ORANGE COUNTY STYLE : Teen--age trilogy : Three dreams with separate pathways

Three teen-agers who call Orange County home speak about themselves, their families and their hopes. Each is acutely aware this is a special, fleeting time. Yet they lead very different lives from one another and envision different futures for themselves. Randy Williams, 17, of Laguna Beach dreams of knowing the adulation of an audience. Felicia Reid, 17, of Fountain Valley longs to be an active member of the community, like her grandmother. Melinda Norton, 16, of Irvine speaks in whispered tones of Olympic aspirations. All believe they are lucky to be spending their teen-age years here, basking in the warmth of family, friends and the natural pleasures the county provides.

I was born to be in front of an audience,” says Randy Williams. “My friends call me a showoff.”

If they ever remake “Flashdance” with a male lead, Williams would be a contender for the part. Though the 17-year-old Laguna Beach resident has never taken a dance class in his life, this year he passed an audition with flying colors and was among the first group of students accepted into the new Orange County School of the Arts at Los Alamitos High School.

But for Williams, this is more than an opportunity to finally study dance; it’s his last chance at “regular” high school. (Los Alamitos will operate as a regular high school, but students in the arts programs will take special classes in the afternoon.)

And he’s taking it very seriously.

After flunking out of one continuation high school, Williams enrolled in another and pulled his grades up to become eligible for admittance to the school of the arts. Grades, plus talent revealed at the audition, earned him a spot in the school.

“I’ll be 20 when I graduate,” he says with a grin, running his hand through thick blond curls. “It doesn’t bother me. I hope it doesn’t bother anyone else.”

“I dropped out of school in the ninth grade,” he admits. “I always felt I was in the wrong place. I never felt right with my peers. Finally I stopped going altogether. It was a big mistake.

“Now, I’ve matured. I can deal with it. When I heard about the school of the art is I said, ‘This is my one chance.”’

Williams has trained as a gymnast for 10 years. “My mom took me to classes,” he says. “I was a hyper kid.” He stayed with it because “I’ve always liked the idea of being able to fly without wings. Gymnastics was the only way I could think of doing it with only your body.”

His talent as a dancer comes naturally, he says. “I watch people on TV, shows like ‘Fame,’ ‘Star Search,’ ‘Solid Gold,’ and I watch someone do a dance step and practice it until I get it. When I’m in a bad mood I can dance and put myself in a good mood.”

Williams’ friends are also involved in gymnastics “and they have the same hobbies I do. I don’t feel different. A couple of my friends and I try to choreograph routines together or work out at the gym together. We talk about gymnastics a lot.”

Besides dance and gymnastics Williams has studied acting and has performed in school plays. “I’ve always wanted to act,” he says. “Acting, you can be anything you want to be.” He proudly pulls out trophies he has won at talent shows. One of his favorite musicals is “Cats”--he saw it in New York last year. “I love to dance to its music. I can do a cat,” he boasts.

Williams comes from a wealthy family, a fact he neither hides nor flaunts. He leads a tour of the house he shares with his father, who has been divorced from Williams’ mother for about five years.

The house is a block from the beach. In Williams’ room is a wide-screen TV; in the garage is his new black Nissan 200SX. He talks of ski vacations at Club Med in France.

“I have a lot of amenities that other kids don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “But for me, when I’m older, I’ll just need the basic necessities of life--shelter, transportation and food. If they’re not particularly nice, I won’t be too worried about it.”

His father, whom he describes as “my best friend,” made his fortune in clothing boutiques and now manages his real-estate investment. “His attitude toward money is that he’s earned it, and he did it the honest way,” Williams says. “He’s proud of what he has. And he does share it and give a lot of it away to charity. He’s made me realize that no matter what job you have, you can hold your head up high because you’re earning money honestly.”

Williams’ prized car is often used for spur-of-the-moment trips of Los Angeles with friends. “We drive through Beverly Hills,” he says. “I love to look at the houses there. I know--kind of weird for a teen-ager, huh? But I love to look at them. And I like to go to L.A. It’s an exciting town.”

