Social Order (15 page)

“God! Can you believe this place?” she complained, taking Lauren's elbow in a really friendly way. Ashley was always nicer when Lili and A. A. weren't around. “Everything is so
middle-aged
. They used to have cute
stuff here, but I couldn't find a thing today, unless I want to look like Hillary Clinton.”

“I couldn't find anything either,” Lauren confided.

“You want something for the party tonight, right?” Ashley looked sympathetic. “What kind of look are you going for?”

“I don't know. Not too dressy, but not casual, either. Maybe I need to go to Neiman's and speak to my personal shopper.” Lauren wasn't entirely confident about putting clothes together yet. Unlike the Ashleys, she was still new to this buy-anything way of life.

“You don't need a personal shopper when
I'm
here,” Ashley said, flicking her shiny blond hair out of her face. “Let's get out of this store and go somewhere else. I'll find the perfect outfit for you.”

Lauren agreed at once. This was an unexpected bonus: getting quality time with Ashley. She seemed less affected than she did at school, more human almost. Ashley's driver was waiting outside in her father's tan Range Rover, and he drove them to Union Square. There, in less than an hour, Ashley had found more than a dozen amazing things at Saks for Lauren to try on.

In the shoe department, Ashley insisted that Lauren
look for a pair of strappy, studded high heels, because that's what all the coolest celebrities were wearing.

“I don't want the heel to be too high,” said Lauren, tugging on a pair of Jean-Michel Cazabats and thinking about Alex. He was taller than her, but not that much taller—she didn't want to tower over him tonight. Ashley obviously didn't care about being taller than Tri. Lauren wished she had her confidence.

“Your school shoes are higher than this,” Ashley pointed out with a dismissive wave. Then she looked hard at Lauren, her lip curling into a smirk. “Oh, I get it. You're worried about being taller than the boys at the party.”

“No! I mean . . . maybe.” Lauren slumped in the chair, hoping that Ashley wouldn't tease her too much. “Well, there is this one boy I like who might be there. . . .” She knew Ashley didn't believe she was dating two boys, so she didn't want to bring that part up.

“Is he short like Tri?” Ashley looked sympathetic.

“No, not . . .” Lauren was about to say “not
that
short” but stopped herself in time. “He's just not
really
tall.”

“Hmmm.” Ashley pondered the problem. Lauren couldn't believe that Ashley wasn't grilling her, mocking her, or dismissing the entire issue outright. She looked
like she was seriously pondering Lauren's dilemma. “I'm trying to come up with the most . . . you know,
intelligent
solution.”

That was kind of a weird thing to say, but Lauren sat silently, waiting for Ashley's verdict.

“I've got it!” Ashley clicked her fingers. “Buy these Michael Kors strappy wedges, because they have only a one-and-a-half-inch heel. Then—and this is the masterstroke, if I do say so myself—team them with that Stella McCartney short skirt and kimono top. The skirt will make your legs look superlong even without a really high heel. You'll be the cutest girl at the party!”

“That'll be great,” Lauren agreed, smiling at Ashley. So this was why the Ashleys stayed friends—despite all of Ashley's machinations and mean tricks. Under the Queen Bee facade was a really nice person all along.

“I mean, most of the girls at the party will be ugly and/or skanky, and very badly dressed,” Ashley continued, handing the box with the approved shoes to the hovering sales assistant. “The only possible competition you have is the Ashleys, and you have nothing to worry about there. Lili is so petite she's almost a midget, and A. A. is freakishly tall. She'd make out with a vacuum cleaner if she thought it was taller than she was.”

Okay—so Ashley wasn't
that
nice. But she was being nice to Lauren for a change, and that felt good. Lauren felt a tiny bit guilty about wanting to be Ashley's friend only so she could take her down in the future. This was all so confusing. Was Ashley mean or nice? Did she like Ashley or did she loathe her? Things were a lot more complex than Lauren had first thought.

“What about you?” Lauren asked, wanting to stop thinking about her conflicted feelings toward her new style guru. “You'll be wearing something amazing as usual, I'm sure.”

