A/N: Gdog90, you have a great understanding of the characters and I appreciate your predictions and suggestions. I'm got some definite plans of my own, but I'm also taking what you say into account. I really like your Randall idea, as you'll notice. So thanks!
Thank you Gdog90 and Oncer93 for reviewing. I'm sorry for the long delay. I have been very busy, and after some time I honestly kind of felt disinterested in the story. Nevertheless, I really need to learn to finish what I start, so here goes.
The Ashleys met early the next day. Instead of going to school as normal, Ashley T.'s driver went to each Ashley's house to pick them up. In the limo they chatted endlessly, both continuing, and in many parts repeating, the conversations they had had over the phone last night. But whereas last night the girls had been forced to leapfrog between calls – one moment A. speaking to B. while Q. spoke to T., then A. with T. and B. with Q., then Q. with A. and T. with B., and so on, for hours – now each fragment of debate came together in a symphony of discourse.
Fortunately for Ashley T.'s driver, her father – his employer – permitted him to listen to a Walkman while he drove. He hummed along to Robert Johnson as he let the Ashleys out at the crossroads beside the school, thankful to have not heard a single word they said.
They decided to wait for Spinelli on the sidewalk instead of in their clubhouse. This way she would have to walk with them, and chat. Spending time with them was something Spinelli was going to have to get used to, and they were going to ease her – and, honestly – themselves, into it.
All their endless talking that morning, and the night before, hadn't been for nothing; and though it may have sounded like meaningless chatter to anyone eavesdropping, the Ashleys had in fact resolved many of their problems, both personal and professional.
They had sorted, piece by piece, though everything that had happened yesterday, and tried to find out what caused it all to go so spectacularly wrong. Who was to blame? That is what they all wanted to know. Like poison, accusations flavoured every word.
At least, that is how they began.
Ashley A., bruised, but not so shaken, was of a mind to play the martyr.
"It's all my fault," she said. She had been impulsive. She rushed the meeting with King Bob. They hadn't been prepared for any kind of resistance, and it showed. She thought he would simply hand them what they asked for, like he was a clerk in a shoe store. "I, like, majorly miscalculated," she admitted.
"That was totally, like, my fault," insisted Ashley B, though just a moment ago she had pointed the finger at Ashley A. herself. A stranger would think she was a little hypocritical idiot. And maybe she was. But Ashleys stand together.
Ashley Q. and T. didn't need to be told it was their turn. Eagerly they threw themselves on the sword, and, almost by magic, the four bickering, unrelated girls became sisters once again.
Then they turned to their focus to the Ashley who hadn't accepted blame.
Ashley S.
Spinelli.
They consoled themselves that there was no way to know she would snap so suddenly. There was no threat, no snappy banter, none of the usual blustering or attempts to intimidate – nothing they knew to expect from Spinelli. It was like cracking open a can of diet cola right after someone secretly shook it up.
Over the phone, Ashley Q. had fought fervently to cut Spinelli loose, and the fight carried over to the morning, though less passionately. "It's like trying to train a dog with, like, rabies. We'd be safer, cleaner, and happier pretending she doesn't, like, exist at all."
Every girl had something to say about that – mostly in agreement. But the fact was, Spinelli was an Ashley. None of them could forget that, or easily sidestep it.
"Couldn't we, like, just bribe her to change her name?" asked Ashley Q., exasperated.
"Nobody can really change their name," said Ashley A. "It's something, like, decided by the Stars. You can call a Rose a Violet, but you know it's still a Rose. Call an Ashley, like, Amber, and it won't change a thing. Ashley S. is an Ashley – it doesn't matter if we call her Spinelli or some other name.
"Besides," Ashley A. continued. "Ashley S. did apologize, remember?"
Ashley T. asked, "So, like, what did Spinelli say again?"
"Okay, so, like, I was on the phone with Ashley B.," Ashley A. gushed. "We were just about to hang up for the night when suddenly my mom walks in and says, like,
"'Oh, you're on the phone. Well, I don't mean to disturb your girl talk, or whatever, but Ashley S. called the land line. It's waiting for you in the kitchen.'
"And I like, jumped off my bed. But not before like, teasing Ashley B. I was like, 'Hey, I gotta go, Ashley S. is on the other line.'
"So I went downstairs and pick up the phone and was like, 'Like, hello?'"
