Popularity Takeover (6 page)

10

MEMBERSHIP HAS ITS PRICE

THE ASHLEYS WERE IN CRISIS
mode and—as Ashley insisted—something, or someone, had to give. Ashley didn't care that A. A. had to cancel a tennis lesson or that Lili had to give up an afternoon tutoring underprivileged kids. The Ashleys were so busy on Sundays because being fabulous was a 24-hour job. Because if anyone was giving up anything, it wasn't going to be Ashley.

A. A. looked around Lauren's ostentatious house, waiting for the other girls to show, so they could have what Ashley referred to as a Major Brainstorming Session about Congé.

After she rang Lauren's doorbell and was taken
aback by its booming chime—based on Big Ben, Lauren explained—A. A. was greeted by Trudy Page.

“I know I should let the butler answer the door,” Trudy apologized, ushering A. A. into the concert hall­­­–size lobby, with its pitched glass roof and contorted modern sculptures.

Trudy herself was wearing something semi­sculptural. It looked like some Alexander McQueen creation that wasn't supposed to be seen anywhere but in a haute couture fashion show or a museum. “But I just get so excited when Lauren has friends over! You're going to have your meeting in the chill-out zone, but until the others get here I thought you could hang out in the game room.”

A. A. wasn't surprised that she'd arrived first: Lili was probably racing from the museum, her other Sunday extracurricular, and Ashley was still busy, in all likelihood, supervising the redecoration of her new room. She followed Mrs. Page through a labyrinth of stark corridors and down a flight of stairs into what A. A. guessed must be the game room. Though “room” was an understatement: This was as big as an arena football field, and it looked like one too.

“Is this Astroturf?” A. A. asked, gazing in wonderment
at the floor. Trudy beamed, as though she'd just been paid the greatest compliment.

“Looks like it, doesn't it?” she said. “But no, it's Axminster carpet, imported from Devon, England. I got them to custom-dye it so it looks like Astroturf, and then we flew some guys from the NFL over to make sure all the lines were in the right place.” Trudy gestured at the yard markers beneath their feet.

“It's pretty amazing,” A. A. said, looking around. Sure, it was amazingly tacky, but part of her was drooling over the sixteen-foot screen that took over one entire wall—so perfect for multiplayer zombie killfests.

“Lauren's up in the chill-out zone, but I'll drag her down here. I thought it would be fun for you girls to play with some of our new toys.”

A. A. was happy to be left alone. The room was crowded with every possible gadget, from slot machines and arcade games to a neon orange snooker table, a three-lane bowling alley, and a seven-foot animatronic robot marching up and down the sideline. A. A. laughed aloud gleefully, jumping onto an Alpine ski simulator game. The other Ashleys could be as late as they liked: She had a virtual mountain to navigate!

But before she'd finished her third run at the slalom, Lauren appeared, apologizing profusely for her mother's “mistake.”

“You weren't even supposed to
see
this room,” she said, dragging A. A. by the arm up the stairs. “It's my father's little . . . hobby room. It's a bit too much.”

“It's fun!” said A. A., thinking of how much Ned and Tri would love it. She could already picture them riding the mechanical bull set up in one corner and trying to deprogram the robot.

Lauren smiled nervously. “And I'm sorry about my mom nosing around. She really wants to be one of the girls.”

“Oh, no worries at all. Your mom's nice.” A. A. felt kind of sorry for Lauren. Her own mother, Jeanine, could be embarrassing, but she was never uncool. And Lauren had a lot on her plate right now. If she didn't come up with some inside information on the S. Society, she'd be facing the wrath of Ashley. And
that
A. A. wouldn't wish on anyone.

“About time,” Ashley said indignantly when Lauren and A. A. finally reached the chill-out room.

A. A. gazed around the room, understanding at once why Lauren wanted
this
to be their main impression of
her house. It was as pristine and white as the spa they'd visited the day before, and the floors were an understated bleached ash. Not a dyed carpet with NFL goal lines in sight.