Still, he prefers the lure of Laguna. “I’m more the kick-back kind of person, take my stuff and go to the beach, do all that teen-age stuff. L.A. is too fast-paced,” he says. “And I hate the smog.”

The laid-back life in Orange County has afforded Williams a chance to be introspective, free from the distractions and intrusions of a busy city. “I feel I’ve learned more about myself. Orange County is me; it’s where I like to live. I’ve had some people say that compared to L.A. it’s conservative, but it’s not that way to me. It’s a lot of ‘almost anything goes.’

His outfit of the moment is typical: brightly colored plaid Bermuda shorts, oversize polo shirt, Topsiders.

Williams’ musical tastes run the gamut: “I love the Supremes, the Beach Boys, the oldies and goodies--fun songs with a good beat. I like old and new Motown, soul, also jazz and classical. I like Depeche Mode, Janet Jackson and Whitney Houston--slow ballads. I can’t stand country music.” He says that his car stereo is usually cranked up to alarmingly high decibel levels.

Williams realizes his toughest challenge at school isn’t learning dance steps but to discipline himself to do homework every night. “Whatever I do,” he says, “Whether it’s dance or gymnastics, I like to be at the top. If I’m not, I’ll work toward it. In school, I was never at the top. I always seemed to squeeze by with Bs, Cs and Ds. Once I heard of the school of the arts, I knew I had to get good grades.

Williams says he’s moved 18 times since he was born, through some seven states. “When I was younger, I moved from place to place and I’d make a lot of good friends and then I’d leave them, then go on to somewhere else, make a lot of new friends and then leave them. After a while I kind of prepared myself not to make friends.”

Now there is more stability. His mother, four brothers and one sister live in Anaheim, and he sees and talks to them regularly. He has shared this house with his father for five years and has begun to feel a sense of permanence. “We’re not moving,” he says, emphatically.

Sitting on the porch, hummingbirds hovering within inches of him, Williams muses: “Always when I was younger, I wanted to grow up quicker than others. Friends of mine were playing with model airplanes and riding bicycles. I was doing some of that stuff, but I also had my head toward fame. I was never the GI Joe type of kid. I don’t know why.

“Now I feel I’m somewhat more mature than a lot of teen-agers. I’ve discovered a lot more, seen a lot more. I’ve been to Europe, Mexico, all over the United States. I’ve seen a lot, done a lot. And all the time I wanted to grow up quicker. Now I couldn’t care less. I like not having the responsibility my dad does, not having to make mortgage payments, just being a teen-ager.”

Melinda Norton, 16, lives for volleyball.

“I like everything about it,” she says. “It’s competitive, intense and fun. I’ve never played a game that’s so much fun. And intense, every mistake just kills you. It’s really complicated.”

The 16-year-old junior at Irvine High School started playing volleyball in the seventh grade and was instantly hooked. Now she belongs to the Orange County Volleyball Club, a private club with men’s and women’s teams. Norton’s team is sponsored by Side Out, an athletic-wear company. The team practices three nights a week in Newport Harbor and travels to tournaments throughout the country. Team members come from as far away as Big Bear and Corona. Norton is an outside hitter, one of the main offensive players on the team.

“When you win,” she says, “nothing can compare to it. It’s like you’re on cloud nine. Nothing can get you down. When you lose, you feel like not waking up the next morning, because you can’t go back and change it. Nobody really likes to talk after we lose.”

Norton looks every inch an athlete, with her slim, strong build; skin evenly tanned from days spent at the beach, and long hair streaked by the sun. Her clothes--shorts and a striped tank top--are typical of her usual weekend wardrobe. “I really don’t get dressed up,” she says. “And if I did, I guess it would be ... I don’t know ... a tank top with a skirt.”

In her Mission Viejo home--where she lives with her parents, an 18-year-old brother, a cat and two dogs--is a weight room with a Universal gym, free weights, a stationary bicycle and a rowing machine. She works out there about an hour each day. A pool is in the back yard.

