Social Order

For my LA alpha girls, Katie Davis, Tina Hay, and Mary Clare Williams.

And NYC alpha boy Tom Dolby, who brought us together.

I'm always honored to sit at your lunch table!!

Jealousy is all the fun you think they had.

—Erica Jong

We have the playaz and we have the playa haters Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful, baby.

—Notorious B.I.G.

WELCOME TO THE SEVENTH-GRADE SOCIAL EXPERIMENT. Otherwise known from now on as “The Rank.” Don't ask us what smells—it's probably just the new menu at the ref!

But on to business! Did you ever wonder if popularity can be bottled like cheap celebrity perfume? Well, we did too. And we decided to find out what exactly makes an it girl “it.” What makes a golden girl shine? And why do we call them the Beautiful People when they exhibit so much Bad Behavior?

Here at Miss Gamble's, the Ones to Watch are the triple threat known as the Ashleys. When one of them coughs, all of us catch colds.

So what does it take to follow in their Jimmy Choo–clad footsteps? Buttery blond highlights? A whisper-thin Michael Stars cashmere sweater? A plaid uniform skirt hiked just high enough to show off a killer spray tan? An adoring Gregory Hall boyfriend?

We need to know!

That's why every week we will rank each seventh-grade girl according to her sociopopularity index. The girls will be ranked according to the Fab Four S's: Style, Social Presence, Smarts, and Smile, with a maximum of ten points for each category.

And the Ashleys aren't the only ones we're keeping
an eye on—everyone in the class is fair game!

So the next time you think you can get away with wearing last year's tunic tops, think again! Check your self-esteem in the Lost and Found and make sure your air-kisses land on the right cheeks! We'll be watching . . . and ranking!

Back from the dead and better than ever! Ashley Spencer is the girl everyone wants to be and the one to beat.

STYLE: 10

Like the best trendsetters, she's always one haute-preppie step ahead of the game. Without her, we'd still be running around wearing thick socks and carrying mock Birkins.

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10

Even near-death, she had poise. Extra cred for looking supercute even while almost meeting her maker.

SMILE: 10

The most dazzling smile this side of the Golden Gate Bridge, if we can be so cheesy.

SMARTS: 9

Not telling anyone about your life-threatening allergy? Seems just a
little
dumb.

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 39
(Hey, no one is perfect!)

Gorgeous on the playing field as well as the dance floor, A. A. is the pinup with a heart of gold!

STYLE: 10

The girl with legs longer than a racehorse's is a tomboy bombshell, a perfect role “model.”

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 8

We hear her online love fizzed out and she was left holding the iPhone. Aw!

SMILE: 10

Gets our vote for her killer looks and effervescent personality.

SMARTS: 9

Marilyn Monroe once said a smart girl is one who plays dumb!

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 37

Watch out, world, this is the busiest seventh grader on the planet!

STYLE: 9

She's got it all: looks, charm, and an allowance larger than your parents' bank account.

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 8

Sometimes next to her two best friends, it's hard to see her light. Our advice? Come out and let it shine!

SMILE: 7

Hasn't done a lot of this lately, so we have to take points off for the furrow that's starting to appear between her brows.

SMARTS: 10

The Great One also has a Great Brain.

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 34

Well, it is called AshleyRank, isn't it?

But there are a few girls nipping at their heels. . . .

Here are some of our favorite dark horse candidates:

She's been hero-worshipping the Ashleys for so long she could be mistaken for one of them. Not! Still, points for trying.

STYLE: 6

The helmet hairdo doesn't help, and often dresses as if Burberry threw up on her.

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10

Knows everything about everyone and isn't afraid to dish.

SMILE: 7

Now that the braces are off, she's in fighting form.

SMARTS: 9

Nothing gets past this one.

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 32

Last year we didn't even know her name, but things change fast. This girl proves there's hope for us all.

STYLE: 8

We're digging the new look and the new attitude.

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 7

Arrived at the fall mixer on the arm of Billy (“Oil Heir”) Reddy and is rumored to be starring in her own reality TV show. But Billy isn't her BF, so does that mean her hot show is just a lot of hot air?

SMILE: 5

Has lots to smile about, but rarely does.

SMARTS: 9

Book-smart, sure, but does she have the wits to match?

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 29

“HONEY, I'VE MISSED YOU SO
much!”

“I missed you, too, Mom.” Ashley Alioto—otherwise known as A. A., one of the tween triumvirate of Ashleys who were the acknowledged social elite of Miss Gamble's School for Girls—smiled up at her mother.

Jeanine Alioto was as beautiful as ever, tall and willowy, her long dark hair perfectly razor-cut and blow-dried, her eyebrows immaculately threaded, her lips injected with just enough Venezuelan bee serum to make her mouth a seductive pout. Sometimes girls at school—non-Ashleys, of course—asked her if it was a drag having a former supermodel for a mother, as though getting
great genes (not to mention an endless supply of great jeans) was a bad thing.

The only kind-of-bad part was when her mother disappeared for weeks at a time because some rich guy wanted her to sail around the Caribbean with him or hang out at the Cannes Film Festival. A. A. was left at home in their penthouse apartment in the Fairmont Hotel with her stepbrother, Ned. They got along just fine without Jeanine—duh, room service!—but it was always better when her mother was home, not least because she always brought back a ton of cool gifts.

