Boy Shopping (20 page)

Why Can't We Be Friends?

“
F
riends with benefits?” Michael asked hopefully when Kiki told him she just wanted to be friends.

“No, no benefits. Just friends.” A pair of giggling freshman girls wandered into the second floor girls' bathroom, where Kiki had gone to keep this conversation private. Kiki raised an eyebrow in their general direction, pointed at her cell phone, and they trooped back out.

“Oh. Well. Friends. That's cool. Want to come over tonight and play
Kill the Earthlings
?”

Kiki slapped her forehead in frustration. “I just said that I just want to be friends!”

“Exactly. Friends play video games together. That's how it works. You bring some friends. I bring some friends. Everyone becomes friends. It's called ‘social networking.' It's cool. It's the reason I signed up for HelloHello.”

Kiki was surprised that he was taking her at her word—most people seemed to think that “Let's be friends” meant “I never want to speak to you again.” She was even more surprised that Michael knew what the phrase “social networking” meant.

“Er, okay. I have band practice, but I guess I could come over later.”

“Excellent! I'll e-mail you directions! See you later!”

Kiki wandered out to the football field in a daze. She found the Pussycat Posse sitting at the top of the bleachers, as far away from the school buildings as they could get without leaving campus.

“You know how you can try to dump somebody and it doesn't exactly work?” she asked, fishing her cold pizza out of a tin Pink Floyd lunchbox that was older than she was.

“You mean you just couldn't say it?” Camille asked sympathetically. She was always having to find nice ways to let boys down. It was more than just her girl-next-door blond beauty, which was less striking than the other, black-clad Pussycats. Camille was so nice that she hated to break up with guys, no matter how much she wanted to do it. That was one reason she was the most popular member of the Pussycat Posse, at least with guys.

“No . . . Not exactly. I mean, he knows we're not going out anymore, but now I have to go play video games at his house with his friends.” She took a bite of pizza, looked thoughtful, then added, “You guys have to come too.”

If Kiki had said, “You guys all have to shave your heads now,” she could not have gotten a noisier response. But after all the shouting, Camille, Jasmine and Sasha had all agreed to go, as long as Sasha could bring Thomas.

Kiki had no idea what to expect when Jasmine pulled into Michael's driveway, which was connected to a perfectly normal ranch-style house in Brentwood, a suburb south of the city. Kiki had imagined that Michael's parents were spaced-out wrecks, or maybe didn't exist at all, but an ordinary brown-haired woman with her son's brilliant green eyes and laid-back smile let the girls in.

“Brownies are in the oven,” she said with a twinkly, toothpaste-commercial smile. “Everyone else is downstairs in the rec room.”

After thanking her, the Pussycats and Thomas ventured down the stairs, expecting hashish smoke, hard liquor, and mayhem. They did find mayhem, in the form of seven or eight teenagers, yelling and laughing, playing a video game based on B-movies from the 1950s. A virtual Michael, who looked like a small green alien, was chasing goats around a field with a ray gun until an angry farmer shot him.

“Oh well,” he shrugged, handing his controller to the pretty brunette sitting next to him.

“Hi, Michael,” Kiki said from the staircase.

“Oh, hey! Kiki! I'm glad you made it! And you brought friends!” He picked his way around sprawling bodies to give her a friendly hug. They introduced everyone around, and somehow the evening evolved into a boys-versus-girls video showdown. Jasmine managed to take down two capital cities, more than anyone else, winning the contest for the girls.

“So what's your pleasure?” Michael asked Jasmine, staring directly into her eyes. “If you want to make us your sex slaves for a day, that would be perfectly fine with me.”

“You wish,” said his brunette friend, whose name turned out to be Lisa, elbowing him in the ribs. She and Kiki had immediately bonded when Michael said something unbelievably stupid about live music, and they both had to hit him over the head with a throw pillow. One of his guy friends, George, stepped on his foot, earning him a grin from Kiki.

“I have a suggestion,” said Molly, another one of Michael's female friends. “How about a night of no games? We could go dancing, or catch a show, or even go ice-skating or something. But no games and no parties!”

“But I hate live music,” Michael whined, forcing Kiki to hit him again. “And you can't drink at the skating rink. It's all ages.”

“I haven't been ice-skating in forever,” Jasmine said. “Let's do it.”

 

So the next night, the Pussycat Posse, Molly, and Lisa gathered at Kiki's house, then carpooled over to the Sportsplex, Nashville's only ice-skating rink. They expected the boys to stand them up, but the boys actually had arrived first, and let them cut in line.

“I can't believe you thought we wouldn't come,” Michael said, clutching a part of his chest that he probably thought was close to his heart. “We take our games very seriously.”

“I know,” Molly said, punching him in the shoulder. “It's about the only thing you do take seriously.”

Once they got on the ice, Kiki began to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. Her friends were the oldest people on the ice, and they fell more often than most of the kids. But before long everyone was having fun, singing along with the terrible pop music pumped over the radio, laughing at one another when they fell, which was rarer and rarer for everyone except Jasmine. Every time Michael came near her, she wiped out, and Michael had to tenderly help her up.

Kiki caught Lisa's eye and grinned. She nodded, and began to skate a little faster, executing little turns and quick stops just when Jasmine let go of the rail, startling her every time. Poor Jasmine! Michael helped her off the ice and bought her some hot chocolate. Soon the two of them were huddled over an ancient sit-down
Ms. Pac-Man
game, distracting one another.

Kiki had to laugh. Boy shopping was no different from clothes shopping: every strange-colored sweater, oddly cut pair of pants, and silly, bright pattern was perfect for somebody. Michael was definitely not right for Kiki, but he just might be Jasmine's perfect fit. If there was one thing Kiki knew about shopping, it was that you didn't settle for something that wasn't quite right. You just had to keep on looking until you found what was right for you.

“You going to stand there watching them all night?” George asked, skating up to Kiki.

“No way!” She held out her hand, and the two of them joined the whirling, giggling throng, skating to their own beat.

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ISBN: 978-0-7582-1929-9