Popularity Takeover Read Online Free PDF Page A

people so intent on spoiling Ashley’s perfect life? They were all so mean and jealous. Well, at least she was home now, among her peeps. That is, her devoted parents, their huge staff, and her gorgeous labradoodle puppy, Princess Dahlia von Fluffsterhaus.
    â€œMommy!” Ashley shrieked, her voice echoing around the cavernous room. “Where are you?”
    â€œShe’s upstairs, Miss Ashley.” The butler loomed in the doorway, the last of the afternoon sun glinting in his silver hair. “In your room, I believe.”
    In her room? Ashley picked up her Saint Laurent tote bag and made for the broad staircase. She hoped her mother wasn’t going through one of her let’s-give-away-all-our-clothes-to-charity phases. The last time that happened, Ashley came home from school to find herroom a maze of black trash bags, all filled with clothes her mother thought she didn’t need anymore.
    Hello! Having clothes wasn’t about need, it was about must—as in, must-have. It was about freedom of choice. Freedom! That’s right, Ashley thought, growing more indignant with every step: Having a huge walk-in closet and dressing room (stocked with every fashionable brand on the planet, 150 pairs of shoes, a bag for every week of the year, and a forest of accessory trees) was her personal right as an American.
    She didn’t mind giving one of the maids a hand-me-down from time to time, but she totally objected to raids on her personal collection every time her mother got a pang of liberal guilt. Didn’t Matilda Spencer realize that Ashley was under assault every day of her life by Ashley haters, the kind of people who were dying to see her in the same outfit twice, or—even worse—inadequately accessorized?
    Ashley took the last two steps in one giant stride. Another raid on her personal space was quite possible: Ever since her parents told her that her mother was pregnant—ugh!—with another, unwanted-by-Ashley mini-Spencer, Matilda had exhibited all kinds of weird behavior.
    In the last week alone, Ashley had seen her do the following: (1) weep uncontrollably at a TV commercial featuring puppies playing in a flowery meadow; (2) eat full-fat, non-organic vanilla ice cream straight from the tub; and (3) sit in the kitchen making a “Baby’s First Trimester” scrapbook with the help of Maria, one of the maids, while Maria’s wizened grandmother—flown in from San Salvador in a private plane, courtesy of Ashley’s father—sat in a rocking chair crocheting baby booties from skeins of nonrecycled angora.
    Everyone in this house had gone crazy! Matilda was probably upstairs right now, selecting all of Ashley’s cutest outfits to be freighted to the needy throughout Central America. Well, Ashley had needs as well—something everyone in this house seemed to have forgotten.
    â€œDon’t even think of . . . ,” she began, charging through the double doors that led to her second-floor suite and almost tripping over the furry, reclining form of Princess Dahlia. But the scene that greeted her wasn’t what she expected at all. Her closet doors was safely closed, and there weren’t any black bags sprouting like rotting fungi all over the handwoven Turkish carpet.
    Instead there were two maids, their arms full of her bed linen, and Enrico, the asthmatic handyman, who appeared to be dismantling her antique four-poster bed. Her mother, in a billowy peasant shirt and holey maternity jeans (since they were from when she was pregnant with Ashley), was holding a roll of paper against the wall, beaming at its butterfly pattern. Redecorating without discussion or permission! This was even worse.
    â€œDarling!” Matilda called, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling, her long blond hair loose around her shoulders. “Come and look at this wallpaper! These are handcrafted imitation butterfly wings, woven from silk and dipped in gilt. Aren’t