Katie Cox vs. the Boy Band
Page 1
Also by Marianne Levy
Katie Cox Goes Viral
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Copyright © 2018 by Marianne Levy
Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Danielle McNaughton/Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover images © tsaplia/Shutterstock; balabolka/Shutterstock; Little Princess/Shutterstock; Susse_n/Shutterstock; 4x6/iStock
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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Originally published as Face the Music in 2017 in the United Kingdom by Macmillan Children’s Books, an imprint of Pan Macmillan.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Levy, Marianne, author.
Title: Katie Cox vs. the boy band / Marianne Levy.
Other titles: Katie Cox versus the boy band
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, [2018] | Summary: “Katie Cox became an overnight pop sensation, but can she face the music of the public spotlight?”-- Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017052011 | (pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: | CYAC: Singers--Fiction. | Fame--Fiction. | Friendship--Fiction. | Bands (Music)--Fiction. | Fathers and daughters--Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.L4897 Kd 2018 | DDC [Fic]--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017052011
So there I was, standing in the wings, ready to do my first major concert. I mean, seriously major, with tons of people watching and goodness knows how many more online.
Even though I’d practiced and practiced, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold the guitar. My hands were dripping sweat, and there was a good chance that when I opened my mouth, I’d barf all over the stage.
It was no use telling myself that everyone gets nervous. Because this was no ordinary concert.
I was about to sing live to twelve and a half thousand people.
And each and every one of them wanted to kill me.
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
About the Author
Back Cover
Let’s rewind.
So basically, I recorded a song in my bedroom. A song called “Just Me.” I’ve always written songs, ever since I can remember, and sat in my bedroom and sung them. Like using up all the hot water and leaving my homework on the bus, writing songs is just something that I do. And this song wasn’t especially different from the others.
Except that my friend Jaz put it on YouTube. And it went sort of viral.
Okay, a lot viral.
It started with everyone at school and then went sort of crazy. Like, being-played-on-Top-40-level crazy. Lacey said that her aunt went to Thailand, and “Just Me” was coming out of the speakers there. It’s kind of upsetting that my song gets to go to Thailand when I’ve never managed to get any farther than Plymouth.
Anyway, I ended up getting signed to a record label called Top Music, which I still can’t really believe, because this is me we’re talking about. Katie Cox: pizza lover, boy band hater, and possessor of the world’s wonkiest bangs. Being signed to Top Music meant all kinds of things.
It meant I had my song go to number two on the charts. It meant that I was supposed to be writing music for a concert and an album. And it meant that I was with the same record label as the annoying boy band Karamel.
This last point wasn’t particularly significant, except that, in a moment of extreme foolishness, I’d promised my classmate Savannah that I would get her tickets to go see them, and she would not let me forget it. Seriously, the girl was obsessed.
“Katie, you know those Karamel tickets…?” and “You did promise me, Katie.” and “It’s, like, completely fine and everything, but they are touring right now, and you made me a promise, and if you don’t keep it, I will tell the entire Internet about the time at my birthday party when you fell into my cake. I have pictures, Katie.”
We were at school, sitting in the bushes behind the back of the science classrooms. You’d think that a number-two-selling pop star would, maybe, have more glamorous places to be.
In fact, a month had passed, and I hadn’t seen any money from my mega hit, and even if it did ever turn up, Mom had assured me there was no way I was allowed to spend it on starting a new life in Hollywood. And for all my pleading, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to live alone in a mansion made of gold. At least not until after the end-of-semester dance.
“All right, fine,” I said.
“Really?” Savannah’s face was shining like I’d opened up her head and stuck a tea light in her mouth. “Babes, you are rocking my world. Backstage passes, yes, yes?”
You would also think that being a number-two-selling pop star would elevate me into a position at least slightly above Savannah, even if she was the richest and prettiest girl in my class.
Oh well.
I started texting the head of Top Music. “I’m asking, okay?” I held it up to show her.
“Ew!” said Savannah, who had seen far too many American high school movies. “You cannot seriously expect me to go on my own.”
“I seriously can.”
