Boy Shopping

by Nia Stephens

  Think Kiki should listen to Camille, even if Camille doesn’t listen to Kiki’s music as much as Jacob does? Read on to see what happens!

  Chapter 5

  Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

  Kiki hadn’t been to Jacob Young’s house since his eighth birthday party. It hadn’t changed much: it was still elegant and opulent without being gaudy—there was lots of polished wood, and African sculptures on pedestals. Mrs. Young hadn’t changed much either. Either she’d had a lot of plastic surgery, or she had very, very good genes.

  “Hey, Kiki. What are you doing here?” she asked, squinting down at Kiki at the front door. Kiki had decided to bike over to Jacob’s house to tell him in person that she wasn’t interested in going out with him again. She had known him so long, surely she owed him that much, even after just one date? Unfortunately that Saturday, like most Saturdays, Kiki had things to do all afternoon. And that night she was going to the studio, and then on to Laura Keller’s party, so her best chance for seeing him was at 10:30 AM.

  “I need to talk to Jacob. Is he around?” She shifted her backpack nervously from shoulder to shoulder. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be out—like a normal person might be on a Saturday.

  “I sent him to the store to pick up some milk. Would you like to wait for him?”

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  Kiki trailed after Mrs. Young, through halls covered with gold records and recessed cases full of awards statuettes.

  “Would you like to wait in his room? You two are so close these days, I’m sure he won’t mind.” Mrs. Young gave Kiki a dazzling smile, which Kiki tried to return. She didn’t think Mrs. Young had it in her to be sarcastic, but Kiki could not imagine where Jacob’s mother got the idea that she and Jacob were good friends.

  She didn’t ask directions, of course. She just headed upstairs to Jacob’s bedroom. It hadn’t moved, but it looked completely different now. Not surprisingly, since there weren’t too many high school juniors with race-car beds and NASCAR posters. It was cleaner than most of the boys’ bedrooms Kiki had seen, a lot cleaner than Franklin and Mark’s rooms, though there was more musical equipment in Jacob’s room than in her two bandmates’ rooms put together. It was a functioning recording studio, with everything but a glassed-in booth. Knowing whose son Jacob was, that didn’t surprise Kiki much. The number of Temporary Insanity posters—four—was a bit of a shock, though.

  Even spookier was the stack of music magazines by Jacob’s desk. Not that there was anything necessarily weird about music magazines—Kiki had plenty of her own. The same ones, in fact—including a few from Europe and Australia, which she got only because they included interviews with her. She picked up the April issue of Sound Check, out of New Zealand, and found the Temporary Insanity interview, dog-eared. Jacob had underlined the parts where she talked about vegetarianism, and something she said about her favorite children’s book, Watership Down.

  “Creepy,” Kiki murmured to herself, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise. For all she knew, there were hundreds of bedrooms across the US that looked exactly like this. The message boards on the Temporary Insanity website were full of discussions about some little thing she had said in an interview she had forgotten all about, and she had seen the sales figures for her band’s posters. But she had never been in a fan’s room before, and she wasn’t sure where to draw the line between fan and stalker.

  She put the magazine away and tried to shake off her shivery mood. She already knew that Jacob was maybe a little obsessed—his knowledge of her music was what had attracted her in the first place. And it didn’t really matter, since she didn’t plan on talking to him ever again anyway.

  She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long. She had to get back in time for practice—if it was still on. Franklin had talked about canceling.

  Kiki turned to Jacob’s computer, a sleek new laptop that would have wowed the sound engineers at her favorite studio. Mark was going to e-mail her that morning to confirm the session. She spent enough time around guys to know not to open any of the JPGS saved to the desktop, but she couldn’t resist the MP3 named tempins10/11.

  The drum solo at the beginning of “Friday Night Special” poured out of half a dozen speakers. Her jaw dropped. She didn’t have to listen to more than a couple of seconds to recognize the recording that had played over the morning announcements. It was a beautifully mixed bootleg, and one her label would love to hear all about.

