There’s the pit, Ashanti screeches, as she runs toward the rectangle of sand by the track at Glen Cove High School in New York. This is the spot, she tells me, that she used to always leap into when she’d do the triple jump on her high school track team. “See, this is the girls’ line,” she pointed out. She then walks back five feet and proudly says, “And this is the boys’ line – where I used to jump from.”

You might not expect it from looking at Ashanti (she's only 5'3"), but she can definitely play with the big boys-and I'm not just talking about track and field. The 21-year-old, whose last name is Douglas, is music's biggest new star this year, the one who's already been crowned Princess of R&B. "It's a little heavy," Ashanti says with a loud laugh, referring to her title. "But I'm doing my part." That's an understatement. In March, three of her singles (she's featured on Ja Rule's "Always On Time” and Fat Joe's "What's Luv?" as well as her own song, "Foolish") snagged spots in the top 10 on Billboard's Hot 100 Chart, a feat previously achieved only by the Beatles. But why stop there? "Foolish" held the #1 spot for 10 weeks (longer than any song so far in 2002) and her self-titled debut album took the #1 spot when it came out in April, too. 

Though guys rule the hip-hop world, Ashanti's quickly proving she's an equal player. Sounds tough to me, but Ashanti's completely confident-what else would you expect from a girl named after a tribe in Ghana where women hold considerable power? 
 

We're cruising in Glen Cove, so Ashanti can show me some of her favorite hometown spots. The top of her 2003 Mercedes-Benz convertible is down (how cool do I feel?) and she's popping Sour Patch kids into her mouth as I fish her ringing cell phone out of her bag. Ashanti's totally like one of my friends, which is probably why girls relate to the songs she writes. 

Take her first single, "Foolish." The song's about knowing you're in a bad relationship, yet not being able to leave. "My experience was more like the song's hook: 'My days are cold without you but I'm hurting while I'm with you,"' she says. "Like, when you're here you get on my nerves, but when you're gone I'm thinking about what you're doing. A lot of guys cheat on their girls and vice versa. The song just explains real life."

So how closely does the song reflect Ashanti's life? She murmurs something about it being about a relationship that's "more recent than old. I'm more like 'Unfoolish,"' Ashanti says, referring to her remix in which the girl finally dumps the guy. "When it comes to guys, you have to have your head on straight. I'm no gullible fool."

Ashanti had a boyfriend whom she began dating when she was 16, but they're not together now. "Since everything started heating up [with my career], there's not much time for a major commitment," Ashanti explains, smoothing out her short red cotton skirt, which perfectly matches her Juicy tank. "Being with [my label] Murder Inc., I'm surrounded by bugged-out gangster guys all the time. So it's just a big trust thing. It's a privacy issue, too. [My ex and I] are cool though. We're still friends." 

Yeah, I can get how her boyfriend may have been a bit jealous as she was hanging out with Ja and Tah (that would be with Ja Rule and Cadillac Tah to you and me). They don't exactly seem like the kind of people you want to mess with-their label's called Murder Inc.! But Ashanti shrugs off my concerns about the name.

"It's like we're murdering the industry with our music," Ashanti explains. "Like, everything is so hot that we're killing them."
Okay, now I feel silly about being sketched out by the name Murder Inc. Ashanti clearly isn't-and anyway, she's dealt with a lot worse at record labels during her career than a harsh-sounding name. She started off with Jive Records when she was 14, but she says, "They wanted me to be more pop, but that wasn't me. That wasn't where my heart was." Then three years later she moved to Atlanta to work with  Noontime Records, which is part of Epic, but again it didn't pan out. 

"Everyone at Noontime was really young and they didn't know what they were doing," she says. "Your first impression in the music industry is really important, and I didn't want to start out sloppy and have to make a comeback later.”

At first, no one was sure a sweet little R&B singer would be a good match with Murder Inc.'s thug image, but she signed with the label in 2001 anyway. And these days she's gushing about her label mates. “Deep down they're all teddy bears," she says. (The guys even stopped by her house on Mother's Day and brought flowers for her mom.) "They all have good hearts, especially when it's people they care about" I always feel safe when I'm with them. When we go out to a club, they always surround me so I can't get no play! Sometimes they be overdoing it, but it's cool because it's all a lot of love. I'm like their little sister." 

