Cali Boys by Kelli London Page A

winked. “Be right back,” he said. “My mom’s been waiting for this—we’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 breasts—well, at least one of them—had started growing, but you couldn’t tell through her clothes yet. To her, they were both still too flat.
    â€œYou spill something?” Alissa asked from behind.
    â€œIf 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.
    â€œWe are. Just us three,” Alek said, pulling her up by the hand. “It seems a bikini is in order—that’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.”

12
    KASSIDY
    H er mother sped off, leaving her at the busy mall entrance in a state of double dustiness. Puffs of dust clouded the air where her mother’s tires had spun, and Kassidy’s house slippers looked like they’d been dipped in sand-colored soot. She looked down at them. No, they weren’t nasty-dirty like most of Yummy’s belongings, but they’d still classify as unclean if she saw someone else in them, and that was totally unacceptable.
    Holding her head high, she owned her dusty slippers as if they were the best things on the planet and followed the other shoppers. She hoped that her air of superiority would make people focus on her upper region, not her feet. But her clothes wouldn’t help her avoid attention, she noted, taking a good look at herself as she passed an enormous storefront window. She’d left the house as is, donning a retro Havana T-shirt and ragged-cut, highwater boyfriend sweats—an outfit she’d normally never wear outside—and had topped it off with a Panama Jack hat and oversized shades, thinking it made her look like a star who was trying to avoid the paparazzi. She’d figured if no one could see her baby-browns, no one would ever be able to prove that they’d seen her. To her, eyes were like fingerprints; they were unique and identifying, and if no one saw hers, she could pretend she didn’t see them. Still, though, she had to admit, anyone would probably know it was her.
    With focus and determination to quickly find the best pair of shoes to go with her outfit to go riding with Carsen, she moved through the mall. She looked at her watch as she approached the escalators, then relaxed a bit. She still had hours, and that was more than enough time to buy kicks, she thought, searching left, then right, looking for the trendy boutique