The Ashleys

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “Don’t be mean,” A. A. admonished, dialing. “Huh. She’s not picking up.”

  “Maybe she and Lauren ran off together.”

  A. A. put her phone away and waved at the salesgirl. “Can we get two of these?” she asked. “Sizes five and five and a half?”

  The salesgirl returned with two lavender boxes, and Ashley kicked off her flats to try them on. Next to her, A. A. was doing the same. Ashley stood up and admired how the high heel elongated her calf. She would have to hide them from her mother, though—she was only allowed to wear two-and-a-half-inch heels until her thirteenth birthday.

  “These shoes rock,” she declared.

  “We’re totally getting them,” A. A. agreed.

  “Yes we are.” Ashley nodded. Matching shoes was a trademark of the Ashleys. Then her face froze. She couldn’t afford the shoes any more than she could afford that black dress from earlier, but if she just put it on hold, A. A. would ask why she had to do that, and she didn’t want A. A. to know her allowance was restricted. If there was one thing Ashley couldn’t stand, it was pity.

  “How are we doing over here?” the salesgirl asked, coming over with an obsequious smile.

  Ashley was about to offer an excuse, but before she could, A. A. handed her credit card to the clerk. “We’ll take them. They’re my treat.”

  “Are you sure?” Ashley asked, suddenly wishing she hadn’t been so mean about laxjock. Even if he totally was a fat, homeschooled loser. Didn’t A. A. ever watch any Dateline? Hello.

  “C’mon, it’s a birthday present,” said A. A.

  “My birthday’s not for a couple of months,” Ashley pointed out.

  “And I should probably get Lili a pair too,” A. A. added thoughtfully. “Her birthday was last week.”

  “Thanks, A.” Ashley sighed. She sat back down on the couch, ruminating on her friend’s unexpected generosity. Maybe if she told her mom they were a gift, she would be allowed to wear them.

  Everyone always thought Ashley Spencer’s life was beyond perfect, but sometimes even someone as perfect as Ashley Spencer couldn’t get by without a little help from her friends.

  23

  WHAT A GIRL WANTS

  LAUREN WATCHED LILI WATCH HER friends walk away. Lili had chosen to hang out with her rather than the other two Ashleys! This was a good thing, right? Lili was also the one who had given her that unsolicited advice on how to get “in” with Ashley Spencer. Lili was the key. She was the weak link in the clique. If she could somehow get Lili to stop being Ashley’s friend, that would create a tear in the very fabric of the Ashleys’ existence. And the Ashleys didn’t do tears.

  But Lili looked like she was dearly regretting her decision to strike out on her own. She looked like she had just lost her best friend—which she had, sorta. Lauren had to act fast. “I think they have your dress at the store we’re going to.”

  “What dress?” Lili asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Fine, be that way. This would take a little finessing. They walked inside the store, which had several wooden tables piled high with every kind of designer T-shirt imaginable, at prices that would have bought dozens of Hanes three-packs.

  “Ashley, what do you think of this?” Lauren asked, lifting up a rib-knit Henley.

  “Why do you keep calling me Ashley?” Lili was looking at Lauren as if Lauren were a bug underneath a microscope.

  “Uh, because it’s your name?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I go by Lili now. You can call me Lili, you know. Everyone does,” Lili huffed.

  Lauren blushed. She had been too scared to call Ashley Li and Ashley Alioto by their cute nicknames. Only the cool girls in class—the SOAs—did so. She told Lili this.

  “I never noticed,” said Lili, shrugging. Lauren watched as she picked up a T-shirt that cost the same as Lauren’s old digital camera. Her parents had saved for months to be able to afford it in the year before YourTV launched. It still amazed Lauren how casually some girls could spend a fortune on the most innocuous items. Who knew the right T-shirt cost so much? Even if her dad could afford to buy the whole store, Lauren was still nervous about spending money like water.

  They shopped in silence, riffling through the stack of super-soft T-shirts, until Ashley Li—Lili—let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Like, it’s always about her, you know? What about me?” she said angrily. “I mean, I did find the dress first.”

