Hollywood High (25 page)

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Authors: Ni-Ni Simone

BOOK: Hollywood High
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32
Heather
Cell phone goin' off in my hand!
Poppin' Beauties, sippin' yak!
Keak Da Sneak on deck.
Skittles at the door.
More than enough yak in the back.
Privileged kids snortin' and gettin' their thizzle on.
So how you wanna act? Wu-Wu straight killin' the track.
I'm holdin' it down.
I don't think they know.
That's my word!
I'm reppin' for the mofos who know how to act!
My definition of hyphie is leaving your pills at the door, sniffin' lines, and tossin' back. Wu-Wu in the building and I'm feelin' fine. And I'm blowin' minds. R.I.P. to the phonies!
I shot up a peace sign and the crowd went wild. My extra-large gold bamboo earrings swung from side to side as I directed the crowd which way to move. My bangles clacked in the air and my extension ponytail, which hung past the small of my back, swung from side to side. My whole presence was laid. My neon pink micro mini clung to my booty pads, making the back of me look like pow! I put every chick in here to shame. I wore a neon green sequin bra top that made my Betty Boops pop. I grabbed Co-Co's head and smeared his face into my cleavage. “Eat it up! Who loves you, baby!”
The crowd had lost control.
And they expected me to be at Hollywood High with those drab hoes, posing for the camera and talking about Gucci. But Gucci didn't have a thing on this!
I released Co-Co's head from my bosom and he broke out and kicked up a split in his tight white leather booty shorts and black thigh-high six-inch boots. Bare chested and nipples pierced. He was doin' it and doin' it well.
The D.J. had the music on full blast and I was rocking the mic in the center of my backyard on a makeshift stage. Camille was passed out drunk. And the treat that I slipped her in her drink made sure she stayed that way.
I didn't give a damn about no phony Pampered Princesses-Hollywood High party. I don't think they heard. That I was in my zone and yeah I took their white party idea and turned it into my own. But so what.
I hosted an impromptu Skittles party with white tents all around, white linen tables filled with flowing fountains of liquor, and an assortment of colorful pills at your fingertips: Oxycodone, Ritalin, Tylenol with codeine, Adderall, and a list of others. At least a hundred and fifty teens brought their medicine cabinets with them.
I supplied the place, the booze, the D.J., and the free-stylin'.
Who had time for a Hollywood High party? This was where the real party jumped. “Who shotcha, baby!” I spat into the mic, dropped down low, popped back up, and as I waved my arms in the air I realized that there was Spencer. Her eyes popped out like a deer caught in headlights, mouth hung open, and anti-high blower written across her face.
What. The. Hell. Is. She. Doing. Here...?
I turned the mic off and as Co-Co continued to dance across the stage, entertaining the crowd, I stepped off the stage and walked over to Spencer.
“What is this! Ohmysweetholyghost. I need some oil up in here. What are you doing? Why is hell all through your backyard? I just saw the devil taking a handful of pills and shoving it down her throat!”
“What do you want, Spencer?”
“I want to know why you aren't at school? And why are all these people in your backyard? And why are all those pills at the door? Who are all these people? And why is Camille passed out on the sofa, drooling? You didn't kill her, did you? Please tell me that this is not celebrating her death. I know she wasn't the nicest but this is ridiculous. I don't know who you are but you need to go and find Heather. Because she had a party at school to attend!” Spencer slammed a hand on her hip. “And these people need to clear out of here now. And you need to get ready.”
She snatched the mic from my hand, cut it back on and announced, “The party is over!”
I snatched the mic back out of her hand. This trick had lost every bit of her scattered brain. “Attention, everyone, the party is not over. It's just beginning! And it's starting with me putting this trick in her place.”
“What did you just call me, Heather? Heather, I know you are not trying to shut it down. I came over here concerned and trying to get you ready for the party!”
“I don't need your concern. And I will not be going to your whack party. So I don't need you coming up in here disrupting my thug thizzle. 'Cause you're way out of line. Now either you get yourself a handful of Skittles, chase it with some yak, and get with the party. Or step off!”
“First off I don't eat Skittles!”