"For a moment I thought she had, like, hung up on me. But then I heard her start speaking really slowly and softly, like she was really nervous."
"She said, 'Hey, Ashley A. It's me. Spinelli. I guess you're wondering why I'm calling.'
"I said, 'Like, no, not at all. I call the Ashleys all the time, even when I don't have anything to say. I do kinda wonder how you got my number though. I haven't given out my home number since, like –
"And she totally finished the sentence with me. We both said, 'Kindergarten.' It was like I was talking to one of you girls!
"Then she said, 'I was looking through some old junk earlier and found your number written down.' She didn't expect it would work, but she felt she totally had to try anyway.
"I said, 'Oooh. That's, like, so cool.' I was so happy and I told her, "It's like little kindergarten Ashley A. gave you that number so that you could call me, like, right now! Even, like, way back then, you were meant to one day be one of us!"
Ashley A. paused her story and rolled her eyes.
"I realize I may have gone a little crazy there. Like we were saying, we need to go pretty slow with her. I don't think she is ready to hear about horoscopes and destiny yet, even though this is clearly fate at work.
"She told me she was sorry for attacking me, and I accepted, of course. I even apologized for ambushing her. I said, like, we should have asked her to talk after school instead."
Ashley Q. interrupted. "You know she didn't mean, like, a single word, right? She just wanted you to help her?"
"Of course she wanted me to help her," said Ashley A. "But that doesn't, like, mean she was entirely faking. When I tell Miss Finster that her eyes look really pretty, I'm of course buttering her up, but her eyes really are her best quality. It's like that. I could hear in her voice she meant it, even if she, like, didn't like that she had to say it.
"Anyway," she continued, flipping her hair. "As it happens, she totally dropped something important when she snuck in the other day and needs it back ASAP. Speaking of which, here she comes!"
Slowly walking down the street, Spinelli finally joined the girls at the intersection beside the school.
"Hi," she said. "I thought I would meet you at your clubhouse."
"We just got here," said Ashley A. "We'll go over together."
Before they could start moving, Ashley Q. held her hand up. She looked at Spinelli and said, "You know if we help you get your whatever back, you have to let us give you a makeover."
Spinelli frowned, but she didn't tense. If she had something violent to say to that, she bit it back.
"I thought you would ask for something like that." She cringed, then sighed. "Fine. It's a deal."
Then Spinelli marched off toward the clubhouse. The Ashleys looked at each other, wide eyed, then caught up.
"This thing must be pretty important," said Ashley B. "What is it?"
"None of your business."
Ashley A. sighed, exasperated. "Like, as if we're not going to see it when you find it. Tell us. We can keep a secret."
Spinelli was tight- lipped, so the girls moved onto other idle conversation. They wouldn't push her. And yet, when they got to the clubhouse, none of the girls reached down to enter the password and open the door. Spinelli stared, waited, and finally – burst.
Ashley A. smirked.
"Fine, I'll tell you," Spinelli said. "It's just something I borrowed from Gretchen to get in here last time. She didn't, you know, know I was borrowing it, so I need to get it back to her quick."
The Ashleys were dazed with joy. "Scandalous!"
Spinelli cringed, filled with an instant regret. She looked desperately from Ashley to Ashley.
Ashley B. met her gaze with an expression of pure concern. "But won't Gretchen be totally, like, steaming when she finds out you took it?"
"Probably." Spinelli frowned, and looked at the ground. After a pause, she shamefully admitted, "I was thinking of pretending I just found it on the ground somewhere."
"Gretchen, like, doesn't need to know," Ashley A. agreed.
"Like, why cause drama?" asked Ashley B., rhetorically.
"Well, drama can be kinda fun," said Ashley Q.
"Only sometimes," said Ashley B. "But unnecessary drama is, like, totally unnecessary."
"Totally."
Spinelli groaned. "This is a disaster, isn't it?"
"Not at all," said Ashley A. "Only, your plan, is like, really bad."
"Awful, really."
"Paper thin."
"She'll totally see through it."
"A bat could see through it."
"Aren't bats blind?"
"Totally my point."
"I know," said Spinelli, looking at the ground. "I should probably just tell her the truth. I mean, she's my friend. She'll understand."
Ashley A. shook her head. "No way. There's no need. I can totally tweak your plan so it works like a charm. She probably thinks someone stole it, so we just give her someone to blame. Easy."
