Ashley ✓

Thirty-One | Happiest Girl Alive

SOTC: No Type by Rae Sremmurd

Note for readers who've read Ashley before July 16th of 2023: Mother Teresa High School no longer has uniforms. I changed this detail in chapter two for the sake of this chapter working. Just thought I'd let you know to save any confusion.

With love and the longest chapter so my word count is correct for the Wattys, your author.

I was turned on.

That evening, I surrendered to the truth that I couldn't deny. His body was my barrier from the moist sand, and I had let my eyes free so they could jump into the brown, sparkling ocean of his own. Then when I got off him, I found a fucking pool.

And I wasn't talking about the water.

Whatever the fuck normal, non-sociopath people called called the feeling of wanting to punch yourself and throw up at your own image, that was me.

The feeling I couldn't mistake, however, was arousal— and that bitch stared me right in my face today.

But anybody could be turned on by something like that. And— AND I hadn't been within five inches of the opposite sex in weeks! My body was starved of affection, and Mustafa was hotter than Diablo. Of course my body would would react to falling on a very suggestive position right on top of him!

It was like putting a vape in front of a withdrawing hot Cheeto girl and telling her not to suck in a fat load of it. I was the hot Cheeto girl, and Mustafa Fadahunsi's gorgeous Giorgio Armani bod was that delectable fumes of an aerosol containing propylene glycol and glycerin. It's not like I wanted to jump on him without clothes, and he probably wouldn't do the same. He quit the girls, and there was nothing calling me an exception. I wasn't special by many means anymore.

But I suddenly remembered being one back in Freshmen year.

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(Ashley's memory)

My first, and successful, shop-lifting experience had once again became my record high— and record popularity. I, Ashley Walker, wasn't just the girl who punched Lindsay in middle school; she was one of the only girls in the school known to shop-lift.

Luckily, that was my ticket to further introduce myself as glown-up Ashley.

Over the summer before freshmen year, I gave my body and closet a full surgery. I invested in foundation and concealer for the first time in my life, began wearing mascara religiously, and the cheekbones puberty granted me were shown off with contour. I replaced my baggy T-shirts and sweatshirts with vibrant-shaded spaghetti-strap crop tops that showed just enough of the size of my chest, and invested in shorts emphasizing my longer waist.

So when I walked into Mother Teresa High School, people weren't just staring at a shop-lifting shirt.

They stared at me.

And throughout every grade in high school, I heard the gossip change.

"Shit, is that Ashley Walker?"

"The girl in the yellow top, Ashley? She's the one who stole the shirt."

"Of course she was the one who shoplifted. She's the hotter one of the three."

"Who's the third girl to the right of Adrianne's picture— Ashley? Yeah, what's her Instagram?"

"You know if she's hooked up with anybody yet?"

"She's definitely hooked up with someone."

"I wonder if she likes anyone."