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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Cali Boys
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2
KASSIDY MADDOX
T
he Beverly Center was crowded, as usual, and Kassidy was peeved. She pushed through the throng of mall shoppers, hating Los Angeles more and more with each shove she gave and each pleasantry some polite stranger returned.
Why is everyone so nice here?
“La-La Land,” she muttered, answering her own question as she made her way to the escalator, ignoring a phone call from an unknown caller. “Why do I have to live here?” she asked for the umpteenth time, seeing no reason for the twenty-five-hundred-mile move from New York to Cali. Sure, her mother had eloped with an LA local, but, as far as Kassidy was concerned, her mother's marriage and relocation had nothing to do with her. One, she didn't really know her new daddy dearest and hadn't preapproved him, though she'd put on a pretense to make her mom happy because her mother was deserving of happiness. Two, New York was her playground, and, for her, there was no place like the Big Apple. Three, Manhattan was where she'd made all of her money by being a highly sought-after teen model. Growing up, the rule had been that Mommy was the manager and Kassidy was the star, but not after today. In the last twenty-four hours, she'd waved good-bye to her friends and boyfriend, Brent, hopped a plane from John F. Kennedy International Airport to LAX, and now she was here at the mall on a guilt-trip shopping spree, courtesy of her mom. She shrugged. She didn't know what made her mother think that more clothes and shoes could erase the headache and heartache moving had caused Kassidy, but, whatever it was, her mom was wrong. Flat-out wrong. But she'd accept the new wardrobe as a gift, though it wouldn't be enough to sway her. Kassidy had been on modeling shoots in Los Angeles too many times to count, and she'd frequented the Beverly Center, Rodeo Drive, Santa Monica, and other trendy places more than she'd care to admit, and not one had made her want to stay. New York pulsed through her veins, plain and simple, and she was certain she'd die without the heartbeat of the city of all cities. More than longing for New York and everything that came with it, she missed the love of her life, Brent—the boyfriend of all boyfriends. He was the one she'd kept, the only one she was true to, except for when he wasn't looking. But what boys didn't know didn't hurt them. That's what she'd told herself. Now she wished she'd been faithful and spent more time with him. Maybe being forced to move was the universe's way of paying her back for cheating. Karma.
Her phone vibrated again, and “Unknown Caller” popped up on the screen. As always, she pressed Ignore, wondering why whoever-it-was kept calling anonymously. She always treated anonymous calls the same: she didn't take them.
As Kassidy approached the escalator, she saw that a small crowd had gathered, and she stopped behind it. Someone appeared to be blocking the escalator. As though her hand were a magic wand, she extended it between two boys and parted the group of people who seemed to be way more tolerant than she.
“Excuse me,” Kassidy said to the back of some extralarge girl who wasn't moving. Kassidy was simultaneously reading a text from Faith, her best friend in Los Angeles, who said that she was waiting for her on the top floor. Faith was also a model, one that Kassidy had helped many times; in fact, she had just hooked her up with a major shoot in New York. Faith wasn't on the same level as Kassidy, but she knew the ropes in California and had promised to introduce Kassidy to all the bigwigs she needed to know.
It'll be nice to have someone to talk shop with here
, Kassidy thought, then realized the person blocking the elevator hadn't moved a centimeter. “Excuse me,” Kassidy repeated, not sure if the girl had heard her. Her phone vibrated in her hand again, stealing her attention. A message from Brent came through:
CALL ME.
She called him immediately. When a song met her ears, she was certain she had the wrong number. She hung up. Brent didn't do any sort of ringtones or music on his phone. She shrugged, then scrolled to his name in Favorites and selected it. Again, some song came on. Kassidy gave it a few seconds and was about to hang up.
“Hey. You like it?” Brent asked.
“What?” Kassidy said, smiling for no reason.
“The song that you heard when you called. That's mine. I'm thinking of becoming a double threat, a model and singer-songwriter. I've been dabbling with my boy at the studio, and we're putting some tracks together. Maybe we can get one of the designers to use it during Fashion Week,” he said.