Lili and Ashley were already positioned in huge, chocolate-colored leather beanbags. Lili looked like she was ready for a nap. Her eyes were red, and A. A. knew she'd been crying all night. Lili had engineered a four-way Ashleys conference call about her disastrous meeting with Max. They all told her she had been right to tell him what she did, and if he didn't believe her, then he wasn't worthy of being her boyfriend anyway. Ashley was sitting up very straight—or as straight as she could manage in a beanbag.

Lauren dragged the remaining two beanbags up so they formed a circle, and A. A. took her seat. Mmmm, this was comfortable. It was so quiet up here, and just the right temperature. The windows were long, horizontal slits high up in the walls, so all you could see out of them were slivers of sky. No wonder it was called the chill-out zone. And no wonder she was finding it hard to pay attention to Ashley!

“. . . squash the S. Society once and for all,” Ashley was droning.

A. A. tried not to yawn.

“. . . information we need . . .”

“. . . doing the best I can . . .” This was Lauren. A. A. pinched herself: She had to stay awake! Lili was practically comatose, and this meeting would be a complete waste of time if they couldn't get any planning done.

“That's not good enough!” Ashley snapped, and A. A.'s eyes popped wide open. Ashley was leaning forward, one accusing finger wagging in Lauren's miserable face. “Don't you understand what's at stake?”

“Really, I do,” pleaded Lauren. “It's just taking longer than I thought.”

“Maybe if you spent less time thinking about your boyfriend and more time working on Sadie . . .”

“That's not really fair, Ash,” interrupted A. A. She couldn't let Ashley get away with this one. All they'd been hearing for the past few weeks was Cooper, Cooper, Cooper!

“Oh, so you're on her side now?” Ashley was obviously in a foul mood. “You don't care if the Ashleys are humiliated?”

“Of course I do!” protested A. A., flopping back into her beanbag. She hated it when Ashley went into
attack-dog mode. It was totally counterproductive.

“We all do,” chorused Lili, who seemed to have woken from her daze. “But sitting here arguing and making accusations isn't very productive. So I have a suggestion to make. By this time next week, we should all research three ideas. The only rule is—they have to be bigger and better than anything we've done before.”

A. A. whistled.

“That's saying something,” she said. It really was: Two years ago they'd done the tall-ships tour of the harbor, and last year was the train trip around Napa. And usually they were just competing with themselves for brilliant ideas, not with another rival committee.

“And in the meantime,” said Ashley, glowering at the unfortunate Lauren, “one of us has to keep her promise and find out what the members of the S. Society are planning. Or else . . .”

“Or else what?” Lili asked irritably.

A. A. suddenly noticed the unique black-and-white top Lili was wearing. It looked like something from an eighties music video, but in a good way.

“Let's just say we might have to review our
own
membership,” muttered Ashley, staring straight at
Lauren, who seemed to be cowering in the folds of her beanbag.

It was hard not to feel bad for her. If Ashley wanted Lauren out of the Ashleys . . . well, there wasn't anything in the world that A. A. could do to save her.

11

J. LO IS RIGHT: LOVE DON'T COST A THING

THE CONGÉ MEETING HAD BEEN
an entire waste of time, Ashley decided, inadvertently squeezing Cooper's hand with annoyance the next evening. It was another school night, but her parents didn't even notice. They were too busy with the new baby. Cooper squeezed her hand back and grinned at her. They were wandering through Chinatown, strolling up under the ornate Dragon Gate with its stone lions and looking at the cute stuff street vendors were selling. Cooper even bought her the most darling paper fan! He was so cosmopolitan: It was really obvious that he was a world traveler. Every other boy she'd ever known suddenly seemed so provincial by comparison.

If only he would stop saying he “wasn't in relationship mode.” Whatever that meant. He hadn't even wanted to exchange Christmas presents and had forbidden her from getting him anything. Of course she still gave him something—a cozy cashmere scarf monogrammed with his initials. He had yet to wear it, she noticed. She tried to discuss it with A. A., who had been no help, and she tried to ask her father, who just told her she was too young for a relationship and that Cooper seemed like a sensible young man.

