“I can’t. I have to get home. I’ll see you, okay? Maybe for brunch tomorrow?”
“Sure, but don’t go yet,” she whispered, not moving a muscle. She batted her eyelashes. Either he kissed her or he left her standing here. She wasn’t going to be the one to walk away. “Come closer.”
Tri’s dark eyes looked anxious. “Why?”
“Because,” Ashley breathed. Then she leaned toward him, closing her eyes slowly. She knew how good she looked at that moment—how the dewy raindrops made her skin look pink and flushed, how her lips, softly parted, looked delicious. (She’d practiced in the mirror a thousand times.) He wouldn’t be able to resist.
This was it.
He leaned toward her, and Ashley’s mind whirred in jubilation. Yes! It was going to happen! She couldn’t wait to tell all the other Ashleys how it all hap—
Huuuuhhh?
Tri wasn’t kissing her. He was hugging her. And it was a squeeze-the-shoulders, friendly kind of hug. A five-second hug. The kind of hug you give cousins you haven’t seen in eons, not a passionate embrace.
“See you,” he called again, hurrying down the pathway toward the gates. Ashley watched him go, resisting the urge to stamp her foot. What kind of a boyfriend didn’t kiss you?
She sighed and trudged up the steps. Whatever weirdness was going on in Tri’s head was something she’d have to work out herself. No way was she going to discuss any of this with the other Ashleys. She had a reputation to maintain at all costs—the reputation of the girl ranked numero uno on AshleyRank. She may not have the perfect boyfriend, but at least, where it counted, she had the perfect score.
#1 ASHLEY SPENCER
STYLE: 10
Last seen at PlumpJack’s Café in a to-die-for Chloé jacket and bubble dress that everyone immediately added to their shopping wish lists.
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10
Adorable Boyfriend (“AB”) completed the picture. The pair fed each other fries all morning. Aw, ain’t young love sweet?
SMILE: 9
Practically glowing until AB accidentally spilled OJ all over bubble dress. Looked like she was leaning in for a kiss and they just missed each other. Cute!
SMARTS: 9
Maybe brunch isn’t the best time to wear designer?
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 38
#2 ASHLEY “A. A.” ALIOTO
STYLE: 10
Spotted down at the Marina, tanning on the lawn in a smokin’ seashell bikini that made every other girl instantly look fat in their two-piece.
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 9
We admire a girl who can hang out on her own, although Ashley and her AB soon joined her.
SMILE: 7
Didn’t look too happy to have company all of a sudden.
SMARTS: 9
A bikini in October? Global warming’s not so bad after all!
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 35
#3 ASHLEY “LILI” LI
STYLE: 10
Seen at Saks as soon as it opened. Where on earth did she get those amazing curvy lace-up pumps??
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 8
Gracious to everyone at the store.
SMILE: 7
Although got a little upset when told they didn’t have a certain Chloé leather jacket and bubble dress in stock.
SMARTS: 9
Who wears lace-up heels to go shopping?
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 34
4
WILL A SPOONFUL OF SUGAR MAKE THE SNOBBERY GO DOWN?
LAUREN PAGE TOOK A DEEP breath and walked toward the Ashleys’ table. Strictly speaking, anyone could sit there. The tables in Miss Gamble’s refectory (cafeteria was way too public school) were long and wooden, with room for at least fifteen people. But once the Ashleys were ensconced in the primo spot by the window, nobody dared to sit anywhere along the table, not even at the very end. Nobody wanted to be the butt of their relentless fashion analysis, and nobody wanted to risk annoying them.
Lauren had come pretty close herself to committing social suicide the week before the dance. She’d told the Ashleys exactly what she thought of them. Not much, as it turned out. The truth hurts and the truth was, it was a big mistake.
Once upon a time (just last year, actually), Lauren had been a fashion-challenged, work-study ugly duckling, but this semester, ever since her father had made unbelievable amounts of money, she had been transformed into a svelte, well-dressed, full-tuition-paying swan. A swan with a hidden agenda. To destroy the Ashleys.