Kassidy smiled, walking forward, then bumped into the rude girl, the one who was blocking the escalator. “Uh ... I said excuse me. Didn't you hear?”
The girl glanced over her shoulder, sucked her teeth in irritation, and turned back around. She'd rotated her head so quickly, Kassidy didn't get a good look at her, but her message was clear: she didn't care.
“S'cuse me. S'cuse me,” the girl mimicked, messing up the enunciation. She stepped sideways, positioning herself in the middle of the escalator. She obviously had no intention of moving, and purposely stood in the way of everyone who tried to politely get by her. “Excuse yourself, skinny girl ... right outta my way. Maybe if you had asked me nicer, I'd move. So
you
move. I was here first.”
Kassidy couldn't believe the nerve of the girl. “Baby, I'm going to call you after I finish shopping,” she said.
“Wait, Kassidy. Make sure you call because I won't be able to text—” he began.
“Later,” Kassidy said, cutting him off and pressing END on the phone. She wasn't able to really hear what he'd said because the rude girl kept talking trash. She put her hand on her hip and asked the girl once more to move. The girl turned completely around, and Kassidy almost threw up in her own mouth. The girl had a white ring of confectionary sugar around her chapped lips and a dab of what appeared to be jelly on her chin, courtesy of the huge powdered doughnut she scarfed. Without a hint of embarrassment, the girl licked the reddish filling off her fingers, looking Kassidy up and down. Kassidy took a good look at the girl's face, and almost keeled over. The girl had two faint black marks on her cheeks where blush would've normally been, and she didn't breathe; she snored while awake. Kassidy almost cringed at the sound of the heavy wheeze.
“You should see about that,” Kassidy said, and tried to move the girl out of the way with the back of her hand. It was bad enough that she was here in La-La Land, but her good friend and only connection to the modeling world was waiting. From Kassidy's experience, cash and opportunity didn't wait on anyone, and if something didn't make money, it didn't make cents or sense.
“S'cuse me?” The girl pushed Kassidy's hand away, then stepped in front of her. “I know you didn't! And see about what, Ms. Lookin' Like Feed The Children?” she spat between bites of the doughnut.
Kassidy paused, looking down at her hand. She couldn't believe the girl had the nerve to lay a jelly-smudged finger on her.
Where is my sanitizer? Where is my sanitizer?
“I said”—she paused for effect and looked the girl dead-on—“you should see about your snorting—I mean, wheezing. And the rings on your cheeks? Oh yeah, you should get 'em checked out, too—they're signs of insulin problems, probably from obesity. Maybe if you put down the doughnut and learned about nutrition, you'd know. And, roly-poly, if anyone looks like Feed The Children, it's your fault. Obviously, you've depleted the world's food supply in one sitting.” She pressed her foot onto the ground to steady herself, successfully pushed the mean girl out of the way, and hopped on the escalator with head held high. The girl hadn't put an ounce of fear in her at all. Kassidy was a New Yorker. Sugar-lipped, round, jelly-faced foodies didn't scare her.
“Wait until I catch you,” the girl threatened from the bottom of the escalator. “LA's small. We'll see each other again.”
Kassidy's hand was on her hip, and her neck snaked. “Ms. Snack Attack, for my eyes' sake, I hope not. But whatever.” She shrugged. “I'm not running. You can find me in one of the stores that don't sell your size because, I'm sure, no one sells size elephant.” She turned her head, hoping to spot either Faith or her mother. She needed to shop until she dropped.
 
Armed with only four shopping bags, Kassidy hadn't found enough suitable items to put a dent in her disdain for LA, but she knew better than to show it. She plastered a huge smile on her face and nodded at her mom as they exited the store. “I'm telling you, the girl's attitude was as huge as she was. Had the nerve to be standing in front of the escalator stuffing a jelly doughnut down her trap, not letting anyone by. Not even the elderly,” Kassidy told her mom and Faith.
