Okay, y'all, this is what it says,” Marisol said, looking real cute with her side ponytail and big hoop earrings.

“What what says?” Starr asked, piercing a strawberry with her fork.

“Looks like the Diva of Dumb is done-dada,” Dionne said excitedly, before glancing at Eric sideways as he tried to whisper in her ear.

Starr played it cool. Between the news of the blog and the scent of Jordan's Gucci cologne reaching her, she was an emotional wreck on the inside.

“Stop being cute and just pick the fruit up with your hand,” Jordan teased, reaching across to pluck the fruit from her fork.

Starr cut her eyes up to his. They held.

“I like you, Starr,” his eyes said.

“I like you, too,” hers answered. “Be mine.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head and shifted her eyes away.

“‘Looks like someone at Pace has a mouth as big as their parents' bank account. Last post. Not worth it all to help keep you losers informed,'” Marisol read.

“No more Diva of Dish,” Percy said, standing up.

Starr and the whole table laughed. Soon the kids at the nearby tables joined. “No more Diva of Dish,” they chanted.

Soon it spread across the whole cafeteria.

Wow,
Starr thought.
Is this a sign of how much fear we all lived in worried about winding up on a dumb blog?

Bzzz.

Starr set down her fork and picked up her iPhone. A text from Olivia with the name and email address for TopStarr's IT guru, Ethan Ndiaye.

She immediately shot him an email:

 

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

RE: Picking your brain

IMPORTANCE: Crucial!!!

 

Hi Ethan,

 

Could you find out the location and/or contact info for the owner of this blog site: www.paceacademyinsider.com?

 

It's VERY crucial.

 

Thanks.

Starr

 

Her beef with the Diva of Dumb was far from over. It was personal. Starr hit Send, satisfied that she would eventually win.