The StarKids Academy

1| Taywil and Grey eyes

Skanda Bharti's POV-

The driveway is packed with glimmering automobiles that reek of luxury and glamour. The queue is almost never-ending even when every one of the cars has some of the most important people sitting in the back seat.

For a second, it feels as if I am attending a car fair or show or whatever it is and not some extremely terrific party.

Had it been any other location, it would have seemed a little extravagant, but it is the Beverly Wilshire we are talking about. It is the home of the elite class. Premium and exquisite is the surname!

'Is it always this crowded here?' I ask the thirty-something-year-old man in the driver's seat. For a placid moment, I feel him stiffen as if he had never expected the talk coming.

Perhaps, the elites aren't the good talkers, either that, or they only talk with the people of their own circles. Talking about arrogant people?

I could have never cared and almost brushed it off, but the man surprised me by replying in a polite tone, making me ease up a little.

'Umm...the hotel has various entrances. This one is exclusive for the party. It is hosted by Christian Wilson. Almost all of the L. A. are friends with him. Any one would be a fool to turn down this event.' The driver shrugs and reverses his eyes back ahead, leaving me in a pool of thoughts.

His trails are specific and self-explanatory as if he couldn't believe I had asked him the question.

Christian Wilson! The name rings something. But what? I rummage through the long list of celebrities who have Wilson as their last name, but none seem to be correlated with the Christian we are talking about. Then, it clicks me.

'Is he? Is he related to…?'

'-Ciara Wilson! Yeah, he is the next in line.' The man explains without bothering to spare me a glance. He seems to enjoy his way, his work, and making fun of me while I sit in the back seat easing up on his business and making a fool out of myself. Punk, oh how I would love to punch some decency in your thick skull. Wait, till I get my hands on you!

'Good to go, Skanda! You didn't even know the host of the night.' I mentally roll my eyes and curse myself for not asking Therese about the details.

Ciara Wilson is a big name in the Marketing and Production of movies. Not only were the people rich and influential, they f*****g owned a legacy in Hollywood. They are the 'goals' for many, but they hardly invest in unworthy people. Talents? I would rather not comment on it. To work with them, you must have contacts and good looks.

The 'TayWil' is co-owned by the Taylor's. Another Hollywood Family that has its legacy everywhere. EVERYWHERE MEANS EVERYWHERE. Real-estate, FMCG, fashion, automobile...the Taylor's have huge investments in all the booming sectors which are managed by different family members. But all of them belonged to one hierarchy which is currently ruled by Harry Taylor.

The last I heard, they were responsible for some of the Academy winnings which were supposed to be a no-big-deal for them.

And I am going to meet them? My eyes almost pop open at the recollection. A sudden shot of panic surges through my body. A feeling of inferiority settles in.

'I don't belong here.' A voice in my head mumbles and suddenly I feel suffocated. On top of that, the valet is offering services at the speed of a turtle. Mine is the tenth in the row which can mean that it might take more than twenty minutes for my car to make it. And by my car, I mean Therese's.

Twenty long minutes of being stuck in the almost moving car and watching the people of a class stepping out and walking in as if they own the place.

For a second, I contemplate the possibility of opening the car and sprinting out of the place. But it just doesn't feel alright—besides, cars on either side didn't give me much of a choice.

Fortunately, I am alone in the car and no one is there to watch me fret over anything. No! Therese didn't show up, but I hardly mind it.

As planned, by seven I was ready wearing the only piece of luxury that I could afford, a black satin dress which was my birthday gift from my elder sister, with matching silver heels. (not the only pair I have had, but certainly the only acceptable piece of work which can be acceptable in this place.) It was some hand-designed material.

To complement it, I had some ruminations of the make-up which included two shades of eye-shadow, some drops of foundation, and a thick layer of kohl. No eyeliner, no fake lashes, no mascara. Not because I hate it. But because I cannot afford it. For blush, I had to manage it with the cherry red lipstick that I had bought from a local store.

I had left my curls in a loose bun which was only appropriate with the untrimmed ends and by seven twenty, I was ready with a growling stomach, shaking figure as I waited for Anderson to show up.

She didn't. When I responded to the knock on the door. The Italian driver greeted me with a fake smile and a how-can-a-broke-like-you-is-friends-with-the-princess look.

Long story short, I had to travel my way alone in the sleek Mercedes without any trace of Therese Anderson or the type of party I am supposed to be at.

Why me? Always? Why is God so unfair?

Sighing, I peep out of the window to spot cars lined in lanes, all of them waiting for the entry ticket.

Obviously, not all of them were allowed. But, isn't it supposed to be less crowded? How many party animals live in L. A.? How many of them manage to get an invitation? Are they even invited? Most importantly, aren't their schedule supposed to be packed?

Before I can think of a legitimate answer, all of the sudden, the queue picked up the pace and the anticipated twenty minutes turned into five. My eyes never leave the entrance where a sparkling red Rolls-Royce rolled to the front. Maybe, it is the reason behind the sudden movement.

I wonder who it could be?

