Boy Shopping (6 page)

“Perfect,” Sasha said. While Camille slid the photo out of the frame and onto Kiki's scanner, Sasha asked her about her personal statement.

“I don't know,” Kiki said, flipping through three years of song lyrics. All of them revealed part of her personality, but no single song summed up everything that it meant to be Kiki Kelvin. “How am I supposed to explain who I am in one hundred words?”

“It's not about who you are,” Sasha reminded her. “It's about what you're looking for.”

“Huh.” Kiki's fingers drifted back through the yellowing pages of her journal. It had traveled with her as far north as Montreal and as far south as Miami Beach, to LA and to DC There were only a few blank pages left, and the cover looked like it had been attacked by mice, but Kiki would miss it when she finally finished the five hundredth page.

“Ready?” she asked Sasha, then she read the lyrics to an unfinished song she had started almost a year ago, on Halloween.

“Isn't that kind of intense?” Jasmine asked. “I mean, you're looking for a boy toy to take your mind off Mark, not your soul mate.”

“Kiki is intense,” Sasha said. “She doesn't need a guy who can't deal with that.”

“Did you write that about Mark?” Camille asked. Her wide-eyed look really was innocent—she had no idea how much it hurt Kiki to be reminded of how wrong she had been about him. Sasha and Jasmine gave Camille dirty looks, but she was oblivious to their stares.

“I thought I did,” Kiki admitted. “Are we done? 'Cause I'm ready to move on,” she told Sasha firmly.

Sasha grinned and hit “enter.”

Faster than Kiki thought possible, four photos popped up, along with names, ages and hobbies. Sasha clicked the first thumbnail, and his profile expanded to fill the screen. Of course, a lot of that was his picture; whoever designed the website made sure that the users had a huge, high-resolution image to check out before the first e-mail was sent.

 

1. Lyman

Age: 17

Hobbies: percussion instruments, turntables, knitting Compatibility: 96%

Personal Statement:

“Pretty interesting,” Kiki said.

“If by ‘interesting,' you mean ‘hot.'” Jasmine sighed.

“I meant his personal statement.” Lyman seemed like the kind of guy who noticed things, and appreciated what he had. Kiki liked that.

“But, um, dude, look at him. He's hot.”

“I didn't say he wasn't.” Lyman had lots of curly black hair with eyes to match, and a sharp, foxy face.

“But he's a knitter,” Camille said. “No wonder he's single.”

“That's a joke,” Kiki insisted. “At least, I hope it is. What's behind door number two?”

 

2. Jacob

Age: 17

Hobbies: electronic music, clubbing, karate

Compatibility: 95%

Personal Statement:

“Oh, my God!” The four of them shouted together when Jacob's picture loaded.

“That's really him, isn't it?” Kiki said, peering over Sasha's shoulder at a beautiful brown face staring intensely at the camera. “That's Jacob Young!”

“That's totally him,” Sasha said, squinting at the screen. “In all his movie-star glory.”

There was a rumor going around Wentworth that Jacob, one of the silent, moody rapper types, was an extra in
Hustle and Flow.
Everyone knew that Jacob's father had produced more than a few rap videos, so maybe he did know Terrence Howard. But no one had ever asked Jacob about it, because no one ever asked Jacob anything. He was so cool, he didn't have to talk to anybody, so he didn't. He wore sunglasses to class every day, even though that was clearly banned in the Wentworth dress code, and not one of their teachers had ever called him on it.

“He's ninety-five percent like you,” Sasha said. “I had no idea you two had so much in common.”

“I had no idea he was a Temporary Insanity fan. Actually, I thought he thought we were kind of stupid.” Of course, he had never said so, but Kiki saw him staring at her now and then from behind his dark glasses, and she had never once caught him smiling.

“Temporary Insanity isn't really electronica.”

“Not at all!” Kiki liked electronica well enough, but it was no genre for a drummer. It was all about drum machines. “But his personal statement comes from ‘Welcome to the Dance Floor.'”

“Isn't that one of the ones that you wrote?” Sasha asked.

Kiki just blushed.

“He must be your soul mate!” Camille squeaked.

“I don't know,” Kiki admitted. “He's awfully quiet. It would weird me out to be with a quiet guy.” On the other hand, he had to be a big Temporary Insanity fan to know the lyrics to “Welcome to the Dance Floor.” They performed it often, but they had never recorded it, and never posted the lyrics anywhere.

“You can just sit there in silence and look at him,” Jasmine said, patting her on the shoulder. “That's a lot more interesting than talking to most guys.”

“Point,” Kiki admitted. “Door number three?”

