The StarKids Academy

Prologue

Skanda's POV-

The sky outside has turned misty as suddenly the temperature drops to certain degrees of celsius, marking it a chilly day, yet it wasn't snowy. I peep over my shoulder at the big comfortable bed. It is almost tempting me to shut off the laptop and snuggle in its warmth, but I refrain from giving in to the urges.

I WILL FIGHT! I tell myself firmly.

It has been more than seven hours since I have my ass glued to this hard-surfaced recliner which is more tattered than those tiny tattered clothes one can find in Target, resulting in the numbness of my butt.

But the pain in the ass is nothing compared to the agony of my heart—my poor broken heart!

At any point in time, it would be easier to forget my miseries and drift into a peaceful slumber, but I choose not to. I have wasted enough time sleeping on my problems. I cannot be prolonging it any further.

Only this morning, I have realized that it is no use running away from my problems anymore and that now that I am an adult officially, I should be taking the challenges in the face, rather than ducking and screwing myself time and again which I have been doing almost the whole of my life.

Why did I realize all of it so suddenly? Because I found the love of my life screwing up a half-drunk chic right on the bed that I am glaring at.

It sucks! Life sucks! Time sucks! Parents suck! It always will. And let me break this great news to you people that YOU CAN DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT IT!

It is better to just play the game and pretend everything is fine—it has been my ideal way of dealing with ninety-nine percent of my problems. I believe that it is hella better than ignoring it like a rat in the kitchen or whining like a baby.

Now many of you must be wondering if I was on my period or if I am not, is there a special reason for me being a total b***h for nothing? Well, I have a very legitimate reason which, I think, will justify the over grumpiness.

It has just been seven hours since I found my ass-sucking boyfriend (now ex!) screwing a milf for chic, leaving me and the f****d up room like an avoidable insect.

Well, guess what asshole? We don't need you either! We have ourselves and the whole world. I would take up a pet and live my life in peace instead of wasting it away with you.

Gee whiz! I am already thinking like a 'cat lady'. Great! Just great! Has anyone ever known someone with bipolar disorder? I don't know anyone either. Oh wait, it could be me! GAH!!!

Again, I would choose to take a moment and think about everything which is not right with me. It is almost EVERYTHING.

Aah! I am just frustrated and just wish to get some wintery coziness. Seemingly, it is one of the zillion things I couldn't afford or maybe my city couldn't.

I finally leave my chair and step into the tiny shameful thing on the name of a balcony and sigh. It Is warm outside. Bright, sunny, and cheerful. Everything that my life can never be. I hate how dull my life and I am!

I have been a nerd, the outcasts geek with rimmed glasses and a book under their arms. But I used to be fun to be around too! I was never popular, but I have had friends and a boyfriend who cheated on me. For whom I have left every good thing in my life. I dropped the idea of pursuing a post-graduation from Massachusetts so I could be here, in LA with him. I fought with my family for the asshole.

Oh, it has already been a year since I left my parents to live on my own. Oh, let me rephrase it to add some honesty. It has already been a year since my parents kicked me out because they were fed up with my 'immature and way-to-comfortable-in-being-lazy-ass behavior' and I still have not managed to figure anything out which in turn makes them right about almost everything they told me I was or I could not be.

It isn't like I was not trying. I am! But everything is just so damn hard. In the past year, I have switched over two jobs, one as a diner and another at Starbucks because I couldn't stand being molested by the customers and co-workers. I cannot stand those lusty looks, suggestive comments, and inappropriate gestures.

Third, I was a private tutor to a Sophomore. As a nerd, I enjoyed watching a teenager flaring his nostril in frustration every once in a while. His tantrums! BWHAHHAHA.

It used to soothe my soul and make me have some peace for once. Even there, my happiness was short-lived. His parents split away. Consequently, he moved out of Los Angeles, and once again I was the unemployed beggar on the street.

I sigh! This stupidly luxurious city!

Ever heard of paying a price for breathing? Well people, let me welcome you to L. A. The city of dreams, the city of Hollywood, the city of nightlife with picturesque locations everywhere one could see.

The center of the star-studded world.

