Katie Cox Goes Viral

by Marianne Levy

  “I do not have split ends! Well, I do, but that’s not the point. Which is…” I had to stop for a second to think what the point was. “The point is that this is a really big thing for me. And I’d like it if you could be happy.”

  “I am happy!” said Lacey.

  She did not look happy.

  “Okay then,” I said.

  We ate for a while, and then my bowl was empty, which was a shame, both because it meant I didn’t have an excuse not to talk and also because Lacey’s mom is a good cook—one of those good cooks who believes in small portions.

  “The best thing,” I said quietly, “is that he wants me to go into a studio and record ‘Just Me.’ As a single. I’m going to have a single, Lacey. Me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’ve never been more serious. Well, Okay, I have”—I was thinking of the time I stepped on a sea urchin on vacation, which had been very, very serious—“but…yes. I mean it.”

  “What was it like? At the label?”

  “Bizarre. In an amazing way. Glass everywhere and the receptionist dressed all in black with the most perfect lipstick you’ve ever seen. And security guards on the doors and an elevator with a huge mirror in it, so you can make sure you look all right before you get out. And they had really nice cookies.”

  “Did you see anyone famous?”

  “Only their pictures. But honestly, it was the most exciting thing. Like, the opposite of Harltree.” I tried to put into words that feeling I’d had, taking the subway to Covent Garden, how everything had been so alive. “I wish I could always be there. It makes here seem so boring and pointless.”

  “Here?”

  “Not your bedroom. I mean this town. This stupid, pointless town.”

  “I like it here,” said Lacey. “Anyway, London’s scary.”

  And that is when it came to me that of course, Lacey liked Harltree. She never complained that our Topshop was too small or that there wasn’t anything to do on the weekend other than sit in the park or pay too much money to see things exploding at the movies.

  Lacey was content. She’d probably stay in Harltree forever and marry Devi Lester.

  Huh.

  “I’m moving to London the first chance I get,” I said. “Maybe it’ll be soon. Maybe once my single’s out…”

  “I don’t think it’s legal until you’re sixteen,” said Lacey.

  “Fine. I’ll wait until I’m sixteen, and then I’ll get this big apartment with a TV that slides out of the end of my bed and a grand piano that sits in the middle of the room and a huge walk-in closet.”

  “It sounds nice,” said Lacey.

  “Will you visit me? We’ll go for ice cream. And rides in my helicopter.”

  “You’ll have a helicopter?”

  “Yeah! Parked on the roof! And the propellers will be made of gold. Wait—maybe that’s a little trashy. I’ll have them in platinum; it’s a little more subtle.”

  Lacey was wearing a thoughtful, complex sort of an expression. It reminded me of something, and for a moment I couldn’t think what. Then I remembered, it was the face the next-door neighbor’s cat used to make just before it threw up on our carpet.

  I got ready for some hair holding because I know that’s what you’re supposed to do when a friend is sick. Although I have to say the thought worried me a little because I’m really not good at all around vomit, and you’d have to be close to it to hold up the vomiting person’s hair. What if it was all so disgusting that instead of being a helpful hair holder, I ended up puking onto her head?

  Then Lace swallowed and said, “Okay then. When are you recording?”

  “Next Saturday.”

  “Ah,” said Lacey. “That might be a problem. I’ve got basketball. Do you think you could do it Sunday instead?”

  Which made no sense at all.

  “Um, why does it matter that you’ve got basketball?” I said.

  “Well, I can’t exactly be in two places at once, can I?” said Lacey.

  She turned a very bright red as she said it, meaning that it was significant in some way. Only I couldn’t see how. I mean, it was basketball. And Lacey played defense, which involved standing around for most of the game and then watching helplessly as someone taller than her shot the ball through the hoop. Just what did this have to do with my recording career?

  Oh.

  “Can you make it Sunday? I can definitely make it Sunday. Mom wanted us to go and see Auntie Lou, but I’d much rather go up to London. Auntie Lou always makes me play with my cousin Andrew, and he’s at this funny stage where he just wants to list types of dinosaur.”

  The wind blew rain against the window. Maybe it had been doing it for a while, but this was the first time I’d noticed.

  “Lacey,” I said, trying to think of a sensitive way to phrase it, “you’re not… There’s no reason for you to be there.”

  “No reason for me to be there?”

  “Well, no.”

  Lacey looked around as though she was trying to drum up some support from her bedroom furniture. “That is my tambourine on the original.”

  “What could I do?” I asked. “Say I wouldn’t do it without you?”

  “Yes!” said Lacey.

  I’d been pretty patient. But really.

  I couldn’t put my one big chance of giving my life some kind of meaning on the line in order to include someone who didn’t want to be in the original video anyway and had spent the last few days asking me to get it taken down.

  There was just no way.

  It was so obvious that it didn’t even need explaining.

  Except, apparently, to Lacey.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. But this is about being professional. And—”

  “You don’t think I’m professional?”

  “Not at playing the tambourine, no.”