She wanted to put an end to their reign of terror and make life better for everyone in the seventh grade. And the only way to do it was from the inside. She had to be part of the group if she wanted to rewrite the rules of the game. And rule number one was: play to their vanities.
She made her way to their table, carrying her tray of yogurt and spelt bread—Ashley’s daily lunch, which was now the most popular option on the refectory’s organic menu.
A few parents had voiced concern about the new item’s super-low-fat quality (did it even have any real nutritional value?), but Lauren had overheard Ashley telling Lili that as far as she was concerned, the new spartan diet was a blessing in disguise for the student population. They could all stand to lose a few pounds!
As she stood in front of their table, Lauren could feel her ears turning red. She didn’t have to turn around to know that the entire seventh-grade class was staring at her back. No one ever approached the Ashleys directly. And never at lunch.
Just a few weeks ago, Ashley herself had invited Lauren to sit with them at their table. It had been a huge triumph, the likes of which had never been seen at Miss Gamble’s. Sheridan Riley, famous for hero-worshipping the Ashleys, had once been allowed to lean against the wall next to the table, but that was as close as anyone else had ever gotten.
If Lauren had any hopes of returning to the head table, she’d have to prove herself worthy all over again. If she ended up slinking away, she could count on spending her entire year huddled in the library every lunch hour. And nothing at all would change.
Lauren glanced at a ragged group of misfits by the door. Would it hurt Ashley to stop making that Darth Vader breathing noise every time Cass Franklin walked by? Or for Lili to tell Daria Hart when the Honor Board was meeting, since Daria was a member? Or for A. A. to let Candace Yen actually play during a soccer match rather than just sit on the bench the whole time? Lauren knew what being invisible was like, and she wouldn’t wish it on anybody.
Luckily, she had an ace up her sleeve. A foolproof plan to win back the Ashleys’ friendship. The news she was about to spill was sure to get her a seat at this table every day of the week from now on. And once she had a seat at the table, maybe she could have a say in how things were run around here.
She cleared her throat.
Ashley Spencer raised an eyebrow, looked once at Lauren, and then turned back to Lili, as if Lauren wasn’t even there. Lauren tried to exude confidence, even if the other two Ashleys didn’t look too welcoming either.
“I . . . I have something to discuss with you all,” she announced, her palms sweating as she held on to her tray. She glanced quickly at A. A., hoping to get a sort-of-friendly smile. Everyone always said that A. A. was the nicest of the Ashleys, but she was acting pretty stuck-up today, staring off into space as though she wanted to be somewhere else.
Lauren felt beads of sweat forming on her brow, and she was glad she had accessorized her uniform with a shrunken velvet blazer, black tights, and her high-heeled spectators. She might be doomed to outsider status, but at least she looked like an Ashley from the outside. She noticed they were all wearing colorful Pucci scarves tied around their necks.
“You have something to discuss?” Ashley asked, wrinkling her pert, freckle-free nose with distaste. “Is this, like, a committee meeting for some lame club we would never join?”
Lili glanced wryly at her.
“It’s about a TV show,” Lauren hurried to say. “A TV show we could be in.”
“We?” asked Lili, sus
picious but clearly interested.
Lauren nodded. This was the hook. . . .
But A. A. was still staring into space, twisting one of her pigtails, and Ashley continued to look affronted, as though she couldn’t believe that the interloper was presuming to set the agenda.
“You know how there’s been a rumor going around that I’m going to star in my own reality show? Well, it’s true—kind of. These guys my father met are producers at a new teen cable network, Sugar. Maybe you’ve heard about it?” Lauren asked, talking quickly. She was getting a little tired of standing, and the sixteen-ounce bottle of water was making her tray heavy.
“Oh yeah,” said Lili, perking up a bit. “They make the Boarding School Confidential series, right? My sister’s desperate for them to come to her school.”
