Popularity Takeover (14 page)

31

WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE?

A. A. HAD ROUNDED UP A
team for beach volley­ball, and a few of the Gregory Hall boys were helping her set up the posts and net, but it wasn't easy—the wind kept blowing everything over. Suddenly it felt a whole lot colder and windier, and then . . . was that a rumble of thunder?

The sky turned an angry shade of charcoal, and all of a sudden rain began to fall, pouring down and sweeping the exposed beach in dark sheets. Congé was a bust!

Everyone on the beach and in the picnic area scattered, racing for cover. A. A. decided to make for a rocky overhang under the cliffs, running as fast as she could across the wet sand, still clutching the volleyball net.

She hadn't had time to bundle it up, so it was trailing her like a mermaid's tail, entangling her feet. The rocks up ahead were almost invisible in the heavy rain, and she was completely soaked by the time she reached them. Only one or two more steps—aaargh! That stupid net! It was wrapping around her ankles, tripping her up!

“I got you!” A strong hand grabbed her, pulling her upright and dragging her beneath the overhang. “You okay?” Tri asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine—just wet.” A. A.'s hair was plastered on her face, and it tasted as salty as the sea. Her sweatshirt and yoga pants were like a second, icy skin. On a day like this, they should have been in ski suits, not beachwear. A. A. shivered, pushing her hair out of her face, relishing the warm, scratchy feeling of a blazer being draped around her shoulders.

“It's kind of damp as well, sorry.”

“That's . . . that's okay,” she told him. Now that she could see clearly, A. A. tried to unwrap the volleyball net from around her legs. Tri crouched down to help. A few other kids were huddled nearby, close to the tide line, waiting for the rain to stop, but A. A. couldn't see the other Ashleys. All she could see were wet rocks, a pounding sea, and sheet after sheet of rain.

When Tri finished pulling the net away from her legs, he stood up and shot A. A. a long, serious look. Was he still mad at her? Was he going to disappear into the rain and leave her standing there?

“Come back here,” he said, gesturing with his head. “There's this kind of cave thing back there. We can sit in it until the rain stops.”

He took her hand and pulled her along the narrow lane of dry sand. His hand felt dry and warm. It was the first time Tri had touched her since they'd kissed at that party so long ago, and A. A. could barely stand it.

The cave Tri was talking about wasn't so much a cave as a ledge about four feet off the ground, a tiny ridged nook worn into the cliff face. He jumped up into it and turned to pull A. A. in.

There was just enough room for the two of them to sit side by side, their legs dangling. The sounds of the falling rain and the relentless pulsing of the sea merged until it seemed to A. A. that they were surrounded by a rustling curtain of water. She shivered again, leaning into Tri.

He was still holding her hand.

“I'm glad that . . . you know,” he said. A. A. didn't know. Was he glad it was raining? Glad she got wet?
Glad that stupid net made her practically fall on her face? “That you're here today, and I'm here today. You know, at the same time.”

“So am I,” whispered A. A., though she couldn't look at him. He was sitting too close by. He was too handsome. He was still holding her hand!

“Because, you know. There's something I've been wanting to say to you.”

A. A. held her breath. Finally Tri was going to tell her what she'd done wrong, why he was so annoyed with her.

“The thing is, ever since Ashley's birthday party, I've tried really, really hard not to like you,” he said. Huh? A. A. felt totally crushed. Her whole body went limp, and her eyes filled with tears. Tri didn't like her. That's why he'd been acting so weird and cold—he didn't want anything to do with her anymore.

“And I've succeeded,” he said grimly.

“You don't . . . like me?” She turned to look at him, her face red. This was worse than anything she'd imagined.

Tri shook his head. “Not one bit.”

“Oh.” A. A. felt hot tears form in her eyes and willed them not to fall.

But Tri took her hand gently in his. “You see . . . you see, the thing is . . .” He swallowed, then looked into her eyes. “I don't like you at all. I love you.”

A. A. shook her head. Was she hearing things?

“And that's why . . . that's why I haven't been able to talk to you much lately,” Tri was explaining. “I mean, it's pretty obvious you don't feel the same way. I told you what went down with me and Ashley. Either you don't believe me or . . . or I guess you hate the idea of going out with me. I thought we could just be friends like you said, but now I don't think that's possible. I'd always be wanting something more.” He sighed.

Now the tears that fell down her cheeks were tears of joy.

“Why are you crying?” Tri asked.

A. A. shook her head. She was too happy to speak. Finally she said, “You're right. We can't be friends. We tried it and it doesn't work anymore.” But she was smiling as she said it, smiling and grasping his hand so tightly.

