The Ashley Project (2 page)

Her mother was hosting the annual Miss Gamble's mother-daughter “welcome back” tea in the sunroom
that afternoon with Lili's mom, and Ashley wouldn't normally care what anyone thought, since her mother was always the prettiest woman in the room, but sometimes she wished Matilda would make more of an effort to look more fashionable. Lili's mom was always totally done up in the latest designer duds, with perfect hair, nails, and makeup, and she looked like the quintessential private-school parent.

While Ashley chastised her mom for her fashion sense, she heard her father come jogging down the stairs in a holey T-shirt and yoga pants, his guru following behind.

“Off to school, precious?” he asked, doing sun salutations in the foyer while Bodhi helped balance him. “Ready for the new year? You know you'll kick ass! Won't she, my love?” he asked, turning to his wife and giving her a kiss on the nose.

Her mother giggled and looped her arm around her husband's, and for a frightening moment it looked like the two of them would actually start to make out in front of their daughter, but thankfully her father got distracted by his trainer, and the cringe-worthy display of affection was averted. Ashley breathed a sigh of relief.

When she was little, she loved having her parents
at home all the time, but now it was getting annoying. Neither of them worked in any real sense—Dad “managed” the family trusts and Mom worked on her “art,” both of them having inherited a huge chunk of change from their families. Which meant they had ample time to suffocate their only child, although they tried to be “cool” parents: Bedtime was flexible on the weekends, they didn't nag her about her grades too much, and her mom didn't nose around her online profiles like other mothers did.

“You're not going to be here for the tea, are you?” she asked her father. “Please don't.” She didn't want him wandering around the house barefoot in his sweats, or strumming his guitar while the whole seventh-grade class tittered. Seriously, parents could be so embarrassing. The
Nob Hill Gazette
had once crowned her parents San Francisco's “It Couple,” but that was a long time ago, before she was even born. They were such goofballs now, it was hard to imagine them as ever being so superglamorous.

Ashley allowed herself to be hugged by the two of them and walked out the door, checking once again to make sure she had that antiallergy shot in her purse. It made her feel better knowing it was there, especially
since almost no one knew about her condition, and she liked to keep it that way.

No way in hell was she going to be dumped in with Cass Franklin, that freak who had to eat in her own screened-off quarantined section of the refectory, alienated from all the other kids. Ashley had pretended for so long that she liked living on nothing but yogurt and spelt bread and raw vegetables that she almost believed it.

She was Ashley Spencer, the undisputed, unshakable leader of the Ashleys. No one told her what she could and couldn't eat.

Owning up to her allergy was admitting weakness. Seventh grade was a saddle-shoe jungle. And Ashley Spencer made sure everyone marched to the beat of her iPod.

HOW MUCH LONGER DID SHE
have to wait? Another five minutes? Ten? Fifteen? Her mother would go ballistic if she got slapped with a late notice on the first day of school. Three late notices and you had to face the Honor Board—which was kind of out of the question for her, since she was
on
the Honor Board.

Ashley Li checked the time on the dangling golden lock of her tan leather Hermès Kelly watch, which she wore strapped around her wrist like a lariat. If they weren't at Miss Gamble's in fifteen minutes, Miss Moos, the dreaded school secretary with the creepy hair weave and onion-bagel breath, would soon be ringing their parents, inquiring in that quavery voice
of hers as to why their little girls weren't in school that morning.

She took a sip from her cardboard coffee cup. Chai soy decaf latte. It tasted like extra-hot crap, but she pretended to like it because Ashley Spencer loved it, and the point of being friends with Ashley Spencer—the whole point of being in the Ashleys—was that they all liked and did the same things. They had decided back in fourth grade that the Ashley thing was too confusing, so they would go by very cute nicknames instead. All except for Ashley Spencer, of course, who somehow retained the right to be called “Ashley.” Lili was a much chicer name than Ashley anyway, Lili decided.

Where was the biatch? It drove her crazy how Ashley never seemed to notice the time.

You'd think the girl would at least
try
to be on time for the first day of junior high. Lili sighed. She'd have to lie to her mom again to explain the disciplinary note.