“Well, they’ve been talking to me about a show they’re doing,” Lauren told them. This was the line. . . .
“You?” Ashley asked, annoyed.
Lauren tried not to feel too insulted. “Yeah, but the thing is, it’s not just me they want.”
“Go on,” Ashley said slowly, her blue eyes now fixed firmly on Lauren. Lili nodded, and even A. A. was paying attention now. “This is a reality show?”
Lauren nodded. “Yup. You know, with scripted scenarios, like The Hills used to be.”
“I love shows like that,” gushed Lili. “Especially that one in Miami with the models.”
“Or that one in soccer camp where everyone got kidnapped,” added A. A., pushing away her tray of half-eaten lunch. “It took them three months to find them all.”
“So . . . ?” Ashley prodded.
Lauren flipped her hair and took a sip from her water bottle before answering. “The producers want a group of girls. That’s what I need to discuss with you today. Do you guys want to play my friends?” And that was the sinker. She held her breath. Would the Ashleys take the bait?
For a long moment, it looked as if Lauren would come up snake eyes, but then Ashley spoke. “You mean on television?”
“Us?” Lili asked.
“What do you mean ‘play’?” A. A. wanted to know.
The Ashleys looked at one another. Lauren exhaled and shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I mean, if you don’t want to, I can ask Melody and Olivia, or maybe Sheridan and her crew. . . .”
“Don’t you dare,” Lili said. They all looked at Ashley, who looked at Lauren, as if weighing her options.
“Sit down,” Ashley ordered.
A. A. moved to the side to make room for Lauren.
Lauren climbed over the bench and lowered her body to the seat by the window. Success! Step One had been accomplished. Her fishing expedition had been successful; now she just had to keep reeling them in until she was one of them.
“Tell us more,” Ashley demanded, her fork in the air. “Tell us everything.”
Lauren gladly told them as much as she could. The show was called Preteen Queen and was scheduled to air as a midseason replacement for a karaoke show that had bombed. They were going to start taping episodes as early as next week if they could find the right girls. The girls who had originally been selected to do it had been fired when the producers discovered that two of them had been caught shoplifting over the summer.
“Serves them right,” Lauren said with a laugh, digging into her salad and grimacing at its tastelessness. Tomorrow she would definitely bring her own sandwich instead of eating this crap. “Anyway, the producers are desperate to find the right girls, and my dad volunteered me. But it’s supposed to be some kind of group thing, so I need a group.”
“And you’ve found one.” Ashley nodded, beaming like a Cheshire cat. “Preteen Queen. It’s got the Ashleys written all over it, doesn’t it?”
“Where do we sign?” joked A. A., drumming her Louboutin Mary Janes on the floor.
Lili had already whipped out her BlackBerry. “When can we schedule the first meeting with the producers, Lo?” she asked Lauren.
And just like that, Lauren knew that once again she had her foot in the door. This time she hoped not to trip on it.
There’s been a lot of movement in the Rank this week. Check out the latest stats and see how our girls are doing! Are your favorites still on top? Or are they about to lose their thrones?
Here’s one who’s leapfrogged so high she still hasn’t come down!
#10 LAUREN PAGE
STYLE: 8
Her successful promotion to the head table must be due to her stunning ensembles. Is that a school uniform or the Marc Jacobs fall line?
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 8
Confidence is key to social climbing, and she’s as calm, cool, and collected as they come.
SMILE: 5
Only because she still doesn’t do it often enough! L-Po, lighten up already, will ya?
SMARTS: 9
The only girl at school who’s stopped eating the rabbit food they’re serving at the ref. We like a girl who can think for herself.
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 30
5
WHAT’S FRENCH FOR “HOTTIE”?
