Social Order Read online

  Why did Ashley have to be number one on AshleyRank? If anyone else had fallen over at the dance, they would have been humiliated. And Lauren No-Friends Page had to get all Grey’s Anatomy and stab Ashley with an EpiPen, bringing her back to life. (Not that Lili was sad that Ashley was alive, of course—which wasn’t the same thing as being happy that Ashley might be dead.) But Ashley had managed to turn it into a social triumph, nabbing the hottest seventh grader at Gregory Hall. Why did she have to be the first of the Ashleys to have a real boyfriend? It just wasn’t fair!

  Lili sighed. She looked across the room, where Ashley and Tri were sitting on the other long sofa, leaning against each other. They looked pretty cute together, she had to admit. She’d always assumed Tri had a thing for A. A. since the two of them hung out so much, but maybe she was wrong after all. He looked better paired up with Ashley, anyway. Somehow, next to Ashley, he didn’t seem quite so short. His hair was dark and hers was golden blond, and they were both gorgeous.

  Tri was still wearing his Gregory Hall uniform—a white shirt and gray flannel pants, his blue and gold tie loosely knotted—but Ashley had gone home after school to change, of course. She was wearing her new Stitch jeans, a lace-trimmed cami, and a cute deep-V plaid hoodie from Limited Too. Earlier that day at school she’d told Lili that boys didn’t like it if their girlfriends were dressed up all the time, like she was a total expert on boys all of a sudden!

  “Tri, you’re going to be very bored,” A. A.’s mom was warning him. “We have a lot of clothes to get through here!”

  “He doesn’t mind,” said Ashley in her bossiest voice, and Lili glanced over at Tri, wondering how he’d react to Ashley—sorry, his girlfriend—speaking for him. But he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’ll just suffer in silence, Mrs. A,” he said, not taking his eyes off Ashley. A. A. was glaring at him from across the expansive coffee table. Lili noticed that whenever Ashley and Tri were together, A. A. always found some way to excuse herself. But there was no escape this time.

  Lili wished Ashley hadn’t brought Tri either. She didn’t want a guy there while they were trying on clothes. How exactly were they going to do this with a boy in the room?

  “I know what we’ll do,” said A. A.’s mom, reading Lili’s mind. “A. A., why don’t you drag over that shoji screen, and you girls can get changed behind it so Tri doesn’t have to keep closing his eyes.”

  “That’s a great idea,” said Lili, knowing that she couldn’t have gotten dressed and undressed in front of a boy. She didn’t even have any brothers—she was the middle child in a family of five daughters, with a father who spent most of his time in his huge, book-lined study when he wasn’t spending long hours at work.

  “I’ll help you,” offered Tri, but A. A. shrugged her shoulders and gave a dismissive snort.

  “Thanks but no thanks.” A. A. was practically scowling. “I don’t need your help.” Lili saw A. A.’s face flush red, even though she wasn’t sitting anywhere near the fireplace.

  A. A. strode across the room to the Japanese folding screen. It was made from gold silk, and three elegant flying cranes were etched into the fine fabric. Two years ago Jeanine had filmed a cell phone commercial in the country and had it shipped back as part of her shopping bounty; she’d said the screen was an antique, from a geisha house in Kyoto.

  The screen was taller than A. A., and she was struggling to close and lift it, but she was clearly determined to manage without Tri’s help.

  “C’mon, let me get it,” Tri said, getting up from the couch and picking up the other end of the screen.

  “Oh, all right!” A. A. huffed, looking put out.

  “What’s with you?” Tri asked, an annoyed edge to his voice.

  “Nothing!” said A. A., puffing her cheeks as they pushed the screen across the room.

  “Are you sure?” he insisted, looking straight at A. A. as if seeing her for the first time that afternoon. That dreamy glaze—the one that had been on his face since the night of the dance, almost as if he’d been hypnotized by Ashley—was gone for a moment.

  “Positive. I just—I wish you hadn’t—,” A. A began to say.

  “What?”

  “Nothing!”

  Tri looked frustrated as he picked up his edge of the screen.

