by Nia Stephens
“Someone sexy,” Jasmine said, also typical.
They looked at Sasha, who was chewing thoughtfully on a few strands of purple hair. “Someone clever,” she said after a minute. Jasmine gave Sasha a withering look, but Sasha just shrugged. “Hot boys are everywhere. Kiki needs someone who can help her with science homework.”
Kiki shoved her books aside and joined the girls at the computer. “I’ll figure the homework out on my own, sooner or later. But you’re right, I’ve already got enough stupid boys in my life, and it’s not like they’re going anywhere.”
“Good point. You want someone who is smart enough to surprise you, make you laugh, keep you interested.”
“Like Thomas?” Kiki, Jasmine, and Camille chimed together in a syrupy sing-song.
Sasha blushed. “He’s pretty sharp, I have to admit. Not to change the subject or anything, but what about your personal statement and photo? I’ve put in all the favorite subject, favorite hobbies, favorite book stuff, but how would you sum up your view of the world in one hundred words or less?”
That stumped Kiki. “I don’t know. What did you put for yours?”
“A poem by Mary Oliver.”
“Who?” Camille asked.
“Just a poet. She writes about love and nature and death.”
“Your profile was a poem about love, nature, and death?” Jasmine asked disbelievingly. “I’m guessing you got a lot of e-mails, huh?”
“I didn’t post my profile, Jazz,” Sasha explained. “It was hidden. I just did the compatibility search and sent an e-mail to the three boys who looked interesting. That let them see my profile. All three of them wrote back, I went on two bad dates, and then I met Thomas. That was that.”
“What does his profile look like?” Kiki asked.
“A lot like mine, except his poem is by Langston Hughes.”
Jasmine shook her head in amazement. “Love poetry? What century do you people live in?”
“Stop it, Jazz. I think it’s totally romantic,” Camille said dreamily, almost swooning, dark-gold hair swaying over the back of her chair. She looked like someone who belonged on the cover of a romance novel, despite her faded gray Sonic Youth T-shirt.
“You would,” Jasmine told her darkly.
“I think my personal statement should be song lyrics,” Kiki decided, trading her science notebook for the journal she used for writing.
“How about that Rolling Stones song, ‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’?” Jasmine suggested, her eyes wide with fake innocence.
“Ha ha. I meant some of my own lyrics.”
“You want them to know right off that you’re that Katrina Kelvin?” Sasha asked her seriously.
“I have to post a picture, don’t I? They’ll know who I am right off.” When Temporary Insanity’s debut album came out, their pictures were plastered all over Nashville, most prominently in front of the Tower Records store on West End, one of the city’s busiest streets. People who had no idea what Temporary Insanity sounded like or what Kiki’s name was could recognize her face instantly.
“Well, yeah. But you weren’t going to use a publicity shot, were you?”
“I hadn’t thought that far,” Kiki admitted. But now that Sasha had mentioned it, she could see why that might be a bad thing. She wanted to date someone who was interested in her, not someone interested in dating a girl with a recording contract.
“How about that picture of you getting into the limo before Sophomore Soirée?” Camille suggested. “You looked so pretty in that old ball gown!”
“You looked like Marie Antoinette in blackface and a dreadlock wig,” Jasmine countered. “I think you want something a little sexier. How about the one I took when we were at the beach last year for spring break?”
“The one in my bikini? I don’t think so.” Kiki could just imagine what her managers would have to say if that picture turned up on the Internet.
“How about this one?” Camille suggested, grabbing a framed photo that hung above Kiki’s computer. In it, Kiki was dressed for the stage in skintight black pin-striped pants and her favorite black bustier, but she wasn’t rocking out. She was lying on a sofa, barefoot, reading Crime and Punishment for school. Mark had snapped it with her camera just a few weeks ago.
“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.
You watch me try on mask after mask
Always knowing which face is true
But when you wonder, you just ask
And that’s why I love you.
You always seek beneath the surface
Never frightened of the dark
You understand that I’m an actress
But loving you is not a part
You accept my secrets like a gift
A magic spell only you can lift.
“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:
Carpe diem. Carpe noctem. You never know how long you have, or what you’ll miss out on, so you have to pursue all that’s great about being alive. You can’t listen to one type of music, or read one type of book, or only eat fruits that grow within twenty miles of your home. Life is too short for that. So seize the day and the night.
“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:
I am part of th
e beat
I am the dark and the heat
The pulse in your wrist
The dance in your feet
A shot of musical whiskey
Served up neat
“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:
If you aren’t playing to win, you aren’t playing. There is no problem that’s too hard to solve, not on a math test, not on a lacrosse field, and not in the community. You can sit around complaining about world hunger, or you can feed people. Confucius say: Do or do not. There is no try. Or maybe that was Yoda. :)
“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.”
4. Michael
Age: 16
Hobbies: soccer, Winning Eleven, making friends, partying Compatibility: 62%
Personal Statement:
Why sit around writing personal statements when someone somewhere is throwing a party?
“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.
Chapter 4
Lyman
Kiki 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.
From: [email protected]
To: k^[email protected]
Re: salutations
My dear K-cubed,
After reading your profile and seeing your photo, I’m certain I can safely conclude that your last name is Kelvin. I saw you when you opened for Goodness at the Ryman last month, and at various other clubs at various points in the last few years. I believe you smiled at me two and a half years ago at the End, but I might be mistaken. It was very late, and I think the spotlight was in your eyes.
In response to your question, I don’t actually go to school. In theory, my mother is teaching me, but in fact I mostly read books (history, higher math, and graphic novels when I can get away with it) and play the piano. No, I must confess that piano is my percussion instrument of choice, not your beloved drums, but I am pretty good with keyboards. And certainly better than I am with turntables.
I feel I have the advantage, having listened to your music for two years, and you (presumably?) have never listened to mine. The link below will take you to my website, which does have a couple of MP3s, but not a great deal more. Technological know-how is the one area of geekery at which I fail completely.
If you’re not ready to run away screaming, give me a call. My number is LOVES-96. This is merely a coinciden
ce that someone else pointed out to me. Really.
—Lyman.
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.