“You are the dumbest ho I've ever come across. Your name is wedged in between dumb and dumber. You take stupid to new heights—”
“Heather, Heather, I thought we were friends—”
“Friends? Friends? You thought? We were never friends and never will be! I don't like you. You're a sneaky, dirty, conniving little ho. Oh no, excuse me, big ho. Who loves to snatch, sneak, and run up on other people's boyfriends. Now gather your heels and walk back out the way you came in here. And since you're concerned about Camille, take her with you. 'Cause you are disrupting my get-right and disturbing my guests. Now get out of here before we all stomp you down!”
Spencer looked around and all eyes were on her. She swallowed back her tears. “Heather, I don't believe you.”
“Well believe this. Y'all ready to party?” I said into the mic and headed back toward the stage.
“Yeah!” the crowd roared.
“D.J. hit me with that ‘Put You on the Game' beat.” I shook my head like a rock star and Co-Co continued on like he was the backup dancer and the hype man. “One time for your mind!” Co-Co yelled as I started rapping:
Let me tell you how...
I brought the Gucci clique down...
Click, click,
With the camera... behind the bathroom door
And smiling away.
Thought they could get away with the dirty tricks
and their best friend's boyfriend.
Little did they know I was recording on the other
end!
Click, click...
“Two times for your mind!” Co-Co yelled. And the crowd chanted, “Ahh, Wu-Wu's in the house!”
My rap continued:
And then I pressed send.
Brought their world right to an end.
Next thing I know Spencer got whupped down in
the ditch.
Rich found out she was tricked by the dizzy bitch.
London got caught up in the matrix.
And the Gucci clique was clearly not ready for war!
Click. Click...
“Ahh, Wu-Wu's in the house!” the crowd chanted. “Ahh, Wu-Wu's in the house!”
As I ended my rap and dropped down to do a booty pop, I searched the crowd and Spencer was nowhere to be found. I chased that ho up out of here. “Somebody hand me some Skittles!” I yelled into the crowd. “Ahh, Wu-Wu's in the house!”
33
London
I
paced in my seven-inch Versace platform sandals with my cell pressed up against up my ear calling Rich for the fourth time, wondering where the hell she was. We were all supposed to meet up this morning at our lockers to go over the last-minute details before the Invitation Party kicked off this afternoon in the school's ballroom. Heather and Rich were no-shows. And Spencer, who is useless and I can't stand, had just arrived with no Heather in tow, after she left here forty-five minutes ago to go look for her.
“Rich, this is London, call me as soon as you get this. Where are you? The party starts in thirty minutes.” I disconnected and called back again, leaving another message. Truth of the matter, I was livid.
Today was the day where we were to serve everyone with a taste of what the Pampered Princesses had in store for our upcoming Diamond & Stilettos Masquerade party next month. The entertainment was on lock. The ballroom was filling up. The color-coded invitations with the embossed seal were ready to be hand-delivered to five hundred carefully chosen guests. The trumpeters were positioned on both sides of the door, announcing the guests as they arrived.
The ballroom was absolutely elegant. White draped walls. Round tables smartly dressed with crisp white linen tablecloths while tall crystal vases centered in the middle of each table were filled with a bouquet of fresh calla lilies. The DJ was spinning. The stage was set. The dance floor glowed. And Drake was backstage waiting to perform. The paparazzi were swarming around with cameras on ready. And Rich was still nowhere to be found. She was somewhere else playing damn games, like always. All these students-slash-guests and only two of the other half of the so-called Pampered Princesses were here. Rich and Heather's absence simply added to the rumors: that we had fallen apart. That we were backstabbers. That we had fallen from grace. And this was not how it was supposed to be.
My cell rang and I quickly glanced at the screen hoping it was Rich. It wasn't. It was Justice. I took a deep breath, then pressed
ignore
. I hadn't heard from him in a month. He ignored my calls, ignored my texts, and simply ignored me like I was nobody. Although, seeing his name flash up on the screen lifted the burden of being disregarded. But as badly as I wanted to hear his voice, I would not allow myself to answer. Not this time. I turned the phone off.
Walked over to the mirrors lining the wall and applied a fresh coat of lipstick, then glided a coat of lip gloss over my lips to make them pop. Then I checked myself out to make sure I was still looking divalicious in my Vera Wang exclusive that wrapped around my body like a glove. I glanced at my timepiece. Fifteen minutes to show time. I had to get in the room.
As I turned from the sink to head to the ballroom, Rich burst in. She was draped in black diamonds. Her neck, ears, and wrists glistened while wearing a gorgeous black dress and a pair of royal blue and black crystal-embellished heels.