  As Kiki scrolled through the files, heart pounding, she found another surprise: a recording of the RGB Up-and-Coming show they had played the night of the MTV Video Music Awards. She remembered the date because she and Franklin were glued to the TV whenever they weren’t onstage. And Kiki knew that Jacob had been in LA that night with his parents, which supported the rumor that he really was in Hustle and Flow. That meant Jacob could have made some of the bootleg recordings, but not all of them. Kiki had the feeling that, short of torture, Jacob would never tell who else was involved—he didn’t say much under any circumstances. But Kiki was going to get the truth, no matter what.

  Vengeance wasn’t Kiki’s thing—usually. But this went too far. As far as Kiki was concerned, bootlegging was theft, even if it was all too common. But what really set Kiki off was that Jacob knew every single member of Temporary Insanity. Had known them for years! He wasn’t stealing from random strangers—he was stealing from people he saw every day. He was stealing from her, the girl he thought he knew everything about! He actually had the nerve to make out with her, knowing that he was snatching her royalties!

  She slipped Jacob’s laptop into her backpack and sailed out the bedroom door. She could drop it off at her lawyer’s place on the way to the studio.

  “Leaving already?” Mrs. Young asked before Kiki could escape. “I’m sure Jacob will be back in a couple of minutes.”

  “Yeah, something came up. I’ll talk to him later. Bye!” The doorknob twisted in Kiki’s hand. She had to step back as the door swung open and Jacob backed in, one arm filled with groceries.

  “Hi, Jacob. It’s over.” Kiki skipped out the door.

  “WHAT?” both Youngs blurted behind her.

  Kiki turned and saw them staring at her with identically wide golden eyes.

  “I’ll say it again, Jacob, slowly this time, so pay attention. One. Our lawyers are going to call about your illegal Temporary Insanity recordings, so get ready. Two. Consider yourself dumped.”

  Kiki hefted the backpack to her shoulders and climbed on her bike.

  “Wait!” Jacob begged, following her out the door. “I thought—you and I—we have something special! What happened? I don’t understand!”

  “No, you don’t understand anything,” Kiki said over her shoulder. “But now I understand you.”

  “You can’t prove anything!” he yelled as she pedaled off.

  “Wanna bet?”

  Kiki expected to hear him cursing. Instead she heard a strange squelching sound. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Jacob had dropped his groceries and was racing to his car. The way he drove, he would catch up with her long before she got anywhere near her house. He was weird enough when he thought they were soul mates—she didn’t want to find out what he would do if he caught up to her now.

  If she stuck to the streets, she didn’t have a chance. But if she left the streets, sooner or later she’d find herself trying to get her bicycle over someone’s security fence. Camille’s house was a little closer than her own. She ditched her bike by someone’s garage and started running through the gorgeous, well-maintained lawns of Belle Meade.

  Kiki’s heart thudded in her ears so loud she feared she wouldn’t be able to hear Jacob’s screeching tires, even if he was right behind her. The thought of all his passion turned to anger was enough to keep her running until she reached Camille’s front door, so breathless that it took five minutes to explain to Camille what had happened.

  “So you want a ride back to your house?” Ca
mille said, shoving sleep-tangled curls out of her face. She was still in her pajamas—a ratty T-shirt and sweat pants—but she didn’t look much different from any other day. There was no sign of a told-you-so sneer on her face. Kiki was so glad to have her as a friend, she almost hugged her. She didn’t, when she realized how sweaty she was from her run.

  “He’s probably waiting there for me, parked across the street.”

  “Want to call your parents?” Camille suggested.

  “No! It would just freak them out.”

  “Well, what do you want to do? Go to the police station? Call a lawyer?”

  “No . . .” Kiki said slowly. “I think I want to call Mark.”

  “Wow! Do you think he’ll be your knight in shining armor?”

  Kiki had to laugh at that. “I think he has our best mini-recorder.”

  Twenty minutes later, they had a plan. They went to work immediately.