“And these are for you, Lili,” said her mother, pulling a chic pair of black shoes from one of her overflowing Goyard suitcases and tossing them into the eager hands of Ashley Li.

The shoes meant for Lili had three-inch curvy heels with ankle straps fastened by a tiny ribbon. Receiving designer swag was just another one of the many perks of being an Ashley, but Lili, perched on the edge of the butter-colored chaise lounge, peered at them with a puzzled smile on her face.

“Thanks so much, Jeanine,” she said in her peppiest voice, but A. A. knew what she was thinking. Lili was a total brand queen, and if she didn't recognize the name
imprinted in the soft calfskin soles of the shoes, then they might as well be a pair of sweaty Crocs. “Are these an Argentinian . . . er, specialty?”

“Sweetie, they're tango shoes!” Jeanine scrambled to her feet. In her calf-high Fiorentini & Baker boots tucked into skintight Ksubi jeans, she was more than six feet tall, towering over the petite Lili and even over A. A., who'd inherited her mother's long, lean physique and was currently sprawled out on the white sheepskin rug. “I got them for A. A. and then remembered she'd rather throw herself around on a soccer field than do anything ladylike, and I know you're the same size. I spent a few days in Buenos Aires at the tango festival, and these are from
the
tango shoe store. Everything's handmade and super expensive.”

“I'd love to learn the tango,” said Lili with a sigh, flicking her glossy jet-black hair, a dreamy expression floating over her pretty, heart-shaped face. A. A. let out a snort of laughter—all Lili needed was yet another extracurricular activity! When she wasn't taking violin or tennis lessons, she was brushing up on her French and Mandarin language skills, or learning how to take expert photographs, or helping a Stanford professor with his genetics research. If A. A. had Lili's overscheduled life, she'd go crazy.

“I thought you were going to Brazil.” A. A. picked at the intricately woven blue hammock her mother had pulled from suitcase number one twenty minutes ago. There was an outdoor terrace off the suite where it would hang perfectly.

“Rio in the off-season just isn't me.” Jeanine sighed, mussing her luxuriant dark locks. “The Copa is no fun in the rain, and I was sick of looking at all those undernourished girls from Ipanema hanging around and hoping to get discovered by Victoria's Secret.”

A. A. rolled onto her stomach and rested her head in her hands. She loved it when her mother started dishing on the modeling world. Jeanine always called herself the Last of the Supermodels, talking about the good old days when the top models were known by their first names alone, everyone had major attitude and the breasts to go with it, and affairs with celebrities were de rigueur—her first husband, Ned's father, was a British rock star. These days, she said, the girls were barely old enough to date, and all the magazine covers were hogged by skanky Hollywood starlets.

“And anyway,” Jeanine continued, back on her knees and rifling through her suitcase again, “Gil was thinking of buying some gaucho ranch in Argentina, so we flew down there.”

Gil was Richard Gilbert, the software tycoon Jeanine had been dating on and off for the last six months. She and Ned had already decided they didn't want him as a stepfather, but it was too soon to worry—Jeanine's relationships had a habit of self-combusting before too many commitments were made.

“Did you and Mr. Gilbert learn to dance the tango while you were there?” Lili had already slipped off her Tory Burch flats and was carefully tying the delicate ribbons of the tango shoes around her slim ankles.

“I don't know what
Mr. Gilbert
was doing,” said Jeanine, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “After three days galloping around in the mud wearing a poncho, I'd had enough. And let's just say horses weren't the only thing he was checking out in Argentina.”

She tugged a vibrant purple-patterned silk scarf out of her bag and draped it over A. A.'s shoulders, and then rummaged for another one, this time a swirling, kaleidoscopic mix of greens and pinks.

“For you,” Jeanine said, wafting it at Lili. “These are just Pucci—I picked them up at the airport when my flight back was delayed. I grabbed a blue one for Ashley, too, because I know how you three
have
to have the same things.”

“So you and Gil have broken up?” A. A. tried not to sound too pleased. She sat up to adjust her trademark pigtails and loop the scarf around her neck.

“Let's just say I need someone who's man enough to tango with me and me alone,” Jeanine said, rocking back on her heels and shooting them her famous wicked
Cosmo
-cover smile. “And you know what I always tell you, girls.”

“Leave them while you're still looking good!” chorused A. A. and Lili, laughing. For the millionth time in her twelve years, A. A. felt relieved and happy that her mother was so much fun, more of a friend than a mom. It was so easy to talk to her. Everything was better when Jeanine was home—even if she did insist on redecorating their luxurious penthouse suite way too often. But as long as she didn't let her snooty decorator banish A. A. and Ned's vast video game collection or try to downsize the flat-screen TV in the loft-size living room, they wouldn't complain.

“So what's been going on at Hogwarts?” her mother asked, pulling the Pucci scarf away from A. A. and tying it in an effortlessly chic headband around her own hair.

“Social Club had its first coed mixer with the Gregory Hall boys,” Lili told her, “which I pretty much organized—”