3. Joshua

Age: 16

Hobbies: lacrosse, lacrosse, and lacrosse

Compatibility: 77%

Personal Statement:

“What do we think, ladies?” Sasha asked.

“I think lacrosse guys have amazing legs,” Jasmine said.

Kiki chewed a dreadlock thoughtfully, then asked, “Is lacrosse the one with big sticks?”

“If you're lucky.” Jasmine grinned.

“Jazz, you've got one hell of a filthy mind,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “Kiki, yes, lacrosse is the sport with the big sticks. The ones with nets on the end.”

“I don't know. I don't think jocks are really my type.”

“But he can't be one-hundred-percent jock—look at that personal statement,” Camille said. “Real jocks don't even know who Confucius was.”

“I don't know, Cam. He is Asian, and Confucius was an important Asian spiritual leader,” Kiki said.

“He also mentions math tests, and a real jock wouldn't know what one of those was either,” Sasha argued.

“I don't see what the big deal is, Kiki. Look at him.” Jasmine was practically bouncing in her seat. Joshua's photo was clearly snapped in the middle of a game: it only showed his head and shoulders, but the shoulders in question were very, very broad, and he had a wild grin that promised good times. “Does it matter if he can string two sentences together?”

“Um, actually, yes. I want a real relationship, not just sex.”

Jasmine raised her eyebrows, but she didn't say anything.

“You know, I'm not the only one who could use a hot date,” Kiki said. “You've been single too long, Jazz. All you think about is getting laid. Sasha, go to number four.”

“He sounds like fun,” Camille said.

“He sounds like an idiot.” Kiki sighed and flopped hopelessly back on her bed.

“But look at that picture!”

Kiki had to agree that Michael's looks might make up for the silly personal statement. His skin was the color of sweet iced tea, his eyes were green as dragonflies, and he had a smile that made even Kiki want to sit in his lap.

“He's like catnip to girls, I bet,” Sasha said, settling back in her chair.

“But all he wants to do is have fun!”

Jasmine and Camille both looked at Kiki and shook their heads sadly.

“Sweetheart, that's a
good
thing,” Camille said. “Mark is Mr. Serious, and look how that turned out.”

“Seriously,” Sasha added, “Michael might be exactly what you need.”

Kiki got Sasha to scroll through all four boys again. Each had his good points and his bad points.

“I just don't know who to choose!”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “It's just like shopping, dude. You pick something, try it on, and then you decide whether you like it.”

“Okay.” Kiki looked at the pictures and reread each personal statement. “I've made my decision.”

 

DOES KIKI CHOOSE LYMAN?
Turn to page 59.

DOES KIKI CHOOSE JACOB?
Turn to page 121.

DOES KIKI CHOOSE JOSHUA?
Turn to page 159.

DOES KIKI CHOOSE MICHAEL?
Turn to page 197.

Lyman

K
iki couldn't help squealing when she saw Lyman's e-mail. She had spent forty minutes composing a two-paragraph e-mail introducing herself to him—with the help of her three lovely assistants. Now, less than twelve hours later, came his reply. Fortunately it was 6:53 on Wednesday morning, and Jasmine, Camille, and Sasha were dragging themselves out of their own beds at home, well out of earshot. Kiki didn't want them to know she was the kind of girl who squealed.

Kiki printed out three copies to take to school, and while her printer spit them out she visited Lyman's website. It was low-key, not a mess of Flash sequences and multiple frames like the Temporary Insanity website that RGB put together. She could already hear her mother down the hall, rattling her car keys ominously, so Kiki just downloaded the three tracks to her iPod without listening first. There would be plenty of time for that during homeroom. She threw on a vintage Blackhearts T-shirt, washed so often it was practically transparent, on top of a lacy black tank top and a pair of skinny jeans.

“Forget you, Mark,” she muttered, painting her lips the brilliant red of Hearts Afire.

“Are you ready?” her mother called from downstairs.

“For anything.” She threw her copies of Lyman's e-mail into her bag, along with her iPod, and ran for the stairs.

 

“Dude,” Jasmine said in an awed voice, looking up from Lyman's e-mail. It was the first thing anyone had said since Kiki had handed out copies of his letter. She was the only one who had even touched her lunch, even though the break was already half over.

The Pussycat Posse sprawled on the battered sofas of the Senior Common Room, confident that no one would bother them. It was on the fourth floor, and had been a storage room until the student council had it converted for student use. It still smelled like old books, though, and the football field was a better place for hanging out as long as the weather held.

