Popularity Takeover (4 page)

6

IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL SOMEONE LOSES HER HEART

A. A. WISHED SHE COULD BE
all hardworking like Lili, but when school was over, the last thing she felt like doing was more work. She needed to unwind, especially with all this fuss about Congé and the annoying S. Society.

And she needed to hang out with Tri.

Now that they were friends again, A. A. and Tri had made a pact the week after Ashley's party: They were going to give video games a rest for a while and catch up on the fun stuff they used to do.

“Fun stuff,” A. A. knew, was code for “kid stuff,” and that was fine with her. Some days she was in no hurry to grow up. In fact, she kind of missed the days when she
could just play games and ride bikes with Tri and not . . . well, not
feel
anything.

Feeling things made everything in life more compli­cated, she decided. Having a boyfriend just wasn't her thing right now, obviously. Let Ashley gush about Cooper, and Lili moan about Max, and Lauren go all dreamy eyed every time Christian's name came up. Who cared? She and Tri were friends, nothing more, nothing less—and that was exactly the way she wanted it.

They met up outside the Fairmont Hotel, where they both lived, A. A. pushing her Raleigh bike, zipping up her nylon jacket to keep the wind out. Tri was messing around in the valet parking area, doing wheelies on his neon green BMX like a pro. A. A. climbed onto her bike and fastened the silver helmet her half brother Ned had given her for her birthday.

“About time!” he shouted, ramming on his own helmet. “It's freezing out. Let's get going.” His smile lit up his whole face, and his cheeks were red from the cold.

A. A. thought he looked cuter than ever, with his dark hair falling into his eyes, even though she told herself she wasn't noticing those kinds of things anymore. “Race you down Nob Hill!” she called, whizzing out into the street ahead of him.

They raced down the hill toward Chinatown, dodging cable cars and pedestrians, turning back for a marathon uphill battle. Sometimes A. A. was way ahead; sometimes Tri was.

Even though it was a cold day, it was sunny and bright. Before too long, A. A. was feeling hot and tired—but in a good way, the way she felt after a strenuous game of soccer, when she'd scored a couple of goals. Lauren was always talking about the amazing home gym her family had built, but
this
was A. A.'s idea of exercise—getting out in the fresh air and racing about until she was exhausted. This afternoon she felt happy for the first time in ages. Hanging out with Tri was great. Friendship was much less stressful than having a silly boyfriend.

“Need an afternoon nap?” Tri mocked her, waiting for her at the corner of Jackson and Presidio. His bright blue eyes were twinkling. “Ready to admit defeat?”

“As if!” A. A. gasped. She set both feet on the ground, trying to get her breath back. She needed to play for time. “My helmet's come loose. I have to fix it.”

“That old line.” Tri rolled his eyes, although he looked pretty worn out himself. A. A. pulled off her helmet and adjusted her two pigtails, bundling them
together so they didn't fly into her face when she was riding.

“A. A.! Tri!” Ashley appeared at the door of a boutique, waving frantically at them. “What are you guys doing here?”

“What does it look like?” asked Tri. The smile disappeared from his face.

Ashley ignored him. “A. A., what are you doing to your hair?”

“It keeps blowing into my mouth,” A. A. explained. Ashley raised a critical eyebrow. Ashley was wearing a chic little cardigan over pedal pushers, and her hair was newly blown out and shiny. A. A. felt like a slob by comparison.

“You look kind of bizarre, you know. Someone might see you!”

“So?” A. A. felt defensive.

“Someone from the S. Society, for example!” Ashley tapped one foot on the sidewalk. “Do you want them saying the Ashleys run around after school looking like hippies—or boys?”

Tri gave an impatient snort.

“What did you buy?” A. A. asked her quickly.

“
I
didn't buy anything,” Ashley complained. She
brandished a large white shopping bag, which was tied with pale green ribbon. “My mother is in that store,” she said, gesturing with her shoulder, “buying stuff for you-know-who.”

“Who?”

“The
baby
,” Ashley whispered. She seemed embarrassed every time the subject came up. “I don't know why the stupid thing can't use all my old stuff. It's not even born yet, and it has more clothes and toys than I ever did!”

“I guess.”

“And my mother
knows
I need something new to wear for my date with Cooper on Saturday night. She
knows
how important this relationship is to me.”

“Oh.” A. A. didn't really know what to say. She felt intensely awkward. Being friends with Ashley was one thing; being friends with Tri was something totally separate and different. Standing together like this on a street corner talking about
relationships
only reminded her that there was something unresolved among the three of them. Something to do with secrets, kisses, and lies. In other words, something A. A. really would rather not think about this afternoon.

Because all she wanted to do today was ride her bike
and have some fun, not obsess about grown-up things like kissing and breaking up. But here was Ashley and the real world—or the Ashley version of the real world, anyway—to spoil their fun.

“Hey, I'm just going to get some water.” Tri climbed off his bike. “Watch my stuff, okay?”

A. A. nodded, glad that Tri was going to be out of earshot for a few minutes. This whole situation was just too awkward.

“Your mother might be looking for you,” she suggested to Ashley.

