10
KASSIDY
K
assidy clutched her résumé and portfolio and wore a smile as she pushed through the heavy door to the modeling agency. Her watch read nine forty-five, and her appointment was at ten o'clock. She nodded, happy with herself for not running behind. Her morning was going great, and the excitement of it all was cruising through her veins. She'd phoned Carsen this morning to make sure they were still on for tonight. Every night, for almost two weeks, she'd rung himâand she'd never missed oneâthey'd talked on the phone for hours before she turned in. She couldn't have been more ecstatic. Carsen had been just a phone call away ever since Diggs had cold-shouldered her, and he'd been more than pleased to fill the hours that normally would've belonged to Brent. She still wasn't able to get through to Brent, but she wouldn't give up hope. He was her only major link to New York, as far as boys were concerned, and she wouldn't let him go. And now, she was here at the agency. Early. After years in the business, she'd learned from latecomers that being fashionably late wasn't ever in fashion and landed models zero gigs. Being on time and being ahead of it were two of the ways she'd banked so much. Yes, her day was going great. Positive anxiousness made her heart skip beats as she checked in with a hard-smiling, blue-haired receptionist, who seemed bipolar. At first the lady was friendly, grinning bright enough to light up a night sky, but after Kassidy had given her name and the receptionist searched the calendar, the lady had become lukewarm, instantly killing her infectious smile.
Kassidy took her in. The lady seemed young. Too young to be working behind the desk. Her blue hair was cut symmetrically, with perfect Asian bangs. She wore dark gray shadow and pale lipstick. Kassidy hunched her shoulders. If it worked for the lady, then it worked for her. She wasn't the one who had to walk around looking like a cross between the Cookie Monster and the dead. Kassidy went to her seat, looking over her shoulder, not knowing what to expect. She wasn't sure if the blue-haired lady would announce to the agent that Kassidy had arrived for her appointment or throw a telephone at her. But she was certain of one thing: the woman had rolled her eyes when she thought Kassidy wasn't looking.
“Okay ...” Kassidy said, taking her seat and wondering what had the receptionist's panties in a bunch. She'd been polite, had arrived on time, was scheduled and not making a cold call, and hadn't arrived talking on her cell phone. She rattled off all of her done-rights in her head, and, she concluded, she'd done everything correctly. If only she'd handled her personal life as well as her business one, she was sure she'd have found Brent and, possibly, would've snagged Diggs.
Other than her long nightly talks with Carsen, her days had been empty. Sure, she still had an ever-ready Romero, but he was only a friend. A cute one, but still no one she'd look at as more than a brother. She only played with him to have something to do and to make Yummy mad because Yummy wouldn't dish on Diggs.
“Kassy?” the blue-haired receptionist called, messing up Kassidy's name.
Kassidy stood. She'd correct the lady later, and put her in her place for being rude. She was, after all, a lowly receptionist who made less in a year than Kassidy had banked in a day. “Yes?”
“We're not taking any new clients.” There was a smirk on the receptionist's face.
Kassidy's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. Never in her career had she encountered such a lack of professionalism, and she knew business wasn't handled this way. She was a professional with many credentials to her name, and she'd had a confirmed appointment. An appointment that had an e-mail attached; an electronic mail message proving that the agency had gone after her and not the other way around. “Excuse me?” she asked, talking herself down. She wanted to snap, go off, tell Ms. Blue-haired Bipolar that doctors prescribed mood stabilizers for her disorder. But she thought better of it. The modeling industry was small, and she didn't want her name smudged.
The lady looked at her as if she had dirt on her face. “No more new clients. Sorry.”
Kassidy nodded, pressing her lips together. “Okay. Can I just leave this then? In case.” She held up her portfolio and résumé package.
“Not unless you want to waste it. We're booked for this season. And a bit of advice: next time keep your appointment.”
Disguising her irritation, Kassidy forced a smile on her face, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the e-mail appointment confirmation her mother had given her. She showed it to the receptionist. “According to this, I'm here on time for my appointment. The appointment that was made because your agency requested me.”
Ms. Blue-haired took the paper and looked at it. She looked at her computer monitor, then shrugged. “Must be a mistake,” she said, shrugging. “This says something different.” She swiveled the monitor around, pointing to the screen. “See,” she said, turning the screen back around before Kassidy could see it. “Next time ...” she repeated, her expression more twisted and nasty than before.