  “Well, you’re not a professional singer,” said Lacey.

  “I’m about to be!”

  “You wanted me to support you,” said Lacey. “This is me being supportive.”

  “Which is…terrific! And I’m so happy,” I said, trying to sound so happy. “And I’ll include you—of course I will. I was planning to…thank you in the liner notes! Yes!”

  “Great.”

  “Great!” I was pleading now. “So we’re Okay then?”

  She sighed. “I guess so.”

  “Does that mean we can watch Mean Girls?”

  “I don’t think I’m in a Mean Girls sort of a mood,” said Lacey. “I’d like to go downstairs and watch Alien. Okay?”

  “Um, Okay,” I said, trying not to shiver. “Let’s do that.”

  She got up off the bed. And then, at the same moment, we both saw, smack bang in the middle of her carpet, a big splodge of bolognese sauce.

  So the whole Lacey thing—and yes, I will admit that it had now become a real actual thing—wasn’t the best. Luckily, I had a million hits behind me; otherwise, I might have been seriously upset about it all.

  “Look,” I said to Jaz. “It’s gone up again—1,327,888.”

  “Yes, but have you seen my video of Nicole drop-kicking a brick?” said Jaz. “She nearly broke her toe, but it was so worth it.”

  “Has it had a million hits?” I said.

  “No, but we only put it up last night.” She unlocked her phone and turned away. Conversation over.

  Which left me free to sit back and enjoy the ride.

  I have to admit the bus ride was starting to lose its excitement, which is saying something because it hadn’t ever been exciting in the first place. At least it had been a little interesting though to look out of the window and be driven past places I hadn’t known existed, even if those places were just houses and the occasional row of shops with a run-down newsstand or a greasy-looking chip shop.


  Now, I knew every road and every stop and was even starting to recognize the non–school bus regulars: the veiny man who kept remembering to hate me, the woman with weirdly huge boobs to the point where it was possible she had some kind of syndrome, and the young guy who looked like he’d once been a full-scale emo rock singer but was having to scale it back that now he had a job but couldn’t quite let go of the eyeliner.

  And I wasn’t interested in them much either. I wasn’t really interested in anything except when I could escape back to London with my guitar.

  Adrian had said it was all moving too fast. If this was too fast, then normal speed might actually have killed me.

  We got to school a little bit earlier than usual so the corridors were still pretty packed with the preassembly crowd, a bunch of sixth-graders here, a clump of seventh-graders there, a slew of seniors blocking the way like a mountain range. I kept my eyes down, knowing they’d be watching, and blocked my ears with headphones. A bunch of people singing “Just Me” was the last thing I needed.

  “Katie Cox,” said the principal, who had chosen that particular moment to walk past.

  “Yes!”

  Knowing there would probably be more press stuff on the menu, I’d gotten into the bathroom before Amanda could hog it and did my makeup.

  There’d been an exfoliating scrub, then a ten-minute mask. Then more exfoliating scrub, partly because there was still some left in the bottle and partly because the mask seemed to have embedded itself into my pores and my cleanser hadn’t been able to clean it. All this had made my skin kind of red, which meant I’d had to use plenty of Amanda’s moisturizer, and this had given my cheeks a sort of a sheen, so I’d whacked on plenty of powder to finish with. And I have to say, I didn’t look actively worse than when I’d started.

  “Would you like me to talk to the papers again? Say some more about the music program?” I said. “Because I can. I don’t think I completely covered everything the other day, but I figure I could do it way better this time. I can work it in with my guitar playing and song writing and stuff. Make it feel really organic, you know.”

  “Katie,” said the principal, “no earphones in school.”

  “Oh.” I took them out. “Sorry.”

  And no one was singing “Just Me.” Or at least, I’m sure they were, but not at that particular moment.

  Phew!

  So I managed to get through all that, just about, but there was still homeroom to navigate. Which was definitely going to be tricky and embarrassing. Especially when I saw everyone was huddled around Savannah’s phone and smiling and pointing.

  “I know,” I said. “Another hundred thousand hits. That’s the entire population of Harltree all over again. On top of all the people who are already watching. Eek.”

  “Oh, hey, Katie,” said Paige.

  Lacey did a sort of mini wave.

  “Dreamy, yes?” said Savannah.

  “I’ve never seen anything more delicious,” said Sofie.

  All right, maybe there was a chance that they weren’t watching me.

  “I want to lick the screen,” said Savannah.

  More than a chance.

  “Something more exciting than my song?” I said jokingly. “This had better be good!”

  “It is good,” said Sofie. “It’s Savannah’s birthday cake.”

  “Not the actual cake,” said Savannah. “This one doesn’t have a waterfall. But they’re going to add that when they make it. Dad made them promise before he paid the deposit.”

  I shuffled in between Lacey and Paige to see the screen. “I was just wondering if you guys were thinking of another trip to Cindy’s because I’m still considering that dress and—hold on, that thing is a cake?”

  “Five tiers,” said Savannah.