“Yeah,” Ashley agreed. She sighed and picked at a loose thread in the arm of her chair. “But I'm not going tonight.”

“No?”

“Tri told me he can't, so what's the point? I need to go stay home and deep-condition my hair anyway. Besides, I want my first kiss to be something special, not just because we got shoved in a closet together.”

“What do you mean, your first kiss?” Lauren couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You mean you and Tri haven't . . .?”

“Nope. I'm NBK. Never Been Kissed. It's no biggie.” Ashley shrugged.

“Really?”

“Of course not. That's why I've been making Tri wait. I'd rather wait until the moment's right. My parents always told me that I'm like a precious jewel, and there's no point in—how does that old saying go? No point in casting pearls before swine or something?”

“That's so cool,” Lauren told her. She almost felt guilty for wanting to kiss both Christian and Alex. After Ashley's confession, she wanted to tell her something in return, because they'd been bonding so well that afternoon. “You know, I'm NBK as well,” she confided.

“Really? But when we played ‘I Never' the other day, and A. A. asked that question, you took a drink!”

“I just held the can to my mouth,” whispered Lauren. “I didn't want to look stupid.”

“You really shouldn't lie,” Ashley said, her face stern. Then she was smiling again. “But it's okay. It's just a game. Your secret's safe with me. I'm the most discreet of the Ashleys, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed.”

Lauren hadn't noticed. But she nodded and smiled back at her new BFF, and they walked over to the counter together to pay for her new shoes.

AS SHE SURVEYED THE SCENE,
A. A. thought that the location for the Seven Minutes in Heaven party wasn't quite as cool as the triplex loft after the lax game. It was in some guy's basement in Noe Valley. But even basements in this area were pretty nice, given the size of the houses and the amount of money everyone lavished on them.

This basement was particularly choice, furnished with a sofa, plush giant bean bags, a Perspex sling-chair hanging from the ceiling, a huge flat-screen TV and stereo system, and a pool table covered in purple felt. There were two bathrooms, two bedrooms, and even a kitchenette with a microwave and fridge, fully stocked with every type of salty snack, cereal, and candy.

There was a table set up for poker, already encircled with boys, as well as two pinball machines and a foosball table. There were a bunch of closets in the back with white double doors. And their host for the evening—a Gregory Hall kid called Denver or Portland or some other city name—had gone to the trouble of hanging little
VACANT/OCCUPIED
signs on each of the door handles, just in case anyone forgot the point of the party.

A. A. arrived with Lili, who was checking herself out in every available surface to see how cute she looked in A. A.'s clothes. They got themselves sodas and talked to a few people they recognized. Ashley hadn't arrived yet, and A. A. couldn't see Lauren anywhere either. Lili, she knew, kept anxiously scanning the room for any sign of Max. She had told A. A. she both wanted and didn't want him to be there.

She felt bad for Lili, especially because some of the girls were still whispering and giggling about the hidden camera footage in the
Preteen Queen
broadcast. Jealous losers! They would faint in a heap if someone like Max even
looked
at them, which he would never do. She felt proud of Lili for brazening it out, telling those gossip-mad wenches that she'd been acting up for the camera, but nobody really believed her.

A. A. spotted Tri, playing pool in the back corner. She was a little surprised to see him. He had come over to their penthouse suite earlier with Ned and a bunch of other guys. She'd mentioned she was going to be at the party, and he said he wasn't planning to be there.

So what was he doing there, then? Ugh. As soon as Ashley arrived, the two of them would be all over each other as usual. A. A. didn't intend to run away this time, but she didn't want to witness any more of their PDA. Maybe they hadn't kissed, but they sure couldn't keep their hands off each other.

“You made it.” Hunter sidled up next to her and leaned against the kitchen counter. A. A. smiled at him. He wasn't bad to look at, she supposed. Red hair, green eyes, and a kind-of-dashing cleft in his chin. Taller than her. Not bad at all. Did she want to spend seven minutes making out with him? Maybe. Maybe not.