Don't think that means they're bossing her around, though. Sometimes it's more like Ashanti's telling them what to do. For example, she refuses to "get out there with a little thongy thong on in a video. I like to keep my stuff classy and sexy, not raunchy." And, she also convinced her producers to shoot the video for "Happy" in Glen Cove instead of Los Angeles. "1 said to Irv [Gotti, the head of Murder Inc.], 'There's a beach just up the street from my house,’" Ashanti says. "He just said, 'We'll see.' But I knew I was going to win him over."
 

We pull into the Glen Cove High School parking lot and meet up with Ashanti's mom (who's also her manager), dad, sister, and the other family members who've tagged along. They want to spend a few more minutes with Ashanti before she tours again. Their family is ridiculously close: Eleven family members dropped by our photo shoot; Ashanti and her older cousin Kinshasa Douglas have their own language, full of odd-sounding words like "de-dun-dun-dun," which refers to designer knockoffs; and her younger sister, Keenashia, 13, isn't even jealous that Ashanti gets all of the attention-honestly. They're like best friends, even though Keenashia confesses that Ashanti "used to beat me up all the time [when we were growing up]. She stuffed me in cabinets and hid me from my mom."

Ashanti leads me toward her high school's Wall of Fame, where all-county athletes (the top competitors in their event in the entire county) have their pictures hanging. Ashanti made the wall for the triple jump-you know, the event where she used to jump from the boys' line. Ashanti's mom tells me that she cried when the photo went up. Soon everyone else starts bragging about how awesome Ashanti was at track. She broke the school's triple- jump record of 29 inches with her jump of 34 inches and was even scouted by Princeton University and the U.S. Olympic team.

"Try to find me," she challenges while we're standing in front of the wall. I'm a little worried I'll pick the wrong person and feel like an idiot, so I take my time scanning all the pictures. It turns out to be easy. Ashanti looks pretty much the same as she did six years ago. We're making fun of the guys' old-school haircuts in the photos ("That guy was your first kiss!" her mom says, laughing) when a quiet voice says, "Ashanti?"

After a few seconds of oh-my-Gods and how-are-yous, I find out she's Mary Berhang, the director of health, physical education, and athletics at Glen Cove High School. "Kids from other high schools come in here, look at the wall, and say, 'There she is!"' Mary says. "Then they run outside and get five more players to bring in to see Ashanti's picture." 

As Ashanti leads me through her school, she stops at a display case of trophies and photos to point out people she was friends with. "1 had a favorite janitor, too." she tells me, laughing. "I'd yell, 'Angelo!' when he was all the way down the hall. He called me Loudmouth and used to say, 'She has microphones in her lungs.' " 

Though Ashanti won't admit she was popular in high school  ("I don't want to sound cocky or nothing”), I can tell it's true. She used to be a cheerleader and was even nominated to run for student council despite the fact that she didn't even volunteer to be a candidate. "I was like, This [nomination] needs to go to another person because I'm already doing too many things. I had a record deal!" Ashanti remembers.

But it seems as if her favorite activity was testing herself against the guys. When we pass through the gym, Ashanti darts into the empty weight room. "I used to do the ab machine and challenge the boys," she tells me while demonstrating how the machine works. "I'd beat them, too." 

This is how it had always been, according to her cousin Kinshasa, who became more like a sister since Ashanti often stayed over at her house in Westbury, the town next to Glen Cove, when Ashanti's mom was traveling for work.

"When the kids would race each other, Shani [Ashanti's nickname] would run with the boys," says Kinshasa, 28, a high school teacher who still lives in Westbury. "And nine times out of 10 she'd win. The boys would be like, 'We're not messing with Shani because she'll kick our butts!"'
 

Ashanti's craving a white chocolate mocha, so we decide to head to Starbucks. As we leave the high school, we pass by the football field and Ashanti says, "I graduated out there. I sang the national anthem [at the ceremony] and forgot the second verse. I had it written on a piece of paper and my choral instructor told me, 'Shan don't lose that paper.' I'm like, 'I'm not going to lose it!' and then five seconds before I was to sing, I lost it!" 