  “He’ll be there,” Kiki assured her. Even if Jacob weren’t obsessed with her, she had his laptop, and he knew her mother was a judge. There was no way he would think she would just let it slide.

  Just as she predicted, Jacob’s convertible was parked in front of her house when Mark dropped her off at the curb. She waved goodbye and watched him drive down the street. She started up the driveway, her backpack clutched to her chest, but she stopped when Jacob called her name.

  “I already told you it’s over,” she yelled. “Get lost!”

  “You have to let me explain,” he said, jogging over. Behind him, Camille’s white Volvo was creeping up the street. Mark’s battered old car stood out plainly in Kiki’s neighborhood, but Camille’s car blended in perfectly. She parked in Kiki’s neighbor’s driveway, a baseball bat cradled in her lap. Kiki wasn’t sure that Camille would actually use it, but she trusted her friend to come flying if it actually looked like it might be necessary.

  “Jacob, how exactly do you plan to explain seventeen illegal recordings on this computer?” Kiki asked, waving her backpack around for emphasis. Jacob’s actual laptop was in Mark’s car, on the way to RGB headquarters. But Camille’s chemistry book was close enough in size and shape for their plan.

  “Well, I . . . well. You know how much I like you.” He was standing a good ten feet away from Kiki—too far for the recorder taped inside her bra to pick up his voice. She had to get closer to him, but not too close—she didn’t want to give him ideas—or take any chances.

  “So you decided to steal my music?” she said, marching right up to him, shaking her backpack threateningly.

  “I didn’t steal anything,” he said. He didn’t back off, but he didn’t get any closer. “I bought your songs.”

  “You’re saying you bought all of them?”

  He sneered. “I don’t go to your concerts, Kiki. Most of your fans are bubble-headed idiots. Not that that’s your fault. They’re all there for Franklin. They have no idea who the real genius is.”

  Kiki gritted her teeth. “Who from? Who did you buy them from?”

  Jacob just looked at her, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Jacob, I really will turn this laptop over to the cops, and RGB is going to press charges. People go to jail for stuff like this. If you really are innocent, tell me who’s recording our shows.”

  He just laughed. “You think I care about lawyers? Baby, I care about you! We belong together! I only bought the bootlegs because I wanted to hear every single show I could.”

  She forced herself not to gag and tried to sound as if she were buying this. “If you really do care about me, Jacob, you’ll tell me who sold you the bootlegs.”

  This time, he didn’t even hesitate.

  “Katie Fulsome.”

  “What?”

  “Katie Fulsome. Sophomore, wears glasses, complete idiot. She stole this super-high-tech mini-recorder the size of an i-Pod Nano, and she hides it in her bra.”

  Kiki didn’t know what was more surprising: that Katie Fulsome was secretly selling Temporary Insanity bootlegs or that Franklin had been right about something. Katie Fulsome had been his first and only guess at the culprit. It even explained Mark’s comment that her bra size changed from concert to concert—she probably had to vary the padding to balance sound distortion in each venue. “You’re telling me Katie Fulsome did the recordings?” Kiki said extra-clearly, for the recorder.

  “I just said that.” Jacob was beginning to sound annoyed. “I’ve got the e-mails to prove it.”

  “Really?” Kiki couldn’t help grinning. “How interesting.”

  “Why don’t you come back to my place?” he said, grinning back. “I’ll show you anything on my computer you want.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, swinging the backpack back to her shoulder. “You should go enjoy your freedom, Jacob, since you’re probably going to jail.”

  “What are you talking about? I just told you that Katie made the recordings, and Katie’s the one who hijacked the morning announcements. That has nothing to do with me, with us. We’ve got something special!”

  Kiki shook her head in amazement and walked past Jacob, over to Camille’s car.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “Maybe you’re not going to jail. I think you could probably plead insanity, because you have got to be crazy if you think there’s anything between us.”

  “Kiki, wait! We have to talk!”

  Kiki didn’t even turn around.