Whenever Lili messed up at school, she was sure to feel the wrath of (Nancy) Khan. Her mother, who had kept her maiden name and used to be the highest-paid female partner at Willbanks, Eliot, and Dumforth (and before that, editor at the
Harvard Law Review
), was
now a full-time SAHM: a stay-at-home mom—or in her case, a socialite-at-home mom, serving on all of the committees and volunteer boards at Miss Gamble's. She didn't accept anything less than perfection from her only daughter.

She should just leave. Forget Ashley. Yeah, right. As if she could ever desert her best friend. That was the problem. Ashley could make anything better, more fun, and less completely mundane. She thought about the stickers from last year that Ashley had made for them to put on select lockers. The stickers read “The Ashleys: SOA” in script on silver foil. No one but the three of them knew what the letters stood for, and it drove the whole class crazy trying to guess. SOA stood for “Seal of Approval,” which should have been glaringly obvious, since only the cool girls in class got the sticker.

Lili gripped her coffee cup tightly, took an agonized sip of the drink, and contemplated tossing it into the trash. They'd gotten into trouble for the stickers once the faculty got wind of the incident; the girls were chastised because their little prank promoted “clique culture,” which was supposedly against school policy. Uh-huh. Good luck with that.

Ashley supposedly had a surprise for them, and Lili had no choice but to wait or be left out of the fun. Her other best friend, Ashley Alioto, had found something better to do than wait around for Ashley. A. A. had arrived right on time, just as Lili had, but she'd disappeared once they'd gotten their lattes. Maybe she had decided to ditch Ashley, but most likely she was just on the phone to that “boyfriend”—air quotes definitely intended—of hers again.

Lili yawned and stretched on the wooden chair. She reached behind her to make sure her new Proenza shoulder bag was still hanging there. The bag was the same one that Ashley would be carrying and the same one that A. A. had carelessly plopped down on the seat across from hers. They had bought them together a few weeks ago. Lili had angled for the fire-engine red version, but Ashley had convinced her that beige was a more practical color for them. A. A., of course, had settled for the beige without complaint.

Lili noticed an old Chinese lady smiling at her from across the room. Old Chinese ladies were always smiling at her. She figured she probably reminded them of their granddaughters or something. They were always patting her on the head and saying,
“Piao liang, piao liang”
(pretty, pretty). Lili always smiled back. She knew how to take a compliment.

Her jet black hair fell just below her shoulders, and today she was wearing it in soft curls. She had fine, delicate features, slightly almond-shaped eyes, a tiny chin, and a flawless, caramel complexion. People always said she looked like Lucy Liu from
Elementary
, but maybe that was because there were no other Asian actresses to compare her to. She didn't think she looked a bit like Lucy Liu, but she liked hearing it anyway. Speaking of things she liked to hear . . .

“Hi, pretty!” called a clear, singsong voice from the entrance of the shop.

She turned. Ashley had finally arrived. Lili got up from her chair so fast she almost knocked over her coffee cup.

“Hi, pretty!” she gushed back. “Omigod!” she exclaimed, slapping her hands on her hips in dismay.

“What?”

“Your bag!” Lili accused, pointing to the offending accessory.

“I know! Don't you love?” Ashley grinned, holding it up to the light.

“It's
red 
!” said Lili indignantly. “You said we were all getting beige!”

“I changed my mind,” Ashley said, shrugging.
“I'm always red,”
she added, quoting from their favorite movie,
Heathers
.

“Ha-ha,” Lili deadpanned sourly. “But now we don't match.” She frowned. “We were all supposed to get the same one.”

“You and A. A. still match,” Ashley pointed out. “What's the big deal? It's just a bag, Lil. Chill out.”

Lili pasted a smile on her face. It was just a bag. Ashley was right. She was Lili's best friend, and so what if she'd changed her mind? Lili could have changed her mind just as easily, but of course, the thought would never have occurred to her. They had an agreement. Now instead of three Ashleys, she and A. A. would look like backup singers to the main Ashley. This was so
Dreamgirls
. But if Ashley didn't watch out, Lili was going to Jennifer Hudson her one day.