“Ohmygod, there you are. Where the hell have you been? I have been calling you . . .” I eyed her, taking her in. Then my expression changed. “Are you okay? What's wrong? Why are your eyes red? Are you crying?”
“No. I'm fine.”
She stood at the adjoining sink beside me, unsnapping her clutch, pulling out a Chanel handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. I studied her through the mirror, placing a hand up on her shoulder. “Rich, look at me. I'm serious. What's going on? Why are you crying?”
The tears started pouring down her face. “I-I . . .”
“Don't say a word yet,” I said, walking over to the door and locking it, then walking back over to her. “Now, tell me. What's wrong? And please don't tell me you're crying because you ran up your credit card again.”
“Girl, please, I wish.”
“Well, did your parents take them?”
“I wish it was that.”
I blinked. If Miss Shop-A-Holic was wishing her parents had shut down her credit cards then I knew this was some serious business. “Ohmygod, you've been banished to the mall. Is that it?”
She held her head back, wiping tears with the back of her fingers. “Right about now, girl, I'd take the mall. But it's not that, either.”
I turned her to face me, placing both of my hands on her shoulders, looking her in her wet eyes. “Rich, you're scaring me now. What is it?”
She held her head down. “I really messed up this time.”
I lifted her chin, taking the handkerchief from her to dab her eyes and face. “How? What happened? I mean, I know it can't be because your father couldn't get Drake here because he's already backstage.”
She shook her head. “No, that's not it.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, feeling myself losing my patience. “Look, you need to tell me what the hell is going on. You come up in here four hours late. No one's heard from you. Not answering your calls and now you're standing here effen up your makeup with a bunch of tears and I have no clue as to why.”
“Look, you asked me what is going on—”
“Yeah, I did. Because I'm worried. I've been calling you all damn morning and hadn't heard from you. And you're looking crazy. Now get to the point and tell me what the hell is wrong here. We have a damn party to get to. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Now give me your concealer.” She handed me her make-up bag. I took her concealer out and dabbed her eyes with the sponge. “You're too damn beautiful to be crying like this. We don't do tears. And especially when we are draped in our jewels and fine wears.” I touched up her mascara and Rich's eyes watered again. “Oh, no. Stop with the tears. This make-up is not waterproof.”
“I'm pregnant,” she whispered.
“What? What did you just say?”
She looked me in the eyes, fighting back what appeared to be an avalanche of tears. “I said. I'm pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Ohmygod, Corey got you pregnant? You slept with Corey without a condom? Illll. Oh, you done hit rock bottom with that one. Corey?”
“No, I'm not pregnant by Corey. I only slept with him three times and we always used a condom.”
“Well, I know you're not the Virgin Mary. And if Corey's not the father, then who were you out getting your creep on with because he's the only one I knew you were with. We have about five minutes of true confessions then we got to roll. So let's go. Start from the name of the baby daddy, then work your way to how the hell you let this happen, followed by what time is your appointment. And do I need to be there with. I'm waiting.”
She took a deep sigh. “His name is Knox.”
“Knox? Who the hell is a Knox?”
“That's not important. And there's no appointment.”
I blinked. “So, what does that mean?”
She looked me in the eyes and responded, “I'm keeping it.”
“Whaaaaaat? You're keeping it? A baby? Oh, now you're bugging. First of all what are you going to do with a baby? You don't even like kids. We have plans to shop and do it up. And now you're talking about keeping a baby. Remember, we're supposed to be traveling. Or did you forget? Oh, that's right, of course you did. You're pregnant. So you'd rather give up Milan in the fall, Switzerland in the winter, Paris in the spring, and wherever else we want to be in the summer to be confined between a baby's crib and the nanny's quarter, is that what you're saying? You wanna give up Chanel for Carter's, handbags for diaper bags, stilettos for some cheesy, scuffed ballet slippers and your jewels for pacifiers and drool? A mess! Have you even thought this through? A baby, Rich? Are you serious? It's one thing to be pregnant—been there, done that. And it's a whole other level to be a mother. And how are you going to boom-drop it with a damn baby up on your hip? Not the move. And definitely not a good look.”
“Look, I don't need you to lecture me. I didn't ask for your advice. After the morning I've had, I don't need any more advice.”
