The Ashley Project

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “You think you’re so special? Check the freezer—you’ll find A. A.’s huge bazookas and my Chantelle in there along with your sad excuse for a bra,” Ashley said, as Lauren continued to study the photos.

  Lauren’s mind was blank. What had she done? She had thought the Ashleys were back to torturing her again, but instead, the prank was an initiation into their group. She was finally being treated like one of the Ashleys, and she had completely blown it!

  “We’re going,” said Ashley coldly. “Thank God my mom is picking us up early for dance-team practice.”

  “Sorry to hear you don’t really like us after all,” A. A. said, pulling on a slouchy Gregory Hall sweatshirt over her pj’s. “Maybe this is for the best.”

  Lili just kept shaking her head.

  “Lauren? Piece of advice?” Ashley offered, gazing at her with contempt. “If I were you, I would seriously think about transferring out of Miss Gamble’s. Your life there is over. It’ll be worse than you ever thought. You thought kindergarten was bad? Welcome to junior high, Zero.”

  “Guys, I was just . . . I didn’t mean it. . . .” Lauren scrambled, getting up from the floor and tripping on her socks, scraping her knee on the ground. She felt like bawling. This was by far the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Worse than having mud shoved up her nose in kindergarten. Worse because this time, the Ashleys weren’t to blame. She had no one to blame but herself.

  “Save it, Lauren,” Ashley said, cutting her off.

  Lauren watched them pack their bags in silence and walk single file out of her bedroom. She ran over to the window and saw the girls exit the front door and climb into a tan Range Rover parked by the curb. Then the car pulled away and the Ashleys were out of her life . . . forever.

  She held her face in her hands and felt the tears flow down her cheeks. How did this happen?

  On Monday her life would be over.

  30

  YOU’RE NEVER FULLY DRESSED WITHOUT A SMIRK

  LAUREN WASN’T AT SCHOOL ON monday. She wasn’t at school on Tuesday, either, and by Friday no one had seen or heard from her. Lili didn’t want to worry, but the sight of Lauren’s empty seat in every class nagged at her conscience.

  “Maybe she’s dead,” Ashley said.

  “She’s not dead,” A. A. snorted.

  “If I were her, I would wish I were dead,” declared Ashley. “Freaking out like that? She’s demented!”

  “You know, you didn’t have to get all medieval,” Lili said, cinching the belt on her trench coat a little tighter. “It was a pretty tough prank. She was bound to get upset.”

  The three of them were walking up the hill back to school on Friday afternoon. Classes had ended early so the seventh and eighth graders could get ready for the mixer, and Lili had met her friends at the corner so they could all walk into the dance together. A. A. and Ashley had gotten ready at Ashley’s house, but for the first time in Ashley history, Lili had made excuses and had gotten ready at home instead.

  At first it was fun to have the bathroom all to herself for once and not have to fight for space in front of the mirror or listen to that awful StripHall Queens song again, which Ashley would insist on blasting at top volume. But when she couldn’t decide whether to curl her hair or to wear it up, she wished Ashley was there to tell her what looked better, and TV was no match for A. A.’s jokey banter.

  “I’m sure she’ll be back. Maybe she has the flu,” A. A. speculated.

  “Maybe,” Ashley allowed, but Lili knew that as far as Ashley was concerned, Lauren had fallen off the face of the earth, and it was safer to stay there than to ever show her face to them again.

  Where was Lauren? Would she really miss a whole week of school just because Ashley had pulled some crazy Mean Girls act? Wasn’t she a grade-grind? Sure, the Ashleys would go back to snubbing her as usual—and good luck ever sitting with them at lunch again. But Lauren had survived for years as a social outcast. You’d think she’d be used to it.

  “Bet she shows up at the dance,” said A. A. as they arrived at the school doors and walked down the back stairs to the Little Theater, where the dance was being held. They had come early in order to make sure everything was in place, since they were in charge of the event.

  “You’re on. That’s a bet I’ll win,” Ashley replied. “Ooh. Look.”

  A red carpet led from the elevator all the way to the auditorium doors, which were cordoned off by velvet ropes and stanchions.