“She doesn't even know I exist anymore,” Ashley sniffed. “Why—are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No—I mean, well . . . it's kind of weird, isn't it? Hanging out with me and Tri? Don't you think? Seeing as you guys broke up and everything.”

“Not really.” Ashley dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “The only weird thing is the way you can hang out with a boy all the time when he's not into you. I know, I know—you're going to say you're just friends, and it doesn't
mean
anything. Well, you're probably right. It doesn't mean anything to
him
. That's pretty obvious.”

“What do you mean?” A wave of annoyance swept
through A. A.—what was Ashley suggesting? That she, A. A., was so unattractive that Tri could never fall for her the way he fell for Ashley? That A. A. was into Tri but he wasn't into her?

“
You
know,” said Ashley breezily. Tri was ambling back toward them, a bottle of water in each hand. He looked about as happy as A. A. felt, as in not at all. “I better go back in the store before my mother buys some heinous matching bunny rabbit PJs for the entire family. Have fun!”

But fun was the last thing on A. A.'s mind now. The afternoon was ruined.

7

THERE'S A REASON THEY'RE CALLED
SECRET
SOCIETIES

IT WAS TOO COLD TO
be standing around on a chilly afternoon outside Nordstrom, but Lauren had no choice. She'd offered to buddy up to the awful Sadie Graham. Make that
re
-buddy up. It wasn't easy. Sadie had totally turned on her after discovering the benefits of her makeover. She had agreed to go shopping that afternoon only as long as Lauren guaranteed that Dex would be there to drive them home later.

Dex was Lauren's good-looking chauffeur and big-brother substitute, not to mention her father's brainy protégé. Sadie had a huge crush on him, Lauren knew. That made Dex her only trump card right now, and she
intended to use it—um, him. Dex would be appalled, but her social survival was at stake!

Sadie was making a point by being late. No doubt she and Sheridan were holding their own Congé Committee meeting after school today, delighted to find out they were allowed to take on the Ashleys. Lauren shivered miserably, huddling over her bag, wishing she'd brought gloves. If she dared, she could run inside and buy a pair. But if she wasn't out here when Sadie arrived, the monster-of-her-own-making would probably leave. The only gloves Lauren really needed right now were kid gloves, to handle this whole Sadie situation with care.

Her phone trilled, and Lauren tugged it out of her bag. Sadie ringing to cancel? No, thank God. Someone much more welcome.

“Christian!” she practically shouted.

“Hey! What's up? I'm excused from crew today because my elbow's still strained.” Christian had popped his elbow during last weekend's match, which meant they had to call off their ice-skating date later that night and would probably spend the evening playing Monopoly with his mom and stepdad. Not really the romantic evening of holding hands that Lauren had
been hoping for. “So, what time are you coming over?”

“Oh! I don't know. I might be late,” Lauren told him about meeting up with Sadie at Nordstrom, and how it was a spying mission rather than a shopping trip. He seemed bemused by the whole thing. “I have to get on her good side,” she tried to explain.

“Because you want to get into this S. Club thing?”

“S. 
Society
. No, I don't want to join them. We want to bring them down.”

“We?”

“The Ashleys, of course.”

“Of course,” he groaned. “I can't keep up with all the politics at your school. Or is it a religion? The Ashleys sounds like a cult to me.”

“It is, kind of.” She laughed. How annoying that she had to stand around waiting for Sadie rather than go eat frozen yogurt or stroll around the mall with Christian.

“It's just that I hardly ever get to see you.” Christian didn't sound too pleased. “If you're not hanging out with your ‘Ashleys,' you're planning that Congo thing.”

“Congé!”

“And now you're on some kind of spy mission as well. We never get to spend that much time together.”

“I want to—you know I want to!” Lauren ­protested.
Shoppers pushed past her, hurrying in and out of Nord­strom's revolving doors. Silently, she was cursing Selfish Sadie. “It's just, things are so crazy right now. And . . . she's here! Christian, I'm really sorry. I have to go. I'll try to be there as soon as I can.”

“All right, I'll save Broadway for you. But I can't wait forever,” he said, and it sounded like he was annoyed, but Lauren wasn't sure. There wasn't any time to obsess about it now, not with Sadie standing in front of her.

This was the new Sadie—aloof and unsmiling, gazing critically at Lauren with her ice-blue contact lenses. Her hair was a perfect golden blond, shiny and smooth as a helmet. And even though she was in the Miss Gamble's uniform, like Lauren, she looked much more chic than she had a few weeks ago.

She must have taken Lauren's advice about getting it tailored. Lauren had to admit, the outfit did look kind of cute with those long black and gray argyle socks. She'd already heard girls at school talking about Sadie's “signature” look. Ashley Spencer had heard this too: She said the very mention of the words “Sadie” and “signature look” in the same sentence made her throw up a little in her mouth.

“So,” said her ex-friend, grimacing at Lauren's Saint Laurent bag. “I haven't got much time, you know. I'm really busy right now.”

