(The original picture that I had up here when I first started Break Throughs didn't cut it for me at all. Every time I saw the image, I had to remind myself that she was representing Starr and I didn't like it. She had the Arab look that Starr might have, but the woman in the picture looked older than 16. Just remember that Starr's eyes are brown, not vibrant blue ^^;)

My name is Starr Prince.

Really. It is.

I'm finally sixteen, which means one big thing in my household: dating. I'm at a Break Through point. My dad came up with this stupid thing called 'break throughs' when my brother was thirteen; basically he says we aren't allowed a specific privilege until we hit a certain age. At seven I was allowed to stay at my friends' houses until seven thirty. When I turned ten I got rid of my booster seat and got my Nintendo. Twelve, I moved to the front seat of the car and got my first phone. Fourteen, I began to sleepover at Courtney's house and was allowed to attend boy-girl parties. And I got my iPod last year.

None of it could begin to compare to the relief of being sixteen. Driver's license. Make-up. A brand new wardrobe. Dating.

I'm laying in my bed, struggling with my doubt. Am I sure that today is the 16th of June? Is it past four in the morning, the time of my birth? A glance at my Blackberry seals away my worries.

I leap out of bed, grab my flannel bottoms, and rush down the stairs, putting my hair up carelessly. I trip over the doorjamb in the kitchen entrance and sprawl across the island's marble countertop, the corner digging a crater in my gut.

"Oof! Oh . . . oh-uh . . ." I groan loudly in pain. I try to grasp at the oxygen around me. "Good morning, Starr, dear," Mother said from the stove. Her back is to me. Through my watering eyes I can see her familiar red waves spilling down her straight back. When I was young I'd used to always bury my face in her hair when I slept with her in her bed. Mother flips a pancake daintily. Her apron is splotched with several different colors of food and is tied around her waist. Mother is probably the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world; I can't believe how unbelievably lucky I am to have her genes in me.

Recovering from the doorjamb and island counter's sneak attack, I walk over to mother. "Mornin', ma'am." I get up on my toes to kiss her smooth, plump, and yummy smelling cheek.

"Ewww . . . ! Who let the beast out of its cage?" an annoying voice brays. Rolling my eyes I whip around to face my bratty sister. I plant my hands on my hips, one to the side, and lean forward at the waist. I glare at Juliet, age fourteen, and sneer, "Lookit who just polluted my air. Better jump off a cliff before the cat keels over, Jooool-leeee." I smirk. She hates being called 'Julie'.

Juliet tosses her gorgeous silky, butter-blonde curls over her shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand. Her light blue eyes flash at me icily as she huffs, pretending to be more mature by ignoring my comment. Knowing the girl, she'll bring it up later in the day when the whole world's forgotten about it but her. She explode with an insult at the worst time because she just can't stand to be mature for a whole day. I swear, I think it would kill the brat.

Deciding to turn my back on the snobby princess I hop onto the island and grab an apple from the fruit bowl. Junebug - our Persian kitty - pounces up next to me from virtually nowhere as I take a chunk of the apple. She sits against my thigh. A roar suddenly shakes the house. "Where's that damned teenager?! The one who turned sixteen today?"

I smile broadly. Oh, I'm sure falling in love with that magic number.

"DADDY . . . !" I yell towards the ceiling.

"Starr, please," Mother sighs.

"Where is she?! Where is she?!" Daddy comes hurtling down the staircase in pajama pants and a white t-shirt. Even with a serious case of bed head and stubble dotting his jaw, he still looks like a stunning Arab actor. His Arabic features are sharp and handsome. His eyes are grey and his hair is light brown, thick, and soft as rabbits' fur. Daddy's sneaking up on his fifties but he doesn't look older than thirty. He's tall and built and there's no one in my family who doesn't admire him. He's fun, humorous, and such a good man.

When Daddy sees me, he bares his teeth and rushes towards me, arms outstretched and fingers bent like claws. "ARGH! There's that rotten sixteen year old!" Just as he reaches me I leap into his arms; Daddy catches me effortlessly. He spins me around and I can't help but laugh cheerfully. I hope I never get too old for this.

Daddy sets me down. He puts his paw hands on my shoulders. "Now," he says. "Let's get a look at you." I stand still as he scrutinizes me. Daddy shakes his head. "Growing up on me, are yah, darlin'?" He pretends to wipe away tears and pulls me into a smothering bear hug. I hold my father tight.

Mother plops a pancake onto a pile of them already on a plate and calls, "Breakfast's ready!" Daddy, Juliet, and I scramble to the kitchen table. I frown. "DAVID! Come eat!" I shout. About ten minutes later a teenage zombie practically falls down the stairs. Mother 'tsks' fondly. "Dave, come on now, it's Starr's birthday; could you wake up enough to wish her a happy one?"

David shuffles past me and melts into a chair beside me. "Hamphy birfday," he says, his face mashed against the tabletop. I wince. "Thaaaaaanks," I drawl sarcastically.

After a wonderfully nutritiously healthy meal of pancakes, smoothies, whipped cream, and fruit (healthy; told ya), I go back to my room and stare at the contents of my closet. I nearly slam the door shut again with embarrassment. I'm going shopping today with my entourage at the mall because, well, frankly my clothes are dull, colorless, and babyish.

I end up in a black t-shirt I've had since I was, like, twelve; my ratty old denim capris; white and blue wedges; huge sunglasses; and a gold anklet. I complete my look with my make-up. I smack my red lipsticked lips together and stare at myself in the mirror.

I'm not short by average girl standards - five foot five inches. My soft brown hair is long and hangs half-way down my back. I have long legs and dangerous curves, I'm not ashamed of my chest size, and I have two earlobe piercing and a stud in the cartilage of my right ear. My skin is fair - not scary white but a nice porcelain cream color. I have high cheekbones, a straight round nose, and full lips that morph into a beautiful smile. From Daddy's side, I have wonderful Arab blood which he claims gave me my full lips, cheekbones, eyes, and hair. Mother's half Irish and she says that's where I got my height and skin tone. I love myself the way I am and I'm obviously not afraid to express it.

I grin at my reflection.

Starr Prince, you're gonna knock them off their feet!