  Lauren intuited that it was best not to respond. This was a great example of a rhetorical question. Lili didn’t want an answer. She just wanted to get something off her chest.

  “Everything always has to be the way she wants it. Like the damn cupcakes.”

  “Cupcakes?” Lauren asked, thoroughly lost.

  “They’re for the dance. For dessert. Cute, right? It was my idea. But Ashley insists we have to get them made from this recipe her chef provided.” Lili dug into her bag and fished out a crumpled piece of paper. “But I can’t find a baker who’ll do it. They won’t use a home recipe. You can either order their cupcakes or make your own. Some kind of insurance thing. And I’m not about to bake a hundred cupcakes.”

  “Why can’t Ashley’s chef do it, then?”

  “Because apparently that’s not her job.” Lili shook her head. “At least according to Ashley. I’ve called twenty bakeries already. They all said no.”

  Lauren took the recipe from her and studied it. “It looks like it’s just a recipe for vanilla cupcakes.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, why not just order the regular cupcakes? Ashley will never know, right? And what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” That seemed an easy enough solution.

  Lili’s eyes shone. “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  She pulled out her cell phone. “Hi? We spoke earlier? Yeah. Can I just have a hundred of your regular vanilla cupcakes? Hold on, I got another call. Oh wait, don’t worry, it’s just a friend of mine. I’ll let it go to voice mail. Yeah. Buttercream frosting. For next Friday. Yes. Delivery. You have the address already.”

  “Thanks, Lauren,” Lili said, putting away her phone.

  “No problem.”

  “Are you getting any T-shirts?” asked Lili, holding up her selection of sherbet-colored shirts.

  Lauren was about to shake her head. Then she stopped. Lili was looking at her as if she were insane to pass up the chance to buy the shirts. And right now, she needed Lili to like her. Lauren decided to buy one shirt.

  They did a little more shopping, until Lili noticed it had been a full half hour that she’d been separated from her two friends. But you’d think it was years the way Lili kept dialing and texting them every second. Independence was a costly experience, it seemed. Finally Lili decided to see if the twosome were still in the shoe store, and she dragged Lauren back to where they had left them. Lauren wished they’d been able to hang out, just the two of them, a little longer. Lili wasn’t half as snotty as she was when the other Ashleys were around.

  “There you guys are!” Lili said, dashing inside the shoe store, relief evident in her voice. Lauren saw Ashley and A. A.—she reminded herself she was one of them now and allowed to use the nicknames—seated on a velvet couch, several open shoe boxes scattered in front of them. “Oooh, cute shoes,” said Lili, pouncing on the red patent-leather booties they were each holding.

  “Here,” A. A. said. “For you.” She handed Lili one of the boxes. “Happy belated birthday. I bought Ashley a pair too, for her birthday. And one for me.”

  “What are they?” Lili asked, opening the box. She squealed when she saw what was inside and took a seat next to Ashley on the couch. She couldn’t kick off her shoes fast enough and removed an identical pair of red boots from the lavender tissue. Lauren took a seat on the very edge of the couch. “Could you guys move?” she asked, but no one did.

  “A. A.! You’re a superstar!” Lili gushed, zipping up her new boots.

  “Daphne j
ust got them,” Ashley said casually.

  “She was here?” Lili gasped.

  Ashley nodded. “She hung out with us. We’re total BFFs now,” she said smugly.

  “Aw,” Lili groaned. “What did she look like? What else did she buy?”

  They don’t even realize I’m here, Lauren thought, inching nearer to Lili in an attempt to take up more space since she was perched precariously on the edge, crouched in a half-sitting, half-squatting position. “Maybe I’ll get a pair too,” she mumbled to herself.

  “Could I get this in a size five and a half?” Lauren asked a salesgirl, motioning to the shoes. Then she turned to the Ashleys, who were now all wearing their new boots. “Do you guys know what you’re wearing to the dance yet?”

  “God, no,” A. A. replied, crossing her arms. “I don’t plan that far in advance.” She shrugged.

  Lauren noted that the dance was that Friday. But someone like A. A., who’d always been beautiful, probably never had to worry about what she would look like. Unlike Lauren, who still did a double take whenever she saw her reflection in the mirror, since she couldn’t quite believe it was her.