  “Like it?” Lili asked, unhooking the rope and letting them inside. “Ladies . . . may I present ‘Social Club’!”

  “Lil, this is amazing!” A. A. said, looking around at the transformed space. The Little Theater was a multi-use space in the new annex with a stage for student productions, bleacher seats for pep rallies, and a parquet floor perfect for dancing, but it was utterly unrecognizable as the boring old place where they held “MODs,” Middle-of-the-Day announcements. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a fabulous New York nightclub.

  “Props times three,” Ashley agreed.

  “Thanks.” Lili smiled. Crepe paper and balloons? Not at this school. She really had done a spectacular job, if she did say so herself. The full-length windows that ran the length of the back wall were covered with draped velvet, so even if it was midafternoon, it was dark and cool inside. The better to see the light from the ten disco balls installed in the ceiling. By the stage were several low-slung couches and tiny circular tables to approximate a cocktail lounge, and the whole place was decorated with dramatic floral arrangements artfully illuminated by incandescent lighting. A uniformed staff was setting up the fully catered buffet with seafood, prime rib, and sushi stations.

  “We’re getting TV coverage, too,” Lili told them. “Sheridan Riley’s dad is a producer at a local television station and is sending over a full camera crew, and along with the yearbook club photographers, we’re going to have real paparazzi from the San Francisco Chronicle.”

  “How’d you manage that?” A. A. asked, admiring a jet-black napkin with SOCIAL CLUB monogrammed on it.

  “Simple. I just pitched them a story on the ‘hot under-thirteen set.’ You know journalists are always looking for new trends.”

  “Is there a hot under-thirteen set?” A. A. asked, sounding amused.

  “Yes. Us. Hello,” Ashley replied, glancing around approvingly.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you, we went a little over budget,” Lili said sheepishly.

  “Well, that’s what the Mothers Committee is for.” Ashley shrugged.

  “You guys, I’m so nervous,” said A. A., as they went back to the lockers to put away their coats.

  “Today’s the day, huh?” Ashley said, removing her coat and hanging it up neatly on her locker hook. “Laxjock—unmasked at last!”

  “What if he doesn’t like me?” A. A. agonized.

  “He’s going to like you, of course he’s going to like you. He’d be crazy not to,” Lili said, keeping her coat on just a little longer.

  She glanced over to see what the two other girls were wearing. A. A. had on a sleeveless swingy trapeze dress, the kind that would make any other girl who wore it immediately look ten pounds heavier. But on A. A. it was just right—light, breezy, and effortlessly stylish. That was the thing about A. A.: She never cared about clothing and yet she always came up with the most fashionable things. Guess it helped when your mom used to be a supermodel. Ashley was wearing some kind of white dress—Lili didn’t get a chance to check it out longer, since she was so nervous about what she was about to do.

  “You guys ready?” Ashley asked, closing her locker door.

  “Yeah,” said Lili. Now or never. She took off her coat and hung it up in her locker, her cheeks crimson.

  She turned around, steeling herself for whatever came next. She was wearing the slinky black jersey dress that Ashley had supposedly convinced her not to buy. “I like it,” she said defensively. She squared her shoulders and threw her dark glossy hair back over her s
houlders. The dress looked smashing on her, and she was not going to be intimidated into settling for something less. Not this time.

  But instead of yelling at her, Ashley only shrugged. “You look pretty, Lil,” was all she said.

  Lili exhaled. Okay. So that wasn’t too bad. Ashley didn’t even seem to care. What was she so worried about? Then she took a closer look at what Ashley was wearing. It was a white chiffon dress with a tight bodice and a strap that hung over only one shoulder. It had an abbreviated miniskirt with a jagged hem. It was incredibly chic and cutting-edge looking. Plus, it was white, which neither Lili nor A. A. had thought to wear. They were both in black.

  “What is that?” Lili couldn’t help but ask. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Ashley drawled. “It’s from the new Kate Bosworth for Topshop collection. My mom felt really bad about how I didn’t have any money when we went shopping last weekend, and she ordered it for me.”

  “It’s really cool,” Lili said, not even trying to keep the envy out of her voice.

  “I know,” said Ashley.