  “I never thought I’d have to say this, but Jacob Young, you need to shut up. I am sick of hearing your voice.”

  She got into Camille’s car, and they couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Jacob Young still standing in Kiki’s driveway, speechless.

  Kiki learned more about Jacob after deciding to break up than she might have if she had stayed with him. Turn to page 141 to see how that would have turned out, or to page 57 to pick a new boy.

  Chapter 4

  Joshua

  The morning after she e-mailed Joshua, Kiki was wondering if she had made the right decision. She loved the way his deep-black hair contrasted with his golden skin, and she didn’t mind muscles on a man. On the other hand, even though Joshua might be a little deeper than the average jock, he was still a jock.

  “Relax, Kiki,” Sasha whispered at the beginning of homeroom. “You like drumsticks and he likes lacrosse sticks. It’s a match made in heaven.”

  Kiki glared at her. “I think I liked you better before you fell in love.”

  Sasha stuck out her tongue, but before she could respond, Dr. Eckhart said over the intercom, “Good morning, Lions. Today is Tuesday, October 13th, and these are your morning announcements.”

  For the next few hours, Kiki was busy dashing from class to class, always trying to get as much of her homework done in school as she possibly could. But in study hall, instead of working on her history paper she asked permission to get on the Internet.

  “For research purposes?” the librarian, Mrs. Moser, asked.

  “Of course.” Kiki gave Mrs. Moser her most convincing smile, and after looking up a few random facts about the reign of James I, she checked her email.

  From: jlcheng@southweb.net

  To: k^3@rgb.com

  Re: Salutations

  Hi Kiki,

  Thanks for your e-mail. My schedule is also a little crazy right now, but Friday is my good day too—no practice. But I have a game on Saturday afternoon, so I can’t stay out too late. Could we get together right after school? I could pick you up. I can’t remember if Wentworth has uniforms. If it does, you should probably change into something that you won’t mind getting dirty.

  Later,

  Joshua

  Kiki printed out a copy, along with some articles about the English monarchy, and brought Joshua’s e-mail to lunch in the Senior Common Room. It was really just a dusty attic space with a few couches rescued from the teacher’s lounge, still reeking of cigarettes, but the Pussycat Posse liked to eat lunch up there when they had some
thing private to discuss. No one else ever used it.

  She had sworn the Pussycat Posse to secrecy—she didn’t want anyone in school to know she was boy shopping online. Especially Mark.

  “Not that Mark cares at all whether I’m getting e-mail from random jocks,” Kiki said bitterly, slurping up some lo mein while Sasha and Camille reread the e-mail.

  “You’re supposed to be forgetting about Mark,” Jasmine pointed out. She was snooping through the piles of old books stacked at random around the room. “I’ve never understood what you see in him, anyway. He’s so boring and uptight.”

  “What are you going to say if he actually asks you out?” Kiki asked, hoping to hear another one of Jasmine’s patented put-downs.

  Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “What?” screeched everyone else.

  Jasmine slammed down the elderly textbook she held and rolled her eyes. “Come on, people. We’ve all been trying to figure out what’s going on in Mark’s head for the last three years. If he asked me out, of course I would say yes. Not because I like him—” She made a quick gagging motion. “I think he’s a dork. But I wouldn’t mind a chance to pick his brain.”

  “Do me a favor,” Kiki said slowly. “If he asks you out, just say no. Okay?”

  “Well, sure.” Jasmine shrugged. “I still don’t think he’ll actually do it.”

  “You never know what he’s thinking,” Kiki said unhappily.

  “Unlike this Josh guy,” Jasmine said, plopping down next to Kiki on a couch. It sent up a cloud of dust in protest. “Jocks are about as hard to understand as Jell-O pudding.”

  “Huh?” Camille asked. “What do you know about pudding?”

  “I don’t agree,” Sasha said, heading off what threatened to be a completely pointless discussion about instant desserts. “Just because Josh likes sports doesn’t mean he’s brainless. Thomas is really into cricket, and he’s—”