But whatever Cooper said, he certainly seemed to like going out with Ashley. As of today, they had been going out for exactly one month and one week. Not that Ashley was keeping count, but . . . she was totally keeping count. Of course! How could she lord it over her boyless friends Lili and A. A. if she didn't keep good personal records of all her romantic triumphs?

One of the things Ashley really liked about Cooper was how creative and imaginative he was. Unlike Tri, for example, who only knew the most
obvious
places on Fillmore, Cooper knew all the coolest spots in San Francisco.

If she'd never met Cooper, Ashley would never have known the museum had a free night. She would never
have taken a tour of city hall. She would never have eaten Salvadoran enchiladas in the Mission, or delicious pizza in North Beach's Little Italy. In fact, if Ashley was honest, she didn't even know there
was
such a place as Little Italy, or that they ate enchiladas in El Salvador, until she met Cooper.

“I love the way all the stores are still open at night,” she told him, leaning against his shoulder while they peered into a shop selling New Year's decorations. “Is it like this in China?”

“I don't know.” Cooper shook his head and looked kind of embarrassed. Cute thing about him Number 106! He was so modest. Not to mention adorably handsome in his beat-up leather jacket.

“I'd love to hear about some of the places you've been,” Ashley told him. Maybe with a little bit of encouragement, he'd start opening up.

“Look at that great view of the bridge,” he said, turning her around and pointing.

“Can't you see it from your house?” Ashley asked. All they could see from their great room was the bridge. In fact, sometimes it was kind of annoying—it totally blocked the view of Marin.

“I guess. You know, this place is kind of touristy,
maybe, but I really like it. There's always something new to see.” Cooper tugged her hand, and they moved on. Whenever Ashley tried to ask him about his life, his home, or places he'd been, Cooper just got vague and distant.

“I like new things,” she told him, and he seemed to cheer up.

“Really? Even if they're kind of low-key like this?”

“Of course,” she told him. “This is my favorite kind of thing to do.”

That wasn't entirely true. A mani-pedi, followed by a bout of serious shopping, possibly followed by a professional blow-out and makeup application, and then a huge party somewhere chic—that was really Ashley's favorite kind of thing to do. But this was a very close second.

“I'm glad,” Cooper said, his smile sweet and wide. “I'm really glad you're not some pretentious rich kid who only cares about material things.”

“God, no!” Ashley shook her head adamantly. She might be rich, but she wasn't pretentious. It was so refreshing that Cooper, Mr. Tycoon, wasn't interested in silly heiresses who wanted to do nothing but party and be superficial. So he didn't like Twenty Questions?
That was fine with her. She could just tone it down for a while and focus on enjoying herself. Live in the moment—wasn't that what her dad's Zen Buddhism guru was always going on about?

He was a really nice guy. It wasn't that Tri had been awful—he was fun as well. But Cooper seemed much more into Ashley than Tri ever was. And if she was honest with herself, Ashley had always known deep down, even before he admitted it, that Tri preferred A. A. to her—and that
hurt
.

“That noodle shop I was telling you about is just up here,” Cooper was saying, pointing to a narrow staircase across the street. As they wove through the crowd of passersby, Ashley couldn't help noticing a man she'd spotted several times tonight.

He was wearing a dark blue rain jacket, and he was talking into a small headset tucked behind his ear. It seemed like he was always there, wherever they were walking, watching them and muttering into his headset. And wasn't he the guy who'd been sitting at the corner table in the North Beach pizzeria? Weird.

Or not weird at all. Of course! Ashley almost squealed aloud at her own stupidity.

She shouldn't be surprised at all that someone
was following them around everywhere. Greek shipping heirs had to protect themselves, obviously. It was probably just Cooper's personal bodyguard.

Ashley shivered with glee. A personal bodyguard! She couldn't wait to tell the other Ashleys.

12

LILI INCURS ASHLEY'S “SIGNATURE” SARCASM

LILI DIDN'T THINK OF HERSELF
as a cowardly person, but days were passing and she
still
hadn't made her stand. The S. Society and its idea of a signature accessory were sweeping Miss Gamble's. Daria Hart had started wearing Miu Miu flats personalized with ribbons in Miss Gamble plaid. Catherine Diega flew up and down the hallways trailing a shimmery scarf trimmed with humanely farmed snow rabbit fur and telling everyone her style role model was Isadora Duncan. Whoever that was.