  Lili thought maybe A. A. had changed her mind about Tri. A. A. had always sworn she didn’t like him “that way,” but maybe she was finally seeing him in a different light. Could she even be jealous of Ashley? A. A. had certainly been cheerful all day until the elevator doors opened and Ashley had flounced in with Tri on her arm.

  “Is over here good?” Tri asked after dragging the screen across the rug and setting it down by the glass doors to the terrace. His forehead looked a little sweaty, since he’d done most of the lifting.

  A. A. grunted as if she couldn’t care less, not even trying to hide her irritation as she plopped down on a low, squishy stool near Lil rather than returning to the sofa.

  “I don’t care about stripping down myself,” Jeanine told them, holding up a silk blouse and scrutinizing it. “Backstage at a fashion show, you’re naked eighty percent of the time. You can’t even wear undies in case they show through a dress.”

  “Mom!” said A. A., looking sharply at Tri.

  “TMI,” Tri joked, giving Ashley a squeeze.

  “Maybe Tri should leave—this is a girl thing,” A. A. mumbled, but only Lili heard her—Ashley was squealing and trying to pry Tri’s hands away, while Jeanine was laughing because she’d embarrassed him.

  And then it was time to try on clothes. A. A. took up her post behind the screen, and Jeanine hurled outfit after outfit over to her. Whatever A. A. didn’t want, she threw back into the room.

  Ashley soon forgot about cuddling up with Tri, Lili noticed; she abandoned him and moved into receiver position near the screen, trying to edge Lili out. As soon as they’d grabbed a couple of items, they headed behind the screen to join A. A., pulling on tops and skirts, wriggling into perfect little dresses, knocking elbows and hips as they struggled to change clothes.

  “Maybe I should be the one behind the screen,” Tri called. Nobody responded; this was no time for jokes.

  Every time Ashley pulled on a different outfit, she’d sashay out to pose for Tri. “What do you think?” she asked, coming out in a red flamenco dress.

  “You look great,” he told her. He said that about everything she put on, almost automatically.

  Hidden behind the screen, A. A. stuck her finger in her mouth and mimed gagging.

  Lili sniggered, but A. A. didn’t laugh. She was really in a funk now, barely bothering to try on most of the clothes. Lili wished she would lighten up already. This was supposed to be fun.

  “I’m tired,” A. A. said, taking off the ruffled silk camisole she was wearing and throwing it to the ground. She put on her stretchy T-shirt again and walked out from behind the screen. “I’m done, Mom. Whatever else you have in the bag can go to Ashley or Lili.”

  Lili followed, stopping to retrieve the cami. She sat on the edge of the chaise, deciding to try on her tango shoes again to see how they’d look with the Phillip Lim minidress she’d managed to tug out of Ashley’s greedy hands. Ashley was spinning around by the sofa, modeling the twirly Temperley skirt A. A. had rejected as too girly.

  “All right, last items, ladies,” said Jeanine, rocking back on her heels. “It’s Chloé, but I guess I don’t need to tell you two that.”

  Lili stopped fiddling with the ribbons on her shoes. In Jeanine’s hands was the most perfect weathered, shrunken leather jacket in a creamy caramel color. Three-quarter sleeves, old-school wool collar, with hidden zippers and a fitted waist. From underneath it peeped a poufy bubble dress with mirrored detailing. It was amazing. Lili had to have it.

  “I’ll try it—,” she began, scrambling to her feet, but Ashley had leaped through the air somehow and was bearing down on the jacket. As Lili grabbed the left shoulder, Ashley took possession of the right
sleeve.

  “Why don’t you both try it on?” Jeanine suggested, and to Lili’s surprise, Ashley stepped back.

  “You first, Lil,” she said, smiling like a crocodile. Lili slipped behind the Japanese screen and took off her Helmut Lang T-shirt and current Elliott jeans. She slipped on the dress, which floated on her body, and zipped up the jacket. It fit her beautifully, though the sleeves were maybe a little long—Jeanine had bought it with long-limbed A. A. in mind. The skirt hit right at the knees, the fabric draping against her legs. She stepped into the room and did a slow twirl for her audience.

  “Is it almost over?” groaned Tri, slumping lower in his seat.