Kiki felt a little silly, working so hard to keep Lyman a secret from everyone but the Pussycats. Mark knew all about Jason Wrightman, and she knew about Sarah Jane, the girl from his parents' church, and everyone else Mark had so much as kissed. But this was different—Kiki had always known that Jason would never replace Mark in her heart. Even though she figured that Lyman would probably be all wrong for her—if he was that great, he wouldn't be looking for love online, right?—she wanted to give it a real shot. And, more important, Kiki didn't want Mark to think that she was so desperate for a date that she had to find one online, even if it was true.

“What do we think?” Kiki asked, taking another bite of her leftover lo mein.

Jasmine made a horrible face. “We think that Lyman sounds like a freak.”

“Speak for yourself, Jazz,” Sasha said, folding her copy of Lyman's e-mail into a paper airplane. “I think he sounds cool.”

“He sounds
interesting
,” Camille corrected her. “But interesting also means weird. What do you think?”

“Well . . .” Everyone paused, waiting for Kiki to say something. The silence went on and on, so Sasha threw her paper airplane at Jasmine, and Jasmine retaliated by throwing some of her microwave popcorn back at her.

“I think he sounds distracting,” Kiki announced before the food fight could get out of hand. “And I want to be distracted.”

“He sounds like Mark on crack,” Jasmine said, ducking behind an armchair. Sasha was pitching ice cubes at her head.

“What are you talking about?” Kiki knew her voice sounded funny, but she couldn't help it. The truth of Jasmine's words hit her like a wave of feedback blasting through stadium speakers.

“He's like Mark two-point-O, the debugged version, with better graphics.” Jasmine held up her hands for a truce and Sasha dropped her ice cube back into her soda. “Lyman is smart, like Mark, but even smarter. He's got to be, to write like that. Mark is musical, like Lyman, but Mark only got into it because you and Franklin made him. Lyman is so into it he's competing. And he's got serious talent. Well, you heard him.”

“Yeah.” All four of them sighed. They had listened to Lyman's music in homeroom on Kiki's iPod. The three tracks from Lyman's website were pretty amazing. All three began with a piano solo, but they were layered with samples of choirs singing, or a single, scratchy vocal track that had to come from the '20s or '30s, and traffic sounds, and crickets, and all kinds of things that you wouldn't normally think of as music. The production quality was bad enough to give Kiki goosebumps, but the music was phenomenal. No matter what happened between her and Lyman, she was definitely going to get her managers to listen to his demo. His music was a lot better than some of the electronica already in the RGB catalogue.

“I see what you're saying,” Camille said. “But there's one important difference between Mark and Lyman.”

“Lyman's cuter?” Sasha suggested, sprawling on one of the dusty couches, rejects from the teacher's lounge downstairs.

“Maybe. I think both of them need a haircut.” Camille frowned, trying to decide which one was better-looking. Of course, now that Jasmine had mentioned their other similarities, Kiki realized that they even looked a lot alike.

“The big difference between Mark and Lyman is that Lyman actually wants to go out with me,” Kiki said, trying not to sound pitiful.

“I already said that Lyman was the smart one,” Jasmine said.

“But you also said that he was a freak.”

She shrugged. “He is. But I didn't say that was a bad thing.”

Kiki sighed, then ate another bite of lo mein. She always meant to wake up early and make herself a real lunch, but she always slept in and wound up eating leftovers.

“Home-school kids are always weird.” Jasmine settled next to Kiki on the couch. “But let's face it, K.—you're not exactly the queen of normal.”

“I'm not a freak.”

“You're a very freaky girl,” Jasmine sang in her creaky, atonal alto voice, which always made Kiki laugh. She almost fell off the couch when Jasmine's voice broke on, “The kind you don't bring home to Momma!”

“It's ‘mother,' Jazz, and I've never met a mother who didn't like me. They usually think I'm a good influence.”

“You usually are a good influence, 'cause you're hanging out with musician types. But you could probably corrupt this Lyman guy, hard-core. I'm telling you, home-school guys are weird little momma's boys.” Jasmine paused thoughtfully, then said, “I wonder if he's gay.”

Sasha caught Kiki's eyes across the battered coffee table, covered with all that was left of their lunch, and made the “redneck face”—a special combination of lolling tongue and rolling eyes that meant that somebody, usually Jasmine, sounded like a backward and countrified Southerner stereotype.

“Well, I'll let you know if he's gay or not on Saturday morning. We're going out Friday night.”

“WHAT?” This time Camille almost fell off the sofa. Kiki didn't know why they were so surprised. She loved her girlfriends, and she always wanted to hear their opinions, but she would never let them tell her who she should go out with.