“You mean . . .” Tri looked confused and hopeful at the same time. “You mean, um, that you don't
like
me, either?”

“I don't like you, and you don't like me!” A. A. shouted.

Tri grinned back, his smile practically splitting his face in two. He looked incredibly handsome, even with his hair wet and disheveled. Even in his Gregory Hall uniform.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

He pulled her closer to him. And once again, even better than the first time, they kissed.

32

LILI AND MAX REALIZE: YOU'RE THE ONE THAT I WANT

THE RAIN HAD FINALLY STOPPED,
but Lili was still lurking around the parking lot, near all the parked buses. She'd taken off the stupid sweatshirt Ashley had handed her, trading it for a shimmery vintage jacket she'd bought at Twist Again.

Over her Brigitte Bardot bikini she'd pulled on a pair of sixties-style gingham capri pants that looked really funky with her raffia sandals—even though the rain had made her sandals feel all squelchy and heavy. It didn't matter: The main thing was that she didn't look like an Ashley clone anymore.

Today nobody really cared about this, she knew—not even Ashley, who was more preoccupied with
rescuing Congé from its watery grave and dancing about on the sand, looking for Cooper's yacht. Right now she was marching around all the grills and ordering them relit. Lili wouldn't be missed, not for a while anyway. She'd wait for another ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Maybe half an hour. What else did she have to do?

She was waiting for Max.

If Lili was honest with herself, this whole new image wasn't all for Max. She liked expressing herself through clothes that Ashley hadn't dictated she buy. Lili felt independent, unpredictable, and more like herself.

Two days ago, when Miss Charm confirmed the specific date for Congé, she'd sent Max a text, telling him exactly when she was going to be on Stinson Beach. His school break had started, so he had no excuse.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Lili leaned against the side of one of the eco-buses, willing Max to arrive. Maybe he couldn't find someone to drive him there. Maybe he had given up on her and never wanted to see her again. Maybe . . . was that his father's Jeep pulling into the parking lot?

She straightened up, tugging at her shiny jacket, hoping the rain hadn't made her hair look too limp.
The rain had done a thorough job of washing away her makeup, though, which might be a good thing.

Waving at the car as it drove toward the bus, Lili wondered what Max would think of her new look. He'd seen glimpses of it before, like at French class, when he must have noticed her new bag and shoes. But he'd never seen her looking completely different. It wasn't possible when they went hiking—there were no vintage fleece vests or mountaineering boots! Women were smart in the old days, Lili decided. They knew that hiking was a boring waste of time.

The passenger door opened, and Max's fair head popped out. Lili couldn't wait to see him. Or see him see her . . . whatever!

“Hi!” she called. “Over here!”

“Hi,” he said with a smile, stepping out from behind the car door.

He looked at Lili and his mouth dropped open. Which was funny, because Lili's mouth had dropped open too.

Max looked completely different. He'd cut his hair so it was all neat and tidy, short around his ears. He was dressed in a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, a tennis sweater, and pressed khakis. And what were those things on his
feet, Adidas Sambas? He'd turned into a total preppie! Had he done this for
her
?

“What happened to you?” she asked, trying not to laugh. He looked cute, but kind of silly. Not like the Max she knew at all.

“I should ask you the same thing.” He looked her up and down. “Don't get me wrong, you look cute and all, but . . .”

“But what?”

“It's just strange to see you looking so retro. Normally you're so together.”

“Uptight and high maintenance you mean,” Lili taunted him. He looked funny in that polo shirt. It just wasn't
him
at all.

“No! I like the way you normally dress.” Max smiled. “You know, all
Vogue
'd out.”

“Really?” Lili laughed.

“Yeah.”

“But this is me too,” Lili told him.

“Aw, you look cute in anything you wear,” he said.

“But I like you all scruffy,” Lili told him. It was true. If she wanted a Gregory Hall clone, there was a beach full of them to choose from. But she didn't want that kind of guy. She wanted Max.

And he seemed to want Lili—just the way she was too. Whether in designer or vintage. The clothes didn't matter at all. It was the person underneath that mattered—to both of them.

“I hope they take returns at Nordstrom,” Max said, fingering his pale pink collar. “Or maybe I could give this to my dad for Father's Day.”

Lili beamed at him. She was a little tired of wearing Vans. Not that she wanted to go back to wearing the Ashley-dictated Louboutins anytime soon. Maybe it was time to find a new shoe of her own. . . .

33

AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN

THANK GOODNESS THE SUN WAS
shining again. Ashley had urgent business to attend to—and no, that did not mean toasting marshmallows with a bunch of fawning sixth graders. She'd finally spotted Cooper's yacht approaching. As she waited impatiently for it to moor a little way offshore, she was texting him like crazy. At last he was rowing ashore to get her. About time.