Even Cass Franklin, who couldn't go anywhere without her oxygen tank, had acquired a bejeweled inhaler cozy, which she wore dangling from the strap
of her bag. All everyone could talk about was their signature item, and how important it was to develop a unique style.

Finally, on Tuesday morning, when the Ashleys assembled at the Fillmore Starbucks, Lili decided it was time. She arrived promptly, as usual, and ordered her drink before the other girls arrived. Then she dropped her bag on the counter by the window and sat on a tall stool, waiting for all hell to break loose.

Ashley was the last to get there but the first to notice.

“
What
is that?” Ashley pointed an accusing finger at Lili's bag. It was
not
the Ashleys handbag of choice, as Lili knew very well. She lifted her chin in the air defiantly and took a long sip from her hot drink before answering.

“It's a vintage Gucci,” Lili said. The bag was a sturdy blue leather in a classic bowling-bag shape.

“Vintage? You mean
secondhand
?”

“I think it's pretty cool,” said A. A., stroking the bag as though it were a small pedigreed cat.

“I would totally love one of those!” Lauren enthused. She stared down at her own bag with a look of instant discontent.

“Where did you get it, exactly?” Ashley raised an eyebrow and did not look pleased.

“At this great vintage store in Cow Hollow,” Lili told her.

“Ugh!” Ashley wrinkled her nose. “Isn't there a
flea
market down there? Are there going to be
fleas
in this bag?”

Lili rolled her eyes.

“Vintage is all the rage,” she informed them. “I think Sophia Loren used to own a bag like this.”

“Well, I prefer
Ralph
Lauren,” snapped Ashley.

“Pretties, we better go,” A. A. interjected. “If we want to get to the bench in time, that is.”

Ashley shrugged, prying off the lid of her venti decaf soy latte and blowing on the hot liquid. She was never in any hurry to get to school even these days, even when it was crucial that they arrive before the S. Society.

“Oh . . . the bench.” Lauren sighed. Lili knew how she felt. The tussle over possession of the bench outside Miss Gamble's was getting really old, really fast. It made arriving at school every day so tense and nerve-racking. This must be the way every other girl at Miss Gamble's used to feel, walking past the Ashleys every morning! She lowered herself from the stool and picked up her bag.

“Omigod! What happened to your Louboutins?” Ashley shrieked, pointing toward Lili's feet.

“Dude, you're wearing Vans!” Clearly, A. A. couldn't believe it either.

“I thought it was time for a change,” Lili said in a low voice. She clicked the soft heels of her black-and-white canvas Vans together. “And these are way more comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Ashley was scandalized. “What do you mean,
comfortable
? What's next? Fat-people jeans?”

“They're cute and all.” Lauren was being kind, thank goodness. “But are you sure they'll be allowed at Miss Gamble's? I thought that saddle shoes were the regulation.”

Lili rolled her eyes. She was tired of rules and regulations. She was tired of always being the good girl. She'd never heard from Max after spilling her true confessions to him at the vintage store, and she had to admit to herself finally that he really wasn't interested in her anymore.

Still, the next time she bumped into him, she wanted Max to see the true Lili—not the spoiled rich girl wearing her expensive high heels and driving around in a giant SUV. She wanted him to see the girl who was
going to grow up and run a nightclub in New York City. Maybe then he'd realize his mistake. Unlikely, but it was a nice fantasy she harbored.

She liked looking different from the Ashleys for a change. Maybe the S. Society was right on that point—everyone needed their own signature style.

“They make you look short,” complained Ashley.

Lili wished Ashley would drop it already. As they approached Miss Gamble's, she saw two girls dashing from a parked silver Lexus SUV toward the stone bench. Sure enough, it was Sadie and Sheridan.

“Quick!” she called to the other Ashleys. “We have to get to the stone bench before they do!”

