Popularity Takeover (5 page)

8

THE ASHLEYS SHOW THEIR TRUE COLORS

THAT SATURDAY AFTERNOON ASHLEY SUMMONED
the other Ashleys to the elegant Huntingdon Hotel to get mani-pedis at the Nob Hill Spa, their current day spa of choice. It was impossible to think clearly when your nail polish was chipped.

After some deliberation—that is, about five minutes, in the car on the way to the spa—she'd decided to restrict the invitation to Ashleys only. Lauren was number three on Ashley's speed-dial, but just as she was about to press the button, she hesitated.

Sure, Lauren was one of them now—she had the right shoes, the right bag, even the right boyfriend, but then, it took more than the right accessories to
be an Ashley. It took loyalty. During the weeks leading up to her birthday party, Lauren had been hanging out with her old dorky pal Sadie while thinking the Ashleys hadn't noticed. Maybe Lili and A. A. hadn't noticed, but few things escaped Ashley's finely tuned social antenna.

Maybe it was just a coincidence that Sadie had appeared at Ashley's party all dolled up and looking like Selena Gomez giving Justin Bieber a taste of what he was missing, but somehow Ashley didn't think so. She thought that maybe Lauren had something to do with it. She didn't know why Lauren would waste her time with such an obvious biter, and she didn't really care to find out.

Ashley had meant what she'd said at the Congé meeting. Unless Lauren proved herself truly worthy of her Ashley affiliation, by infiltrating the pathetic S. Society and uncovering their sure-to-be-sad plans for Congé, she would no longer be one of them.

• • •

“I love it here,” Ashley said, slipping off her white slippers and plunging her feet into a petal-strewn footbath. They'd all changed into those slippers, and matching white robes, as soon as they'd arrived. Now they were
sitting in side-by-side pedicure chairs in an all-white room, waiting to be soaked, exfoliated, massaged, wrapped, filed, buffed, and painted.

“Is this where your mother comes for prenatal yoga?” A. A. asked.

“Ugh. No!”

“Does she go to International Orange? My mother said they have Mom-to-Be massages there,” Lili added.

“You can get that here as well—look.” A. A. picked up the menu of services. “The Fifty-Minute Pregnancy Massage.”

Ashley screwed up her face. Did they have to keep reminding her that her mother was knocked up? It was bad enough that everyone at Miss Gamble's knew without broadcasting it in public.

And anyway, she had more interesting things to discuss, like her date on Thursday night with Cooper. Her parents felt so guilty about moving her against her will up into the little guest room that they'd allowed her to go out on a date on a school night. It was only pizza again, but the other Ashleys didn't have to know that.

“It was the best date ever,” she gushed.

A. A. groaned. “Didn't you already tell us every single detail at lunch yesterday?”

Ashley decided to ignore this. “Really, he's like a male version of me!” She knew that sounded kind of conceited, but she couldn't think of another way to describe it.

“You mean he's got long blond hair and a pet labra-doodle?” Lili was in a sarcastic mood—maybe, thought Ashley, because her own life was a boyfriend-free zone. Lili knew full well what Ashley meant: Cooper, like Ashley, was cute and rich.

“You're so funny, Lil.” She sighed, splashing her feet in the warm water. “Jealous much?”

“You guys!” A. A. leaned forward. “What we
do
need to discuss is the Mother-Daughter Fashion Show. It's only a week away.”

“What's to discuss?” asked Ashley. Talking about Cooper was much more interesting. The Ashleys had always been the stars of the annual Mother-Daughter Fashion Show, which raised money for some sort of charity, and they would be again this year.

Only a handful of mothers and daughters were invited to model in the show. Ashley didn't even care who else got to model, as long as she and her mother
got to model the final look, which every year was a pair of white tea dresses. The most beautiful mother-and-daughter duo was always chosen to model those dresses, and for the past two years, Ashley and Matilda had ruled the runway.

“I hope they're going to tell us who's selected on Monday.” Lili picked at her fingernails. “I really need to know so I can clear my schedule.”

“Of course we'll all be selected!” Ashley didn't know why they were even discussing this.

“Lauren too, probably,” A. A. said. “All the teachers know she's in our group now.”

“But her mom is such a Donatella,” groaned Lili, and A. A. nodded. They all thought, not so secretly, that Lauren's mother, Trudy Page, was kind of tacky and nouveau riche. Trudy was pretty enough, considering she was way old—like, over forty—but she always dressed garishly, in too much Versace and too much bling.

“Where is Lauren?” Lili asked. “Is she not coming?”

“I didn't call her,” Ashley said casually. “Sometimes I like when it's just us, you know?”

A. A. and Lili exchanged raised eyebrows, but Ashley decided not to explain further. She had to give
Lauren a chance to prove herself. If she delivered the goods, she could remain an Ashley. If not, then best if A. A. and Lili didn't miss her too much.

