AN: I wanted to go ahead and revamp this story before adding to it. My original idea for this story has changed drastically. So, bear with me. I hope you guys like it as much as I enjoy writing it. WARNING WARNING WARNING: There will be an Ashley/Glen chapter, totally PG of course. It's just the nature of the story. But never fear, I am a Spashley chick through and through. I have about 5 chapters already written and am working on the sixth. I'll post the next few within a few days of each other. And then, hopefully, I can post a new chapter at least once a week. I fully intend on finishing this fanfic. I watched Girltrash: All Night Long and was re-inspired to continue the Spashley tradition. If you haven't already, watch it!

Kaitlyn

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Chapter 1: August 20, 2007

Ashley

Those were the type of people I couldn't stand. Their hair looked funny, all done up in white and green bows and their asses hung out of their skirt, pleated skirt at that. Their tight shirt (if you could call it that) smashed their boobs against their chest, which was very unattractive. They paraded around like overgrown monkeys on crack. Their smiles scared me and their pep depressed me. I figured that if every 1 overgrown monkey died per 1000 pairs of eyes rolling over their ear-splitting cheers, they would be on the endangered species list inside a year. Extinct within five.

Their legs were all swinging at the same time, too. They walked with this pride, a sense of ownership. What, exactly, did they own except for pom-poms and hair ribbons?

"Ashley, please, for the love of God, at least pay attention for the last five minutes of class."

Everyone turned to look at me looking at the cheerleaders. I turned my attention to my empty desk. Everyone else, I noticed, had their textbook open to page fifteen. I hadn't even bothered getting mine out.

"Dyke" cut up the tension in the air, bringing me back to the reality that I was still in a high school classroom with boys who thought name calling got them places.

A snicker followed and one by one, all the little fucks joined in.

Every single person laughed except for Mrs. Davidson, who said nothing and returned to the chalk board where she continued writing themes for "Animal Farm."

Fuck them. What did they know about the world? They were ants. We were all ants. I knew for certain that someone in this vast world had the capability to crush them and make them feel like absolutely nothing. I knew that someone had the capability to crush me, too. That made me different.

"Ashley, see me after class, please."

No.

I glanced back at the cheerleaders, who were huddled on the patch of grass in the courtyard. Something had happened (probably just a lost bow) that had caused them all to fan themselves frantically with their hands in order to hold back tears from their up-turned eyes. Their faces contorted. Gone were the looks of ownership, and in their place raised eyebrows and quivering lips.

Melodrama consumed their lives, like the King of the Food Chain. They allowed everything superficial to get to them. Losing a bow or not being able to find their pom-poms would send them into a tizzy. But tell them their father died or that the school was being attacked by aliens, and they would breathe deeply and convince themselves that it was going to be okay. What sense did that make? It illuminated the deep selfish tendencies of people who thought they were better than me because they owned a school-issued bow. Well my father was famous. Beat that.

"Ashley," Mrs. Davidson said. She was sitting on top of my desk, one of her feet on the ground, her left hand pressed into the center of the fake wood. The tip of her pinky was covering the letter "a," which made it impossible for me to figure out what word was scrawled out on my desk. She seemed to be half leaning, half sitting. That bothered me. I wondered if it was my inability to be nice. Maybe I made her too uncomfortable to sit down next to me. Maybe she sensed that I got horny for girls and it scared her.

"I sense that you feel a bit nervous about senior year. Maybe there's something I could do to help?"

I looked at her shirt and averted her intense gaze. Looking in her eyes would have made me tell the truth. And there was no way in hell I'd give her the satisfaction of knowing I was nervous about my last year as a student. I was Ashley Davies. I was the dyke-bitch everyone feared.

I leaned down to grab my back pack. One of the straps was nestled neatly around the heel of her payless pumps. I huffed. In the midst of all this nonsense about me being nervous, I realized that the bell had rung almost half a minute ago.

"Can I go now?"

Her sigh drew me to look in her eyes, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I steered my thoughts toward her features.

She wasn't bad looking, I supposed. Maybe a haircut and some make up would do her some good, but she was pretty. I could almost feel her hair slathered on my fingers like silk. I could feel it creeping into the crevices of my spread out fingers, molding to every curve like wet clay. Her shirt, which I figured out, was actually part of a dress, caught my attention. There were overlapping polka dots in subtle, organic shades of tan and brown, all set atop a crème color that accented her dark skin. And the sliver of cleavage she did show was almost sexy. How had I not seen this earlier?

Her sudden movement, walking from my desk to her own knocked me out of my trance and allowed me view her backside.

"Ashley, quite frankly, I don't know what to do with you. I just want you to pass my class. Think you can accomplish that?"