“We IMed during study hall.” The looks on their faces were so funny, Kiki had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. “What's the big deal? Everybody plays around on computers during study hall.”

“They check their e-mail and do research. They don't IM guys they've never met!” Jasmine said severely.

“That's because most people are at school. But I knew he wouldn't be, so I logged into HelloHello. It said that he was online, so we talked.”

“What did you talk about?” Sasha asked.

“Nothing really. How tired I was, how bored he was. I was only online for thirty minutes.”

“Did you ask him out?” Jasmine asked.

“He said, ‘Busy Friday at seven?' I said, ‘No,' and that was that.”

Of course, it was a little more complicated than that. Kiki didn't mention that she had IMed him because she was afraid to call him, or that her hands were shaking as she typed. It wasn't just that she was weirded out by this whole boy-shopping thing, though she still thought it was pretty strange. Kiki felt, for reasons she couldn't explain, even to herself, that going out with Lyman meant that she had given up on Mark for real. She didn't know why this was so different from Jason Wrightman, Luke Sheppherd, or any of the other boys she had dated, but somehow it was.

“Don't you have a show?” Jasmine asked.

“We've already headlined the Exit/In and City Hall, and we opened at the Ryman twice this fall. RGB wouldn't book us in a smaller venue here in town. The contract won't let us travel more than one weekend a month, and we're playing three shows in New Orleans Halloween weekend.” Kiki had already explained this two hundred times, but Jasmine could never remember their schedule. Kiki couldn't blame her—she had a hard time keeping track of it herself. Even Mark, who had asked his parents for a PalmPilot for his thirteenth birthday, needed all the help he could get.

“So where're you guys going for your first date?” Sasha asked.

“I don't know.”

“You haven't decided?” Jasmine asked.

“He won't tell me.”

“What?” Camille sounded confused.

“It's a surprise.” Kiki wasn't sure how she felt about that. Lyman seemed pretty harmless, but what did she know? He could be a serial killer, planning to drag her into the woods and butcher her. But if he thought she was a pushover because she was a girl, he was in for a surprise. Her parents had forced her to take karate classes before hitting the road for the first time, and she still sparred with her sensei a couple of times a month.

“So what are you going to wear?”

“I don't know. He said to dress up.”

“Oooh. Isn't there some sort of costume ball this weekend?” Camille's parents went to every black-tie event Nashville had to offer and were in the paper every other week. Kiki wondered if that had something to do with Camille's hatred of dressing up, but she had never asked.

“I don't think he's taking me to a charity ball for our first date. He didn't say anything about a costume, for one thing, just a dressy dress.”

“Well, you've got plenty of those. You'll be fine.”

“Of course I will.” Kiki tipped the take-out carton and slurped the last few bits of vegetable. “It's just a date.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jasmine grinned. “We'll see how you feel on Friday night.”

 

Sasha talked Jasmine and Camille into attending the Wentworth-Carroll football match with her, Thomas, and a couple of his friends after school Friday night, so they never got to see exactly how freaked out Kiki was an hour before Lyman was supposed to pick her up. Both of her parents were home, but they politely pretended not to notice that she was wearing a different outfit every time she marched from their huge master bathroom with its three-way mirror to the spare room where she stored clothes she didn't often wear.

The problem was the phrase “dress up.” It could mean anything from church clothes to black tie, and Kiki was not about to ask Lyman what he meant by it. She hadn't contacted him since the quick IM session at school on Wednesday—she didn't want to look too eager. She might not get out much, but she knew that too much interest was a turnoff for every guy she had ever met. She had tried on everything she owned, from the little black dress her mom had bought her for her first dressy party to a full-fledged ball gown she found in New York, and had paid a fortune for. She still had no idea what to wear.

She was staring at three Kikis, all wearing a fragile midnight-blue silk gown from the 1930s, sprinkled with rhinestone stars, when her cell phone sang out,
A friend in need is a friend indeed. A friend who'll tease is better
.

“Hey,” she said without checking the number. For everyone except her closest friends, the ring tone was an old Das EFX/Ice Cube song that began, “Check yourself, before you wreck yourself.”

“Hey,” Mark said, scaring Kiki half out of her skin. She just assumed it was the Pussycats, calling to check up on her. But Mark didn't seem to notice that anything had changed between them. He had driven her to and from practice all week, and they had talked as usual: scheduling the scratch tracks due at RGB in mid-November, homework, how annoying Franklin was. He hadn't mentioned taking Jasmine out again, and she hadn't breathed a word about Lyman. “What's up?”