“I heard Miss Charm telling the headmistress they were expanding the number of girls in the show this year,” Lili told them with a frown.

“Oh God, it's probably that S. Society behind it,” A. A. said. “They're all over Congé, so it makes sense that they're going to be all over this. We better watch our backs,” she said, as she lifted her left foot for the pedicurist to exfoliate.

“Speak of the devil,” Ashley muttered, as two familiar-­looking girls walked out of the locker room wearing the spa's white robes.

“Oh, look!” said Sadie, in that mocking tone Ashley recognized as her own. “It's the Jonas Sisters!”

“What are you guys doing here?” Ashley snapped.

“This is the S. Society's favorite spa. We like to think of it as the S. Spa.” Sheridan sniffed.

“But this is
our
spa.” Ashley glared, rising up from her chair a little and getting scolded by the beautician kneeling at her feet for splashing water everywhere.

Sadie folded her arms and sneered. “Funny, because I don't see your names on the front.”

Of course, what Ashley meant was that this was the Ashleys' personal spa. Their oasis, their spa-away-from-home.

“What's up with calling yourselves the S. Society, anyway? It's just you and Sheridan. Hardly a society. Not even a group,” A. A. pointed out.

“For your information, Supriya Manapali is one of us now, and so is Vicky Cameron,” said Sheridan.

“Doesn't everyone have to have a name that starts with
S
for it to be the S. Society?” Lili asked.

“For your information,
S
stands for signature. Because we each have a signature accessory.”

“I thought the
S
stood for Sucky,” Ashley said, disgusted that unwelcome interlopers had crashed their relaxing afternoon.

“What's sucky is your idea for Congé,” said Sheridan. “I hear you have nothing.”

“That's not true!” Ashley protested, even though it was. Where did they hear that? From Lauren? Lauren wasn't a double agent, was she?

Just then two beauticians called Sadie and Sheridan to their treatments, leaving the Ashleys alone with their thoughts. They all seemed a little shell-shocked by the exchange. No one had ever dared speak to them like
that in all their years at Miss Gamble's. It was hard to get used to.

“Ladies, have you all chosen your colors?” asked one of the pedicurists, dipping her hand into each foot basin in turn to check the temperature.

“Yes!” Ashley held up the bottle she'd brought with her, glad to think of something else. She always picked the nail color for everyone, and this one was her particu­lar favorite: Princess Pink. “We'd all like the same thing.”

“Actually . . .” Lili looked sheepish. “I'd like to get something different today.”

“Er, so would I,” said A. A. She pulled a bottle of polish from her pocket and held it up. “I'd rather get a nude shade, so the chips won't show. I always mess my nails up shooting hoops and playing video games.”

“And I've brought something new as well.” Lili fished in her bag and produced a tiny bottle. “It's called Veruca Violet, and it's totally funky.”

“Funky?” Ashley made a face. The polish Lili was brandishing was a deep shade of violet with flecks of silver. “I hope you're not expecting me to wear that.”

“No, no,” Lili said. “You get Princess Pink. A. A. gets nude, and I get this.”

“I don't understand!” protested Ashley. Was the world going mad? “We
always
get the same color.”

“Isn't that one of the reasons the S. Society is making fun of us?” A. A. asked. “It's not a bad thing to show people we can think for ourselves. And by the way, what is our idea for Congé? Do we even have one?”

“I agree. It's time we made our own style choices,” chimed in Lili. “Ones that reflect our different personali­ties.”

“Fine.” Ashley leaned back in her massage chair, trying not to let her annoyance spoil her relaxation time. Let them have their little struggle for independence: This was a battle she could afford to lose. The main thing was to win the war against the S. Society.

“Do you think they have a chance at winning Congé?” Lili asked.

“They're not going to win,” A. A. huffed.

“Right,” said Ashley, as if the thought had never occurred to her, either. Although inside, her heart was beating rapidly.

The Ashleys simply
had
to win Congé. Otherwise, they might as well transfer schools.

9

LILI TRIES ON OLD CLOTHES AND PAST LOVES

HER VERUCA VIOLET NAIL POLISH
still drying on her hands, Lili wandered down the hill to meet her mother. Nancy Khan had an acupuncture appointment that afternoon and had arranged to collect Lili outside the spa at six p.m. Which meant Lili had enough time to wander around the city, walking past some cute stores and doing some window-shopping, while blowing on her daring purple nails.

Near the bottom of the hill, a shop she hadn't noticed before caught her eye. It was called Twist Again, and the sign was as purple and funky as her new nail polish. In the window, headless mannequins modeled amazing outfits.

One was a burnt orange jumpsuit with flared legs that Lili was positive was vintage Halston: She remembered something similar from one of her mother's coffee-table style books. Another mannequin wore the chicest little wrap dress, with knee-high silver boots and gorgeous chunky jewelry.

Lili decided to go in and take a look. She'd never seen anything like those dresses in any other department store or boutique. She'd never been in a thrift store or a vintage store before, mainly because her mother looked down on secondhand stuff, and Chinese superstition said used clothes came with bad karma.