  “Something from my mom’s closet, most likely,” A. A. said, fluffing her bangs. “Designers still send her great stuff all the time.”

  “I don’t know yet either,” Ashley put in.

  Lili was silent, Lauren noticed.

  The salesgirl returned.

  “I’m sorry, those were the last size five and a half,” she said, pointing to the box Ashley was holding.

  “Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to order them from another store,” Lauren said nonchalantly, trying not to show her distress about having been left out again. “Lili and I bought the same T-shirt,” she said, in an effort to bring up the camaraderie they’d shared just a little while ago. It was just one T-shirt. And her dad could afford it.

  “It’s just a basic,” said Lili quickly. “I mean, anyone can buy a white T-shirt, right?”

  Lauren tried not to feel dissed as she looked down at her wedge boots. They pinched her feet, and she could feel a blister forming on her big toe. The Ashleys always carried off wearing high heels with an effortless grace. Did any of them ever suffer to be beautiful? The three of them were standing in front of the full-length mirror. Then they started doing high kicks together, linking arms and singing “New York, New York.”

  Watching Lili pull on A. A.’s pigtails and Ashley make bunny ears behind her two friends, as they laughed and pushed each other, Lauren forgot all about sabotaging their clique. All she wanted right then, more than anything in the world, was to be one of them.

  24

  A STAR IN NEED

  “I’M HUNGRY,” A. A. ANNOUNCED as the four of them left the shoe store. She checked her watch. It seemed like it had been hours since they’d gotten off the plane, and really, all they’d eaten that day couldn’t constitute a real meal.

  “There’s a restaurant down here that’s pretty good,” Lauren suggested meekly.

  “Let’s go,” urged A. A., before Ashley and Lili could disagree. They followed Lauren to a pretty little cottage tucked in the middle of the street. As with the earlier store, there was a mob scene in front of the place, with a ceaseless stream of expensive automobiles pulling up to the sidewalk, an army of photographers staked out on either side of the entrance, and a rash of curious onlookers milling around with the restaurant’s bona fide clientele. These seemed to include a large number of people hiding behind hats, caps, and sunglasses, which could only indicate major celebrity presence.

  “Check out the hotties!” A. A. said, marveling at the brilliant smiles of several incredibly good-looking guys all dressed in neat blue button-down shirts, pressed khakis, and rakish striped neckties. A group of them were standing in front of a white picket fence. “Is a prep school nearby?”

  “Um, they’re valets,” Lauren explained. “This is the Ivy.”

  “Oh. Nice!” A. A. smiled. She’d heard of the Ivy, of course, but had never been and instantly felt cheerful. Not just because of the celeb factor—she’d heard the food at the Ivy was pretty good, at least it should be better than the New Age tofu joints her mother always dragged her to every time they were in Los Angeles.

  Lauren walked straight to the front of the line, and A. A. noted how she was greeted warmly by the maître d’. That girl sure had changed. Last year Lauren was so shy she could barely even speak up when the teachers called on her in class. Now she was maneuvering through a crowded Hollywood restaurant like she owned it. Not to mention that she knew Billy Reddy, and her driver might just be laxjock. It was like some geek-to-goddess story. A. A. wondered where Dex had gone for the afternoon. She was disappointed that he hadn’t hung around. But maybe it was for the best, since today was all about girl-bonding.

  The maître d’ led them to a sun-dappled table in the front patio, and several diners at the adjoining table looked up to see who they were. A. A. hoped they weren’t too disappointed when they saw that the girls were nobody, although from the way Ashley and Lili were walking, you’d think they were People’s Choice Award winners.

  “My dad took us here for lunch last time,” Lauren said, opening a leather-bound menu. “Try the Cobb salad, it’s fantastic.” At that moment their waiter, easily the most handsome guy A. A. had seen in the last few minutes, appeared to take their order.

  “Four Cobb salads?” he asked. “Let me guess, dressing on the side?”

  The four of them nodded. A. A. figured they were all too dazzled by his beauty to speak.

  “Is it just me? Or are the regular people in L.A. a lot more good-looking than the regular people anywhere else?” Lili asked.