  “No one’s making you stay,” A. A. snapped at him. Ashley, still beaming, walked over and stroked one of the jacket’s soft sleeves.

  “Yummy!” she gushed, and then clicked her fingers. “My turn.”

  Five minutes later Ashley emerged from the makeshift dressing room, her eyes sparkling in triumph.

  “I hate to say this,” she said with a toss of her long blond hair, “because I know it sounds so conceited. But you have to admit, Lil—this looks way better on me.”

  Lili opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. Because Ashley was right. It did look better on her. The proportions of the jacket suited her more, and the skirt was an inch shorter, the perfect length.

  “It’ll look perfect with my new crocodile boots,” she told Jeanine. “Don’t you think it suits me best?”

  A. A.’s mother shook her head and laughed.

  “You girls have to sort it out,” she said. “This is more tiring than a twelve-hour flight. A. A., darling, will you call down for some herbal tea?”

  “So what do you say, Lil?” Ashley asked.

  “I guess,” said Lili uncertainly, flopping down on the lounge chair, defeated. And that was it—decided just like that. What Ashley wanted, Ashley got. Clothes, bags, jewelry, boyfriends. Lili just didn’t know how much longer she could stand it.

  3

  ASHLEY’S NOT THE KIND OF GIRL WHO HUGS IT OUT

  ASHLEY SPENCER SMILED AS SHE folded up all of her loot. She had the best possible life.

  She had parents who doted on her, a beautiful, art-filled house that overlooked San Francisco Bay, house staff that had known her all her life and did everything for her, every item of clothing and every gadget she wanted—even if she only wanted it for five minutes. To top it all off, she was Ashley Spencer, the most important Ashley in the most envied clique in the most exclusive school in San Francisco. And now she was the first of the Ashleys to snag a real boyfriend, and an incredibly cute one at that. Plus, he adored her completely.

  And why wouldn’t he? It was no wonder she was top dog—excuse her, top biatch—on AshleyRank. Could life be more perfect?

  Okay—so some things could be better. She could have a cool model mom like A. A.’s, who spent most of the time flying off to glam locations and came home only long enough to empty The. Best. Clothes. Ever. from her suitcases. And today Ashley totally scored the best of the best! She’d known that Lili would back down. She always did. Everything was the way it should be: She could hang with her girls and—even better—she could hang with her guy.

  Her guy! Who knew Tri was so funny? She looked at him affectionately as she patted a particularly choice Pringle sweater that she’d scored because it made A. A. look too chesty.

  Tri had made the funniest comments about the outfits she was trying on all afternoon. When she came out in leggings and a swing dress, he asked her if she meant to look like a lampshade. He had no idea at all about the ruched arm warmers—“My wrists never get cold,” he said, screwing up his adorable face—and the detachable collar on the Burberry ribbed sweater jacket confounded him completely, poor boy. “Is it a shirt or a sweater?” he asked, amused. “How do you guys know what to do with all this stuff?”

  “Isn’t he so cute?” Ashley had asked A. A. as she ruffled Tri’s hair. Sure, he was short, but guys who were short in junior high were like girls with flat chests—they were going to grow. Her dad told her once that he was the shortest guy in his class all the way through ninth grade, and now he was over six feet tall. Ashley hoped that Tri wouldn’t be a mini-hottie for quite that long, but she could cope with him staying Elijah Wood–size for the foreseeable future.

  A. A. had only snorted. What was wrong with her? A. A. wasn’t really into all the clotheshorse stuff that day; she didn’t even laugh like she usually did at Ashley and Lili squabbling over outfits.

  Ashley decided to ignore A. A.’s sullen behavior. She didn’t want anything to spoil her good mood. She was feeling so happy and benevolent these days, ever since that new blog had launched. The one everyone was talking about.

  She knew there were rumors going around that the Ashleys were behind it—as if! They didn’t need some anonymous computer nerd to tell them what they already knew, that they were seventh-grade royalty. AshleyRank was most likely started by some kind of fan of theirs—or else someone who was beyond desperate to be their friend.

