Boy Shopping (14 page)

On the other hand, Camille hadn't talked to Jacob in years. Kiki had. And a lot of what he said made sense to her. Maybe Camille knew less about Kiki than Jacob did.

“Random change of subject,” Kiki said. “Do you know which songs I wrote on
Sorry, We're Open
?”

“Um . . . the third one, ‘Carry On'?” Camille guessed.

“‘Carry On' is track six. Track three is ‘Temptationland.'”

“Did you write that one?” Camille asked.

“‘Temptationland' is about getting a blow job, Cam. I didn't write that one.”

“Oh. Maybe ‘Candy Cigarette'? Why? What's with the Temporary Insanity trivia?”

“Never mind,” Kiki said, shaking her head. “I've got to get some sleep.”

But once Kiki slid under the covers, she had a hard time falling asleep. Was Camille right about Jacob? Was Jacob right about her? Did it matter, when the thought of his eyes, his hands, his mouth was enough to make the room spin?

 

SHOULD KIKI TRY HIM ON?
Turn to page 141 to see if Jacob's her perfect fit.

SHOULD KIKI PUT HIM BACK ON THE RACK?
Turn to page 149 to see what happens if she tells him goodbye.

Panic at the Disco

“
N
eed a ride to Laura's?” Mark asked when they wrapped their session at the studio the following night.

“No, I've got one.” Kiki busied herself wiping down her drums so that she wouldn't have to meet Mark's eyes.

“Who?”

“Jacob.”

“You and Young, huh?” Franklin asked, his voice rich with curiosity. “I always thought he was kind of weird.”

“He's just quiet,” Kiki said, trying not to slam the door as she flew from the recording booth.

Jacob was waiting for her outside, and she didn't wait to watch the studio assistants load her drum kit into Franklin's van. She kissed Jacob hello, but briefly, not wanting to put on a show for the sound engineers and producers gathering outside the studio—not to mention her bandmates.

 

“So, are you and Laura tight?” Jacob asked while he was stopped at a red light.

“Not really, no.” Laura was the only other girl in third period AP Physics. Kiki always worked with her when she and Mark were having a fight.

He snorted, and before Kiki could ask him what his problem was with Laura Keller, the light changed and they screeched off, the rushing winds again so loud that conversation was impossible. The next time they were stopped, though, she returned to the subject.

“You can't say that Laura's dumb. She's probably going to be the valedictorian.”

“She's like a diamond-studded calculator: she's pretty, and she crunches numbers, but there's nothing going on inside. Have you ever heard her talk? ‘Oh, I can't eat another doughnut. Oh, I look so fat.' She may be book-smart, but she's as shallow as a dirty ditch.”

Kiki didn't want to laugh, since Laura really was a sweet girl, but Jacob's imitation of her couldn't have been better.

“So is there anyone in our class you actually like?”

He grinned. “I like you.”

“I kind of figured that much. But is there anyone else?”

He shrugged and gunned the engine, pinning Kiki to her seat. It was the last chance they had to talk before they arrived at Laura Keller's house. Both of Laura's parents worked in the music industry, and they were still in New York, but the party was still mostly confined to the basement rec room. It spilled out onto the back lawn, though, where the people who were so drunk they didn't feel the autumn bite in the night air danced to '80s rock, heavy with synth.

“Feel like dancing?” Kiki asked hopefully, as “Take on Me” came on just as they entered the basement.

Jacob made a face, but he took both her hands and began to rock out, old-school. Kiki could sense the stares, even though it was dark enough in the basement that she couldn't see much except other dancing shadows and the drops of light shed by a spinning disco ball. Most people there had to be amazed that Jacob Young had come to a party; others were probably shocked that he had come to a party with Kiki Kelvin. Franklin and Mark were surprised—she could see them watching her from the room's one well-lit corner, by the stereo and the kegs.

And Kiki knew her classmates had to be amazed at how well Jacob danced—she almost wished she could just sit and watch him. Almost, but not quite, especially when the syrupy theme from “Dirty Dancing” came on. Jacob held her so close she thought he would never let her go. She rested her head on his shoulder, thinking how lucky she was to have found someone who was so crazy about her that he would waltz to a song as cheesy as “I've Had the Time of My Life,” surrounded by people he couldn't stand, just to be with her.

The next song was one Temporary Insanity covered, “Eternal Flame,” by the Bangles.

“Your version is a lot better,” Jacob told Kiki, spinning her once before she nestled back in his arms again.

“So you were at the show last week?” It was their first public performance of the song, though they had practiced it, on and off, for a year.

Jacob didn't say anything. Kiki shouldn't have been surprised—after all, he wasn't the most talkative boy she had ever dated—but there was something about this silence that tipped her off.

“You taped the show, didn't you?” She froze in his arms, then stepped away. “That's why you know the lyrics to ‘Welcome to the Dance Floor'—you have a bootleg recording of it.”