Savannah went gray, which is pretty hard to do whe
n you’re slathered in spray tan. “Katie. You are asking me to meet my future boyfriend while looking—” She paused, her mouth making funny little shapes as she tried to bend her lips around the word unpopular.
Now, there is a big difference between looking unpopular and being unpopular, and unlike Savannah, I have experienced both. So even though, really, I think Savannah would probably benefit from a dose of unpopularity, I softened enough to say, “All right. I’ll ask for two tickets.”
Sofie and Paige sat upright, and Savannah’s head swiveled from one to the other. In the space of ten seconds, she’d gone from wounded possum to queen cobra.
“Pleeeease can I come?” said Sofie. “I will give you anything you want, Savannah.”
“I’ll give you double,” said Paige. “My fake Gucci purse even. Anything.”
“But that’s not fair!” cried Sofie. “I don’t have a fake Gucci purse to give!”
I am not one to mess with a friendship as beautiful as the Sofie-Savannah-Paige triangle, although I have to say, I did consider it. But the fallout would have been too great, both for the world and its fake Gucci leatherwear.
“Three tickets,” I said. “I will ask for three tickets.”
“Thanks, Katie.”
“Thank you!”
“Can you make it four?” Now this was a surprise.
Because the words had come from my best friend, Lacey.
Lacey, who had always agreed with me that boy bands are an insult to music. And that the worst and most insulting boy band of all is Karamel.
“Hahaha,” I said. “You’re funny, Lace.” She wasn’t laughing back.
“Yes or no?”
“Lacey, you cannot actually be suggesting that you want to spend an evening watching Karamel.”
“It’s either that or watch TV with Mom,” said Lacey, who, to be fair, does have quite a scary mom.
“But—”
“I want to go,” said Lacey. “It’ll be fun.”
“Four tickets,” I said. And then I hit Send.
“Aren’t you coming?” said Lacey.
“I am not,” I said. “On account of Karamel being literally the worst boy band in the whole universe. Also, I have tons of other things to do. I am so busy right now.”
“Whoa, have you still not written your song?” said Lacey. “What’s the holdup?”
“There’s no holdup. It’s going great,” I said quickly, and then looked hard at my phone until everyone started talking about something else.
This is the difficulty with having a song do well on the Internet. It starts out all exciting and awesome and everyone says “good job” and sends the link to their cousin in Australia and maybe you even get a record deal and end up on the front page of the Harltree Gazette.
And then, just as you’re getting used to everything being sort of awesome, it happens. Someone says, “So what’s next?”
And once one person’s said it, they all do. It’s not enough that there’s a song out there, a song you’re really proud of, that everyone’s been clicking on and singing at you in drugstores. Nope.
They want more.
Have you written the next one yet? When’s it out?
We can’t wait!
In fact, I had some potential next ones. More than some. Lots and lots. Hundreds, really, because I’ve been writing songs since I was little.
Only, somehow, even though I had notebook after notebook full of lyrics, most of them didn’t seem quite right. For example, last night I found one I’d started a while back, about spaghetti hoops, and in my memory, it was really funny. But when I sat down and actually sang it, it was just this weird unfinished thing about spaghetti hoops. I mean, spaghetti hoops are nice and all, but I’m not sure they deserve their own song.
I still had plenty of decent ones to play Tony, though. And, as I said to myself, over and over and over again, it’s only natural to have the jitters—absolutely nothing to worry about.
“Actually,” I said, interrupting a conversation about Karamel’s latest album artwork, “I’m going into Top Music tomorrow to play them some stuff. And I’m sort of feeling a little anxious about it.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Lacey. “If I were you, I’d be really worried.”
“Would you?” This seemed remarkably insensitive, coming from my bf. “Huh.”
“Why isn’t he replying?” said Savannah, who was more interested in my phone than my creative process. “Didn’t you make it clear that this is important?”
“Savannah, I texted the head of one of the country’s biggest music labels. I’m not sure that arranging your concert tickets is right up there on his list of priorities.”
“So you didn’t make it clear that it was important. Honestly, Katie, becoming a celebrity has made you so self-centered.”
My phone flashed.
