Famous by Simone Bryant Page A

bumps. A white girl with soul was not unheard-of: Amy Winehouse, Joss Stone, Teena Marie.
    The closet door opened and Starr stepped out in herbra and shorts. “What was that?” she asked. “Who was that?”
    â€œWe have a mini Amy Winehouse in the building,” Dionne said.
    Starr’s eyes shifted to Natalee. “It sounded okay,” she said, as she pulled a T-shirt on.
    â€œO-kay? Okay? The girl can saaang, ” Dionne said.
    â€œSeriously.”
    â€œYou should join our group,” Marisol offered.
    â€œNow that’s what’s up,” Dionne said, excited.
    â€œA singing group?” Natalee asked.
    â€œNo!” Starr belted.
    Marisol, Dionne and Natalee turned their heads toward her.
    Starr smiled. “We already have everything planned for just the three of us,” she said.
    â€œI vote that she’s in,” Marisol said, thinking it was the perfect solution for Starr’s lackluster vocals. “All in favor?”
    Dionne’s hand shot up.
    Marisol clapped. “We can fit her in. It’s not too late.”
    â€œCan I talk to you two?” Starr said, turning to walk into her theater room.
    Marisol and Dionne looked at each other long and hard before they followed her. Starr was pacing. Hard.
    â€œI cannot believe you two have the audacity to invite somebody into my group,” she snapped, her eyes flashing.
    â€œBut she’s good, Starr,” Marisol insisted.
    â€œUnlike you, I won’t be receiving help for my part in the group.”
    Huh? Say what? “What does that mean?”
    Starr shrugged. “Our new choreographer starts today,” she said, looking Marisol square in the eye.
    â€œUh-oh,” Dionne said from behind.
    â€œThat’s cool,” Marisol said, turning to leave the room.
    â€œI really don’t want to be in a singing group,” Natalee said to her, almost sounding bored with the whole idea as she flipped the page of the magazine.
    â€œSmart girl,” Marisol said.
    Starr and Dionne walked back in the room. “Okay, Natalee, we’re about to practice sooooo…”
    Natalee smiled a little. “I understand. I’ll just go find my mother.”
    The smile Starr gave her was cold.
    Marisol eyed her friend. “Starr, you really should let her sing since you—”
    â€œHey, so let’s practice,” Dionne said, obviously cutting Marisol off.
    Humph. She’s so tone-deaf she probably thinks Natalee is the one who sounds terrible! Marisol thought.
    Â 
    Marisol watched their new choreographer, Eli, carefully as he showed them a series of steps for the chorus of the song. She was determined to nail it. Starr thought she wasn’t skilled enough to come up with their routines. Fine. Whatevs. Still, she was going to show them she was the best dancer in the group—if Starr didn’t already know.
    â€œOkay, girls,” Eli said, his wrists as loose as his hips.
    Marisol took her spot to the left of Starr, who was front and center.
    The music filled the dance studio.
    â€œFive, four, three, two, one… Get it!”
    Marisol kept her eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror as she gave the dance her all. Fire was in her eyes. Skills were in her dance steps. Rhythm was in her hips.
    She didn’t even notice that Dionne and Starr faltered and that she was dancing through the routine alone until she hit her final pose with her hand up high in the air and her legs spread wide.
    â€œGirl, you are fierce,” Eli said, walking up to Marisol as she finally relaxed her pose. “I am scared of you, chica!”
    Marisol smiled as her chest heaved and she gasped in large breaths. “Thank you.”
    â€œGirl, you make me say J-Who?” he joked.
    Marisol beamed.
    Dionne looked on proudly.
    Starr looked begrudgingly impressed.
    â€œOkay, gotta go,” she said, turning to walk over to the benches.
    â€œYou’re not staying?”