Social Order (18 page)

A. A. half wished she'd gone to more trouble with her own outfit. Her mother had arranged for the professional makeup artist to come over to their penthouse suite after school, and then insisted that A. A. wear a lacy chiffon dress Jeanine had brought back from Argentina. A. A. had just done what she was told without arguing—and without caring. So what if she forgot to wear earrings, or if her lizard-skin bag didn't really go with her silver Choos? What did any of it matter?

All that mattered was that Tri hadn't called her. She'd thought for sure that things would change after they'd kissed in the closet. That night, when they'd finally had to stop kissing because another couple was banging on the door, the two of them hadn't even felt embarrassed about what had happened. Tri looked really happy. He couldn't stop grinning, and neither could A. A.

“I'll call you,” he'd promised, and she'd nodded, still on cloud nine, her head spinning from that illicit kiss.

But there had been no calls. Nothing. Not a word. Not an e-mail. Not an IM.

A. A. was out of her mind, especially on Monday at school when Ashley mentioned in passing that Tri had been really sweet the day before, coming over to help her choose her outfit for the party. But there wasn't a chance to ask her any probing questions: Ashley was out of school with a “cold” all Tuesday and Wednesday, although A. A. suspected it was just an excuse so that Ashley could avail herself of dozens of beauty treatments before the results taping.

Had she been wrong? A. A. had believed Tri was as much into the kiss as she'd been. She thought that he liked her as much as she liked him.

But if he felt that way, why hadn't he gotten in touch? Wouldn't he maybe think about breaking up with Ashley? Going over to her house to help her pick an outfit for the party didn't sound like someone who was planning to dump her. A. A. just didn't get it.

Meanwhile, Hunter was still totally into her, probably because he didn't know she'd had a tongue-fest in the closet with another guy. At the Seven party, he'd tracked her down after his poker game. The stupid boy had picked the wrong phone out of the bowl—one that was studded with rubies. They both felt the same, he explained, when you had a blindfold on, but he swore
he wouldn't kiss Miss Ruby Studs. A. A. had her own phone safely back in her bag at that point, and she told Hunter she was going home.

By Tuesday afternoon, when Tri still hadn't called and after the hundredth text message from Hunter, she finally relented and said Hunter could come to the
Preteen Queen
party.

It looked like it was a strictly one-kiss thing with Tri. She felt totally dissed. There was no hope for anything else to develop.

Actually, if A. A. was being totally honest, she'd still had a glimmer of hope when she arrived at the party. But that was dashed the second she saw Ashley and Tri together, holding hands like they were Brad and Angelina. There was nothing she could do but sample some of the sushi and pomegranate iced tea, admire the tiara-shaped cake standing on a table near the center of the room, and wait for Hunter to arrive.

Ashley tracked her down in front of the buffet and beckoned her over to the window. The results from the Miami group were being announced on the big screen, and the screaming from that party was deafening.

“What do you think of my dress?” she gushed, doing a slow spin so A. A. could see the back. “It's Zac Posen.”

“It's fabulous,” A. A. said flatly, wishing that the party was over already. Ashley gripped A. A.'s arm and pulled her close.

“Don't say anything to anyone,” Ashley confided, “not even Lili or Lauren, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I've decided to break up with Tri.”

“Really?” A. A. was surprised and—she had to admit—not unhappy to hear this. Ever since the kiss, she'd felt a hurricane of different emotions. She couldn't stop thinking about him. One minute she was ecstatic, but the next she felt depressed because he still hadn't called.

Then she felt guilty about kissing her best friend's boyfriend, and strangely a little guilty about kissing someone who wasn't Hunter. She'd been desperate for Tri to call her, but she was also determined not to chase after him. But now Ashley was announcing that things with Tri and her were over.

“I've been meaning to do it for ages,” Ashley explained. “That's why I didn't come to the party on Saturday. I told him that we should take a break, maybe, and start seeing other people. Not be so serious. But then he came over to my place on Sunday and was nearly in tears. I mean, it was
embarrassing
.”

“Why? Did he cry or something?” A. A. scoffed. She couldn't see Tri doing anything that silly.