“Did you meet my friend Lili?” A. A. made the introductions, pointedly ignoring the Ashley wannabes staring at Hunter so hard their eyes were about to fall out. Hunter took her elbow and led her away from the gaggle, bending toward her to whisper in her ear.

“Get out your phone,” he murmured.

“Why? Have you sent me a message?”

“No. Just let me see it.”

“It's an iPhone.”

Hunter sighed and shook his head.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult all the time?” he asked her, clearly trying not to laugh. A. A. didn't know what he was talking about.

“This is it, if it means so much to you.” She slid her iPhone out of her Mulberry shoulder bag and held her palm out so Hunter could see.

“Cool.” He stared down at it. A. A.'s mom had had her iPhone bedazzled with rhinestones by some celebrity phone “customizer.” A. A. thought it was silly to pay someone a ton of cash just to ruin the back of your phone, but she hadn't been able to stop Jeanine.

“You haven't seen an iPhone before?” A. A. was incredulous.

“I haven't seen
your
iPhone,” he whispered. “Or felt it. Don't you know the rules of ‘Seven'?”

A. A. shook her head.

“All the girls put their phones into a big bowl. That one over there”—he gestured with his left shoulder—“on the coffee table. When a guy's ready to play, he finds the Bowlmaster. See that dude there in the T-shirt?”

A. A. followed his gaze. A guy with an almost-
shaved head, wearing a T-shirt with a goldfish bowl drawn on it in crude black lines, was stationed in the swinging Perspex chair.

“He blindfolds you, and then you get to fish a phone out of the bowl. After that, you take off the blindfold and then you have to cruise the party to find the girl who owns it. Kind of like Cinderella with the glass slipper. You
have
heard of Cinderella, haven't you?”

“Ha-ha.” A. A. rolled her eyes. This all sounded pretty exciting. But what if the guy who grabbed your phone was fugly? She glanced around the room, checking everyone out. Nobody here was
too
bad. And at least it would be dark in the closet.

“When he finds you, you have to go into the closet with him and spend seven minutes there. Ideally not just because you're hiding from someone else.” Hunter nudged her.

“Uh-huh.” A. A. smirked. Hunter was a terrible flirt.

“If you drop your phone in the bowl, it means you want to play. So think about it before you back out like a baby,” he teased.

“Like you're so mature,” A. A. said, nudging him back even harder. “You haven't even seen an iPhone before.”

“You're not listening to me, are you?” Hunter feigned exasperation. “I wanted to feel your phone because I knew you'd have some girly stuff hanging on it or whatever. You've got those diamonds stuck to it, right? So when I've got a blindfold on and I'm sticking my hand into the bowl, I'll know what to reach for. Got it now?”

“Oh.” A. A. realized what he was saying and felt her face flush. Hunter wanted to make out with her. In the closet. For seven minutes. It was kind of flattering to see how determined he was to pick the right phone.

“This is just for your sake, you understand,” he told her with a sarcastic grin, his eyes twinkling. “I don't want you stuck with some kid with braces or a major case of acne. I'm prepared to bite the bullet—you know, suffer through seven minutes with you in a closet—just so you're not traumatized. You should really be thanking me.”

“Let's wait until the seven minutes are up, shall we?” A. A. flashed back at him.

“Bowl's right over there,” he responded breezily, walking away.

A. A. fingered her phone, wondering what to do.

Maybe, maybe not. Maybe . . . why not?

She noticed a commotion around the pool table: Tri
had sunk the winning shot and was being slapped on the back by the rest of his team. He looked incredibly happy, maybe because he was good at something for once, she thought nastily. All her annoyance at him returned in full force. Mustering her courage and trembling with a strange sort of exhilaration, she marched over to the glass bowl, already half full, and slid her phone in. She wanted to play.

IT WAS JUST LIKE HER
favorite board game, Lauren thought. There was Christian, in the living room, with the pool cue. And then there was Alex, in the bedroom, with the foosball table. And then there was Miss Page, moving from one room to the other, hoping her sneaking back and forth would go undetected. Someone was going to be onto her before long. But until that happened, she was going to have a really good time.