“No, you're right. What you need is to face reality because right now you're living in a fantasy. You don't spring this kind of madness on someone four minutes before a show. Now, had you come to me last night, we could have balled up and cried together and ate tubs of ice cream . . .”
“London! London!” Spencer disrupted our moment banging on the door. “Open this door!”
Before I walked over and unlocked the door, I glanced at Rich and said, “It's time to put your game face on. Now. And you better not let her see you sweat.”
She turned back to the mirror, tugged at a few strands of her hair that had fallen out of place, then pulled out her gloss and coated her lips. She slowly turned back to me, eyes clear and lips popping, and replied, “Game time.”
I unlocked the door and Spencer rushed into the bathroom. “What in the world are you...” She looked over at Rich. “Oh, there you are. It's about time you showed up.”
“Have you finished digging up the rocks to find Heather?” I asked her, snidely.
She furrowed her eyebrow. “Excuse you?”
“You heard me. I said, have you gone to the junkyard and found your damn trashy friend. She's still not here and it's three minutes before we hit the red carpet and hold court.”
“Wait a minute, first of all. Let's not even talk about trashy. Would you like for me to call you a gorilla? Or fifty foot? You don't come me at like that.”
“No, you wait a minute,” I snapped, slamming my clutch down on the counter. “You are about to get your face cracked.”
Spencer patted her clutch. “Try it. And you'll be on fire. It'll be stop, drop, and roll for your big-faced self. Now try me. And the last time I checked I wasn't on ho-patrol. When I walked in here and saw that you had found Rich, I thought that was your job.” She looked over at Rich. “Now the question is where were you, somewhere having last-minute lipo to reduce your waistline?”
“Don't worry about my waistline,” Rich said. “Worry about the next video you gonna make, ho. Talking about you don't check for hoes on the stroll. I don't know why not because you own it.”
Spencer huffed, “Yeah, that's right. I'm a ho. I own the stroll. But at least I own it up front. And I'm not an undercover ho, like you.”
Rich walked over to Spencer, stood in her face and spoke in a low tone, clenching her teeth. “I will slap. The spit. Out of you. Today is not the day. Now if your stank friend isn't here, that is not my problem. If you're a ho, then be a ho. But you keep my name out your mouth. And when we get out there, you better act like we're the best of friends. Or we will stop, drop, and roll on the red carpet. Now freshen your gloss, and let's go.”
Spencer popped her lips. “You know what. I'ma put my knife back in my clutch, I'm gonna gloss my lips, and I am going to go out there and
pretend
to be your friend. But when the cameras stop clicking and the red carpet is rolled up, all bets are off.”
Rich eyed her one last time. “Then get ready to cash in your chips.” She looked over at me. “Let's go, London. It's game time.”
One foot in front of the other, camera-ready, we walked out of the girls' lounge. Click, click. The three of us with our backs straight, and heads up. Hollywood's finest at its best, ready for show time as we swayed down the red carpet that had been rolled out down the hall, leading to the ballroom, stopping every so often to take pictures and answer questions.
“Hey, Rich Montgomery, what are you wearing?”a reporter for
Teen Style
magazine asked.
She flashed a bright white smile. “The dress is Gucci, the shoes are Jimmy Choo from his private collection, so don't go looking for them. The diamonds are from Chopard Jewelers.
Muah!
” Rich blew a kiss and gave a small wave toward the camera.
I had to smile at Rich. Although her stomach looked pudgy, she looked fabulous in her form-fitting dress. If only she would suck her stomach in. I couldn't give her ten stars with that stomach looking like it did. But she was every bit of eight-point-five stars. Hair, face, and jewels were all sparkling.
“Hey, London Phillips,” a fashion blogger asked. “Will we ever see you on the runway again?”
I felt like she had slit me across the throat with her question, considering when I stepped on the scale this morning I had gained three pounds, throwing my mother into a hissy fit, threatening to have my jaws wired for a month. I shook the thought and pressed a smile on my face. “You never know.”
“Hey Rich Montgomery, who's the new love interest you've been spotted with?”
Rich smiled sheepishly. “No comment,” she said to the reporter.
“Spencer Ellington,” a reporter for
Ni-Ni Girlz Glamali-cious
called out. “Do you plan to stay away from Rich's new beau? Or will this one not be off limits like the other?”
“Of course she will,” Rich answered, placing an arm around Spencer's shoulder, smiling for the cameras. “The last time was simply a big misunderstanding.”

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