  Lili chanced a look in the mirror at her dress. At home it had looked so sophisticated, so daring. But now it was so boring and blah.

  It was just another black dress.

  “I’ll lend it to you sometime if you want,” Ashley offered, as if she could read Lili’s mind. “We’re the same size, aren’t we?”

  “I’d love that,” Lili said, smiling back at her friend. Never underestimate Ashley Spencer, she told herself. She had tried many times, and Ashley always found a way to come out on top. Who could step out of her shadow when Ashley kept hogging the limelight?

  But there was no time to think about it for too long. As the Ashleys walked into the Little Theater, a screech erupted from the topmost bleachers, where Carly Cohen, an excitable seventh grader, had been keeping watch since three thirty. She yelled those four sweet little words every Miss Gamble’s girl had been waiting to hear all day.

  “THE BOYS ARE HERE!”

  31

  CAN YOU BOX-STEP TO BEAT-BOX?

  “GENTLY! GRACIOUSLY! GIRLS! GIRLS! CALM down!”

  Ashley smiled. Miss Charm was darting around like a confused bird lost in the sea of adolescent excitement. The etiquette teacher had volunteered to be a mixer chaperone, and she and Mr. Huntley, the elderly math teacher (and the school’s only male professor) looked overwhelmed by the ferocious energy of their charges. “Remember your ladylike behavior!” Miss Charm despaired.

  But it was no use, Ashley knew. Carly Cohen’s announcement was like a clarion call, leading to a mad frenzy as all the girls scrambled to join her at the top of the steps. They crowded around the picture window, watching intently as a stream of boys in blue blazers exited a yellow school bus and walked toward the school.

  “Get down!” Ashley ordered, as the boys disappeared into the front doors. “They’re going to be here in a minute!”

  Almost as one, the girls clattered down the steps as Ashley instructed, their high heels making a thunderous noise that echoed around the auditorium.

  Miss Charm needn’t have worried, Ashley thought, as the girls settled themselves quietly on the front bleachers. Ashley took a seat near the middle, Lili and A. A. on either side of her. Like her, they kept their legs prudently crossed at the ankle, and the three were the very picture of demure femininity by the time the boys arrived.

  Finally the doors to the theater opened, and the Gregory Hall boys shuffled in, still wearing their uniforms, since they had come straight from class. Ashley kept her nose in the air. Really, the boys could have made more of an effort.

  The boys elbowed one another, pushing and snickering. They cast sheepish glances at the rows of seated girls and moved, en masse, to the opposite wall. Ashley gave them her most welcoming smile.

  The girls stared at the boys. The boys stared at the ceiling. The girls began to whisper to one another and giggle. The boys looked longingly at the buffet tables. Ashley tapped her foot impatiently. This was so not the way she’d pictured the dance happening. She noticed there wasn’t even any music.

  “Where’s DJ Tommy?” Ashley whispered to Lili.

  “He said he’d be here. I left him tons of messages this morning to remind him,” Lili said, looking worried. “His people dropped his stuff off this afternoon,” she added, gesturing to the DJ station in the middle of the stage, flanked by massive six-foot-tall speakers.

  “What are we going to dance to, then?” Ashley whined.

  “Told you he was a flake,” said A. A.

  “Shut up,” Lili said. “You’re not helping.”

  Ashley watched with morbid fascination as Miss Charm made her way to the turntables. No way. Their etiquette teacher placed a needle on a record and the scratchy sound of a familiar Chopin waltz began to play.

  The girls continued to fidget in their seats. Ashley saw some of the boys bring out handheld video games and start playing with them. How rude! This was turning out to be a total disaster. Not one boy crossed the great divide of the parquet dance floor, festively stenciled with the letters VIP in the middle, while the disco balls kept turning, refracting the light.

  Ashley crossed her arms. She had gotten her hair and makeup done professionally for this?

  At last a dark-haired boy separated from the wolf pack. Tri. Thank God. Unlike the other boys, who looked like they’d just come straight from the playground, with sweaty-looking faces and messy, dirty trousers, Tri was neat, preppie, and handsome in his crested blazer, and confidently crossed the yawning expanse of the dance-floor Sahara. He stopped in front of the Ashleys.

