Famous (7 page)

Starr
October 22@10:47 p.m.| Mood: Inspired

Starr
hummed the melody in her head again and again as she twisted her fuzzy-topped pencil in her hand. Now that she had gotten the first song out of the way, she was putting the finishing touches on a ballad—a teenage love song. Everybody loves a good slow jam.

With her vocals and Fiyah's producing talent, the Go Gettas were going to take off. By the time Fiyah arrived from Atlanta next week, she wanted the lyrics done.

She thought about both Marisol and Dionne texting all night. Definitely signs of being boo'ed up. She scribbled on her notepad:

Maybe she should write a sad love song. She thought about her argument with Jordan and the rumors about him and Heather. Still her heart just wouldn't let him go.

She drew a big heart in the center of the page and wrote his name in it with a sigh. She shouldn't care that Jordan took the time to confront her about blocking him out of her life right in front of Heather, The Hoochie. She shouldn't feel totally breathless whenever she passed him in the hallway at school. She shouldn't. But she did—totally.

She pushed her bangs away from her face, easing her hair behind her ear as she tapped the notebook with her pencil and hummed the slow track Fiyah had emailed her.

Starr wrote down lyrics like the pencil was directly connected to her heart. She erased them. She scratched out lines until there were holes in the page.

Starr stood up from her stool and left the vocal booth to enter the control room. She reached for the button to fill the studio with the achingly sweet track.

“Every day a star is born…every day a star is born.”

As her Jay-Z ringtone sounded, Starr went back into the booth to pick up her iPhone from the stool: an email from Indria. As soon as Starr had signed them up for the talent show, she'd immediately asked Indria to find the Go Gettas a performance outfit and a preview outfit. Starr couldn't wait to see what Indria had in mind, moving from the stool
to pick up her laptop so that she could view the photos better.

“Every day a star is born,” she sang softly as she waited for the photos to download.

Indria had twelve outfits laid out on an all-white background. Starr immediately saw that there was lots of color and she was happy. Her eyes skimmed over everything in the photos.

The performance outfits were vivid, whimsical and fun. The arrival outfits were sleek and stylish with youthful touches. The shoes were all the
bizness.
Just what Starr had wanted!

She texted Indria:

 

Loving it all. U r the bestest Indria!! :)

 

And then she forwarded the email to Marisol and Dionne. “Watch them Go Gettas go and get that first prize!!!” she typed, before hitting Send.

Everything about her plan was falling into place.

Well, almost everything,
she muttered, picking up her cell phone. Everything on her list of to-dos was on point. Now she needed to get the girls' ish together ASAP.

She texted Dionne first.

 

Where r u?

 

Bzzzz.

 

@ the movies.

 

Starr frowned deeply, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

 

Did u work on getting that rap 2gthr?

 

Bzzzz.

 

Not yet. I'll hit u up later. Deuces.

 

Starr didn't bother to respond. Dionne had just ticked her off, chilling at the movies when she should have been getting with her dad and writing sixteen bars. “Am I the only one who wants to do things right?”

She texted Marisol:

 

R u working on nu routine???!!!!

 

Bzzzz.

 

Hanging w/fam.

 

Starr rolled her eyes, and had to fight the urge not to throw her iPhone across the room. Instead she texted them both:

 

U 2 need to get like Drake and want to be $ucce$$ful. Ugh. I need a routine that is more J Lo than J Slo and a rap that is tighter than ur weave Dionne. Sigh. My ish is on point. Get on my level.

 

She paced the floor. Starr wanted this bad. She was born to be a star. She was made for celebrity. She was made to
be just as famous as her parents. But she couldn't lie. She wanted the flashing lights and fun times with her friends—the slackers!

Neither one answered her text. She started to call them but… Ugh!

“What are you up to?”

Starr's heart pumped in surprise as she looked at her father and Jordan standing in the doorway. “Um, just ummm…doing homework. It's real quiet in here.”

Her father looked down at his diamond-encrusted watch. “Okay, well, we gotta go. Alicia and Swizz are on the way. They have a song for your moms,” her dad said, backing out of the studio.

Starr smiled and nodded, ever conscious of Jordan's eyes on her. The sadness she saw tugged at her heart, but she pushed it aside. Her mama always warned her that when you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.

“I'm coming, Mr. Lester,” Jordan said before stepping into the room.

Starr held her notepad to her chest as she eyed him.

My heart won't let go.

“We said enough in the bathroom…don't ya think?” she said under her breath.

Jordan shoved his hands into the pockets of his stiff black denims. He shrugged, moving over to the digital controls. “What are you recording?” he asked instead.

“Mind yours,” she said, stepping over to brush his hand away from the control board. The feel of his hand was warm and she instantly pulled away.