“Almost.” Ashley reached for A. A.'s drink and took a long sip. “He said he couldn't stand it. He said he realized on Saturday night that no other girl was my equal, blah blah blah. He went on and on about how beautiful I was. I felt so bad for him. I think he might be in love with me. Can you believe it?”

A. A. shrugged.

“And he wanted to kiss me, so I agreed,” Ashley continued. “I know, I know. I should have said no. But he's a pretty amazing kisser, and I couldn't resist. Sorry—is this TMI?”

“Whatever.” A. A. felt sick. When Ashley handed her back the pomegranate tea, she set the cup on the windowsill.

“He told me that it was the best kiss of his life,” Ashley stage-whispered. “So what was I supposed to do? I couldn't break up with him. I decided to wait until after this party.”

“Good call,” said A. A., when she realized that Ashley was waiting for a response. Everything she was wearing felt heavy, like it was a suit of armor rather than a chiffon dress.

“He was so freaked out at the idea of me coming to the party without him,” Ashley said. “It would have been mean. And I do like Tri, I really do. Just not in that way. He's just a teddy bear. You understand, right?”

“Totally.”

“I don't want to break his heart. He actually said that I was the most beautiful and interesting girl he'd ever met. Isn't that sweet? Maybe a little creepy, though. I'm going to end it tonight after the party, before he gets even more obsessed.”

A. A. couldn't bring herself to speak. What a slimebag Tri was! First he kissed her like he meant it, then he ran back to Ashley, swearing undying love. Ashley had to be telling the truth. What else would explain the way Tri had avoided and/or ignored A. A. ever since Saturday night? He hadn't even
tried
to break up with Ashley. Here he was at the party, holding her hand and looking as devoted as ever. She wanted to slap him. He wouldn't even look in her direction!

“That guy's waving at you,” Ashley told her, pointing over A. A.'s shoulder. “Is that Hunter? He's dishy.”

A. A. spun around and saw Hunter walking toward her. He looked really hot in his Lacoste polo shirt and crisp pressed khakis, his red hair slicked down, his eyes
sparkling. Sparkling at
her
. Here was a guy who really liked her. A guy who ran around trying to get her attention, sending her messages, asking her out. The show was on a commercial break, so music was blasting out of the speakers, and a DJ was shouting at everyone to dance.

“Wanna dance, Miss Preteen Queen?” Hunter shouted over the racket, and A. A. smiled at him, taking the hand he offered. Forget Tri and that stupid kiss. Maybe she'd kiss Hunter tonight, at the end of the party—and not in a closet, either. Ashley wasn't the only one who could have a boyfriend.

IT HAD BEEN A LONG
time since the coed mixer at Miss Gamble's, where Lauren was still a social pariah and saved the day only by—literally—saving Ashley's life. When she thought how terrified she'd been about walking into that party, how she'd come up with the ploy of dragging Billy Reddy along to give her some credibility, Lauren wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. How things had changed!

Now she was one of the main attractions at the
Preteen Queen
results party. The photographer from the
Gambler
, the school newspaper, hustled her into a photo with the three Ashleys, all of them pouting and posing like the StripHall Queens—their favorite pop group.
Ashley shoved her way into the middle, of course, practically elbowing Lili out of the way.

Guinevere Parker, who had managed to bag the job of social reporter, cornered Lauren to ask “who” she was wearing, so they could print every vital fashion detail.

“Is it true that you were the one approached by the TV show?” Guinevere asked, scribbling furiously in her flip-top notebook. The Ashleys were right: She did have a bobblehead. “Without you, none of this would have happened?”

“Well, I don't know about that.” Lauren shrugged. She wanted to tell Guinevere that her friend Dex was right, you shouldn't care too much about what people thought, although it was a lot easier not to care when you knew everyone liked you. Or feared you. Or wanted to be you, somehow. That's why Ashley got away with being so mean, Lauren decided. Nobody would be snubbing
her
anytime soon. “It's true that the producers approached me, but the show was about all of us. And it's not really that big a deal. Really.”