Hollywood to Santa Monica, In L. A., you will see parties, beautiful people, private parties, luxury, fame, exclusive parties, high-end restaurants, f**k worthy fashion, beaches, You-may-be-a-star-but-I-don't-give-a-f**k-about-you type Mediterranean vibes, and least to say, the celebrities and their extravagant parties.

Parties are all about L. A.

L. A. is all about glamour. Glamour is all about luxury. Luxury is all about money and money wants you to work your ass off so you can make ends meet! And of course, you will have to do everything with a f*****g dazzling smile and a certain smugness because, in L. A., you are supposed to be happy.

How can you not be? *Mind giving a f**k about sarcasm?* News flash! Not everyone is happy in Los *gulp* Angeles. Yeah! Yeah! I know, it's hard to believe.

When I say that I put up in L. A., many of you are bound to gush over (jeez that's awesome! b***h you are so lucky to spot Chris Evans, Will Smith, Kim Kardashian, Brad Pitt, Leonardo Dicaprio...and who knows who every day! Can you please get me an autograph, photograph, his shirt, his tie, his undies, his used condom, his asswipe? Can you manage a meeting? Date? Hookup? How does 'he' look in person? Is he as handsome as he looks on the screen? Are those mustaches real? The abs? The d**k?)

Give me a break, ladies! I ain't their neighbor, their mistress, their secretary, or whatever you think I could be. We just live in the same vicinity and...and that's it! I don't watch them jogging around exposing their torso to 'whoever wants to lick them'.

I do have a life of my own too which may be poop-worthy. (I am not whining) but it is real and I have to deal with it every day...every minute, every second.

When you live in L.A. people start expecting all sorts of things from you, from having a booze-worthy life to meeting the elite class on routine! You have hit a perception in their mind and you must do everything to keep up with it. In their view, you are successful, rich, and extravagant. Your day begins partying and ends in a dazzling CK model's arms.

Reality check! It ain't people! People like me don't always go around parting and meeting celebrities and doing whatever you think we do. We have a few credits piled up in the mailbox and not a single cent to pay any of the debts. We have to 'work' to survive. Party just takes a huge chunk as a routine for many, but not for all.

There is always an invitation on your table and you may get easy excess to beers and s*x, but there is this opportunity cost involved that will always make you choose otherwise. You just have to decide where to show up and when. If not, YOU AND YOUR LIFE ARE f****d UP BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.

As everything has its own down sight. Los Angeles has its own hidden and ugly secrets concealed in the closet too. It is not always beautiful and trusts me, you are gonna despise it when it gets ugly.

Surely, L. A is the city of popular and every aspiring actor's dream, but for the unemployed like myself, L. A. is no less than hell! There is just so god damn competition everywhere you go. Everywhere! And it will hardly pay your rent, forget about the nutritious meals or Louis Vuitton.

There are all sorts of beautiful people from every race, staring at whom would only give you an inferiority complex. Their skin (golden, tan, olive, beautiful black, rich brown, or whatever shade it might be) will make you squirm in jealousy to the level that you might actually want to burn yourself, and of course, they will knock you out at every f*****g interview you show up. Even for janitors! And no, I am not kidding.

90% of the people who step in L.A. come here to 'prove' themselves and get a chance to be spotted. They'd be enthusiastic, dreamy, and always on their toes at first. But as the days pass by and the outrageous expenses of the city start digging a wide hole in their pockets, bigger than the one they could afford. They start looking for any job that would 'pay' their living expenses until they make it 'big' which in turn snatches ours out of the grasp.

Now, personally, I don't have anything against the dreamers. I just hate celebrities for showing off so damn much! Because they have almost made it impossible to survive and get a job for twenty-two years like me.

Job!

Presently, I am drafting the nth job application, that too, for a f*****g High School teacher. I cannot believe I am too short on money that I have actually considered stepping into a place full of hormone-al teenagers and s*x craving souls who weep, sniffle, giggle, freak out at almost everything.

I peek through the broken window of my cramped apartment and let out a grunt when my empty stomach grumbles.

'I need something to eat, Bitch.' It speaks, but I have nowhere to fulfill its demand. I am awfully short on money and there is nothing I could do about it. Oh, wait! I brought takeaway last night. It might still be in there since I did not touch it.