'It wasn't in the queue. Was it?' I mumble aloud, not caring that the chauffeur would have heard me rambling and whining. I wouldn't blame him, to be honest. I am visibly shivering in anticipation and everything makes as much sense as the algebra does for a sophomore.

My head is spinning. The numbness subsides and I am full of life again. The hope that I had lost long ago, has started to blossom in life. All of it because of a Rolls Royce? The f**k is wrong with you, subconscious?

'This is the kind of life I deserve. Not the one that I am living currently! I can make this happen. I can do it!' The thoughts can be absurd and overly ambitious, but they are real. I am glad that my brain isn't empty any longer.

Though my heart is devoid of feelings, I can make do with it as long as I am not losing myself in the heap of negativity that I have left at the rack for the apartment.

The party is the most needed break. Moreover, I can already smell the delicious aroma of mouth-watering food and I cannot wait to dig in. It was my only motivation to be at the place. Wasn't it?

'That is Master Taylor, Ms. He doesn't wait in the queue. People stand in queue to meet him.' The driver points as a matter of factly. I observe a pinch of envy in his voice, but it was so spontaneous that I almost feel as if it was a product of my mind and had nothing to do with reality...and that was it. He does not bother explaining it any further. Rather, he lets out a sigh and continues minding his business which is moving along with the queue.

'Shawn Taylor! OH MY GAWWWDDD! He is so HOT!' Girly shrieks roar in the background as I watch a man with dark hair, ample built, step out of the car.

For a fraction, his eyes flicker at the grand entrance. His expressions are bored and stern as if it is the last place he wants to be. He waits as another man of the same age and height steps out, followed by another and another and another. At last, one tall man steps out before the car moves towards the parking.

The friends are happy and excited as they wave at the camera and smiles while 'Master Taylor' looks around, rolling his eyes.

I almost squirm in discomfort when his eyes stop at me and he stares. From the distance, I cannot correctly figure out the color, but it has been light and beautiful. Consciously, I tuck a strand behind my ears, nibbles on the lower lip, and look away.

As I snap back my head in the place he was standing, he has already sauntered in the premise, not even sparing a glance to the girls lined up outside the fence, waiting for him or the paparazzi.

Another narcissist!

****

Loud music is blasting through the speakers, reverberating the whole ambiance with new energy. People are going jittery at the DJ. Evidently, he is a champ at what he is doing. Anyone could forget the greatest miseries of their lives in such an environment, my messed up life can hardly be an exception.

Wiping the last teardrops of nervousness, I cat-walk in the premises with a heavy heart and a firm determination to forget everything. From my boot-kissing ex-boyfriend to my over-ambitious folks, to my cheating best friend to the ugly landlord who has just recently threatened to kick me out. I resolve to not think about them and enjoy a great time. I promise to make the night memorable and unforgettable as if it is going to be the only peaceful night I am going to have.

'Come'on, Skanda! Tonight, we are tasting the finest alcohol and the most ravishing food. We are gonna let loose and let go of everything. We are going to make contacts and make that asshole know that we are not even missing him. Not to forget, we are taking the hottest guy in the room to bed and f**k him till our cunt swallons. Loosen up before it gets tough!' I tell myself as I confidently walk up in front and greet Therese with a smile.

I can feel many pairs of eyes on me which only boosted up my courage. The rush of adrenaline takes over. Before I know it, I am already mingling.

'Take it easy! You are used to all of it!' I tell myself, wiggling my hips a little to tease the 'lookers' fantasies.

'I'm wo gladz zhat zhu madz itz, Kanda.' Thérèse, my over-enthusiastic girl, chirped excitedly. I have little option but to stretch my lips in a dazzling smile and open my arms wide open to embrace her. I have become so good at dealing with failures that acting like everything is fine almost comes out naturally.

'How could I miss it?' (*You are saving me quite a bucks by offering free food and drinks* was silent here) I respond immediately, my eyes scanning all over the place and halting at a pair of grey ones which are already peering in mines.

Taylor! I wonder what is wrong with the guy. I ignore him and shift my attention to Anderson again.

'Kanda!' Therese sighed dramatically. 'I'm wo worr for whaz my couzin diz.' She speaks. I can tell she genuinely feels sorry for me and it melts my heart to know that such kind souls still exist.

'Oh, Therese! It's alright. It was nobody's fault. Your cousin did what you, I or anyone of us could have done. She didn't know that Pixie...Let's forget everything and enjoy our time. Can we? I don't want to remember him. I want to get over him already. Know a better d**k?' I brush it off winking.

'Ozcouze!' Therese nods enthusiastically.

She giggles intertwining our fingers and drags me to God knows where while my eyes keep flickering back to a pair of grey ones which are following me everywhere I am going.

'Zhat iz zo amazing! Zome, I will introduze zhu to zo many people. Letz szart wiz the hozt.' Therese speaks through her perfectly kissable lips as she hands me a glass of Cocktail and drags me to the 'Grey' eyes.

Forgetting all my miseries, I let myself loose at the party, meeting with prominent people and enjoying the delicacies. In the faintest corner of my heart, I cannot wait to hear what he sounds like.