Norton is an admitted “milkaholic.” “That’s the one thing I’m addicted to. I can’t get enough. I drink more than 10 glasses a day.”

The fact that Norton is pegged at school as a premiere jock doesn’t faze her. “I don’t hang around with anyone but the athletes. I have more in common with them. It’s harder to associate with people if they don’t know the same stuff you do.” She and her teammates compare notes about the schools they attend, as well as the requisite discussions about volleyball.

Being on the team has allowed Norton to venture beyond Orange County. “I loved seeing Michigan,” she says, recalling a tournament played in Kalamazoo. “All I had ever seen was the beach. Michigan was like a different world. It was cold. There were ponds with swans. I’ve never seen that stuff except in pictures or on television.” She adds: “Orange County is fine for right now. Nothing is going to change drastically by the time I graduate from high school, and everything I need until I eventually leave is here. My friends and I are pretty much in agreement about Orange County. Everybody basically likes it the same way; most of my friends like going to the beach. We don’t get restless. Maybe people who don’t come from here do, but they’re not used to it.”

Volleyball practice goes on year-round, leaving little time for much else. The only break Norton has had this year was a week in July. “During school I’m in the gym or I’m doing homework,” she says. “It’s continual. It never stops.” On her dresser sits a picture of her with a young man, her date at a dance. She doesn’t see him anymore and has no current boyfriend. “I just haven’t had time,” she says with a shrug.

How does she take the pressure of competition? “I like it,” Norton says. “It would be boring without it. I don’t feel like I’m missing out, though, because whatever I want to do, I’ll do it. If I have a free weekend, I’ll go out with my friends, and most of them are also on the team, so we have the same schedule. We go to the beach--Laguna, usually--and sit and watch the waves, go bodysurfing, play volleyball there. There are a lot of beach tournaments I play in. I play doubles there--that’s really fun. Since you have one partner, you get to do a lot by yourself. You’re not depending on five other people.”

Since she’s found her niche, high school is “terrific”--even if her father is the school principal. At least her mother isn’t there; she teaches at a Mission Viejo elementary school. “If I’m at a gathering with other teachers,” she says, “I guess I have to act a certain way. But anybody would have to act that way. It’s not really more intensified for anyone else. And I don’t really see my father that much at school.”

Her parents, she says, “were very strict. Stricter than I wanted them to be.

“But I guess it helped,” she concedes. “I think as I get older they’ll start to let me do more things, like extend my curfew and all that.”

It’s too early yet to think about college--I’m waiting to find out where volleyball will take me,” she says. And even if it takes her away from the beach, Norton says, as long as she plays she’ll be happy. “There are a lot more options for volleyball players than there used to be. It’s starting to get more popular in the United States. There are more pro teams. I see it as part of my life for a long time.

“I’m not going to make any statements about the Olympics,” she says cautiously, “but I hope I get to go. I really have no idea yet, though. I’m not thinking about that right now. Probably after college I will be. If I don’t make it I’ll try for the pro teams. But when I get older I’ll be playing, not teaching or coaching. I can’t stand to watch people play. It drives me crazy.”

Felicia Reid, 17, a senior at Fountain Valley High School, was introduced to the world of debutantes by a family friend who took her to a tea given by the Orange County Links, a local chapter of a national black fund-raising organization that also sponsors debutante balls.

“You meet so many people and are exposed to so many things that otherwise you wouldn’t be,” Reid says. “When I explained it to my friends, they asked, ‘Why do you have to be presented to society?’

“I think in a way society is presented to you. It’s broadened my view of life,” she says. “I saw different classes of people. I think that’s what debuts are for, to expose you to life.

“I won the the academic scholarship,” she says, “and that made it twice as meaningful.” (The single $1,000 scholarship came with no spending stipulations; Reid has put it in the bank for college.)

She sits in the living room of her family home, smack in the middle of a housing tract, where she lives with her parents and two younger sisters, Michele, 10, and Monica, 6. Her father Rick is a regional human resources manager for United Pacific Insurance in Irvine; her mother, Eva, a former schoolteacher, is a real-estate broker.