His eyes dropped down to her retreating hand, before he
smiled and then hit the playback button. The first strains of the track filled the air. Jordan nodded. “This is nice, real nice. Like this,” he said, moving his fingers as if he was the one playing the notes on the piano.

Jordan began to sing a melody along with the music. The soulfulness of his voice was clear and Starr stood there watching him, completely and totally awestruck—starstruck, lovestruck and dumbstruck.

He turned and grabbed her hand, his thumb massaging circles against her index finger as he switched it up and sang a riff of her name while he looked into her eyes.

My heart won't let go,
she thought.

Yes, it can and it will,
Starr promised herself as she pulled her hand free, stepped back from him, and broke the eye hold.

“You're wrong about me,” Jordan said, hitting the playback button.

“Really?” she said, forcing herself not to look away from his intense stare.

“Yup.”

“Did you and Heather go out?” she asked.

Jordan looked up to the ceiling. “We kicked it a little bit,” he admitted. Starr stung.

“But I never went all the way with her, and I don't have a baby on the way, Starr,” he insisted.

“Then why did she even take a pregnancy test?”

“Huh?” he asked, his cute face looking confused.

Starr sat her BlackBerry and notepad down. “If she
didn't even think she could be pregnant then why take the test?”

“Heather claims she never had sex—I know she never had any with me—and people were lying about her so she took the test to show them she wasn't pregnant, not to make sure she wasn't.”

Starr shrugged. “It doesn't matter,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because whatever you do is your business and what you're looking for is a girl to let you play all over their body. That's
not
me, and I'm okay with that.”

“I know that, Starr,” Jordan said.

She shook her head, raking her fingers through her bangs.

“I just don't get why everybody is giving it up like church fans on a hot day,” she said.

“You don't?” he asked in total disbelief.

Starr pierced him with her eyes. “No I don't what? Understand or give it up?”

Jordan smiled. “Understand.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not that girl, Jordan,” she stressed again.

“I know that, Starr,” he stressed again.

She studied him with her eyes. “We're on two different levels,” she said, the truth sinking in. “I think we should just stay friends. I'm not mad at you. You're not mad at me. We're just not meant for each other.”

“Man, come on, Starr,” Jordan said.

“Yo, Jordan, let's go.” Her father's voice came over the intercom through the studios. “Time is money, young 'un.”

“Starr.”

“What, Jordan?”

The door to the studio opened. Rico, one of her dad's engineers, stuck his head inside. “Jordan, we need you ASAP.”

Starr raised her hand and waved. “There's plenty of Heathers in the world but only one Starr.”

Dionne
October 23@1:25pm | Mood: Deceptive

Dionne
yawned, which drew the curious stares of her classmates and her French teacher, Ms. Toussaint, who was Haitian. She immediately clamped her mouth shut.

“Il faut dormir la nuit et rester à l'écart du téléphone avec des petits garçons,”
Ms. Toussaint asked, her almond-shaped eyes twinkling.

The entire class burst into laughter. Dionne flushed in embarrassment. Her French teacher was right. She
was
sleepy from staying up all night on the phone.

It was nice talking to Hassan about everything and nothing. When it was just the two of them it was like Lauryn Hill and D'Angelo's “Nothing Even Matters.”

“Nothing but you, nothing but you,”
Dionne sang in her head.

“Accorder une attention, Dionne,”
Ms. Toussaint chided Dionne, from her seat behind her desk at the front of the classroom.

Dionne nodded, making sure that she did pay attention,
or at least look like it. But that was hard for a girl to do when she was deep in the goodness of a first love. Sigh.

 

HASSAN

&

DIONNE

a e i o u

1 2 3 4 5

2 1 1 1 0

=3 3 4 5 5

 

Two pairs and a run of 3-4-5,
Dionne thought with satisfaction, drawing hearts around the pairs at the childish game that could supposedly predict your future with a boy by adding up the vowels in both your names.

“Awww.
Dionne est dans l'amour.
”

Dionne froze and looked up to find her French teacher standing over her. All eleven pairs of eyes of her fellow students were on her at their teacher's announcement that that she was in love. EMBARRASSING.

“Répétez après moi,”
she said politely, in French as smooth as silk.

Dionne sank lower on her chair.

“Dionne aime Hassan.”

“Dionne loves Hassan,” the class said loudly, in unison.

Dionne dropped her head in shame, her cheeks felt warm.

“Dionne ne fait pas attention en classe.”

“Dionne does not pay attention in class.”

Dionne couldn't do anything but shake her head.

“Dionne doit se concentrer ou à l'échec.”

“Dionne must focus or fail,” the class chorused.

Her tall and regal teacher held up her hand, signaling the class was to pause. Everyone understood. “
Comprendre,
Dionne?” Ms. Toussaint asked, lightly placing her hand on Dionne's shoulder. Dionne nodded.
“Oui, mademoiselle. Je comprends.”