  “Hey, Tri,” the three girls chorused.

  “Hey.” He nodded, smiling and sitting down next to A. A., of course. “This is some dance. Great music, too. Really . . . retro.”

  “Shut up! I just called Tommy. He just got out of AP Biology and he’s going to be here any minute,” Lili promised.

  A. A. looked at her watch.

  “You need to be somewhere?” asked Tri.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m meeting someone.”

  “That online boyfriend of hers,” Ashley said.

  “At the fountain, right.” Tri nodded sagely. “Still think it’s Billy Reddy?” he asked.

  “No.” A. A. shook her head. “Of course not. I’m so over Billy Reddy.”

  “He’s LWN,” said Ashley.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Last week’s news.”

  Tri looked pleased.

  “Now she thinks he’s Dex Bond,” Ashley told him.

  The smile faded slightly from Tri’s face. “Who’s Dex Bond?”

  “Some dude who coaches the high school lacrosse team.” Ashley shrugged.

  “He’s cuuute,” added Lili.

  “Oh.” Tri looked down at his suede bucks.

  “I’ll give it a few more minutes,” A. A. said. “Then I’ll go.”

  “Right,” said Tri, standing up. “Hey, um, wanna dance?”

  “Sure,” A. A. said, getting off the bench. “Somebody’s got to.”

  “Uh, I meant Ashley,” Tri said.

  Ashley looked up. Tri was looking at her and not A. A. What was going on? He looked at her expectantly. He was serious.

  “You don’t mind?” Ashley asked A. A.

  “Why would I mind?” A. A. laughed, sitting back down, although her cheeks had suddenly turned bright red. “Go ahead.”

  “C’mon,” Tri said, holding out his hand. Ashley gave him her most charming smile. She basked in the knowledge that she was the first girl to be asked to dance at the school’s first mixer. Even if it was only Tri, who was cute, but cute the way teddy bears were cute. “Sure,” she said, standing up and taking it.

  She put her hands on Tri’s shoulders and he put his hands on her waist and they began to move to the waltz’s box step. Tri fumbled and stepped on her left foot, crushing her toes. “Ow!” she yelped.

  “Oops, sorry.” Tri blushed. “Are yo
u okay?” His dark cowlick fell into his bright blue eyes, and Ashley suddenly felt a flutter in her stomach. He was really very cute, she thought. How come she’d never noticed before?

  They glided across the room and Ashley tingled, feeling the jealous, watchful eyes of all the girls focused hungrily on the two of them.

  Then the classical music screeched to a halt. Ashley and Tri looked up at the stage, where DJ Tommy, out of breath and still wearing his St. Aloysius uniform, was now installed at the turntables and removing Miss Charm’s Chopin record. Tommy shook his head and placed a new one on. He held a pair of earphones up to his ear with one hand, and with the other put the needle on the record.

  He leaned into the mic. “MISS GAMBLE’S IN THE HOWWWSSSS!” he whooped. The hard beats of the latest felon rap, “Drank Me to Death,” reverberated around the Little Theater.

  Screaming girls rushed to the middle of the dance floor, tired of waiting to be asked. Ashley smiled and cheered silently for her sisters.

  Who needs boys?

  The dance had officially begun.

  32

  YOU GET WHAT YOU WISH FOR?

  TRYING NOT TO FEEL TOO stung that Tri had asked Ashley to dance instead of her, A. A. crept along the side of the wall, avoiding the bodies crashing into one another on the dance floor. Boys were slamming into girls, girls were bouncing off one another. It was total bedlam, and not at all like the genteel mixer that the school had in mind. It was more like a flurry. Everyone blended. She was set to meet laxjock at Huntington Park in a few minutes.

  It was weird to think that after months of texting, they would finally be able to meet. What if he wasn’t as cute as she imagined? Or worse, what if he didn’t think she was cute? Or what if he was perfectly nice, but not at all hot like his e-mails and text messages implied? She quickly wrapped a red Hermès scarf around her head while she dodged the flailing bodies of her classmates. She’d come up with the scarf as a way for him to recognize her. She told him she’d be wearing a printed red scarf, and laxjock had said he’d be wearing a black baseball cap.