“Planning Congé?” Lauren tried to sound casual. She followed Sadie into the store and up the escalator, waiting for an answer, but Sadie seemed to have gone deaf all of a sudden.

They browsed the Current/Elliot and Splendid racks, Sadie complaining the whole time. She preferred Rag & Bone, she said, and FreeCity sweatpants. No wonder she was busy, Lauren thought: Sadie must be spending all her spare time catching up on her fashion education. A month ago, she didn't know the difference between Anne Klein and Calvin Klein. She thought Dolce & Gabbana were gelato flavors.

“You're so right.” Lauren sighed, rifling through a pile of Joie cashmere sweaters. “These are looking kind of tired.”

“I don't know,” sniffed Sadie. “I like that gray sweater. It'll look so cute with my socks. They're my signature look, you know.”

“Really?” Lauren's face was aching from the strain of her false smile. “Let me get it for you. I was thinking of buying one for myself in green.”

“Okay.” Sadie sighed, as though she were doing Lauren a big favor by allowing her to buy Sadie a sweater. A really expensive sweater! Lauren picked out two extra smalls and tucked them under her arm.

“You see, in the S. Society,” Sadie explained, “we don't believe in wearing matching outfits or carrying matching bags. It's kind of tacky.”

“Mmm.” Lauren hoped Sadie couldn't hear her grinding her teeth.

“So we have our signature looks.” Sadie held up a pair of white Nanette Lepore pants and wrinkled her nose. “I have my socks, and Sheridan has her barrettes, for example. Our new members have to develop their own signature items. That's what the
S
stands for, you know.”

“I did not know that,” Lauren said. The wide-legged white pants would make Sadie look like a walking fridge, and she couldn't help but hope that Sadie would buy a pair.

“But we also give priority to girls whose names begin with
S
, of course.” Suddenly the Queen of Argyle was all chatty. “Supriya Manapali is desperate to join. She's shopping for her signature item today.”

“That's great.” Lauren felt like she'd run out of
inane things to say. “Do you ever go to that boutique on Geary? It's the Ashleys' favorite store.”

Sadie's face puckered at the mention of the Ashleys, as though the very idea of them made her physically ill.

“Who cares where they shop? They are old news!” she said, pushing over a tower of BCBG T-shirts and not even noticing. “I'm sick of them running everything. We all are. Why are they always chosen to be models at the Mother-Daughter Fashion Show? Just because Lili's mom is head of the Mothers' Committee!”

“I know.” Lauren sighed. It was an open secret that although any girl could be considered for the show, the roster invariably included only the Ashleys and their SOAs, with the Ashleys hogging all the best clothes.

The Mother-Daughter Fashion Show was only fun for the people who were in it. Everyone else always felt like a big, ugly loser. In the past Lauren had usually sat at the same back table with girls like Daria Hart, Guinevere Parker, and Cass Franklin. Girls who would never be picked for the fashion show in a million years. And why not? As Lauren and Sadie had shown, a little makeup and a lot of tan made anyone more attractive.

Lauren suddenly got a brain wave. She
had
to get Daria, Guinevere, and Cass chosen as models for
the show somehow. If she really wanted to break the power of cliques in the school, she would have to do more than just sneak into one. She would have to try to encourage real social change. Show them that with the right look and the right opportunity, anyone could be an Ashley.

Of course the Ashleys would protest, but she could make them think it was the S. Society trying to sabotage one of their events.

“Well, I'm not going to stand for it anymore,” Sadie said, with a toss of her newly golden locks. “At our Congé meeting, I told Miss Charm that the fashion show was just another example of clique dominance at Miss Gamble's, and she totally saw our point. She promised that there are going to be some major changes at the fashion show this year.”

“Really,” Lauren said. The Ashleys would not like the sound of that. “So . . . what else happened at the meeting?” she asked, pretending to look through a rack of clothes, her heart fluttering.

“We have the best thing ever planned. I'd tell you all about it, but . . .”

“But what?” Lauren was almost breathless with excitement.

“Look at this!” Sadie exclaimed, clutching a bright yellow Isabel Marant tunic dress. “How cute! Maybe I'll try it on.”

“Sure,” said Lauren. “But you were about to say—”

“Eek!” Sadie was checking her Rolex. “What time is Dex picking us up?”

“In about fifteen minutes,” Lauren said, her heart sinking. “But he won't mind waiting.”

“I don't want to keep
him
waiting.” Sadie giggled, and Lauren wanted to slap her. If she thought Dex would ever fall for a ninny like her, she was seriously deluded! “Listen, I'll try this dress on while you go buy the sweaters. You know, I'm not sure if I should get a gray sweater or a black one.”

“How about both?” Lauren asked wearily. If she could buy Sadie's friendship, maybe then Sadie would talk some more about Congé in the car. And maybe, she thought, stalking over to the cashier's desk, Sadie would end up marrying Dex one day, while pigs flew in the sky over San Francisco Bay.

Whatever the S. Society was planning for Congé, Sadie had no intention of blabbing—not yet, anyway. Lauren would have to come up with a better plan.