“Is there time for me to get my chai?” Ashley said, angling up to the counter.

No,
thought Lili.

“Uh-huh,” she said instead. It wouldn't make a difference. Ashley collected late notices like Repetto ballerina flats.

“I'm totally parched. Where's A. A.?” asked Ashley,
moving to the pickup section and looking around the busy Starbucks.

“Here.” A tall, tanned girl strode toward them. She wore her hair in a pair of signature pigtails. Only a girl as gorgeous as Ashley Alioto could get away with such a juvenile hairstyle. A. A. towered over both of her friends. She was built like a tennis player—slim, toned, and tanned—and walked with an athlete's bouncy step.

“Hi, pretty!” Ashley cooed.

“Hi, pretty!” A. A. greeted back.

They kissed each other on both cheeks the way they'd seen fashion models do it.

“You got the red,” A. A. noted, stroking the soft leather of Ashley's new bag. “I like.”

Lili tried not to gag. It was so obvious what A. A. was doing: sucking up to Ashley as usual. It would be sickening if it wasn't so sincere. A. A. had the well-deserved reputation as being the nicest of the Ashleys; everyone in class called her mega-dece. More likely she was just too spacey to be mean. Lili tried to feel annoyed but decided it was too much trouble. And besides, frowning caused wrinkles at some point. Only ugly girls had reason to frown, and Lili's life was as perfect as any twelve-year-old could hope for.

“Is that a new lunchbox?” asked Lili, noticing Ashley's new Japanese case. “Where'd you get?”

“Tokyo,” Ashley replied. “You don't think it's too sixth grade?” she asked.

Lili shook her head a little less than vigorously. “No way.”

Ashley smiled, only slightly reassured, but continued, “Omigod. I totally forgot. I brought treats.” She fished around in her Proenza bag and handed out what looked like three plastic toys. “Surprise! They're Prada Robot Charms. They only sell them in Tokyo. Accessories for your accessories. Don't you love?”

Lili and A. A. squealed in delight and immediately attached them to their bags like Ashley did.

“See?” Ashley said, picking up her cup. “Now we all match.”

Lili nodded, appeased. No one else at school would have the robot charms.

“Ready?” asked Ashley.

The two others nodded, and with arms linked, the three of them walked out of the Starbucks and up the hill toward school.

KEEPING AN EYE ON HER
two friends who were walking slightly in front of her, nearly identical handbags dangling from their arms, Ashley Alioto tapped a message on her cell phone.
talk 2 u l8r txt me i have re<< i have a brk @ 11.

Silly. She'd almost texted him saying she had
recess
at eleven! She turned off her phone, rubbed the rhinestones embedded on its stainless silver cover, and exhaled. She'd caught herself just in the nick of time, thank God.

He was just
sooo
amazing. She was
totally
into him. And it was mutual, she could tell. Not that he'd said anything of the kind, but after all, they'd only just met
a month ago online. Their whole relationship consisted of trading e-mails and instant messages and syrupy comments on each other's home pages. She was too scared to commit to a real-world F2F encounter yet. They'd never even spoken on the phone—he'd suggested it once, but she deflected it out of nerves.

Not that she had anything to worry about. She was certain he was three-name cute, even though he didn't have any pics on his profile—just a cute
Speed Racer
cartoon. She just had a
feeling
. A. A. liked to think she was a little bit psychic, and she could
sense
a hot boy behind those sweet e-mails. He'd already changed his profile to “In a Relationship” ever since they'd confessed their affection to each other a week ago. He kept telling her he couldn't wait until they met for real.

And there lay the problem. They could never meet for real.

Because laxjock (his online handle) was a high school boy. Who thought she was four years older than she really was.

If only she really were sixteen years old like it said on her profile! She'd kind of fudged with her age on the site, everyone did. Who in their right mind wanted to admit they were in junior high? Duh. In her defense, the
stunning, professional black-and-white portrait on her page certainly made her
look
sixteen.