  “Everyone’s prettier here,” agreed Lauren. “Maybe it’s in the water.”

  “Totally.” Ashley nodded. “This is where we belong.”

  “Maybe we should move here,” A. A. said, taking a sip of her iced tea. “For the valets alone.” She looked around the restaurant, enjoying the warmth of the day and experiencing a pleasant buzz from being near so many famous and beautiful people. She was about to take another sip from her glass when she felt a sharp kick from underneath the table. Lili jumped too, upsetting her glass of lemonade. Ashley, of course.

  “What?” asked A. A., a bit irritated now that her shin was throbbing. Ashley had been so weird all day, especially about shopping. She was usually unstoppable, but all she’d bought today was some ridiculous plastic cup. She was glad she’d bought Ashley and Lili the shoes. Her mother never even checked the bills—she just forwarded them straight to her ex-husband’s secretary. A. A.’s clothing allowance was funded by child support.

  She followed Ashley’s eyes and saw a lanky, towheaded guy walking toward them. Only a movie star as famous as Rake Parkins could get away with wearing a T-shirt that read “Just Another Rich Kid,” along with jeans that were so holey they dragged on the floor. He was wildly and excessively handsome to the point of being almost too pretty.

  Lili’s eyes grew wide, and A. A. giggled behind her drink.

  Rake stopped right at their table and, to A. A.’s growing amazement, said hello to Lauren. She introduced them one by one, but they were so starstruck that even Ashley couldn’t manage more than a mumbled “Hello.”

  “How. Do. You. Know. Rake. Parkins. Question mark,” Ashley demanded when Rake left.

  “My dad invested in his new movie. He came over to our house a couple of times over the summer. He’s really sweet, and he and his girlfriend have the cutest baby,” Lauren said, taking a warm roll from the bread basket and buttering it heavily. She acted as if it were a fact of life that her social life revolved around movie stars.

  Then she giggled, and A. A. began to truly like her for the first time. “You know, when I first met Rake I almost peed in my pants,” Lauren admitted. “But after a couple of days of having him as a houseguest, I realized he’s just a normal guy. He was so messy. He would leave wet towels and half-empty cups of coffee everywhere. And he exp
ected everyone to pick up after him.”

  “Omigod, I’d totally take one of Rake’s wet towels,” Ashley offered.

  “Me too,” added Lili. Lili’s name should be Me Too instead of Lili, A. A. thought.

  The too-handsome-to-be-just-a-waiter waiter returned with their salads. The girls dug in, and A. A. noticed that Ashley was picking at hers like she always did, inspecting it from every angle, turning over every piece of spring lettuce and crumbled blue cheese as methodically as a CSI investigator brushing carpet fibers.

  “Is something wrong with your food?” Lauren asked, looking concerned.

  “No,” said Ashley sharply, exchanging a meaningful glance with A. A.

  “Ashley always does this, don’t worry,” A. A. told Lauren as Ashley cleared her throat, called the waiter over, and whispered something to him that only A. A. could hear.

  “No, ma’am,” the waiter said, shaking his head.

  “You’re sure?” Ashley asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ashley eyed the waiter and looked at the salad suspiciously, and only after a long time did she begin to eat.

  A. A. was about to ask Lauren if any other movie stars had stayed in her house when Lili’s phone rang. “Oh, hi, Tommy,” Lili said, in her most professional tone of voice. She gave the other girls a thumbs-up. “Yes. It’s Friday night. Don’t forget, okay? Fri-day night. The fifth day of the week. I gave you the address yesterday. Don’t tell me you already lost it? Okay, I’ll give it to you again.”

  “DJ Tommy?” asked A. A., once Lili had gotten off the phone.

  “Who’s DJ Tommy?” Lauren wanted to know.

  “He’s only, like, the best DJ in the city, hello,” Ashley said.

  “Except he’s supremely flaky. He did my brother’s friend’s bar mitzvah and showed up so late the party was almost over,” A. A. reminded them.

  “Lil, make sure he gets there on time,” said Ashley.

  “Don’t worry, I’m on it. I told him the dance starts at two.”