Her hands were resting on her desk as she leaned over. She looked exhausted. Her shirt gaped in the front and I caught a glimpse of a lilac colored bra. I was overwhelmed at the level of satisfaction I felt from seeing something so forbidden.

In the breezeway enclosing the courtyard, after I was a safe distance from her classroom, I threw my back to the brick wall and slid down until my butt hit the concrete walkway.

I scanned the crowd for Chelsea, but couldn't find her afro anywhere in the mass of people bumping into each other in a frantic attempt to get to last period on time. The first day back was always so hectic. Half of these people, after the initial day of classes, failed to make any effort to be on time. I never understood why they wanted to make a false first impression. If I were them, which I wasn't, I'd make it to class at precisely the time I was going to be arriving the rest of the school year.

I sighed, plopped my satchel on the ground next to me and rummaged through the crumpled papers for my phone. Every teacher so far thought it would be a good idea to start off the year with a take home test on summer reading. Including Mrs. Davidson.

My feet were stretched out, the right one crossing over the left one. I rolled my neck a few times and toyed with the idea of skipping the rest of the day. I scrolled through my few texts from Chelsea that I had never bothered to answer (what's the point of answering "What's up?" when all I'm going to say is "nothing?") and my right hand tucked a very annoying stray hair behind my ear.

I felt a tug on my calf and looked up. She tripped right over me. She landed flat, her stomach covering my navy blue patent leather peep toe stilettos. Books spewed from her up-turned satchel and pens landed in a heap beside one of her textbooks. It looked like Biology.

"I'm so sorry," she stuttered, while awkwardly picking herself up off of me. Her shirt was scrunched up at her waist, showing a good chunk of her stomach. "I swear I thought I was going to miss your feet, but your legs are so long and-"

I wanted to grab her by her hair and throw her into the bushes. I wanted to scream at her so loud her eardrums might have popped. But I noticed her trembling hands, which were trying desperately to hoist their owner's body off of the harsh concrete.

"Uh, it's okay. Are you lost? I could probably, you know, help you find your class or something."

What had I just done? I had invited myself to spend time with a complete stranger who landed on my only good pair of navy blue shoes. I hoisted myself up while grabbing her trembling hand and pulled both of us to a standing position. She let go after she realized she was squeezing my fingers. When she was finally stable on her feet, she began tugging violently at every piece of clothing until her shirt, pants, socks, and shoes were straight again. She attempted, and failed (although it was cute) to give me a grateful smile.

Only then did I look at her face. Her cheeks were cherry red and- oh my god she had gorgeous deep blue eyes. When I looked at them long enough, I could imagine myself at sea in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

"Well, I think I know where it is, but I wouldn't mind the company," she smiled weakly, but her eyes portrayed a look of horror not a second later, "But you probably have to get to class too. I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry. I'm so scatter brained lately and-"

"Let's start over. I'm Ashley."

My hand stretched out to her, inviting. I was glad I had decided to moisturize in English. If she didn't wash it any time soon, her palm would smell like lavender, just like mine.

Her own hand lingered tentatively by her side until I reached the few extra inches and took it. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

"Oh, right. Um, it's Spencer."

I let go with one more shake, my fingers lingering on her palm for just a second more, and turned to grab my bag.

"So, would you like me to walk with you to class?"

"Um, I guess so, I mean, if you don't have anything better to do."

"I don't. I forgot my PE clothes anyway."

She looked down with a grin and let a honey blond chunk of straightened hair fall in her face. I fought the urge to reach for it and tuck it behind her ear.

"God, I hate PE. I joined the cross country team so they wouldn't make me take it."

We started walking toward the science wing, diagonally across the courtyard. I guess I should have told her that people don't usually walk through the courtyard. People met her to study or socialize. It was like walking on top of someone's lunch table or their desk in the library. But I wasn't going to call her out. We only interrupted two study groups anyway. I kind of liked how oblivious she was to her surroundings. It made me feel needed.

"Do people at this school normally act rude?" Her question broke my string of thoughts, and I looked at her through my peripheral vision. Her profile made her look pouty. I liked it. "I mean, I was in the office asking for my schedule and some guy came up and shoved me out of the way. Like, a full force, actual physical contact shove. And do those people in the office always sound so monotone? It's like they don't even want to help me. So why did they get a job at a school full of children if they hate us? It makes absolutely no sense!" Her hands flew up into the air, giving her speech a dramatic flair of disgust. I caught a whiff of my lavender lotion. It was nice to smell it on someone other than me. And it was nice to share it with someone I actually liked.

"You are absolutely right. No sense at all."