The school bell sounded and the teacher moved toward her desk, giving out their homework instruction in French. Dionne quickly gathered up her things and left class, avoiding her teacher's watchful eye.

“Who's Hassan?”

Dionne let out a dramatic gasp worthy of an MTV Movie Award as she turned to find Starr leaning against the wall of the hallway with her books in her hand.

“Heyyyy, Starr,” she said, her voice filled with a nervous—and slightly guilty—tremor.

Starr eyed her strangely. “Who's Hassan?” she asked again.

Dionne thought quick. Tell the truth or a lie? She shrugged nonchalantly as they began walking down the crowded halls. “Some cute guy who works for my dad, but he's waaaay too old for me.”

“Like Marisol's fascination with Trey Songz,” Starr said.

“Definitely,” Dionne lied.

She would like nothing better than for her besties to meet Hassan, but how long before her secret was revealed? And how would Hassan feel being the only kid in the
group without unlimited funds to do whatever, whenever, wherever?

“My parents just texted me. They're having a huge Halloween masquerade ball for charity,” Starr said, moving up the hall oblivious to whether someone might step into her path.

Dionne smiled so big that all her teeth showed. She loved, loved, loved parties at the Lesters'. They took over-the-top to a whole 'nother level.

“Are you and Eric going to do one of those ‘Excuse me while I barf' couple costumes?” Starr asked.

Dionne frowned. “Me and Eric?” she asked, as she spied a senior student sliding a package of cigarettes into his book bag out of the corner of her eye.
What kid wanted chimney lungs?
she thought.

“That's your boo you're always texting and on the phone with, right?”

Dionne opened her mouth. “Uhm…yeah,” she lied again, thinking her tongue was going to be good and bumpy by the end of the school day if she kept it up.

Her mind was so busy trying to cover her tracks that she almost missed Jordan and Starr passing each other in the hall with puppy-dog eyes. “What's with the sad face?” she asked.

Marisol came down the adjoining hall. “Hey, clique,” she said sweetly, her eyes bright.

“I told Jordan—like seriously—we could only be friends. Any delusions of JorStarr was such a done da-da,” Starr admitted.

“Why?” Marisol asked, pouting her glossy lips as she reached across Dionne to rub Starr's hand.

“We're like Usher and Chilli,” Starr said. “In two different places in our life.”

“Awww,” Dionne and Marisol said in unison.

Star shrugged. “An-y-way I will be going solo to the masquerade ball,” she said.

“Then I'll be solo, too,” Dionne said, actually grateful for the out.

They both turned to Marisol, who immediately looked frustrated. “Me three,” she said, resigned and not at all looking happy about it.

Ding-dong.

Starr and Marisol looked down at Dionne's phone.

“My new text tone,” she said, turning to head up the stairs. “See y'all after school.”

The three friends went their separate ways to their last-period classes. Dionne paused before the door to the class to open her text she saw was from her mom.

 

Have fun at Starr's and your dad's this weekend.

 

Dionne texted back “okay” and walked into class with her mind on Hassan, and not caught up in finding a new house. She wanted to take Hassan to the party. She wanted to wear a sickeningly cute couple costume: Romeo and Juliet, Cole and Sasha, Angelina and Brad, Bonnie and Clyde. Whatever. It would have been big-time with Hassan at her side.

Dionne mentally sighed as she pulled her netbook from
her messenger bag. She noticed her cell vibrating away. Careful not to take it out, she set the bag in her lap and scrolled through the menu. She had a new Google alert.

She'd set up alerts for any and everything that truly interested her—mostly her dad and herself. Being the child of a celebrity meant that she was mentioned in plenty of entertainment e-zines and sites.

This one was a blog post about her dad:

 

Multiplatinum hip-hop star Lahron the Don to wed video-vixen Candylixxxious.

 

Dionne's mouth fell open. “What!” she snapped.

It nearly dropped to the floor when she saw a picture of her dad posed beside his tricked-out black-on-black Denali with Candylixxxious leaning against him in a thong bikini with his hands on the curve of her back, just above one of the biggest butts Dionne had ever seen. She didn't even bother to read the story as she shot a text to her dad.

 

R u getting married???!! :(

 

Dionne could barely keep her focus in class as she waited for him to hit her back. She sighed.

Starr thought she was still “talking to” Eric.

She and Marisol still hadn't figured out how to tell Starr that nails on a chalkboard miked through a PA system sounded better than her singing.

Her mom was dragging her feet in picking out a house.

Her dad was dating/marrying/doinggodknowswhat with
a video vixen. And to top it all off, every day her lies were getting harder and harder to keep up with.

Life = DRAMA.