Lili started sprinting away, glad she was wearing flat shoes for a change, even if they did make her—as Ashley had pointed out—the size of a munchkin.

“Lil!” Ashley called. “No need to run.”

“But they'll get there first,” Lauren pointed out, breathlessly hustling up. “And I really don't think we should try to drag them off.”

None of them were very enthused about Ashley's suggestion last night that they physically remove the S. Society from the bench if they saw them there. Even if it was a four-against-two fight.

“Whatever!” said Ashley breezily. “Just cool it, ladies. Take it from me—there's no need to argue over the bench this morning.”

“But they're headed there right now,” A. A. pointed out. Sheridan was scampering ahead of Sadie, her Prada coat flapping open. Sadie must have spotted the Ashleys stalking up the hill, because her face was a combination of panic and glee. She was calling something to Sheridan, probably telling her to hurry. They'd be sitting there all gloating and triumphant by the time the Ashleys got there. Lili couldn't stand it.

“Oh God,” moaned Lauren. “Shall we just walk past them and go into school early?”

“Go into school
early
?” scoffed Ashley. “I don't think so.”

“We could walk behind them and accidentally-on-purpose drip coffee on their heads,” A. A. suggested. Ashley sighed, as if this were the lamest idea she'd ever heard.

“Or,” Ashley said, “we could just let them sit.”

“What?” Lili shot Ashley a look. Was Ashley Spencer actually giving up the fight?

“Let them settle in,” said Ashley, smiling in the direction of Sadie and Sheridan. Both were now sitting
on the stone bench, with their bags up on the seat as well, so it was impossible for anyone else to squeeze alongside them. Quite a crowd was gathering, as usual these days. All the other girls at Miss Gamble's were loving the Ashleys vs. S. Society showdowns—especially, it seemed to Lili, when the S. Society gained the upper hand. “How long till the bell?”

“Seven minutes,” said Lauren, checking the time on her cell phone. She sounded miserable, and Lili wasn't surprised. This was so humiliating!

“Seven minutes—perfect,” Ashley said mysteriously. “Just long enough.”

“For what?” A. A. asked in a hushed voice. They were approaching the bench, and, Lili guessed, she didn't want Sheridan and Sadie to hear the desperation in her voice. “For us to fight them and get suspended?”

“I don't want to get suspended,” Lili whispered. Her parents would kill her, and she'd be off the Honor Board. If they took her phone away again, how would she ever hear from Max? Not that he'd called her since she saw him at the vintage store, but still . . .

They all stopped in front of the bench. Sheridan and Sadie flashed each other gloating looks. Okay, they'd won. They were Queens of the Bench this morning.

“Morning, ladies!” Ashley called out in a singsong voice. Huh? Why was she acting as though Sheridan and Sadie were her best friends all of a sudden? She addressed Sheridan. “Is that a new coat?”

“It is, actually,” Sheridan said. She smoothed down the lapel of her pale yellow coat.

“And, Sally—I mean, Sadie,” Ashley continued. What exactly was she up to? Lili knew Ashley: She had a devious plan. “That is the cutest trench. Is it Dolce? I love winter white, don't you?”

“Duh!” said Sadie. She clearly didn't know what to make of Ashley's compliments either. “I wouldn't be wearing it if I didn't.”

“If you're kissing up to us so you'll get an invitation to sit on the bench, you're wasting your time,” Sheridan told Ashley. “The S. Society has very high standards. Our members wear signature items. Not matching bags and shoes. Though it looks like Lili's trying to change teams, doesn't it?”

Lili suddenly felt intensely disloyal for bringing a vintage bag to school.

“Thanks,” she snapped at Sheridan, “but I don't intend to be on the losing side.”

“You're the loser,” Sheridan sneered.

“No,
you
are!”

“Wait until Congé's announced,” Sadie practically shouted. “Then we'll see who's on the losing side!”

“Now, now,” said Ashley, smiling that unfamiliar angel-smile again. “There's no need to shout. You should be enjoying sitting on the bench. It's really quite comfortable, wouldn't you say?”