Kassidy walked out, shaking her head. She knew without a doubt the woman was either on meds or needed some. She'd kept her appointment and was on time. “If this is supposed to be the best Los Angeles has to offer ...” she mumbled, hoping the date she'd set up with Carsen tonight would turn out better.
Â
Her favorite shoes were missing. Gone. Well, only one of them, she noted, searching through the closet. Zebra print pulled her attention. Kassidy knelt down, reached behind an unpacked moving box, and grabbed the right shoe to the set. She fought to free it from where it was stuck. How it got back there, she didn't know. But it wasn't right. Kassidy raised her brows, confused. She hadn't worn them since moving to Los Angeles, and was a certified neat-freak when it came down to her footgear. She kept her kicks in clear plastic containers with pictures taped to the outside, neatly stacked according to type and color. Misplaced shoes had never been a problem for her before. And today wasn't the day to start. She had a date with Carsen. A real, live,
vroom-vroom
motorcycle date with him.
“Where's the left shoe to this one?” she questioned, rattled. She had already picked out an outfit. One she was sure Carsen would love, that she'd bought months ago to match the designer shoes. “Oh well,” she huffed, deciding she'd just have to switch clothing.
Sliding hangers across the bar, she diligently searched for another outfit that would be good for riding. Nothing caught her eye. She shook her head, deciding she'd have to work from the bottom up. She had to find shoes first, then match the clothes to them. She selected a clear shoe box, then pulled it out of the pile and removed the lid. One shoe was missing from the box. Now she was clearly baffled. “Ugh,” she huffed, then selected another box, then another, and one more. All of her left shoes were missing except for the pair she had on: the dusty pair of too-small house shoes, complete with the hole on the bottom.
Then she had a thought. “Yummy!” she yelled, speeding out of her room. “Yummy!” she screamed continuously, storming through the house. “I'm gonna kill you!”
Her mother appeared from the kitchen, cradling the house phone and making a mean face at Kassidy. “I'm on the line,” she mouthed. “With the modeling agency to see what happened. Stop yelling.”
“Yummy took all my shoes, and she's not here to give them back,” she said. “And I have a date. A date and no shoes.”
“Just put on a pair of mine, and we'll run to the mall,” her mother mouthed, her hand coving the phone. “Just please quiet down. No one's going to want to hire you if they think you spaz out.”
Kassidy looked down at her mom's feet. They were three sizes smaller than hers, so the suggestion was no good. In mime fashion, she pointed to her size tens, then her mother's sevens.
Her mother pointed to the house slippers Kassidy wore. “There has to be a mistake. I'm sure Yummy wouldn't take your shoes. Gimme a sec, and I'll drive you. You're just going to have to wear those or go borrow some of Yummy's.”
There was nothing in the world that could make Kassidy put her feet in anything of Yummy's. She'd die first. “I'm going to kill her,” Kassidy spat. “Kill her!”
11
JACOBI
H
er head was barely off the pillow when her mother walked in unannounced and called her name. Jacobi yawned and stretched, wondering what the problem was, because there definitely was one. Her mother always knocked. Always since the move, anyway. But not today, and her fingers not rapping on the bedroom door before she entered told Jacobi something was up.
“Get up,” her mother said, snatching the sheet off Jacobi.
Jacobi jumped up, anxiousness running through her veins. And fear. Had her mother learned of the flash mobbing? Or had she found out what time Jacobi had snuck in? Last night, she'd met up with the crew after receiving one of Shooby's texts, and hadn't made it home until almost ten o'clock. They'd met at one of the crew's houses, back in the garage where no adults could hear, to begin mapping out the “biggest flash-mobbing scene to ever hit Los Angeles,” as Shooby had put it; but weren't able to finish because an important flash-mob alert had been posted on one of the social networks they belonged to. They'd wound up at the movie theater, where they'd all stood up, one by one, during the peak of the action in one of the country's most anticipated blockbusters and recited lines from the Declaration of Independence, while other flash mobbers did the same during a few Disney films. They'd been asked to leave and the cops had been called. Jacobi, holding her camera, had gotten it all on film, and barely made it out before arrests were made.