AFTER SCHOOL A WEEK LATER, Lili’s driver was waiting in her mother’s black hybrid SUV. Lili always dreaded Monday afternoons, because she had to go straight from school to the Alliance Française to meet with her tutor. Once a week she had to spend an hour “enjoying” Advanced French conversation. She’d always hated French. She’d tried arguing her case with her mother, saying that Spanish would be a more useful language. After all, didn’t their housekeeper, groundskeeper, and both nannies looking after her baby twin sisters all speak Spanish?
When Lili grew up, how was she expected to manage her staff if she wasn’t fluent in their language? French was so eighteenth century. Unless she was planning to become an announcer at the Olympic Games or play the role of Mulan at Disneyland Paris, Lili didn’t see why she had to suffer every Monday afternoon. It didn’t help that the only other student in her tutorial was some glaze-eyed surfer from Saint Aloysius, who was there to learn a few phrases before his parents took him on a vacation to Tahiti. He barely said a word, unless it was to ask the French words for “Big Kahuna” and “coral reef.”
Whenever Lili tried to complain, her mother told her to focus on working for the United Nations or the State Department some day. What Lili didn’t tell her achievement-obsessed mother, of course, was that her real dream was to run a nightclub in New York City. Well, maybe French could come in handy. She could call it the Moulin Rouge, she thought, gazing out of the tinted windows of the SUV as it passed a row of graceful Victorian mansions.
Lili’s parents had their hearts on their daughter being the first Asian-American something—Supreme Court justice, Secretary of State, governor of California. She was expected to follow in her parents’ footsteps and graduate from Harvard, of course. Actually, they expected her to go to Harvard twice—once for her bachelor’s degree, and also for graduate school.
Maybe Harvard made you write your admissions essay in French, Lili thought, her heart sinking at the sight of the cream-colored Alliance Française building, with its neat blue shutters and pristine window boxes, the French flag hanging above the front door waving in the stiff breeze.
But it was hard to be too glum today because of the news Lauren Page had sprung at lunch. Their own reality TV show! Now that was the kind of after-school activity that Lili could get enthused about. She had already cleared a number of windows in her overpacked schedule, and Lauren had promised to call the producers that afternoon to set up the first meeting. They wanted to start filming right away, Lauren had said, because the first episodes of the show would go on air while it was still in production.
The only thing that worried her was the prospect of Ashley trying to take over the show. That would be so like her. Ashley couldn’t be content with being number one on AshleyRank, or having a boyfriend, or stealing the best outfit at A. A.’s place from under Lili’s nose, or any of her other—let’s face it—not-totally-deserved accolades and accomplishments.
She slammed the heavy door of the SUV and marched up the steps of the Alliance Française. She announced herself in French to the pretty receptionist at the desk, then walked up the dramatic, curving staircase to the second-floor private library. She arrived to find her tutor, Madame LeBrun, waiting for her in the elegant, wood-paneled room, seated in a wingback armchair and looking even more thin and pallid than last week.
“Bonjour, Madame,” Lili said, demurely sitting in a chair and stowing her Proenza bag at her feet.
The French teacher sniffed, pressing a delicate handkerchief to her pointy nose. She had allergies all year round, apparently. She wore a drab gray cardigan over a matching jersey skirt, the collar of her blouse was askew.
Lili shuddered. What about that famous French style? Why wasn’t Madame LeBrun wearing an Hermès scarf or a Chanel suit? At least she could have a chic purse—but no. Madame always carried a canvas book bag overflowing with papers and books. It wasn’t even a cute canvas bag with her initials embroidered on it, like the one from L.L. Bean that Lili’s dad liked to take on their boat. She was sure that if her mother ever got a look at Madame LeBrun, Nancy Khan would demand an instant refund.
Lili looked around for the only other student in the tutorial. “Is it just the two of us?”
“En francais, s’il vous plaît,” said Madame LeBrun.
Lili posed her question in the correct language.
“Greg est allé à Tahiti,” Madame began to say, but before she could finish, a giant sneeze overtook her bony frame. She screwed up her face, gesturing at Lili with her white handkerchief, then hurried out of the room in a flurry of minisneezes.
Social Order Page 3