“Don’t forget we’re being filmed!” Lauren murmured out of the side of her mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Alexa Chung’s voice boomed through the room. “I’ve just been told we can’t announce the San Francisco results tonight. The servers are still down. Sorry about this! We’re going to go back to the victory party in Dallas, where I hear a food fight has broken out among the unsuccessful contestants. Over to Dallas!”
The Ashleys stood staring at each other, stupefied, as the noise level in the room reached an all-time high. Lili couldn’t believe it, and clearly nobody else could either.
“You mean, that’s it?” A. A. asked. “Can we go home now?”
“I guess,” said Lauren uncertainly. “At least, do we still have to stand here?”
“This is a total travesty,” raged Ashley, hands on hips, her eyes flashing fire. “They’ll be hearing from my dad’s lawyer about this.”
“Maybe they could sue AshleyRank as well.” Lili couldn’t resist the snarky comment.
“What is that supposed to mean?” demanded Ashley.
“You know—for crimes against Ashley?”
“Oh God,” A. A. groaned. “I’m going to get some more food. Hunter’s waiting for me with a plate of shrimp tempura and it’s probably freezing by now.”
“And I’m going to find Christian,” said Lauren quickly, scanning the room. “And Guinevere, because she’s still got the charm he gave me.”
“Ladies, ladies, we are so sorry.” Tiffany, the third producer, rushed toward them. “This is a disaster! There’s a blackout at headquarters and the generator won’t kick in.”
“Whatever!” said Ashley, holding up a hand. She gave a loud sniffle. “I need to look for my boyfriend! Where is he?”
God, Ashley is so jealous, Lili thought. She couldn’t stand the other girls having boys hanging around, and she couldn’t stand Lili being number one on AshleyRank. Lili saw Ashley approach Tri with her sob story, but Tri pushed her away with an angry look on his face. Tri was staring at Hunter and A. A., who were slow-dancing to a song.
Then Lili noticed someone else.
Someone looking straight at her. Someone blond, dark-eyed, and unbearably cute.
Max.
All Lili’s resolve to never look at, speak to, or approach Max again flew out the window. When he caught her eye, he didn’t turn away this time. Instead he smiled, and she smiled back and began to walk toward him. Why was he here? What did he want?
“Lili,” he said, hurrying up to meet her halfway. “I’m sorry to crash your event like this, but I had to talk to you.”
Lili couldn’t trust herself to reply. She looked up at Max’s handsome, frowning face and felt her heart performing a triple toe loop.
“I wanted to tell you I was sorry,” he continued. “About—you know. Walking out on you at the party the way I did. Not calling you. Not speaking to you at all at Madame’s. I’ve been a real idiot. And then I saw you at the party last weekend, but you disappeared before I had a chance to say anything.”
“Well, you were with another girl,” Lili reminded him.
“She’s just a friend.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Max assured her. “Anyway . . . I’m sorry. I just thought—I don’t know, that we were moving too fast. I mean . . . I like you and . . . What I’m trying to say is, I guess I’ve never had a girlfriend before and . . .”
Lili wished the cameras were here now so she could relive this moment until eternity. Max admitted he liked her! And he’d mentioned the sweetest word a girl could hear. “Girlfriend.” Did this mean . . . ?
“Anyway, do you want to go grab some food or something? Get out of here? Those screaming girls are kind of freaking me out,” he said, looking over his shoulder at a group of giggling sixth graders who were eavesdropping on their conversation.
He looked so anxious and nervous and cute, and Lili understood that his fate was in her hands. She could choose to be with Max, or she could choose not to be with him. It was her choice.
“Sure,” Lili said, taking the hand he was offering. His hands were cold from the air-conditioning, and Lili felt a pang at how vulnerable he really was. He wasn’t some unfeeling jerk. He was just human. They were going to go grab a bite to eat, and then . . . maybe they would kiss again. Lili hoped there would be a lot of kissing in her future.
Max grinned his shy, sleepy grin, and at that moment, Lili wasn’t jealous of anyone. She was just glad to be herself.
EPILOGUES
Dear Diary,
I’m sorry I haven’t written much lately. My life’s kind of crazy these days, ever since I acquired not one but two boyfriends. How did this happen?