“Okay,” her mother said, swiping her hands against each other as if dusting flour off them. She hustled to the window and opened the blinds, then about-faced and made her way to Jacobi's closet. “I just heard about the big invite from Alissa and her family. And I'm sure you don't think it's a big deal, but I do.” She slid hangers back and forth, obviously looking for something. “I'm glad that you're doing other things nowâmaking new friends, stepping up and away from the old neighborhood and the Lancaster troublemakers you were forced to be with. Katydid was nice and all, but limited ... You have to understand, honey,” she explained. With a few outfits over her arm, she sat down on the bed. “For many years your father and I couldn't afford to give you and your brothers a better life, but now we can. I want you to know that life has so much to offer you, Jacobi. But you have to accept it. Do like Diggsâhe's running with his opportunity. He's already getting letters from colleges because of his test scores, and the modeling agents can't get enough of his look.”
Jacobi stared at her mom, wondering what the big deal was and why she was so giddy. So she'd been invited to a partyâwho cared? She'd received many invitations before, so she didn't see it as huge, like her mother was making it out to be. And Diggs's modeling and getting scouted for colleges wasn't new. He'd always been smart and handsome; their moving hadn't caused that. “Okay ... ?” she said, sitting up and looking at the outfits her mother was holding. “I'm not really understanding what the excitement is for.”
“The excitement is for you, Jacobi,” her dad said, leaning against her bedroom door, smiling and winking. She knew the wink was his way of thanking her for her latest stock tip. “But it's also for her. Your mother. Seems we've all been invited to the beach, and your mom's finally made some new friends that she can be proud of.” He rolled his eyes when her mother's back was turned. “But I won't be going. I have a conference. Mandatory.” He stressed the last word as if he was disappointed, but the exaggerated wipe of his forehead that accompanied his statement said he was glad he wouldn't be tagging along.
“That's not entirely true,” her mother explained. “It's just finally nice to be around people I fit with. I mean, gel. That's the phrase you teens use, right? Gel with? Anyway, Alissa's mom asked if you could go, and then invited the rest of us when I told her I'd never been to a beach house.”
Jacobi's idea of having a few days alone with Shooby died. She'd never be able to bond with him if her family was at the beach party. There'd be no way her mom would go for that. Shooby was a part of the old neighborhood, and therefore not someone her mother would want around. To her mother, everythingâtheir old apartment, her previous school, even the way she used to dressâwere all to be traded in for their new life. The life Jacobi hadn't asked for.
“So, let me get this right. I was invited, then you found a way to get invited?” Jacobi didn't see the fairness in it all. Her mother wanted Jacobi to make new friends and do new things. And now that she was giving her mom what she wanted, her mom had found a way to fit herself into the equation.
“Yes. This is going to be a
family
vacation! Now, let's get up and get to shopping. These clothesâ” her mom began, outstretching her arm and shaking her head, “these won't do. I don't see why you have an aversion to dresses.”
Aversion?
Her mother was clearly taking her college classes too seriously. She'd never used words like that before.
“A virgin,” Hunter said, walking into the room. “Why are we talking about virgins? What's a virgin?” he asked.
Jacobi didn't know what was wrong with her little brother, but clearly it was something. In the last few months it seemed that all his words were related to sex.
“No, honey, a-ver-shun. It means dislike.” Her mom pinched his cheeks and kissed him. “Okay, Jacobi. Get dressed so we can go. You'll need sundresses, a swimsuit, halter tops. I'm forewarning you: the only clothes I'll buy are girly ones. No more tomboy stuff for you. Period. Especially now that you're starting to fill out.”
Jacobi looked down at her lopsided breasts.
Fill out?
She picked up her pillow and began tugging on each end.
To the east ... to the west ...
“I don't see a problem with the way she dresses,” her father stated. “People push girls too hard, then complain when they wind up fast and loose,” he stressed, then shook his head and walked away. “Women. I tell ya,” he muttered as he made his way down the hall with her mother and five-year-old Hunter on his heels.
Sundresses and halter tops pervaded her mind while she discreetly did her chest exercises. She couldn't wear the clothes her mom wanted her to wear if she couldn't fill them out. Especially a bikini, she thought. How was she supposed to impress Shooby with mismatched breasts? “To the east. To the west. To increase your breasts. To the east. To the west. To increase your breasts!” she sang, pulling on the ends of the pillowcase, making her chest muscles expand and release. “Please, God,” she began, then stopped. Her mother had said she was starting to fill out, hadn't she? Jacobi looked down at her breasts and her eyes widened. Sure enough, they looked fuller. They hadn't
grown
grown, as in a new cup size, but the smaller one was trying to catch up with the bigger one. “Thank you, God. Now, if you can just ...” Jacobi began, whispering.