Just when I thought about rummaging through the empty cabinets of my kitchen, my phone pinged.

I open it to find a DM on i********:. I hate that App for reminding me again and again about the big of a loser that I am, but I have kept it for employment purposes solely...not to forget the 'crushes'. *cue to dreamy sighs*

I tap on the arrow at the top right corner and a small green dot near an old school friend's name popped in my face.

Seconds later, a notification pops up that I have received another message. The woman is still typing.

Gee Whiz! What could be so urgent?

It is a message from Thérèse Anderson, the f*****g rich girl who has got more ancestral inheritance than I can think in a day. Her mother is a producer (Surprise! Surprise!) and her new father works as a screenwriter. It has been almost a year or maybe more than that when I last saw or talked to her. When was the last time?

May be at my parents when she had come to see a relative who happened to be a neighbor? I am not very sure of it.

With the frown itched in between my brows, I click it open and find a Hi gif wiggling endlessly. For some reason, I feel disappointed. Maybe, I was expecting something more than that! A job reference? A vacancy in her mother's production house? I can always ask her. For some obvious reason, it just doesn't feel alright!

Just when I was about to lock my phone and go hunt for something to fill in the empty stomach which would be nothing more than sandwiches, sweet potatoes, and bread, I see the 'typing' followed by three small dots waltzing underneath her name again.

And the text pinged!

I Heard Pixie dumped you! Wanna booze for a break-up party? It read.

My mouth literally falls open. How can she know it? It had just been seven-hour and not even a whole day when I returned from a night's voluntary services (which paid me seven dollars for every two signings) and found Pierce, my ex-boyfriend, grinding against a ginger head who was bent over the table and screaming as if it wasn't my boyfriend's eight inches showed down her cunt, but a baby's head!

For a second, I contemplate whether to answer or brush it off. I am angry...furious! That asshole is already spilling it all over the place.

I am gonna find him and shove his hands down his ass.' I think and clutch the phone hard, not realizing that I accidentally touched the phone icon. The sound of ringing reach my ears and snap me out of the murderous thought.

Shit! s**t! s**t! I hurry up and fumble with the End Call button, but Thérèse has already picked it up and is rambling with apologies.

'Kanda!' She whizzed, making me jump in fright. Her thick French accent sounds a bit unwelcoming.

Daayumm! I almost forgot that she is french. In High School, we had hardly interacted except to the occasional bumps and nods during the common lectures. Now after almost four years, listening to her on the phone feels just a tad bit awkward and...incomprehensible.

'Zu Detre?' She asks. I can imagine her looking at her phone to make sure that the line wasn't disconnected.

I nod like a moron and slap my forehead when I realized that she wasn't here and cannot see me making a fool out of myself.

'Oh, Kanda! I am wo sorry for that whappned! I whabe zust wherd off iz. I wneww zat Piziee wwazn't a zood zuy. I am wo sworyyyy zarrling!' It takes me a while to adjust and comprehend her accent, and even longer to respond.

'Kanda? Oh myy Goz! are zu upzet? Zu muz'be! Zat's why I thouzt of invizin ya!' I hear Thérèse rambling on and on about how sorry she feels for me and how she wishes she could do anything to undo what has happened between Pixie and the woman.

The more she explains, the uncomfortably confused I feel.

Why is Thérèse reaching me all of sudden and why in the hell she is apologizing? She ain't the one sleeping with the d**k in her cunt.

I think of asking her when her next line leaves me stunned.

'Myy couzzin izz zust a whoze! Zhe aalwyze goezz aarounz zeleeping withz ranzom man. If I znew it woulz bee Pixie. I woulzn't haz allowez herr in my partyy. I am wo swory, Kanda! Can wee meet? In thee partyy I waz zalking abouz? Pwelze?'

I consider the invitation for a second. A full-fledged lash is dancing at the tip of my tongue, precisely laced with colorful vocabulary.

I opened my mouth to deliver it when her next sentence steals my voice away and I cannot help but agree.

'I wiz picc ya up az sevenn. The Foozz is freee! Izalzianoo. Wear Zomtzing Zexy!'

Atta, girl you are already forgiven.