  Someone like Lauren Page. Lauren had spent the last few weeks sucking up to them, and this was yet another ploy to ingratiate herself into the group. It had to be her. First off, Lauren’s father had made a nouveau-riche fortune when his video-sharing website YourTV went public over the summer. So obviously the Pages were techies. Two, that hot seventeen-year-old computer-whiz intern, Dex Bond—the one A. A. had been in love with for a minute—had plenty of time on his hands between driving Lauren to school and protecting her from imaginary kidnappers. (Who’d want to kidnap someone so boring? Hello!) Dex had probably created the blog in his spare time as a favor to the boss’s sad-sack daughter.

  In any case, AshleyRank was genius! Ashley liked any list that had her name at number one. And she especially liked any list that had everyone at Miss Gamble’s talking. They even knew about it at Gregory Hall, and it was making the rounds at all the other private schools in the city. Yes! Today Miss Gamble’s, tomorrow Page Six of the New York Post. Other girls planned their college applications. Ashley planned her future social life.

  Ashley carefully stowed away her new clothes in one of the big Chanel shopping bags A. A.’s mother kept in the walk-in hall closet. Tri had said he’d walk her home, so she waved good-bye to the others and strolled out of the Fairmont with Tri gallantly carrying her bag. It wasn’t far to her place, but she walked as slowly as possible, even though it had started raining again. She wanted to remember every detail of this afternoon. Because this was the moment.

  The time was right for their first kiss.

  Tri had been her boyfriend for a week now, if you counted the dance-with-death as the first day, despite the fact that she wasn’t exactly conscious for all of it. They’d seen each other several times since the dance and sent each other approximately two hundred IMs.

  He was perfect. He was sweet, he was polite, he was funny. When he looked into her eyes, she felt kind of crumbly and fluttery inside. She may have been the last of the Ashleys to get her period, but she was the first to have a real relationship with a boy, and not just some dumb online thing that didn’t pan out, like A. A.’s so-called romance with “laxjock.”

  There was just one thing still bugging her.

  Tri had never tried once to kiss her. Okay, so maybe it was because they’d only been going out for a week. Maybe he was just being shy. Maybe it was all part of being a gentleman—maybe they had etiquette lessons at Gregory Hall as well.

  Gentlemanly was all well and good when you were, like, ancient, but right now she wanted him to step up to the plate and kiss her. If the other Ashleys started asking pointed questions, she was going to have to lie—and she hated lying. And lying about getting kissed was très lame. It made her feel like she was just pretending to have a boyfriend, like Lauren Page turning up at the mixer with Billy Reddy. Pretend boyfriends were so sixth grade!

  Ashley surreptitiously looked at him from the corner of her eye. If he was too shy to ki
ss her, then she’d just have to take the initiative—make sure all systems were go. She’d heard that sometimes a girl had to make the move. Guys could be so clueless sometimes. The rain had petered out to a light drizzle, everything misty and romantic like in the movies. She couldn’t have asked for better weather.

  When they reached the tall wrought-iron gates of her house, she punched the security code into the little white box and waited for the gates to swing open.

  “I guess I’ll say good-bye here,” said Tri, handing her the Chanel shopping bag.

  “You can come in,” she told him, trying to sound sultry and alluring. “Walk me to the door?”

  There was no way she would let him kiss her on the street—in front of passing taxis and delivery trucks and random gardeners? Um. No. She’d been waiting for this all week.

  She thought he’d kiss her when they’d snuggled up together at the movies, but he’d been way more interested in their shared tub of popcorn instead. When they’d met at Starbucks after school, the crowded coffeehouse didn’t seem like the right moment for a make-out session either. This was the first time he was walking her home, and she’d planned it that way.

  “C’mon,” she said.

  Tri hesitated and looked down at his shoes.

  “Okay,” he said finally, following her down the broad cobbled path that led to the double Spanish-style carved front doors.

  Ashley walked in front of him so he could admire how cute she looked in her jeans and hoodie, swinging the Chanel bag nonchalantly. She set it down on the terra-cotta steps and turned to face him, taking care to stand on the path. There was no point in climbing the steps and making the difference in their height even worse.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” She wanted him to see their grand marble entryway, to know that her family was just as fabulous as his. Probably more fabulous, because both her parents had inherited massive trust funds, which meant nobody even remembered working in the Spencer household.