I still can’t decide which one I like the best. So for now I’ve decided to avoid any sort of social situation where the two guys could end up bumping into each other. I’m a strictly one-on-one girl, for now anyway. If only my mother can keep their names straight, I might get away with it.
Speaking of results shows, we got the call a week later from the Preteen Queen producers. They finally got the server back online, and the machine spit out the winner.
It was Ashley Spencer, of course.
Her triumph was short-lived, I’m glad to report. The network decided not to pick up the series, so there’s no second round in a New York City penthouse apartment. Preteen Queen is dead. Long live whatever else Ashley decides to win in the future.
She’s pretending she doesn’t care, but I can tell she’s mad as hell. At least she’s got something else to fume about aside from AshleyRank. Which, by the way, has nothing to do with me. A group of sixth graders finally came forward to claim credit. Apparently they’ve been obsessed with the Ashleys since prekindergarten. Anyway, they’re tired of writing about us and have started their own site: The Madisons. The kids are all right!
Till next time,
Lauren Page
MEMO: FILE: DIARY: ALIOTO, ASHLEY
IT’S OFFICIAL. I HAVE A B-FRIEND. HUNTER IS COOL & I CAN TRUST HIM. UNLIKE TRI, MY EX BFF. ASHLEY DUMPED HIM BUT IT’S 2 LATE. I’VE MOVED ON, YO!
SO WHY AM I STILL NOT HAPPY?
A. A. :(
Hello? Ready? Last time my voice came out all muffled, like I had a cold. Stupid gadget. Maria? I hope you can understand my voice this time. I’ll speak r-e-a-l-l-l-l-y slowly.
Anyway, I won the Preteen Queen contest. Hello! Who else was going to win? Loser Lauren? Lili-I-Got-Dumped-on-National-TV? A. A. the tramp? I don’t think so. I should have won by a landslide, but instead the margin of victory was . . . oh, who cares. I stopped listening when I heard my name. I don’t even know who came in second.
The show was canceled, but whatever! I’m too busy to go to New York right now, anyway. Ever since I found out that stupid AshleyRank was run by a group of nerdy sixth graders obsessed with the Ashleys, I’ve been working with my father’s lawyer to have it closed down. They’re lucky I decided against suing for defamation. I mean, a two for my smile? As if!
Tri and I have split. Good riddance, that’s what I say. He’s too short and too immature. I’m only going to consider taller boys from now on. Everyone else seems to have a new boyfriend, so snagging one should be supereasy for me.
Maybe even snagging one of theirs . . .
Watch this space!
JOURNAL.DOC
I haven’t been on top of my journal work this week. Having a boyfriend is a lot of work! I hardly have time to see Max, and hope that those Reed Prep hoochies don’t get their claws in him again.
Anyway, ever since I took over the number one spot on AshleyRank, things have changed. Strangely enough, Lauren seems more of an Ashley these days than Ashley. She has two boyfriends. I have a boyfriend. A. A. has a boyfriend. Ashley has no one! She says she broke up with Tri, but between you, me, and the grapevine, I don’t think he was all that upset about it. I have Guinevere Parker investigating. (BTW, I don’t believe the rumor that it was the sixth graders behind AshleyRank—my money’s
on Miss Gamble’s own tabloid journalist.)
Ashley may have closed down the blog, but nobody at Miss Gamble’s is going to forget she scored a two for smile. She’s letting the Ashleys down! Doesn’t she know we have a reputation to maintain?
Maybe it’s time for us to reconsider our position. Should Ashley get kicked out of the Ashleys?
Yours in serious consideration,
Lili
Hear ye, hear ye. We now crown a new queen of the Rank. For the first time since the inauguration of our little social experiment, we’ve got a new winner of the seventh-grade sweepstakes!
#1 ASHLEY “LILI” LI
Because every lax king needs a queen.
Enjoy your reign, and don’t forget the little people!
STYLE: 10
Could probably wear a sack and make it work.
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10
Tamed the biggest player at Reed Prep.
(And we don’t mean lacrosse!)