“Yes, I would say,” Sadie replied, not returning Ashley's fake smile. She settled into the bench, leaning her head against the high stone back as though it was a soft, comfy sofa. There must be a method to Ashley's madness, Lili thought, but she couldn't tell what it was yet.

“Could you go stand somewhere else?” Sheridan was waving them away. “All those matching clothes make me feel like I'm in some horror movie where clones have taken over the world.”

“You've got some nerve . . . ,” A. A. started, one hand balling into a fist.

“No,” Sheridan said. “We've got the
bench
. And you haven't. What's wrong, Lauren? Are you tired of being a pseudo-Ashley? Well, too bad. We don't take rejects in the S. Society.”

“That's a joke,” Lili burst in. How could Ashley just stand there and let them bad-mouth her friends? “You're
nothing
but
rejects. That's why none of you would ever be invited to join the Ashleys.”

“We wouldn't want to,” argued Sadie.

“I just think you're both so brave.” Ashley sighed. Everyone looked at her—Sadie and Sheridan, the other Ashleys, and the crowd of delighted, wide-eyed girls crowding the outside stairs. “Wearing such pale colors. I would be worried about sitting . . . well, never mind.”

“Sitting where? On the bench? Whatever, Ashley.” Sheridan rolled her eyes. “We can sit wherever we like.”

“And we like it here,” chimed in Sadie.

“Of course you do,” cooed Ashley. The bell rang, and all the girls hanging around the stairs sighed—the show was over for another day.

Or was it?

The Ashleys started walking toward the stairs—everyone except Ashley Spencer.

“What are you waiting for?” sniped Sheridan, getting up and grabbing her bag. Sadie stood up as well, tossing her hair and fiddling with the belt of her coat. “Are you waiting until everyone's gone in, just so you can say you got to sit on the bench today?”

“Oh no,” said Ashley. “I wouldn't dream of being late for—OH NO!”

Everyone on the stairs stopped dead; girls already inside the main corridor of Miss Gamble's pushed their way out again, to find out why Ashley Spencer was screaming.

“What?” snapped Sheridan. Lili, who'd had one foot on the bottom step, found herself pushed back onto the sidewalk.

“Your . . . your coats!” Ashley shrieked, then clapped a hand over her mouth, as though she was too shocked to go on.

“What?” Sheridan and Sadie both looked down at their coats, twisting to see the backs. Ashley pointed an accusing finger and gazed up at her audience on the stairs, making sure—Lili was certain—that as many people as possible would look.

“Yuck!” Sadie started battering her coat, frantically dusting off her shoulders and butt. “It won't come off!”

“What won't come . . . OMG!” Sheridan raised one hand: It was covered in thick, ashy dust. She turned around and around in circles, and Lili saw what the problem was. Her entire back looked like it was smudged with charcoal. “My coat!”

“Gosh,” said Ashley in a faux-sympathetic voice. Everyone on the stairs was tittering and pointing. “It's
not so yellow anymore, is it? That bench must have been
really
dusty.”

“You did this!” cried Sadie. Her white coat was a mess. Lili started laughing. Whatever this stuff was, and however Ashley had managed to coat the bench with it, it had certainly done the trick. The queens of the S. Society looked like they'd been climbing up chimneys.

“Did what?” Ashley asked, all innocence. “I don't know what you're talking about. I've been telling the school for weeks that the bench is dirty and needs cleaning. Maybe now they'll do something about it.”

“My coat is ruined,” spluttered Sheridan.

“You're going to pay for this, Ashley Spencer,” Sadie threatened.

“I doubt that,” said Ashley. She walked over to Lili and linked arms. A. A. and Lauren, farther up the stairs, smiled down at them. “Maybe you should be more careful where you sit. Just a suggestion!”

“What was that stuff?” Lili whispered when they were safely inside and the giggling masses were dispersing into classrooms.

“It's a charcoal rub you use to clean stone,” Ashley confided. “Invisible to the naked eye. You can't buy it in the States—nobody's even heard of it here. Our grounds
staff uses it on our fountain. It sits on the stone for twelve hours, and then you have to scrub it off. Otherwise, if you happen to brush against it or sit on it, well . . .”