Dressed in a blue-and-white-striped miniskirt, her hair cut in a spiky pageboy, Reid looks more like a wholesome Espirit model than a stereotypical preppy deb. Her bedroom is painted soft pink--her favorite color. A pink quilt covers her bed, and posters of singers Michael Jackson and Jesse Johnson dominate the walls. Her parents’ wedding picture sits on a table in the corner.

“After I won the scholarship I was so proud of myself that I could really do that. That’s what I call confidence. High school for me has been tough as far as grades go--I’ve gotten good grades, but I’ve never had to maintain them and have such a heavy social life,” she says, speaking of the requisite Links workshops and teas. “My parents can handle my social life, but they were almost positive it was going to do something to my grades,” she says. “I’ve kept a 3.7 grade-point average, and I think I’ve shown them that I can do it.”

Her parents have high expectations of all three Reid girls. “They’re always saying ‘there’s no such word as can’t.

Reid is appreciative of and frustrated by her parents’ strictness: “they never let me go out on weeknights during the school year. They have to know where I’m going, who I’m going with and when I’ll be back. They wouldn’t want me to be around some of the things my peers do. They know what happens at some of these parties, and I’m sure they trust me that I don’t do them.

“I’ve been under peer pressure before, and I’ve resisted it. I haven’t ever tried drugs or alcohol. It goes back to the way I was brought up. I have really high morals and values. I don’t have long before I can drink legally, and then I can make that decision. It doesn’t bother me to have to wait.” But Reid does admit to being impatient about gaining access to the family car.

With girlfriends, she cruises the malls and goes to movies. She has resisted the trend to dressing up. “People here dress to impress, no matter where they’re going,” Reid says. “At school the girls dress up so much, with tons of makeup and frilly dresses.”

Her own clothing style is “laid back, especially in school. I wear sweats and jeans. And I love to go window-shopping with my boyfriend. He really knows the kind of clothes that look good on me.”

Reid met her 16-year-old boyfriend Darrin Chapman, through Jack and Jill, a community youth group that stresses charity work and leadership.

“We were great friends first,” she says of their relationship, “and then nothing sparked until last May. My mom and dad tease us about our ages, but they really like him. I don’t know if I’d ever have gotten through a few things without him. The only thing I’m not looking forward to is graduating and leaving him behind.”

But graduation is very much on her mind this final year of high school. She plans to apply to UC Davis, Howard University in Washington and Tuskegee Institute in Tuskegee, Ala. She will probably major in biology and, after graduation, enroll in veterinary school.

“I’ve always loved animals and nature,” she says. “And I want to minor in business so that before I retire I can have some sort of franchise, like a pet shop or a pet-grooming shop.

“I definitely think of myself as an achiever. That’s been put in my mind by my grandmother, Eva Grant, who has a doctorate and is coordinator of parent education for the Los Angeles Unified School District, Reid says: “I look at her and see everything I want to be.

“She has influenced a lot of people in the community. She’s been a role model to everybody else, and she’s been a role model to me. Through her, I get to be involved with things most people my age wouldn’t be exposed to--like I helped her out for a luncheon she gave for (Los Angeles School Board President) Rita Walters. It’s not like she’s a big movie star, but people know her name. I’d like to have my name known like that through charitable acts.”

Reid has watched Orange County develop into a prosperous area filled with business parks, restaurants and shopping malls that she believes will one day rival Los Angeles. “It’s so neat to watch it grow. And I can see more of a diversity of cultures, too. I see a lot more blacks than when I moved here six years ago. I think that’s a plus for my two younger sisters.

“It’s not that I felt like I didn’t belong before, but I felt that I was kind of deprived. I always used to wish that my parents had brought me up in an area where there were more blacks. But now I can see why they wanted us to be with a cultural mix. It lets you see how you have to act differently in different areas.

“I don’t like the rush-rush life. I always used to wish I lived in a place that was more face-paced. But I’m glad I don’t. My parents always tell me not to grow up too fast, to take it one day at a time and enjoy my high school years. I thoroughly agree. I’m trying real hard.”