SMILE: 10
It’s official: It’s megawatt.
SMARTS: 9
What do you call a girl who claws her way to the top but still comes out smelling like a rose?
Brilliant!
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 39 (Because no one is perfect!)
#2 ASHLEY “A. A.” ALIOTO
There’s nothing we like more than a girl in love.
STYLE: 10
Proves you don’t have to match your shoes to your handbag to look good!
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10
Her new BF is gorge! We love redheads too!
SMILE: 8
Smiles as if her heart is breaking . . . why is that?
SMARTS: 10
Unlike other girls we won’t mention, this one doesn’t kiss and tell. . . .
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 38
#3 LAUREN PAGE
The Cinderella story of the semester!
STYLE: 10
Is it her new wide-leg Rich & Skinny jeans or the way she walks in them, as if she owns the world, that we like so much?
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 10
No slouch in the boyfriend—or should we say boyfriends—department either.
SMILE: 10
Totally bubbly these days.
SMARTS: 6
It’s foolish to toy with boys’ affections—they’re not the only ones who could get hurt!
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 36
#4 ASHLEY SPENCER
The former Queen Bee has lost her buzz. . . .
STYLE: 7
For once, we find her outfits a little too contrived.
SOCIAL PRESENCE: 8
Ouch! She’s been recently dumped by her boyfriend and the network.
SMILE: 2
Oh, pookie. Things can only get better.
SMARTS: 8
Don’t count her out yet. She’s bound to have more tricks up her Paul & Joe sleeve.
CUMULATIVE SCORE: 25
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to Emily Meehan, Courtney Bongiolatti, Annie Berger, Richard Abate, Bethany Buck, Paula Morris, Christina Green, Jennie Kim, and Arisa Chen.
Love to everyone in my family, especially Mike & Mattie.
Thanks to all my readers. You’re all numero uno in my book! Kisses!
WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN THE ASHLEY PROJECT SERIES?
Here’s a sneak peek at the next book:
Birthday Vicious
ASHLEY SPENCER SMOOTHED THE SOFT folds of her Proenza Schouler black-and-white-striped skirt, crossed her spray-tanned, hot-yoga-toned legs, and told herself everything was going to be okay. Even though it was exactly a month until her Super-Sweet Thirteen, and her mother was only now getting around to a meeting with the party planner, everything was going to work out just fine.
The planner in question was Mona Mazur, the most chic, imaginative, and—of course—expensive planner on the West Coast; she’d done parties for the children of everyone who was anyone, from the Chadwick triplets (daughters of the famous singing star) to the various adopted multiracial progeny of the movie stars Barton Flick and Organza Belle, not to mention a Super-Duper Seventh in Vegas for a notorious magician’s little boy. In other words, Mona was worth waiting for (and Ashley and her mother had been waiting for the better part of an hour already), even if meant doing everything at the last minute.
Another reason Ashley had a good feeling about waiting for Mona: Her office had style oozing out of its davenports. Mona’s HQ was a pale green Victorian mansion in Nob Hill, with a terraced French-style front garden and a real gaslight glowing outside the front door. Inside, sitting with her mother on a toile-de-Jouy sofa, Ashley couldn’t believe her eyes. Everything, from the floor tiles to the furniture to the silk drapes to the plush sheepskin rug under their feet to the embossed wallpaper, was black and white. Even Mona’s dogs, two miniature poodles named Dorothy and Draper, matched the theme: Dorothy was snowy white, Draper was a glossy black, and both wore houndstooth collars.
Ashley was glad she had changed out of her uniform after a long, hard day—well, a short, ordinary kind of day, really, if she was completely honest—at Miss Gamble’s, the exclusive girls’ school where she and her cabal, the Ashleys, ruled the polished-wood halls and reigned over the seventh grade.
She’d chosen her new skirt and a plush black cashmere sweater, deciding at the last moment on a pair of Miu Miu jeweled ballerina flats—black satin with large trapezoid crystals. And now it seemed like fate, or karma, or one of those hippie things that her father liked to muse about after he came back from yet another ashram, that her clothes reflected the party planner’s living-room color scheme. It was inevitable: Ashley Spencer and Mona Mazur were going to be a match made in heaven.