“It wasn't me,” Jacob said instantly. “I wasn't even at the show. I swear.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Have you ever seen me at a show?”

Kiki paused, trying to remember if she had ever seen him, or if anyone had ever mentioned seeing him at a Temporary Insanity show. She couldn't, though. Not once. That's why she was so surprised to see her lyrics on his HelloHello profile.

“But you know someone who did tape it. Care to share, Jacob? Because my label would be very interested in that information. Did they play it over the school PA system instead of the announcements, too, or was that you?”

He didn't answer her—surprise, surprise. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at her with his usual superior expression.

“Franklin!” she shouted at full volume. “Mark! A little help?”

The whispered conversations surrounding the dance floor died, and some of the kids in the backyard came rushing back, sensing a scene about to unfold. Kiki had a singer's lungs, and she could scream very, very loudly.

“That wasn't me!” Jacob insisted.

“Oh really? Why should I believe that?”

“Because we understand each other!”

“Do you understand that taping a live show is illegal?” Kiki's voice rose again to a shout.

Before Jacob could answer, there was a sudden roiling in the crowd.

“What was that?” Franklin demanded, stumbling toward the two of them, clearly trashed. “Is Jacob bootlegging?”

“I think he might be the one who put us on the morning announcements,” Kiki said.

“Prove it,” Jacob said coldly, crossing his arms.

Franklin just smiled. “Here's proof!” He nailed Jacob in the jaw before Kiki realized what he was doing.

Jacob didn't go down. Instead, he swung at Franklin, only missing because Franklin was so drunk he couldn't stand without weaving. That didn't stop Franklin from landing a punch in Jacob's gut.

“That's enough!” Mark yelled, fighting his way through the crowd to grab Franklin. Kiki had to stand between them and Jacob, who was still trying to land another punch.

“Get lost,” Kiki told Jacob. “It's over.”

“I'm not finished with him!” Jacob growled.

“I'm finished with you.” Kiki turned her back on Jacob and helped Mark drag Franklin to a bathroom upstairs. He struggled all the way, but once they arrived, Franklin slumped thankfully by the toilet and began to hurl.

“This reminds me of our first show in Athens,” Mark said cheerfully, sitting on the edge of the tub. Kiki wondered if he was happy because they had someone to blame for the morning announcements prank or because she was clearly single again. “I thought that bouncer was going to kill Franklin.”

“Just like old times.” Kiki tried and failed to sound as happy as Mark. She slumped next to him, and he gave her a friendly pat on the knee.

“Cheer up, K. You found out who pulled the announcements stunt. You're a hero!”

“A hero who just had the worst date ever!”

“Oh, I can top that. Did I ever tell you about my last date with Sarah Jane?”

Franklin pulled his head out of the toilet and asked, “Did it end with having to take her to a dentist to get out the condom stuck in her braces?”

“Um, no.”

“Then it wasn't the worst date ever.”

Franklin's head disappeared into the toilet bowl again.

Now Kiki had to laugh. “Thanks, guys. Actually, that does make me feel a little better.”

“Yeah, forget that weirdo,” Franklin rumbled from inside the bowl. “What do you need with other guys when you've got us?”

Kiki patted him on the back. “I'll try to keep that in mind.”

Just then, Camille's tousled blond head popped into the doorway. “When I heard you and Mark were in the bathroom, this is not what I expected.”

“Where have you been?” Kiki asked. “You missed all the excitement.”

“My timing sucks,” she admitted, poking her head a little farther into the room. “Like, I probably shouldn't be here now, but I wanted to make sure you're okay.”

“I'm fine,” Kiki insisted, her heart squeezing to hear the concern in Camille's voice. Anyone else would have come to say “I told you so.” Only a true friend would care more about Kiki's feelings than being right. And even if she and Camille were very different, Camille was a great friend. No matter how Jacob had momentarily twisted Kiki's thinking. “And you can come in. Nothing's happening here.”

“Nothing?” Camille asked, full of hope for Kiki and Mark.

“Nothing,” Kiki and Mark said at once. Kiki thought she heard something very final in Mark's voice. He might have been jealous of Jacob, but he still wasn't ready to ask Kiki out himself. A week before, Kiki would have been crushed. A day before, she would not have cared either way. But at this moment, she was almost relieved. She wasn't in the mood for going out with anyone just yet, no matter how well she thought she understood him.

“Scoot over,” Camille said, edging Kiki and Mark closer together. “I want to hear all about the drama.”

“I was a total hero, Camille!” Franklin said. Then he threw up again. Everyone tried to muffle the laughter they couldn't quite contain.

“Franklin was awesome,” Kiki said, rolling her eyes at Camille, setting her off again. “Let me tell you all about it.”

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

K
iki 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?” Camille 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.