The Ashley Project Read Free Page B

Lili, noticing Ashley’s new Japanese case. “Where’d you get?”
    â€œTokyo,” Ashley replied. “You don’t think it’s too sixth grade?” she asked.
    Lili shook her head a little less than vigorously. “No way.”
    Ashley smiled, only slightly reassured, but continued, “Omigod. I totally forgot. I brought treats.” She fished around in her Proenza bag and handed out what looked like three plastic toys. “Surprise! They’re Prada Robot Charms. They only sell them in Tokyo. Accessories for your accessories. Don’t you love?”
    Lili and A. A. squealed in delight and immediately attached them to their bags like Ashley did.
    â€œSee?” Ashley said, picking up her cup. “Now we all match.”
    Lili nodded, appeased. No one else at school would have the robot charms.
    â€œReady?” asked Ashley.
    The two others nodded, and with arms linked, the three of them walked out of the Starbucks and up the hill toward school.

4
A. A. IS JUST ASHLEY ALIOTO’S NICKNAME, NOT HER BRA SIZE
    KEEPING AN EYE ON HER two friends who were walking slightly in front of her, nearly identical handbags dangling from their arms, Ashley Alioto tapped a message on her cell phone. talk 2 u l8r txt me i have re<< i have a brk @ 11.
    Silly. She’d almost texted him saying she had recess at eleven! She turned off her phone, rubbed the rhinestones embedded on its stainless silver cover, and exhaled. She’d caught herself just in the nick of time, thank God.
    He was just sooo amazing. She was totally into him. And it was mutual, she could tell. Not that he’d said anything of the kind, but after all, they’d only just meta month ago online. Their whole relationship consisted of trading e-mails and instant messages and syrupy comments on each other’s home pages. She was too scared to commit to a real-world F2F encounter yet. They’d never even spoken on the phone—he’d suggested it once, but she deflected it out of nerves.
    Not that she had anything to worry about. She was certain he was three-name cute, even though he didn’t have any pics on his profile—just a cute Speed Racer cartoon. She just had a feeling . A. A. liked to think she was a little bit psychic, and she could sense a hot boy behind those sweet e-mails. He’d already changed his profile to “In a Relationship” ever since they’d confessed their affection to each other a week ago. He kept telling her he couldn’t wait until they met for real.
    And there lay the problem. They could never meet for real.
    Because laxjock (his online handle) was a high school boy. Who thought she was four years older than she really was.
    If only she really were sixteen years old like it said on her profile! She’d kind of fudged with her age on the site, everyone did. Who in their right mind wanted to admit they were in junior high? Duh. In her defense, thestunning, professional black-and-white portrait on her page certainly made her look sixteen.
    Her mother, a former model who had walked the catwalks of Paris, Milan, and New York, had asked a famous fashion photographer to take shots of her daughter as a favor, and the resulting photograph—of A. A. in a sleek black Eres bikini—was totally Teen Vogue –worthy.
    Although the photo was sort of a fluke, really. A. A. had always been a bit of a tomboy, and she was most comfortable in Puma sneakers and yoga pants. It always bothered her that all her life she’d been taller than everyone she knew, had filled out the earliest, had gotten her first bra years before her friends had.
    It was embarrassing how people were always commenting on how she looked older than her real age, how she looked “more mature.” Was there ever a word more depressing than “mature”? A. A. thought “mature” meant a wheelchair, a nursing home, and sensible shoes with the crepe wedges. She’d