Social Order (20 page)

Ashley may have closed down the blog, but nobody at Miss Gamble's is going to forget she scored a two for smile. She's letting the Ashleys down! Doesn't she know we have a reputation to maintain?

Maybe it's time for us to reconsider our position. Should Ashley get kicked out of the Ashleys?

Yours in serious consideration,

Lili

Hear ye, hear ye. We now crown a new queen of the Rank. For the first time since the inauguration of our little social experiment, we've got a new winner of the seventh-grade sweepstakes!

Because every lax king needs a queen.

Enjoy your reign, and don't forget the little people!

STYLE: 10

Could probably wear a sack and make it work.

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10

Tamed the biggest player at Reed Prep.

(And we don't mean lacrosse!)

SMILE: 10

It's official: It's megawatt.

SMARTS: 9

What do you call a girl who claws her way to the top but still comes out smelling like a rose?

Brilliant!

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 39
(Because no one is perfect!)

There's nothing we like more than a girl in love.

STYLE: 10

Proves you don't have to match your shoes to your handbag to look good!

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10

Her new BF is gorge! We love redheads too!

SMILE: 8

Smiles as if her heart is breaking . . . why is that?

SMARTS: 10

Unlike other girls we won't mention, this one doesn't kiss and tell. . . .

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 38

The Cinderella story of the semester!

STYLE: 10

Is it her new wide-leg Rich & Skinny jeans or the way she walks in them, as if she owns the world, that we like so much?

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10

No slouch in the boyfriend—or should we say boyfriends—department either.

SMILE: 10

Totally bubbly these days.

SMARTS: 6

It's foolish to toy with boys' affections—they're not the only ones who could get hurt!

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 36

The former Queen Bee has lost her buzz. . . .

STYLE: 7

For once, we find her outfits a little too contrived.

SOCIAL PRESENCE: 8

Ouch! She's been recently dumped by her boyfriend
and
the network.

SMILE: 2

Oh, pookie. Things can only get better.

SMARTS: 8

Don't count her out yet. She's bound to have more tricks up her Paul & Joe sleeve.

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 25

Many thanks to Emily Meehan, Courtney Bongiolatti, Annie Berger, Richard Abate, Bethany Buck, Paula Morris, Christina Green, Jennie Kim, and Arisa Chen.

Love to everyone in my family, especially Mike & Mattie.

Thanks to all my readers. You're all numero uno in my book! Kisses!

WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN THE ASHLEY PROJECT SERIES?

Here's a sneak peek at the next book:

Birthday Vicious

ASHLEY SPENCER SMOOTHED THE SOFT
folds of her Proenza Schouler black-and-white-striped skirt, crossed her spray-tanned, hot-yoga-toned legs, and told herself everything was going to be okay. Even though it was exactly a month until her Super-Sweet Thirteen, and her mother was only
now
getting around to a meeting with the party planner, everything was going to work out just
fine
.

The planner in question was Mona Mazur, the most chic, imaginative, and—of course—expensive planner on the West Coast; she'd done parties for the children of everyone who was anyone, from the Chadwick triplets (daughters of the famous singing star) to the various
adopted multiracial progeny of the movie stars Barton Flick and Organza Belle, not to mention a Super-Duper Seventh in Vegas for a notorious magician's little boy. In other words, Mona was worth waiting for (and Ashley and her mother had been waiting for the better part of an hour already), even if meant doing everything at the last minute.

Another reason Ashley had a good feeling about waiting for Mona: Her office had style oozing out of its davenports. Mona's HQ was a pale green Victorian mansion in Nob Hill, with a terraced French-style front garden and a real gaslight glowing outside the front door. Inside, sitting with her mother on a toile-de-Jouy sofa, Ashley couldn't believe her eyes. Everything, from the floor tiles to the furniture to the silk drapes to the plush sheepskin rug under their feet to the embossed wallpaper, was black and white. Even Mona's dogs, two miniature poodles named Dorothy and Draper, matched the theme: Dorothy was snowy white, Draper was a glossy black, and both wore houndstooth collars.

Ashley was glad she had changed out of her uniform after a long, hard day—well, a short, ordinary kind of day, really, if she was completely honest—at Miss Gamble's, the exclusive girls' school where she and her
cabal, the Ashleys, ruled the polished-wood halls and reigned over the seventh grade.

She'd chosen her new skirt and a plush black cashmere sweater, deciding at the last moment on a pair of Miu Miu jeweled ballerina flats—black satin with large trapezoid crystals. And now it seemed like fate, or karma, or one of those hippie things that her father liked to muse about after he came back from yet another ashram, that her clothes reflected the party planner's living-room color scheme. It was inevitable: Ashley Spencer and Mona Mazur were going to be a match made in heaven.

“Do you think she's for real?” whispered Matilda, Ashley's mother, when Mona finally welcomed them, click-clacking across the sweeping expanse of black-and-white tiles to fetch one of her parties-of-the-rich-and-fabulous albums to show them what she could do.

Ashley nodded, entranced, twirling a strand of her long golden hair between two fingers. Mona was very glamorous in a fifties-pinup sort of way, her jet-black hair worn in a lacy snood, her pale skin almost translucent. She looked like a femme fatale in a black-and-white movie, the kind of dame who packed a pistol in her crocodile handbag.

“You should wear a snood,” Ashley suggested, but Matilda just laughed. What was up with her mother this week? Like Mona, Matilda was pale, but not in a good way, like a powdered geisha, but more like she was washed out and drained of color.

Matilda had pulled her long blond hair into a stringy ponytail, and if it hadn't been for Ashley having a fit as they were climbing into their new silver Tesla (okay, so it was the same car as Lauren Page's, but everyone wanted to look good while saving the environment, not just tech billionaires), her mother would actually be sitting here right now still wearing socks and Birkenstocks.