After we get our coffees, we cruise through Glen Cove where Ashanti seems totally at home. But why wouldn't she? The mayor gave her the key to the city on May 3 and officially named that date Ashanti Douglas Day. Despite the fact that she's a huge star, she still goes to the local  7-11 for Slurpees, the CVS for deodorant, and the neighborhood garage to get her Mercedes inspected. 

As we drive around, Ashanti proudly shows me the day care center that her grandfather started for low-income families, as well as the bowling alley and drive-in movie theater where she used to hang out. I'm back to the two-friends-just-cruising-around-town feeling until a car zooms by when a small boy who recognizes the star pops his head out the backseat window and yells "Hi, Ashanti!" "Hey!" she yells back, sticking her hand through the open roof to wave. Then she leans forward to turn up the music, like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. I tell her she's so down-to-earth that it's way too easy to forget she's got Ja Rule on speed dial.

"My goal was to let everyone connect with me," Ashanti thoughtfully responds. "I'm someone who's not all glitz and glamour, that you can relate to.” Mission accomplished.

Going Home With Ashanti (www.ym.com article)

In our September issue, R&B star Ashanti took us back to her hometown of Glen Cove, Long Island. Here's more from that exclusive interview — Ashanti on her friends, her school life, and being a singer.

What was it was like growing up in Glen Cove?
It was cool. Mine was one of the most diverse high schools on Long Island, so I had a good time. It wasn't a crazy life, but it was cool to come back to Glen Cove after you went to party in Queens or Brooklyn or whatever.

What classes did you like in school?
The best class was honors English — it was really easy for me to write essays and things like that. I guess that's where the writing comes from — it inspires the songwriting. I used to win awards [for my writing]. Every year for Black History Month and Martin Luther King's birthday, they would make us write essays. I think I won [the essay award] two years in a row.

Did you keep a journal as a kid?
Kind of — I had a little diary; it was a birthday gift. It was a cute purple diary with a key and everything. I used to write in it when I was in middle school and junior high. It was just things like ... "Nikki took my Barbie doll." It started out like that. Then it was boys, who I liked, school dances. But it wasn't anything like poems.

You were a superstar on the track team [Ashanti used to compete in the triple jump] — what other activities did you do?
I was in the drama club, I was in Spanish club, I was in political science, I was in human resources. I did a lot in school. I was in the African-American culture club. It was important because my grandfather was a really active political person in my town, so I followed in his footsteps. It was important for me to be involved in a lot of things that went down.

Tell us about your group of friends who were known as the Magnificent Seven.
Ha ha! You know about that! It was seven girls — I think we started it in junior high. We weren't cornballs, but we weren't juveniles either. We hung out, we went to all the parties together, we used to make up dances and do our dance routines at the parties. There was one dance we did I remember called "Shake Your Rump!"

How does it feel coming home again and being a big star?
It's really cool because I didn't have too many enemies — it's a nice area, really down to earth. I'm just happy that everyone is really happy for me in Glen Cove.

What's it like being a woman in a male-dominated world like hip-hop?
It feels wonderful, because I believe women have the talent. If you're holding your weight in the game, and you're not just a pretty face — you get respected. I'm cool with everybody — Ja Rule, Fat Joe. Even though it's male-dominated, people respect you when you're good at your craft.

What did it feel like when your self-titled album debuted at number one?
That was honestly bananas! It was Celine Dion's second week on release, so I [was] like, "You know what? I'm content with being number two — it's not a problem. Two is a good number." But when I was starting to get the numbers on the computer, I was like, "Oh my gosh, you can't be serious!" I had to keep lining my name up with the numbers to make sure I was reading the right thing.

Is it cool that your music appeals to so many different types of people?
That honestly feels amazing. We set out to make a hot, hot, hot album and we wanted to accomplish a lot, but I think this is far beyond what we all expected. I'll never forget, I went to do a sound check in Tuscon, Arizona, and an 80-year-old lady was singing "Foolish," and I was like, "You can't be serious!" It was just bananas to see how different levels of people to relate to my music.

— Ali Gazan
Photo: Joseph Cultic