“Oh God,” Faith chimed in, shaking her waist-length blond-highlighted tresses. Disgust was on her face when she pushed up her perfect brows. “Sugar? She can't be a true Los Angeles girl. We don't do sugar here—or extra weight. Unless, of course, she's Eastie, like the raggedy hood rats from the east side. You know, base. Only bottom-feeders—the non-elite—scarf doughnuts.” She pushed her arm through Kassidy's, hooking them together like they were sisters. “Speaking of bottom-feeders, did I tell you my people hooked me up with another urban shoot in New York? Thanks to you and the hookup you gave me, of course. I leave tomorrow.”
Kassidy and her mother frowned.
“What does an urban shoot have to do with bottom-feeders? Urban is anything within city limits, right?” Kassidy asked, almost turned off by Faith's judgment about urban people. She was urban, and so were her family and boyfriend. Then her eyes lit. Faith was going to New York, where Brent was. Maybe she could find a way to go with. Since she hadn't unpacked yet, she could just grab one of her bags. It would be easy travel, she believed.
Faith laughed. “If you saw where we're shooting, you'd understand. I'm talking super ghetto. I bet you'd see a bunch of greasy whales like the girl you're talking about. Just déclassé!”
Kassidy laughed for two reasons. One, because she didn't want to do anything that would make Faith not want to include her on the trip. Two, the rude girl did resemble a whale, that was for sure. “Well, she certainly is a huge mammal who clearly likes confections. She was just big and ugly for no reason.”
Kassidy's mom grimaced. “Kass, don't use words like that. It's rude to call heavier people huge.” She stopped dead in her tracks, then looked around the mall like she'd lost something.
Kassidy almost walked into her. “Uh, Mom? Why not? If big girls call me skinny, then why can't I call them big? Prejudice works on both sides, big and small. And what are you looking for?”
Her mother turned around. “Well, it's a sort of a surprise. Sort of because I didn't tell you she was meeting us here, but I told you your stepdad had a daughter, but, obviously, you didn't listen. Anyway, I think you two will get along just fine. Rather, I'm hoping you
three
,” she began, looking from Kassidy to Faith, holding her stare to make her point. “Hopefully you all will pull it off. Different can be a good thing.”
“You know, Faith, I could go with you to New York and help you out a little. Even introduce you to some more people ...”
Her mother shook her head and tsk-tsked. “Uh, no. I know what you're up to. And it's not just modeling; it's that boyfriend of yours. Maybe next time. Right now—today, tomorrow, or for as long as it takes—I need you to meet and learn about your new family.”
Kassidy's jaw dropped. She wasn't ready to get to know the new daddy dearest yet. Not until she'd racked up enough things to pacify her and figured out a way to get back to New York and Brent, since her mother had killed her latest dream. “But we've already met. Remember when he flew in to take you to dinner?”
“Uh-uh,” her mom answered, just to be saying something. She was clearly not paying attention. “Oh, wait. Ah, yes. Here she comes.”
“
She?
” Kassidy asked, shooting a quizzical look at Faith.
“Yes,” her mother said, clapping like a cheerleader, then pointing. “I always wanted you to have a sister—”
“Sister?” Kassidy parroted. What was her mom talking about?
“Yummy! Over here, sweetie,” her mom called out, waving.
“
Yummy?
” Kassidy craned her neck to see where her mom was pointing, and her stomach fell to her knees. She was sure she was going to regurgitate in her own mouth this time.
Oh. No.
That
will never be my sister
, she thought as she locked eyes with none other than Ms. Snack Attack herself, complete with the powdered-sugar ring still around her chapped lips.
“Oh God. That's your new sister?” Faith asked in total disbelief and even more disgust. “I bet you really wish you could go with, now.”
Kassidy shook her head vehemently. “She'll never be my sister. And since I can't go, I'll need a favor. I need you to find my boyfriend. Quick!” She most definitely had to get back to New York, ASAP.