Luckily, there was a pair of Tod's driving shoes under the front seat, because Matilda said she was too tired to go back in and change. Ashley's mother was one of those beautiful but not vain women who rarely shopped or dressed up. When pressed, Matilda could be counted on to wear something simple but elegant: beige linen in the summer, butter suede in the winter, and subtle jewelry all year round.

But she usually stuck to a wardrobe that had a ten-year-old expiration date: She was still wearing her J. Crew rugbys from college, and the Birkenstocks were taking it too far. Ashley was afraid Mona Mazur would
take one look at the comfortable cork-soled shoes and shut the door in their faces.

“Now,” said Mona, tapping back into the room and arranging the black-covered book on the coffee table in front of them. “May I offer you some tea, Mrs. Spencer?”

“That would be great.” Matilda tugged at the neck of her cream sweater as though it was strangling her. “I'm not feeling . . . entirely a hundred percent right now.”

“Chamomile, perhaps?” suggested Mona, waving two fingers in the air. Instantly, one of her doe-eyed assistants materialized to receive her orders.

Ashley flicked through the plastic pages of the book, eagerly skimming every picture of Moroccan-style bazaars, fake wintry forests, and re-creations of the
Titanic
's ballroom. It was great to get ideas from other people's parties, but for her own, Ashley wanted something unique. Something bigger and better. After all, she was Ashley Spencer—the most envied twelve-year-old girl in San Francisco. This
had
to be the best Super-Sweet Thirteen party ever.

And she had other reasons for wanting this to be a party nobody in the Bay Area would ever forget. This semester wasn't going quite as smoothly as Ashley had hoped. At the beginning of the school year,
everything was just perfect. The Ashleys were rocking Miss Gamble's. The Ashleys were the cutest, the best-dressed, the most feared girls in school, and Ashley was queen of the Ashleys. Everyone was so jealous when she snagged Tri Fitzpatrick, the cutest boy in the seventh grade at Gregory Hall, as her first real boyfriend.

But then things started going wrong. Tri never seemed to get around to kissing her, and he eventually told her he really preferred A. A.—Ashley Alioto, the tallest and sportiest of the Ashleys. Whatever!

Then she'd even let nouveau-riche Lauren Page into the Ashleys, since she could get them on the reality TV show
Preteen Queen
. But that was another thing that started out in Ashley's favor but suddenly turned sour. Just as she was ruling the airwaves and scoring all the votes, the network dumped the show. Losing a boyfriend and a reality show in one week would have broken the spirits of most girls her age, but Ashley had managed to make it look as if she hardly even noticed.

Even if she
was
currently the only one of the Ashleys to not have a boyfriend. Lili was dating Max, the cute guy from her French conversation class; A. A. was dating Hunter, the hot red-headed Gregory Hall goalie, and word had it that Lauren had not one but
two
boyfriends. Ashley shook her head and slammed the book shut, almost dislodging her mother's teacup. Everyone with a boyfriend but her: How did
that
happen?

Worst of all was the stupid Tumblr, AshleyRank, that her father's lawyer had managed, at long last, to close down. Some sixth-grade wannabes had been making her life a misery, dropping her ranking from number one to a tragic number four. The most unforgivable offense: The blog had crowned a new queen—Ashley Li (better known as Lili) as the new ruler of the seventh grade.

Okay, so Lili was her best friend, and they were devoted to each other—but c'mon! Lili was a total copycat—always buying a pair of Current Elliot cargos only after seeing Ashley's, always crushing on boys Ashley had declared adorable, always being the first to admire Ashley's new handbags.

Thank goodness AshleyRank was history, and Ashley hoped that its demise had torpedoed the idea that
anyone
other than Ashley was numero uno as well. Her party would show them she was at the top of her game. All she needed was a little parental cooperation. And a huge party budget, of course.

Mona Mazur's parties cost more than most weddings.

“You know, sweetie,” her mother said with a pained smile, rattling the saucer as she set down her teacup, “I wonder if we could come back another day to do this. I'm just not feeling very well right now.”

“Mom!” Ashley whined. “Are you sure? Can you just hold it together for a little longer?” She looked at her mom worriedly. There was clearly something wrong with Matilda, but the thought of a sick parent was too scary to contemplate. Ashley hated whenever her parents fell ill, and she harbored nightmarish scenarios of being a poor, friendless orphan whenever they did.

Plus, her birthday was practically tomorrow, and nothing was planned yet. How would she know which outfits to buy if they hadn't decided on a theme? She squeezed her mother's arm and hoped it would communicate how important this was.

Luckily, Mona seemed to be on her side.

“Unfortunately, there's not much time to pull all this together, Mrs. Spencer,” she said. “But we can make it quick, yes? Ashley, have you seen anything in my book that inspires you?”

“Well, yes and no,” Ashley began, pausing when she glanced at her mother. Matilda really did look bad. Her forehead looked clammy, and she kept closing her eyes.
Oh God. She would be a foster child. Or worse, sent to live with the Spencers' only living relative: batty Aunt Agnes, who lived in Vermont with two hundred sheep and made cheese.

Ashley started rattling off ideas as quickly as they formed in her head in order to shake the scary image of having to live among barn animals. “I was thinking of some kind of international theme. . . .”

“I was thinking of something more age-appropriate,” her mother said faintly, as though she was too exhausted to continue, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

“Like the circus, perhaps?” Mona suggested, her face serene. “I think that would work very nicely with the space as well. You have those lovely cathedral ceilings, perfect for a tightrope. We could have rides and carnival attractions in the yard, fire-eaters on stilts along the entryway . . .”