Because the waves were buffeting the little dinghy, it took ages for Cooper to get anywhere near the beach. Ashley stripped down to her bikini and sweatshirt and waded in as far as she dared. Not that it mattered if she got wet—there would be a hundred fluffy towels on board, and she could warm up in the hot tub.

As he neared, drawing the oars back and forth with strong, broad strokes, Ashley caught sight of his outfit. He was all in white, with little black epaulettes on his shoulders. Was this some kind of costume?

“Over here!” she called. It was annoying the way you had to row backward—Cooper was heading straight into her. “Help me climb up!”

Cooper glanced over at her and shook his head.

“I'm coming ashore,” he said, the boat bobbing up and down. He was wearing a uniform, she realized—white with brass buttons. And was that a
name tag
? “We need to talk.”

“But why can't we talk on the yacht?” she pleaded. She'd been looking forward all day to lording it over the other girls, waving to them from the luxury yacht and letting only the other Ashleys come aboard. Maybe Lauren would start speaking to her again once they were all sitting on deck, drinking hot chocolate and soaking in the hot tub.

“Help me pull this in,” he told her, and Ashley—for once—did as she was told. She helped Cooper drag the dinghy through the shallows, pulling it up onto the sand. Why was he dressed in this strange way?

Cooper leaned against the prow of the little boat,
his white pants rolled up almost to his knees. He looked very unhappy.

“I don't get it,” Ashley said. “Why can't I come to the yacht? Why are you wearing that?”

He folded his arms. “It's a uniform, Ashley. I should have told you this before, I know, but the time never seemed right, and I thought you'd just run a million miles when you found out.”

“Found out what?” Ashley didn't understand.

“That the yacht isn't mine. It doesn't belong to my family—my family can barely afford a car. It belongs to a Hollywood director who's hardly ever in town. Some guy named Marty Law. My uncle works on the boat, and sometimes I do as well. Today the director's in town, so I'm working. Hence the uniform.”

Ashley was speechless. Utterly speechless. Cooper was
poor
?

“I really meant to tell you,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair. “I tried to tell you . . . but I know how important money and nice things are to you. I knew you would just despise me if—”

“No!” Ashley interrupted him. She didn't despise Cooper. Of course she didn't—he was way too cute. So what if he was poor? She was rich enough for the two
of them. “But what about that guy who was following us everywhere—I thought he was your bodyguard?”

Cooper shook his head. “That night I came to your house, he was parked in your driveway. Didn't you see him when we went out to the car? You're probably right that he was a bodyguard. Your parents must have hired him to trail us. They probably wanted to make sure you were all right. You know, hanging out with a lowlife from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Don't say that!” she cried. “My parents really like you.”

“Really?” Cooper looked kind of pleased.

“Yes.” Ashley nodded. They must have known that Cooper wasn't a Greek shipping heir, but clearly it didn't bother them. She wasn't sure whether she should be pleased or annoyed that her parents had hired a secret bodyguard. On one hand, at least it showed they still cared and worried about her. On the other hand, they were kind of treating her like a little girl who needed to be looked after every minute of the day. Didn't they trust her? When were they going to let her grow up?

“They seem pretty cool,” Cooper told her, and Ashley knew he was right. Her parents were over­protective, but it was just because they loved her.

“They are,” she said. “They like you and so do I. What kind of girl do you think I am? I mean, seriously. You think I'd care that much about whether you owned a yacht or not?” She blew out her bangs and rolled her eyes.

“Really?” Cooper looked up at her. He was so dashing in that uniform!

“God, you're silly,” she told him. “Do you want to come toast marshmallows?”

“I better get back.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her close, and swiped a quick kiss on her cheek. Swoon! “Now that the sun's coming out, everyone's going to be wanting drinks on the deck. I'll call you tonight, okay?”

Ashley stood, watching him row back to the yacht. She was kind of glad that Cooper wasn't a big-time heir. She didn't really want to move to Greece or waste a lot of time at charity balls. She'd rather go shopping in London or sunbathing in Cabo. If Cooper was poor, then he'd go anywhere she wanted. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

“Ashley!”

She swung around on her heels. It was only A. A., looking like thunder. Really, if A. A. wanted to play beach volleyball, then she had to get the teams organized
and set the net up herself. Ashley couldn't do everything.

“We need to talk,” A. A. barked, and Ashley sighed. First Cooper, now A. A. Today, it seemed,
everyone
wanted to talk to Ashley.

Being popular was so tiring. Thank goodness the weekend was coming up—at this rate, Ashley was going to need bed rest to recover from Congé.