3
JACOBI
“D
ear God, I know you can hear me. But are you listening? Please send a sign that you are. I've done everything I'm supposed to do. I haven't lied. Well, not really, except to Diggs. Okay, and maybe to my parents about liking this new house and neighborhood and not sneaking back to my old neighborhood in Lancaster. But that was only once. Okay, twice. Okay, okay, already. Three times. Please forgive me for those, but I was looking for Katydid, and I couldn't find her, but you already know that. Right, God? And also forgive me for pushing Hunter down, but he deserved it, God, he did. So, God, if you could find it in your big heart to give me a pass, can you please send me some breasts and an acne cure, and make the stock market rise? Oh, and a few great shots would be nice, too. I've been trying to perfect working with the new video camera Dad surprised me with, so if you could send a great idea so I can come up with a short film, that'd be great. Thank you, God.”
Jacobi got up from bended knees and dusted them off. She hated the hardwood floors in the new house, along with just about every other thing her parents loved so much. She shrugged. She'd just have to get over it, at least for the next three years or so, until she went to college; that's what Shooby and Katydid had said. She was only fifteen, which meant she had no say about where they lived because she didn't pay the mortgage.
A soft knock on her door told her that her mom was on the other side. Her dad was usually the only one in the house who respected her privacy, probably because Jacobi was a girl, and girls, according to him, needed space for girl time and girl things—
things
meaning stuff she wasn't yet ready for, like monthly feminine supplies; but she'd never tell him that, or her mother, for that matter. But her dad wasn't home, and Diggs and Hunter just barged in whenever they felt like it, so she knew it had to be her mom. Her mother had taken to politeness lately, just as she'd taken to all things that she considered upper-class, now that they'd moved, including being proactive in her daughter's education—something she'd never done before because she'd had to work all the time.
“Hey, sweetie,” her mom said with a huge smile plastered across her face. “There's someone at the door for you.”
Jacobi's eyebrows shot to the ceiling and her eyes rolled. She didn't know anyone in the neighborhood and preferred to keep it that way. “For me? Who?” she asked, sucking her teeth.
Still smiling, her mother shrugged and raised her brows. Jacobi noticed that somehow her forehead wrinkles had magically disappeared. Her mother held her hand to her chest in an
oh my
fashion. “Alissa—I think that's what she said her name is. ‘Alissa with one
l
, an
i
, and two s's'. That's what she said. Guess that means
A-li-s-s-a
, I think. Anyway, she's waiting on the porch. Also, before you go, don't forget to check into that film class I found. It's recurrent. It starts every eight weeks.”
Jacobi stared at her mother's smooth forehead and pursed her lips together in thought. All it took was two seconds for her to think about it. No, she wasn't going to a stupid film class. Not unless she could take an investment class, too, which her mom said she couldn't because she thought it was a waste of time. She didn't know Jacobi had been making money on the market, and Jacobi couldn't tell her. Legally, Jacobi was too young to trade, and there was no way her mom would allow her to. Jacobi shrugged.
Whatever
. She didn't know an Alissa, and had never heard of one. And definitely didn't know anyone who went around spelling out their name.
“What happened to your face? Your wrinkles disappeared. And are you sure the girl's not looking for Diggs? All the girls—for whatever reason; bad taste, maybe?—look for him.”
Her mother's eyebrows rose higher, then she purposely moved them up and down. “Ah, you noticed. I had Botox, sweetie. All the women around here do it. And sorry to disappoint you, sweetie, but no. She's here for you.” Her mother smiled wider, apparently glad someone was visiting Jacobi. “Now, don't be rude, Jacobi. She seems really nice. She's a ... bit ... well, uh, different, but nice.”