Though it was clearly a big-time biggie for Ashley herself, Lauren noticed. Ashley kept glancing up at the giant TV monitor, watching Alexa read the results from different cities, even though everyone else was
preoccupied with eating and dancing and waving at one another.

Lauren had decided to make the evening less stressful than Saturday's party by ensuring that only one of her guys was on the premises. After much careful thought—i.e., an hour-long phone call with Lili on Sunday—Lauren had invited Christian to come along to the results party.

Meanwhile, Alex was going to come over to her house later to hang out, eat dinner, and watch a tape of the show.

Her mother was so excited about A Real Boyfriend coming over to the house, she'd wanted to go completely over the top with all the arrangements: order an In-N-Out Burger mobile unit to set up in their front yard, get a new popcorn machine, and install an even bigger screen in the already gigantic screening room. All week her mother had driven their builders and decorator crazy with the new plans.

Thankfully, Lauren had succeeded in persuading her mother to forget about the renovation: They were only watching a DVD of a reality show, not the latest revised edition of
Star Wars
. Trudy had been madly disappointed that she wouldn't be allowed to do anything
except greet the boy, and Lauren understood, kind of. For so long they had nothing. Now they had everything, and her mother wanted to make up for lost time. Trudy wanted Lauren to have the perfect teenage life, even if she wasn't quite a teenager yet.

“Lauren!” Christian bounded over, his shirt endearingly untucked as usual. He was clutching something in one hand—a Tiffany's box! “I was going to get you a corsage, but my mom told me you'd rather have something like this.”

He handed her the box and Lauren beamed at him, carefully untying the white ribbon. Guinevere stood peering over Christian's shoulder, noting down every detail. Lauren opened the box and pulled out a platinum charm in the shape of a crown. It was elegant and beautiful. Her first-ever present from a boy!

“It attaches to your phone,” Christian explained, shifting from foot to foot. He was so sweet and diffident. Lauren felt bad that he wasn't the one coming over to her house tonight. This torn-between-two-lovers deal wasn't as exciting as it sounded. Just complicated and guilt-inducing.

“It's amazing,” she told him. “I love it. But you know, I'm probably not going to win or anything.”

“That doesn't matter,” he said, clearly relieved that she liked the gift. “You're still . . . you know.”

They both blushed, and Guinevere leaned in even farther. She was making a sketch of the charm in her notebook.

“What's the diameter of this, would you say?” she asked a bemused Christian, but before he could answer, Ashley pushed her way between them.

“What's that? A little charm? Cute!” Ashley fluttered her fingers at the charm like it was a baby bird. “Lauren, I need to talk to you. Someone just said that there were
big
changes today on AshleyRank.”

“I didn't look at it today,” Lauren said, a little annoyed that Ashley wanted to talk about this now. Couldn't she see that Lauren had a date? What did she care about the stupid blog right now?

“I heard that there are seismic changes in the top rankings,” Guinevere chipped in, elbowing Christian out of the way so she could get closer to Ashley. Poor Christian! Lauren shot him an I'm-sorry-see-you-later smile and turned back to Ashley, who was glaring at Guinevere. Lauren hadn't seen Ashley this annoyed since someone dropped a piece of spelt bread on one of her Louboutin Mary Janes in the school refectory.

“What do you mean, exactly?” Ashley demanded.

“Well,” Guinevere began, her voice trembling. She wasn't used to being addressed directly by Ashley Spencer, Lauren thought. It was all too much for her. “Lauren's moved from number ten to number three. It's her highest ranking ever.”

“Really?” Lauren couldn't believe it. This had to be the work of Christian and Alex—both of them told her at the party on Saturday night that they'd checked out AshleyRank. If they'd both given her nines or even tens in each category, then this new ranking would make sense.

“What!” Ashley shrieked.

Lauren realized why she was freaking out: If Lauren was number three, it meant that one of the Ashleys had dropped out of the top three. They no longer ruled the school! Lauren had infiltrated their clique and nudged one of them out of the way! Forget
Preteen Queen
—this was the real barometer of cool. And the bottom line was, Lauren's plan had worked! She was one of them! But now that she'd gotten what she wanted, did she still want to destroy them? Lauren wasn't so sure anymore.