Everyone leaned in, Savannah’s fingers doing this sort of grabby motion, like one of those claw machines you see at the arcade that always pick up the teddy bear and then drop it at the very last second, making you spend your entire allowance on a stuffed toy you don’t even want when you actually needed the money for a hamburger and fries. “It’s a yes,” I said. “Next Thursday, four front-row VIP tickets will be waiting at the box office, plus wristbands for the backstage party afterward. All taken care of. Any problems just speak to security. Oh. Next Thursday is July the ninth. That’s—”
I stopped talking because the screaming had gotten so loud and so high that no one would have heard me. It was like someone had stomped on a box of bats.
“Oh my God, I am going to meet Karamel!”
“They are so beautiful!”
“This is it. This is the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“I am going to marry him. This is where it begins. Me and Kurt. Forever!”
“No, I’m going to marry him.”
“No, I am.”
The squeaks paused for the tiniest second, and I opened my mouth.
“Can we all just calm down a minute here and—”
Which is when Savannah said, “What am I going to wear?”
And after that, I could have said anything at all, to be honest, because no one would have heard me.
So I tried to meet Lacey’s eye, with my Wow, these three are being strange right now face.
Only, she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Paige and saying, “Do you think Kristian will talk to me? We could double-date…”
And I did wonder whether me and my best friend were ever so slightly growing apart.
Just a little.
“Katie, babes, are you okay? Because you are making the most ugly face right now.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Savannah.”
“No problem.”
“Actually,” I went on, “I am a little upset. Because July the ninth is—”
Only the bell was ringing, and Savannah and Paige and Sofie and Lacey were swinging off across the parking lot, chanting, “We’re going to see Karamel!” at the top of their lungs.
I sighed and said, “July the ninth is my birthday.”
But they were too far away to hear.
Spaghetti Hoops
They’re orange
And they float in soups
They’re pasta
And they’re shaped like hoops
Something something spaghetti
Something something
Confetti
Yeti
No.
Argh!
“Hang on,” said my big sister Amanda, who had been scrolling through the latest celeb gossip on Pop Trash, but now put her phone down to focus on my stupidity. “You offered half your class free tickets and backstage passes to see the biggest boy band on the planet, and you’re upset because they said yes?”
&n
bsp; Mands has a very annoying way of seeing things sometimes.
“They should know better,” I said. “Well, not Savannah’s group. But Lacey should.”
“Why?”
Honestly. “Because Lacey hates Karamel.”
Amanda raised one of her eyebrows. “Does she? Or do you?”
And then she did the big-sister thing she does where she attempts to look really, really wise.
I couldn’t even tell her to go back to her own room. Back in the spring, Mom and her new boyfriend Adrian had teamed up to buy the world’s most useless house, and we’d all moved in together.
You wouldn’t think that a house could be useless, since all it really needs to do is stand there without falling down. But our house wasn’t even managing to do that. There were cracks in the walls, and the garage roof had collapsed, and when they finally got an inspector to come by he said that one side of the house had subsidence and urgently needed underpinning.
Which is a fancy way of saying that it might fall down.
So now the half of the house with the most cracks in it was strictly off-limits. Which meant that Amanda’s room was out of bounds. Which meant that she’d had to move in with me.
I’d been trying to look on the bright side of things. It was much easier to borrow her stuff when it was sitting in the same closet as mine.
And…actually, that was pretty much the only positive thing. I mean, she’s my sister and everything, but is it really necessary for her to fold her pants? Or make my bed? Or make me listen to every last track released by Friends of Noom or the Zits or whatever weird and unknown band she’s currently into?
“We both hate Karamel,” I told her. “Boy band? More like boy bland.” I waited for some acknowledgment of what had been quite a smart thing to say, but Amanda’s face wasn’t moving, so I continued. “Lacey and I have always been extremely clear on that. They are the three most annoying boys on the face of the earth, and they have stupid hair. Their names all begin with a K. Even Kolin. I mean, come on. Kolin! And they can’t sing.”
“Kurt is a very accomplished singer and a terrific guitarist,” said Mands. “How much Karamel have you actually heard?”