Ashley B. took over. "Yeah. We'll just put it in someone's bag and then find it there."
"You want to frame someone," asked Spinelli, horrified. "That's really scummy. That could destroy a kid's rep forever. And if a teacher finds out, they could get in serious trouble."
"Oh, I know," said Ashley A., grinning deviously. "But we're not that awful. We won't just pick a random kid. We'll give it to someone who deserves it –
"Randall."
The Ashleys squeed at the genius of the idea, while Spinelli stood in a strange, contemplative silence.
What Spinelli thought in this moment will be left for her, and her alone, to know. If she rationalized, if she justified, if she felt anger, or shame, or doubt – I cannot say. Probably she could not say herself. For who really does know what they feel in such moments, until long, long after. And Spinelli, being only nine, had very little experience looking inward.
But what I will show of her mind is this – she could tell there was something missing. Something was supposed to happen – someone was supposed to say something, to point out the line in the sand and warn her not to cross it.
Where was Mikey? Where was T.J.? Where was Vince? Where was Gretchen? Where was Gus?
There was only Ashley, and Ashley, and Ashley, and Ashley.
And Ashley.
Spinelli tilted her head, and, with a ghost of a smile, said,
"That rat does have it coming, doesn't he?"
The Ashleys laughed and then led Spinelli into the darkness of the clubhouse.
T.J. was at his desk, and he watched the clock anxiously. The first bell had rung, letting the students into the school, but class hadn't yet started – any moment it would.
Spinelli still hadn't shown up.
T.J. hadn't seen her on the way to school.
"Maybe she's sick," suggested Gus.
"Or maybe she's pretending to be sick to avoid the Ashleys," added Vince. "That's what I would do if they were trying to blackmail me."
"Maybe." T.J. didn't look away from the clock. One minute till Miss Grotke closes the door. "But the Ashleys aren't here yet either. That worries me. What do you think Mikey?"
Vince nudged T.J., breaking his concentration, and pointed at the back of the room. Mikey had migrated to the back corner to be beside Gretchen, who had pushed her desk back there as soon as she came in an saw T.J. and Vince waiting for her.
T.J. sighed. He wondered what Spinelli would make of it all. She had no clue about the fight, or the split in the gang.
The minute passed. Miss Grotke gave a curious hum as she looked at the three empty desks, and the new location of Gretchen and Mikey. Instead of closing the door, she walked over to T.J. and crouched down beside his desk.
"T.J," she greeted.
"Miss Grotke."
"I don't suppose you would like to tell me what is going on with Spinelli and the Ashleys, and why Mikey and Gretchen have transported themselves to the back of the class?"
T.J. shook his head. "Wish I could, Miss Grotke. It's all –"
Through the door suddenly walked three girls. Ashley Q., Ashley B., and – Spinelli. Only it wasn't her. It was a face T.J. had forgotten.
It was Ashley S.
She was dressed exactly the same as the last time he saw her. A red-black checkered dress, a fancy white hat with a red ribbon, and tiny, delicate looking, black shoes with short heels. Her face and hair were carefully groomed and polished.
The Ashleys were sending a message. They were picking up right where they left off.
For T.J., it was a confirmation of everything he suspected. He looked back at Gretchen with an expression of 'see what I mean!' but she didn't meet his eye.
Spinelli cowered behind the other girls, trying not to be seen.
"We're not late, are we?" asked Ashley B.
"Not at all, girls," said Miss Grotke, leaving her place beside T.J. and moving over to her desk. "We are just about to start."
"Um, before we do," said Ashley Q. "We were wondering if we could, like, change the seating arrangement?"
Miss Grotke frowned. "Well, I haven't put together a new seating plan, but I guess a change could be beneficial right now. Thank you for asking, Ashley Q." She looked over at Gretchen and Mikey and gave them a pointed look, and then said to the whole class, "Okay, everyone. You can move to any desk you like. We'll see how this goes, and if you are all able to focus and behave than you can stay where you choose. Otherwise, I will draw up a new seating arrangement. Now, let's not take too long. And no fighting, please."
The class burst into excited chatter and movement, as every kid tried to get all their friends around them in the best locations in the classroom – near the back or beside the window.
T.J. saw the Ashleys shuffling Spinelli into a spot between them near the window, and decided it was now or never. He ignored the Ashleys as he walked straight up to Spinelli.