“Do you think she’s for real?” whispered Matilda, Ashley’s mother, when Mona finally welcomed them, click-clacking across the sweeping expanse of black-and-white tiles to fetch one of her parties-of-the-rich-and-fabulous albums to show them what she could do.
Ashley nodded, entranced, twirling a strand of her long golden hair between two fingers. Mona was very glamorous in a fifties-pinup sort of way, her jet-black hair worn in a lacy snood, her pale skin almost translucent. She looked like a femme fatale in a black-and-white movie, the kind of dame who packed a pistol in her crocodile handbag.
“You should wear a snood,” Ashley suggested, but Matilda just laughed. What was up with her mother this week? Like Mona, Matilda was pale, but not in a good way, like a powdered geisha, but more like she was washed out and drained of color.
Matilda had pulled her long blond hair into a stringy ponytail, and if it hadn’t been for Ashley having a fit as they were climbing into their new silver Tesla (okay, so it was the same car as Lauren Page’s, but everyone wanted to look good while saving the environment, not just tech billionaires), her mother would actually be sitting here right now still wearing socks and Birkenstocks.
Luckily, there was a pair of Tod’s driving shoes under the front seat, because Matilda said she was too tired to go back in and change. Ashley’s mother was one of those beautiful but not vain women who rarely shopped or dressed up. When pressed, Matilda could be counted on to wear something simple but elegant: beige linen in the summer, butter suede in the winter, and subtle jewelry all year round.
But she usually stuck to a wardrobe that had a ten-year-old expiration date: She was still wearing her J. Crew rugbys from college, and the Birkenstocks were taking it too far. Ashley was afraid Mona Mazur would take one look at the comfortable cork-soled shoes and shut the door in their faces.
“Now,” said Mona, tapping back into the room and arranging the black-covered book on the coffee table in front of them. “May I offer you some tea, Mrs. Spencer?”
“That would be great.” Matilda tugged at the neck of her cream sweater as though it was strangling her. “I’m not feeling . . . entirely a hundred percent right now.”
“Chamomile, perhaps?” suggested Mona, waving two fingers in the air. Instantly, one of her doe-eyed assistants materiali
zed to receive her orders.
Ashley flicked through the plastic pages of the book, eagerly skimming every picture of Moroccan-style bazaars, fake wintry forests, and re-creations of the Titanic’s ballroom. It was great to get ideas from other people’s parties, but for her own, Ashley wanted something unique. Something bigger and better. After all, she was Ashley Spencer—the most envied twelve-year-old girl in San Francisco. This had to be the best Super-Sweet Thirteen party ever.
And she had other reasons for wanting this to be a party nobody in the Bay Area would ever forget. This semester wasn’t going quite as smoothly as Ashley had hoped. At the beginning of the school year, everything was just perfect. The Ashleys were rocking Miss Gamble’s. The Ashleys were the cutest, the best-dressed, the most feared girls in school, and Ashley was queen of the Ashleys. Everyone was so jealous when she snagged Tri Fitzpatrick, the cutest boy in the seventh grade at Gregory Hall, as her first real boyfriend.
But then things started going wrong. Tri never seemed to get around to kissing her, and he eventually told her he really preferred A. A.—Ashley Alioto, the tallest and sportiest of the Ashleys. Whatever!
Then she’d even let nouveau-riche Lauren Page into the Ashleys, since she could get them on the reality TV show Preteen Queen. But that was another thing that started out in Ashley’s favor but suddenly turned sour. Just as she was ruling the airwaves and scoring all the votes, the network dumped the show. Losing a boyfriend and a reality show in one week would have broken the spirits of most girls her age, but Ashley had managed to make it look as if she hardly even noticed.
Even if she was currently the only one of the Ashleys to not have a boyfriend. Lili was dating Max, the cute guy from her French conversation class; A. A. was dating Hunter, the hot red-headed Gregory Hall goalie, and word had it that Lauren had not one but two boyfriends. Ashley shook her head and slammed the book shut, almost dislodging her mother’s teacup. Everyone with a boyfriend but her: How did that happen?