A knock on the door made her swallow the rest of her prayer. “Who are you talking to in there?” her mom asked.
“Uh, no one. I was just singing under my breath,” Jacobi lied.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to be sure. You know our neighbor is a doctor. I thought I'd have to have her refer you to someone,” her mother said, then laughed.
Yes, Jacobi knew what Alissa's mom did for a living, and she was no doctor. She was a nutritionist. Alissa had told her that when she questioned whether Jacobi had an eating disorder. “You wanted something else?” Jacobi asked.
“Oh. Yes. I forgot to tell you we'll be riding with Alissa and her mother to the mall. Your dad's using the car to take Hunter to a birthday party, and Diggs will be doing whatever it is that Diggs does. So that means it's just us girls. Yay! Girl shopping and girl power,” her mother sang, clearly too excited for Jacobi's taste.
Â
Jacobi struggled across the lawn, carrying a box filled with cookbooks her mother had selected for Alissa's mom. Her camera hung from her shoulder like a purse, swinging to and fro with each step, knocking against her side as she made her way to her neighbor's driveway. With every thump she grimaced, watching her prized video camera. Her mother dedicating herself to teaching Alissa's mom how to cook was fine with her, but having Jacobi carry the full load was too much. Her camera was precious, more precious than any of the recipes she was almost sure Alissa's mom hadn't asked for. If anything, Jacobi bet, Alissa's mom had probably shown some interest in a dish or two, and her mother was taking her teacher role too far. She was barely into her first semester of culinary school, and already thought she was a professor.
“Hey ... weren't you supposed to call me?” Alek asked from the driveway.
Jacobi moved her stare off the camera and onto him. Her eyebrows lifted. “Huh?”
Alek smiled. “You were supposed to call me,” he said matter-of-factly, then made his way to her.
Jacobi crinkled her nose in thought. She didn't remember telling him that. Or had she? He'd asked her to have Diggs call him, or was that Malone? She was starting to mix up the brothers. Not a good thing. “I was?”
Alek reached out and took the box from her. “Yes. That's why I gave you my number, in case you needed me. And it seems like you need me now; otherwise you wouldn't have been carrying this, Ms. Don't Gotta Boyfriend,” he teased.
Jacobi laughed, moving the camera from her arm and looping the strap around her neck. “Oh, I'm sorry about that.”
“Sorry that you really don't have a boyfriend, or sorry that you're one of my brother's up-and-comers?” He winked. “Be right back,” he said. “My mom's been waiting for thisâwe've all been waiting. Cooking isn't her strong suit, and I think hers has been killing us. You should thank God for your mother. She's become a saint around our house since she started giving my mom lessons.” He laughed as he jogged to the house with the box.
Jacobi followed his steps, then sat on the porch. What did he mean by her being one of Malone's up-and-comers? She wasn't going out with Malone. Out of habit, her eyes moved down to her chest, and disappointment crawled through her. Her breastsâwell, at least one of themâhad started growing, but you couldn't tell through her clothes yet. To her, they were both still too flat.
“You spill something?” Alissa asked from behind.
“If I did, it'd roll straight down,” Jacobi answered. “I'm just that flat.”
Alissa laughed and came out onto the porch. She sat next to Jacobi. “Oh, you mean your chest?” She stared at the semiflatness that should've been Jacobi's breasts. “They'll grow. That's not a problem. There are plenty of ways to jump-start development.”
Jacobi's eyes lit. Just the thought of Alissa having a cure made the shopping trip worthwhile. “Really?”
Alissa nodded with a twisted expression. “Of course.” She looked behind them. “Later though, okay? Here comes the pain in my butt.”
Alek emerged, nodding his head to a beat no one heard but him. “You two ready to roll? I'm taking Dad's car.”
Jacobi tilted her head. “I thought we were going shopping,” she said to Alissa.
“We are. Just us three,” Alek said, pulling her up by the hand. “It seems a bikini is in orderâthat's what my mom told Alissa. I figured, since I have such good taste, I'd help you pick one out. Unless you wanna be like every other girl and wait on Malone.”
Alissa rolled her eyes. “Never mind Alek, Jacobi. It's just sibling rivalry. He wants to be Malone.”