"What are you doing, Spinelli?" he asked. "You're going to sit with us, right? And why are you dressed like an Ashley? What's going on?"
"I'm sorry, Teej," Spinelli said, remorsefully. "You know I don't want to do this. But they have this order from King Bob –"
"King Bob!" T.J. exclaimed. Whatever he expected her to say, it wasn't that. "What's he got to do with any of this?"
"Ashleys belong with Ashleys," said Ashley B. "It's that simple. Last time you losers, like, cheated. We asked King Bob for justice, and he, like, delivered. Ashley S. gets to be with us now."
T.J. glared, and jumped back when Ashley Q. shoved a piece of paper in his face.
"Read it and weep," she said, vindictively.
T.J. quickly scanned the fancy print. Cursive wasn't his strongest, but he got the gist.
"One recess! Spinelli can only spend one recess with her friends! What kind of rule is this!"
"You should be so lucky," said Ashley B. "Ashley S. can spend one recess however she likes – it doesn't have to be with you."
"But it will be, Teej," said Spinelli, glaring at Ashley B. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't you worry, Spinelli," T.J. said, stuffing King Bob's order into his pocket. "We're going to get you out of this, just like last time."
"Don't count on it," said Ashley Q., to Spinelli, with a roll of her eyes.
Angry, T.J. marched over to the other side of the class, where Vince had saved him a spot between him and Gus. T.J. quickly filled them in.
"We got to get Gretchen to take a look at that order," said Vince. "If anyone can find a loophole, she can."
"Or maybe we can talk to King Bob!" said Gus. "He always listens to you, T.J."
Suddenly, the door swung open. A shadow covered the classroom as Miss Finster entered. She gazed over the class, as stern as a gargoyle, and every kid bowed their head and started sweating, tortured by the memory of all the crimes they committed in their daydreams, certain she had found out.
"Gretchen Grundler," she barked. Gretchen leapt to attention.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, nervously polite.
"I'll tell you what you can do. You can go down to Principal Prickly's office. Now."
Gretchen paled. "What did I do?"
"Did I ask you to stand around asking questions, or to go to Principal Prickly's office?" Miss Finster growled. "Get moving, girl!"
Gretchen raced out of the classroom. Miss Finster lagged behind a moment, and though nobody else could see it, because nobody else was looking right her, T.J. noticed her sigh softly. There was something off about her, he realized. His curious got the better of him.
"What's wrong, Miss Finster? You seem tired." he asked, and the class gasped in horror. Miss Finster turned on him.
"Never you mind, Detweiler." Her eyes flickered around him. "Where's your friend, Spinelli? I need to have a talk with her. Heard she's been fighting on the playground."
T.J. laughed in her face.
In the front row, Gordy fainted, and slipped out of his chair. His fear of Finster had overwhelmed him. Miss Grotke gasped and rushed over to help him up.
"That sounds like Spinelli," he admitted. "But I doubt it. Anyway, if it supposedly happened yesterday, there's probably no real evidence. And Randall's word wouldn't hold up in court."
Finster snarled. "It does in my court, buddy. Now you remember that. And tell your friend I have my eye on her."
T.J. smirked. His eyes flicked over to the Ashleys - to one Ashley in particular, whose eyes were wide with shock. "I'll pass it along."
With a grunt, Miss Finster marched out of the room.
Nobody seemed to know whether they should stare at T.J. or stare at Spinelli.
Miss Grotke seemed torn between settling the classroom down and running out to get a glass of water for Gordy. He groaned, and she decided on the latter, rushing out with a promise to be back soon.
Vince leaned over to T.J. and said, "Poor Gordy. Ten to one he's called Fainting Kid till 12th grade."
When Miss Grotke returned she tried to begin her history lesson, but she was hardly halfway through her presentation when Gretchen returned. In her hands she cradled a little silver box. She slowly walked down the aisle between desks.
The disruption caused by her return was nothing compared to what happened five minutes later. The rumour seeped through the class like a fog of whispers.
Miss Grotke spent the rest of class forcing them to meditate, but T.J. couldn't find inner peace. He kept peeking, watching the Ashleys. They all wore strange smiles. Even Spinelli. T.J. didn't like the look of it.
But then, the more he looked, he noticed that everyone in the class was smiling. Everyone except him and Miss Grotke. And why wouldn't they be.
If the rumour was true, Randall had just been suspended.