Jacobi gave herself the once-over in the mirror, wondering what
different
meant and hoping God had already cured her boob and acne problem. But no-go. He hadn't worked as fast as she would've liked on the physical thing, so maybe that meant He had her covered on the creative request for a good documentary idea. She looked to the ceiling, closed her eyes for a second, and gently reminded Him of her prayer, then grabbed her purse and video camera. She was heading out to the motorcycle show to meet Shooby. Today was supposed to be their day alone, which, at first, she thought was unusual because she couldn't remember their ever being together without the crew being around. But he'd stressed that they—and they alone—needed to hook up because he had something to tell her. She only hoped it was that he felt the same as she did. She fingered her new camera, thinking that filming a few minutes of the bikes and people would be good, too. Maybe she could get Shooby to commentate, like a television journalist, before they snuck away together, so she figured meeting this Alissa girl couldn't be a total waste of time since she had to leave through the front door anyway.
Alissa was tall with electric orange hair. Really, really tall with legs that stretched from the ground to eternity, and an equally long neck. Those were the first things Jacobi noticed when she peeked out the window to size up her visitor. Superlong legs, an ostrich-length neck, and hair that looked like a blaze of fire. Then she noticed the girl's pleasant demeanor. Jacobi couldn't put her finger on it, but something about the Alissa girl seemed welcoming.
“Hey,” Jacobi said as politely as she could when she stepped out onto the porch into the hot sun, adjusting her camera around her neck.
“Hi!” Alissa replied, perkier than Jacobi had ever heard a person be. “I'm Alissa. Your next-door neighbor. That's a cool camera. Videographer?”
Jacobi brightened, nodding her head to Alissa's question and zooming in on a splatter of orange-red freckles that dotted her pale face. She had one of the lightest complexions on a black girl that Jacobi had ever seen, making Jacobi wonder about her heritage. Still, Alissa's appearance didn't deter Jacobi from her uppity mood. Malone, a boy she thought was cuter than any other guy who walked the planet, also lived next door. Maybe he was Alissa's brother. She didn't see a resemblance, though. In fact, besides looking like she could glow at night, Alissa reminded Jacobi a lot of herself. Plain. She wasn't ugly enough to be considered ugly, and definitely was not pretty enough to be considered average. She was just there.
As if reading her thoughts, Alissa nodded her head and pointed in the direction of Malone's house. “Yep. I live over there. I'm your other next-door neighbor. Malone's sister, in case you were wondering.” She laughed.
Jacobi nodded and laughed with her.
“Anyway, I thought I'd come introduce myself. I would've done it sooner, but I was on punishment.” She shrugged. “I go t a B in math. You know how it goes. They acted like I wasn't going to be promoted to the eleventh grade because of it.”
Jacobi just nodded, noting that Alissa was a year ahead of her in school. No, she didn't know how punishment for getting a B on your report card went. Her parents would've probably thrown her a party if she'd gotten anything above a C-minus, maybe even a D-plus. She'd been a consistent underachiever who'd barely made the grade her whole academic life, and had barely passed the ninth grade. She'd been too busy for school; that's what Shooby had told her.
“So, I hear you're going to the motorcycle show, too, and I thought we could go together.”
Jacobi's brows lifted again, and she tilted her head. “How do you know my business?”
“Easy,” Alissa said. “Our mothers have been talking. My mom was swapping how-to-keep-your-lawn-green secrets with your mother, in exchange for how-to-make-red-beans-and-rice secrets, and they were figuring out how to get us to be friends, too, I guess. They even talked about sending me to some film school your mom wants you to go to. Boring stuff.” She waved her hand. “But I don't mind. I don't deal with many people around here—too bourgeois and stuck-up for me—if you get what I'm saying. And from what my mom tells me, your family's not like that. So, we'll be cool. So you wanna roll? The show should be hot. It always is ...”
Jacobi stood there holding her purse and her tongue, then stepped off the porch and made her way to the street, listening as Alissa went on with the speed of her words increasing with each step. She didn't let Jacobi get one word in, and had pronounced bourgeois correctly—
boozh-wah
, not
boozh-ee
. She just kept rattling on and on, and Jacobi kind of liked it, since she wasn't much of a talker herself. Around Alissa, she knew she wouldn't have to say much, and that made her comfortable. Until her face cleared and her breasts sprouted, as far as she was concerned, the less she was noticed, the better.