  “It has lights!”

  “I know,” said Savannah.

  “How can a cake have lights?”

  “It plugs in.” She gave the screen a little kiss as though it was a picture of her latest boyfriend.

  Come to think of it, a cake boyfriend would be amazing. You wouldn’t have to worry about what it tasted like when you kissed, and if you ever split up, you could eat it.

  Was that too weird to be a song?

  “I might write a song about that,” I said.

  “So it’s five flavors, obvs,” said Savannah. “The bottom layer is red velvet.”

  “Would you be Okay with it being a song?” I said.

  “Sure, babes. Then rose and pistachio.”

  “I mean, a lot of people might hear it.”

  “And then cherry vanilla swirl.”

  “Because,” I said loudly, “of how I’m going to record a single! I have a record deal, and I am going to record a single. Me!”

  Well, that shut her up, and with two tiers still to go.

  “For real?” said Sofie, and finally, it seemed like I’d pulled her attention away from Savannah’s catering arrangements.

  “Totes,” I said, which is the first time I’ve ever used that word and also, I expect, the last. “I went into Covent Garden, and I met with the head of Top Music. They do Crystal Skye and Karamel and stuff.”

  Savannah perked up.

  “Can you get us free Karamel tickets? A backstage pass would be the most perfect birthday present.”

  “I bet I can,” I said.

  Savannah smiled the first genuine smile I’d ever seen from her. I know it was genuine because her forehead scrunched up and you could see her gums. Savannah never showed her gums when she smiles.

  “Babes, if you can do that, then I will… I will…” She searched around for the most grateful, the most amazing, the most generous thing she could think of. “I will invite you to my party.”

  “I thought I was already invited to your party?”

  “Oh.” Savannah was clearly considering uninviting me so that she could reinvite me on the condition that I got her some Karamel tickets.

  “I’ll definitely get them for you,” I said. “I don’t know if it’ll be in time for your birthday, though.”

  “Well,” said Savannah, looking a little deflated, “late is better than never. Let me know when you have dates, yes?”

  “I will,” I said. “Savannah, the very second I get Karamel tickets, I will hand them right over. I promise.” This wasn’t really as generous as it sounded because I would rather lobotomize myself than listen to Karamel for even a minute. At least it was a promise I could definitely keep.

  “Thanks, babes.”

  “So I probably shouldn’t talk any more about how the meeting went or anything,” I said. “But I suppose, just to finish off—”

  “You’ve genuinely got a record deal?” said Sofie.

  “Yes. With the people who do Crystal Skye and Karamel. Yes, I do.”

  “Even though she hates Crystal Skye and Karamel,” said Lacey.

  “She hates Karamel?” said Savannah. Then, to me, “You hate Karamel??”

  “I hate boy bands,” I said. “And Karamel are a huge, great big boy band, so yes. I hate them.”

  “I still don’t get why you’d record a single with a record label when you can’t stand any of their music!” said Lacey.

  I thought of that huge glass building and the posters and the incredibly expensive cookies. I thought about Tony’s eager expression. I thought about that beautiful receptionist with the perfect makeup and Covent Garden and how, even with a million hits, my friends clearly still considered me slightly less exciting than a cake.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I said. “It’s an industry thing, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so,” said Lacey.

  “Anyway. The point is, we’re recording the single this weekend!” Lacey looked away. “And after that, who knows? I suppose we’ll make a video, and then maybe there’ll be an album.
My album!”

  The door bounced open, and there was McAllister, looking mightily annoyed, which is just her normal expression, but still. “Tell me what are we all discussing so intensely when we should be on our way to assembly?”

  “Katie’s got a record deal,” said Sofie.

  “That is very exciting,” said McAllister, her eyebrows moving fractionally higher in a way that I’d never seen before, which I suppose meant she was genuinely excited. “Now, assembly. Lacey, cheer up for goodness sake. And Savannah, those earrings are coming off right now, or I will take them home and give them to my niece.”

  Cake Boyfriend

  Pat-a-cake

  Pat-a-cake

  Baker’s man

  Bake me a boy as fast as you can

  Give him fudge for hair

  And frosted blue eyes

  And finish him off with

  Vanilla cake thighs

  My cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  My bakey cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  And when we kiss

  It’ll be so fun

  I’ll nibble his earlobes

  And bite his tongue

  My cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  My bakey cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  He’ll have a sweet boy heart

  But if we ever disagree

  Gonna cut him into slices

  And have him with my tea

  My cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  My bakey cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  And when he’s gone

  It won’t much matter

  You can bake me another

  From the leftover batter

  My cakey boyfriend

  My cakey cakey boyfriend

  Oooh my cakey boyfriend

  My bakey cakey boyfriend

  [repeat to fade]

  It seemed like Saturday would never get there, but then luckily it did, or I might just have exploded through an excess of nervous energy. Even things that normally made time go really fast, like watching TV and sleeping, felt slow and draggy as though the world knew I wanted to hurry up and had decided to go secretly into rewind.