She started first. It started at her belly, with a low rumble and traveled through her wind pipes until it exploded out of her wide mouth. The sound was startling and different. It was the most obnoxious cackle I had ever heard.. We both burst into laughter then. The kind that made your stomach sore. The kind that caught people's attention. The kind that allowed you to not care, for one second, what those people thought of you.

"Well, this is my biology class. Thanks for walking with me. I guess I'll see you."

"I'll find you after school. You can come study with me and Chelsea. You'll like her, don't worry."

After an awkward second of blank smiles, she meandered into the classroom and turned around slightly to give a tentative wave. I blew her a kiss, unexpectedly, and was almost disappointed when her cheeks flushed and she turned around with abruptness and scampered to the first empty desk, burying her head in folded arms. I would apologize later for it. I would blame it on L.A. culture, laugh it off, and poke her mind with questions of her last school. And that would be that.

As soon as Spencer Carlin was out of my sight, I was put out. I hadn't realized how much I had enjoyed brushing my arm up against hers, sometimes on purpose. All thoughts of skipping school had ceased.

"Aaaaashleeeeeey! Wait up!"

My selective hearing tuned in to the outside world, and I recognized Chelsea's voice. My insides started churning with excitement. I whirled around and let my eyes scan the crowd. My bag landed on my hip with a thunk.

Her blurry flame focused into vision, and soon she was right in front of me, sipping on ice coffee out of her Bear-shaped thermos.

"Chels, I have some crazy news. And you might think I've gone nuts, but I met someone." I looked at her expectantly, dropped my hands, and rocked back and forth on my feet.

"… Wow."

"That's all you have to say? Wow?" I sliver of leaf caught my attention and I picked it out of Chelsea's hair.

"Well, I mean, it's awesome."

"Did you leave your enthusiasm at home today?"

"It's just that you've said this about a lot of people. I'm tired of getting attached to your girlfriends."

Chelsea started toward our usual table, set her giant teddy bear coffee mug down, and patted the seat next to her.

"Look, go out with her, prove to me that you're still interested in her after a month or so, and then I'll get to know her. But in the meantime, I have news of my own…" I looked at her expectantly, willing her to tell me with my bulging eyes, "I won the contest I entered! My painting is going to be published in Painter's Weekly and I'm receiving ten thousand dollars for college!"

For a split second, I was able to forget my Spencer dilemma and be happy. Moments like these made me think that at least for some of the time, I was a decent best friend.

"Chelsea, are you serious? This is crazy news! Okay, party at my house tonight. I'm going to invite every single person. And we're going to put your painting on display in the living room like a real art show. God, Chels, I'm so fucking happy for you. Seriously."

I reached over and pulled her tiny frame into a hug. My arms felt like they were squeezing her to death, but I just couldn't help it. I was friends with a famous artist!

"Thanks. But the party's not necessary. I was thinking of something a little more low key. How's dinner with my parents? Maybe they'll leave the pot at home."

I laughed at her slight dig at her parents. They would forever be hippies. "Perfect. Now about Spencer-"

"Ashley."

"Seriously, Chels, don't hate me, but I told her she could study with us this afternoon."

I winced at her aggravated eye-rolling. "Ashley, listen to me. I swear to God, you better be thankful that I'm such a good best friend. Because any other asshole would have broken up with you. But no, not me. I put up with your shit. I survive every one of your break ups."

I gave her a grateful smile and grabbed my bag. It was almost time to meet Spencer outside of the biology lab.

"By the way, her name's Spencer. She's got the biggest, bluest eyes, and her hair is honey blond and pin straight. She's different Chelsea, I'm fucking serious."

"I hope so. My place or yours?"

"Hmmm… yours. I don't wanna freak her out. I think my birth bitch is in town this week."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, took a gulp of black tea from her mug, and threw her bag over her shoulders.

"Alright, I'll meet you at your car."

I took the shortcut to the bio lab, crossing the silent teacher parking lot, trying my hardest not to touch old models of Mercedes and BMWs for fear of catching the teaching disease. Under no circumstances did I ever want to be a teacher. There was no way in hell I could handle the overgrown monkeys and the jocks. And me, I couldn't forget me.

I glanced into the window, to Spencer in the front row, taking notes. Her hair moved with her head every time she looked up to the board, then slid down her cheek again when she looked back down at her paper. Her forehead was scrunched up, as if she was worried she wouldn't be able to write the last words down before the bell rang. Maybe, just like me, she had an unnatural fear of being the last one in the room with the teacher. Maybe she wanted to blend in and push her way through the door when the bell rang like everyone else. I wondered.

What if she hated Raife Davies? What if she wasn't a rock n' roll kind of person? What if she loved watching corny reality shows and listening to god awful Taylor Swift?