The Ashleys looked askance at the very idea of vintage. A. A. always said she had plenty of new stuff without looking for clothes her grandmother might have worn, while Ashley Spencer sneered that “vintage” was just another word for “trash.” These were clothes other people got rid of, she said, because they were old, worn-out, and crummy.

But Twist Again didn't seem like a crummy place. It wasn't down-market or scary. The floors were polished wood, and an iPod station was set up on the counter, playing a song by Cat Power she really liked, one that always reminded her of Max. The friendly assistant
smiled at her, explaining how the racks were organized by era, and then left Lili alone to browse. She loved the artwork on the walls, all concert posters from the sixties and seventies; she liked the dressing room curtains, made from hundreds of vinyl records all stapled together. This was such a cool place!

Before long, she was trying on all sorts of interesting clothes: fur-trimmed sweaters, eighties prom dresses, and a dazzling array of Pucci shifts. It was all the kind of stuff she would love to wear, if only she didn't have to look like an Ashley all the time.

But why not wear what she really wanted for once? Loaded down with shopping bags—made, the assistant told her, from recycled lunch bags—Lili staggered up to the front door, pushing it open with her shoulder. The clothes might be a little weird, but she hadn't had so much fun in ages. She had to tell the other Ashleys about this place. Maybe open their minds a bit.

As she walked out, the door almost hit someone waiting to come in.

“Sorry!” she said, looking up with a broad smile. A smile that instantly froze on her face.

Max! He looked as surprised as she felt. The door closed behind them, and there they were, standing on
the chilly sidewalk, mouths open like goldfish. Someone had to say something, but what?

“Ah . . . you shop here?” Max finally asked. All Lili could do was nod. She felt completely stupid, as though her head were stuffed with cotton wool.

“It's a cool place,” Max said, smiling.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It's cool.”

There was an awkward silence, and Max looked down at his shoes.

“It's pretty cold today, isn't it?” Lili burbled. She had to say
something
, even if it was completely inane.

“Way colder than yesterday,” Max said, and then they fell silent again. Lili's hands were numb and the handles of the bags were digging into her palms, but that was nothing compared with the churning agitation she felt deep inside. Her face was as red as the vintage wrap dress she'd just bought.

“But it was hot in the store,” she told him, as though she had to explain away her red face. Why was she acting like such an idiot? Seeing Max turned her brain to Jell-O. He was so cute, with his bright platinum hair and dark eyes. She couldn't help herself: She'd been trying to forget Max, but it was impossible.

Even though he'd been kind of mean to her and had
so easily believed all those lies about her, she still really liked him. And he seemed pretty eager to stand around chatting. He could have made his excuses and ducked into the store, but no—he was still here.

“So, do you like it?”

“The store? Yeah. It's, you know, different.”

“No, I meant this new sticker.” Max was holding up his skateboard and pointing to a wave-shaped blob above the rear wheels. Lili nodded, but she couldn't see anything clearly right now. At least he didn't seem mad at her anymore—that was a relief. Lili had so much she wanted to say to him: that she wasn't lying when she had said she was grounded; that she'd never had another boyfriend, no matter what anyone had told him; and that she'd seen him with another girl who didn't look like she was just a friend.

But how could she just come out and
say
all this stuff when they were talking about a sticker on Max's skateboard?

“I wanted to tell you,” she began, trying to get the courage to follow through. “I never dated anyone—”

“Lili!”

Yikes! There was no mistaking that voice. Over Max's shoulder, Lili could see her mother's ­humongous
SUV bearing down on them, its driver's window down.
It's a hybrid!
Lili wanted to tell Max once she saw the disapproving look on his face. He was super eco-friendly, of course.

“Go on. . . . You never dated anyone . . . ,” Max prompted.

“I never dated anyone else—” Lili tried to say.

“ASHLEY OLIVIA!”

“I never dated anyone else but you . . . I mean, while we were together. I know someone told you I had been, but it's a total lie. . . . I know you don't believe me, but I couldn't contact you, because I was totally grounded because of the camping trip. My mom took my computer and phone away and everything. . . .”

Max's eyes widened, but before he could respond, Lili's mother yelled again and Lili jumped up, racing to her mother's car.

“Coming, Mom!” she called, trying to pretend that her mother wasn't glaring at them, her face frighteningly stern. Great, now her mother was going to lock her up for the rest of her life.

“Lili . . . ,” Max said, trying to catch up with her rapid pace.

But there was no time to hear what he would say,
unless she wanted to bring the wrath of Khan down on her head once again. All too soon, Lili and her shopping bags were locked inside, and the SUV was pulling away. She lifted one purple-tipped hand and forlornly waved good-bye. Max raised a hand in return, looking deeply troubled.

Lili consoled herself with the knowledge that even if she'd made a total fool of herself, at least he knew the truth.