“You know, you dress like you're from the Valley.” Alissa continued the one-sided conversation. “It's cute, though. I kinda like the shoes ...”
“Oh my, not another one! Orphan Annie has a new friend. A friend with a huge camera around her neck,” a girl yelled out, pulling Jacobi's attention.
Alissa grabbed Jacobi by the arm, then picked up the pace. They no longer walked, they marched. “Don't look back. If you don't pay them any attention, they'll go away.”
Jacobi couldn't help herself. She turned her head, and about twenty feet behind them were a few girls. Ones she knew she could take on, alone if she had to. It wouldn't be easy, but it was possible. She'd bet a dollar to a dime the clique of girls hadn't rumbled before like she'd had to back in Lancaster.
“Don't look,” Alissa urged, walking even faster.
“Who're they?” Jacobi asked, out of breath and baffled by the girls' nastiness. It was hard for her to keep up with Alissa's long strides, so she slowed. She wasn't running from anyone.
Alissa pulled her arm, trying to make her keep pace, but Jacobi refused to move. “Only my biggest enemy. Yummy. The others are her friends. For now. Next month they'll be on her people-to-hate list, too. C'mon, Jacobi. Let's go.”
The girls caught up with Jacobi and Alissa, and were now in front of them. They'd moved quicker than Jacobi believed they could, and now Jacobi wasn't too happy about the switch. From the nasty look the head girl wore, coupled with her huge size, Jacobi would have given anything to still be in front of them, moving as fast as she could to reach her destination. Jacobi held her head high despite her nervousness and came face-to-face with the girl, who had to be at least three times Jacobi's weight. The girl's arms were the size of Jacobi's mother's thighs, her hair was all over her head, crusty sleep crumbles were in the corners of her eyes, and she had chalky stuff around her mouth. Even with the distance between them, Jacobi could hear the girl breathe. She snorted when she inhaled, like she was fighting to fill her lungs, and she huffed her exhale like her breath was celebrating escaping her throat. Out of nowhere, the girl took a powdered doughnut out of a box and stuffed it between her lips. In two bites, it was gone. Jacobi didn't have time for this; she had more important things to do, like go meet Shooby and Katydid, but she wasn't a punk. If the girl wanted to get handled, by hook or crook, rock or stick, Jacobi would handle her.
“Oh my, Orphan Annie has a new friend,” the girl repeated, referring to Alissa as the redheaded character from the movie. “Now we have a giraffe and a leopard.”
Jacobi cringed. She knew the girl was calling her a leopard because of her acne-marked face. It wasn't her fault her skin was spotted. “Excuse me?” she asked, her attitude flaring. She might be embarrassed by her uneven breasts and dotted skin, but she wasn't a doormat. No one—not even this girl, Yummy—was going to torment or step on her. “Say it again if you don't like breathing. I'm a what, sleaze?”
The girl swallowed her words, rearing back her head in apparent surprise. “I know you didn't—”
Jacobi took her video camera off her neck, then handed it and her purse to Alissa. “I did. And
what
?” She walked close enough to Yummy to smell her breath. “Don't talk about it, be about it. You had so much to say a second ago when you thought I'd cave.”
Suddenly, Malone walked up. Jacobi stepped away from her new enemy, and everyone else froze. He was the epitome of gorgeous. Yummy's nasty glare turned into a smile, and Jacobi's attitude melted. Yummy stepped forward a bit, poking out her well-developed chest. It was more than obvious that Malone had her attention, too. And from what Jacobi could tell, he didn't feel the same way.
“Hi ... uh? Jacobi? Am I saying your name right?” he asked, looking at Jacobi through sparkling baby-browns. His eyes were the prettiest she'd ever seen on a boy, and his lashes were long enough to put mascara-wearers to shame. “Nice camera.” His compliment showed he was impressed, and his traveling gaze said he was sizing her up.

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