When I was a little girl, I always had to have two of everything. Holidays like Christmas when there was no excuse to not get me something became a chore for everyone, because I don't care if you bought me the prettiest pony in the United States (sorry, Aunt Margaret), I'd send the bastard back if he didn't come with a playmate. It frustrated the relatives, yeah, but it's not like you consider that type of thing when you have two of the most gorgeous Barbie dolls in front of you just begging to be dressed (especially when all your friends pleaded their parents for said Barbie to no avail).

I guess I was lucky; when my dad was around - - my definition of that being "the times when the big-shot wasn't drunkenly playing concerts or shacking up with trashy whores"- - he gave in to every little thing I wanted, because he knew it would never be enough, no matter how hard the rock star tried. Dad didn't like that fact too much, but I didn't mind, as long as it meant I got my double scoops of vanilla ice dream twice a year when he took me out…or my hair done in two pig-tails by the maid, or my cute little $300 polo shirts with two shiny buttons on the collar. I was too naïve to understand my fascination with the number - - two, of course - - at the time, but what Ashley wanted, Ashley got. Maybe that was my problem.

Regardless, the number two followed me from my childhood up to this point and has usually been able to sort out most of my issues. Since one of something has never been enough for me, I've always settled for two. Always. It's just the moral thing to do. So in the rare case that two of something didn't end seeming sufficient, I'd always know something was up. Like in first grade when Evan and Nathan (my boyfriends) weren't enough mental stimulation for me. Even then, I knew that if two boys didn't satisfy me, one never would. Not that I'm an advocate for monogamy, but I think everyone has to settle down at some point. Or whatever. Anyway, you know you're gay when the two cutest boys in school are on either side of you holding your hands and all you can think about is how you're gonna ask Carla and Amber if they want to play Power Rangers.

But I digress. Anyway, people always say that bad things come in threes. What no one ever seems to notice is that the good things in life pretty much always happen in twos. It's a good thing the world has me around, otherwise there's no telling who would've made this brilliant scientific discovery. But it's just so obvious! Good things come in twos. Don't believe me? Try me.

There were two of each animal species on Noah's ark, and it takes a man and a woman - - two people - - to reproduce. Yeah, granted, threesomes are proof that God exists - - if anything can prove that, it's a threesome - - but one extra person in the equation does not further the human race. Adam and Eve, not Adam, Eve, and Ava (might've spiced that damn book up a bit, but you get the idea).

There are two peeps in every mini-package I get at the gas station, two floors in my dream house (the one I live in, actually), and I have two of most things that matter: eyes, ears, arms, breasts - - I could go on for a while.

Anyway, seeing as I've probably wooed you with my mad persuasion skills by now, I should probably get to the point.

Good things come in twos. I'm a cautious person, half the time, so naturally with something as precious as my existence I need a definite thing. Something I know from experience that I can count on to never let me down.

I'm Ashley Veda Davies, and I lead a double life.

Now, don't think I'm some crazy skank because of my confession. It's not like I go to two different schools and have two different boyfriends (or girlfriends. Whatever.) I just have my pleasures separated, you know? I'm not crazy in the least.

People (well, psychologists) often confuse my double lives with bi-polar disorder, split personalities, and schizophrenia. Well, fuck that, man. Not that I have anything against manics, people with split personalities, or schizoids - - everyone's got their own crazy cup of tea, and I gulp mine, secretly - - but I'm not one of them. You understand my frustration here. I'm just Ashley Davies. Not Ashley one minute and Amy the next, not Ashley and who the fuck am I? No. I'm only Ashley, around the clock. But like I said, I have my pleasures separated.

Normally, most of us humans are more serious in the daytime hours than at night, right? I'm about as normal as anyone can handle in LA. The only difference between most Americans and myself is; while the majority of these people are stuck at their lousy 9-to-5 during the daylight, I'm somewhere I want to be. King High, that is.

School is starting back up again, and I honestly missed it, but this summer was insane. Not gonna lie, I kind of tapped into the other side of life near the end of last school year and by the time summer came around I was absolutely immersed in all the fun. AKA found my 2nd life right before this summer.

I'd always had two lives, now that I think about it. When I was little, even: I had one with my real playmates, one with my dolls. They were both my friends; I wouldn't lie to myself about that, but I hid them from each other. That's what made it a double life, even then. As I got older and discovered the Internet, my double life was there. I had my real friends online, and then I had my "real" friends in person. For some reason I fell mostly out of that, I guess fear overcame obsession in that case. But while it existed, it was great. The point is, I've always had two separate lives, whether I knew how to categorize it or not. This time it was just more mature, more adult, and I knew I wasn't just having fun at clubs anymore. I had found a new world that consisted of grinding, aching bodies and nameless faces; a world I knew would soon become half a home to me.

Summer was epic. I had been clubbing for a while, but since nothing was expected of me during the summer, my nights at Grey, Ego and the like started earlier, and, mind you, ended much later. They were like my nights during the school year, just longer. Party, fuck, dance, fuck. Throw a "toke" and a "swig" in there periodically and you've nailed my summer nights at the clubs. It was nice, but I guess I'm craving more of a balance. Your conscience takes a toll when you get to be the bad girl all the time.

Granted, my dual lives still existed in the summer, but they weren't as extreme as they are during the school year. I had fun with Carmen - - she's the closest thing I have to a best friend, has been for as long as I can remember - - during the day, and blew her off for the clubs at night. Eventually she started getting onto my ass about why she could never stay at my house past 8, but she let up on it when she realized I was never going to tell her where I go after hours.

Carmen gets me. At least the daytime me, and she respects the nighttime me as well, without actually realizing it. It's half the reason I keep her around, hah. I'm not going to lie, we have a pretty epic friendship; she's the truest friend I have. I can almost trust her with myself since we're so much alike. In fact, I think if I was ever ready to come out to anyone, sexuality-wise - - which is never going to happen in a million years, don't get too excited - - Carmen would be accepting, considering she's bi herself. But I don't know. I love Carmen as a friend, but if she knew either of my darkest secrets, she'd have to get whacked. It's just business.

Eh, fuck her. Anyway, now that school's starting, my lives will go as follows: straight by day (or so they think), gay by night. Loved by day by all my King High lackeys, lusted for by all my one-night screws by night. It's pretty simple. I put on my plastic face at school; it's an adorable exterior, but plastic nonetheless. They all love me there now, they do, and for that I am grateful, because they weren't always too crazy about me. I was always different from everyone else, so in a sense I have never (and will never) fit in. It's just that now, no one is dumb enough to pretend I'm different in a bad way. By the time freshman year came around and all the girls noticed how much sexier I was than they were, you can bet they all jumped on the "I love Ashley Davies" bandwagon. This year I'll be a junior, and I'm running for class president. There is no doubt that I'll win. I own that school, and all I know is they adore me.

You'd think I'd want to smack them sometimes. "I'm not perfect!" it would be normal for me to shriek, and throw my shoes, or textbooks at them or something. But I'm content from the moment I wake up to the moment I walk out the doors of King High, because I know that whatever frustrations a normal person would have will be taken out on a svelte stranger that night.

No matter where I go, I'll only have half of myself showing, because there is no whole Ashley. Just the halves that make me complete yet at the same time can never join together and make me one real person.

Whatever. I can't say things aren't nice. I'm the girl everyone wants to be, whether I'm flaunting my shit in the hallway or on the dance floor. I'm just not sure there's much in it for me anymore. Pleasing people all the time. What does Ashley want?

I don't know. I'll figure it out sometime. But in the mean time, I have to stay epic sexy for the start of school. My sanity can wait.