What if she loved Raife Davies? And rock n' roll? What if she hated reality shows, hated cheerleading, hated Taylor Swift? What if she loved coffee ice cream, reading books all the way through without stopping, watching old movies in pajamas with popcorn?

I imagined our first date. I would take her to my dad's penthouse and play an old Bob Marley record and I'd try my best to cook a romantic meal. And we'd sit together, at the table set for two with candles, in our pajamas. We'd watch the moon through the telescope, sip sweet red wine, and collapse into the plush couch and fall asleep to Casablanca.

I imagined her eyes close to mine, her lips close to mine.

I imagined her body molded to me, her head resting in the nook of my arm.

I imagined kissing her forehead, whispering silly things into her ear, and twirling her honey blond streaks around my fingers.

I imagined holding her hand.

I imagined kissing her lips.

I imagined falling in love with her.

"Ashley, what are you doing?"

I jumped, settled my vision back into focus, and looked at the person in front of me. Spencer. I smiled and all of the tension from being knocked out of my deep thoughts melted away.

"Oh, uh, just thinking. So, uh, anyway, you sure your mom will be okay with you studying with me and Chelsea?"

She looked down at her feet, and held onto her satchel strap with both hands. "Oh yeah. Definitely. She was pretty worried about me leaving my friends back in Ohio."

"Woah, You're a long way from home, Dorothy."

"Ohio, not Kansas." She rolled her eyes and sped up to be a few paces ahead of me. Then she turned around and started walking backwards, "Let's play the trust game."

"Trust game?"

She stopped walking and gaped at me. "You don't know the trust game?" I shook my head 'no.' "Okay, so I'm going to walk backwards and you're going to steer me by giving me directions. If I trust you, and you lead me to our destination safely, I won't look back. But if I look back because I think you're lying…"

"You don't trust me. Cute. But I think I'm gonna pass."

I started to walk past her, casually grabbed her forearm and pulled her with me. "But you can't not play! Come on, just once? How can you say no to the new girl?"

She was right. How in the hell could I say no to those eyes?

"Alright, but if you look back, I'm ditching you, got it?"

She nodded confidently, and turned to face me. "Okay, now start steering!"

I dropped her hands. "Here goes nothing. Alright, now keep going back… keep going… wait! To the left! I-I mean to the right! Shit!" I grabbed her arms and propelled her body away from the tree that was a mere five inches away from her back.

She cackled, gripped my hands and pulled me to the ground with her. "There's one more rule. Saving someone from crashing into a tree constitutes instantaneous trust. You win. Now, do you trust me?"

I hopped to my feet, pulled her up with me, and surveyed the ground for things that had no doubt fallen out of our bags. "I think we should wait until tomorrow."

"Whatever you say."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the few pencils that had slipped out of my bookbag's front pocket, and started toward the student parking lot. "Come on, Spencer, you have to meet Chelsea."

"Race ya!"

And before I could say no, I was chasing the prettiest girl in California.

xxxxx

xxxxx

"Listen, I'm sorry about being so… bubbly this afternoon. I'm usually not like that, I don't know what's gotten into me."

I looked directly behind Spencer, into her pristine yard, and sighed. "It's alright. It's just a scraped knee."

"I know, but if we hadn't raced, you would've never tripped over that stupid water bottle!"

I grabbed her shoulders, and forced her to look me in the eyes, "Listen, worse things have happened. Don't feel bad, okay?"

She nodded, walked up to her porch, and opened the big wooden door, "You wanna come in for a minute? My mom would love to meet someone from school."

"… Spencer, honey, would you please make sure all of your boxes are unpacked? Your dad's gonna take them all to work for files. They're running out of cabinet space and- oh, Spencer, who's your new friend?"

My first impression of the Carlin home didn't surprise me. Something told me when Spencer invited me in that her family was going to be unusually normal for L.A.

Mrs. Carlin balanced a laundry basket on her left hip, and held out her hand. "I'm Paula, Spencer's mom."

"Uh, hi. I'm Ashley."

"Well, Ashley, it's nice to meet you. Spencer, why don't you take Ashley into the kitchen and offer her something to drink? I'll be right back! Just let me put this basket on Glen's bed."

She smiled politely enough, and darted up the stairs. "Woah."

I followed Spencer in a daze to the perfect, normal kitchen.

"Woah, what?"

"It's just… you're family… you guys are so… normal compared to the rest of L.A."

She laughed, hopped up onto the counter, and let her hair fall to the right side of her face. God, she was gorgeous.

And then there was her. And she wasn't normal at all. In fact, it was hard to believe that she was even from this family. I could almost believe, I mean, if I thought God was real, that she had fallen from heaven.