With a neat collection of cots arrayed to form a kind of miniature floor plan, she has been waiting here - along with her mother, daughter, husband, grandfather, great-grandmother, her aunt and a family friend - to find out what comes next. It's a question no one seems prepared to answer.
"This is something no one ever imagined to experience," said Rhonda Smith, Ashley's mother. "This ain't a home for nobody."
But finding more permanent homes for the family - and tens of thousands like them - is an unparalleled challenge in modern American history.
Most who left New Orleans couldn't have known they were facing indefinite exile from the city.
"We just had maybe a couple of changes of clothes, and that was about it," Rhonda said.
Officials still have no idea how long it will be before anyone can return to New Orleans, or what the city will look like when the recovery effort is complete.
With no firm answers, Ashley and her family have been left in a kind of strange limbo, unsure of where they should be looking to start anew.
"We (are) like them," Rhonda said, speaking about state and federal agencies dealing with the crisis. "Lost for directions. We don't have a clue."
For now, there is no comprehensive plan for the thousands at the River Center. Announcements occasionally blare through the loudspeaker for buses going to Texas or to Shreveport, La., where other groups of evacuees are gathered.
"I ain't heard nothing about people that want to go to Hawaii," joked Darrell SantaCruz, Rhonda's father.
But as the Red Cross and other agencies continue to grapple with the sheer scale of the evacuee population in Baton Rouge, resettlement isn't yet a priority.
"Right now, the main way people are getting out is through churches, volunteers and family members," said Jeff Walker, a spokesman for the Red Cross in Baton Rouge. "Food and shelter is what we do."
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Rhonda's sister, Debra, said there were rumors that evacuees were receiving more monetary assistance in Texas. But she wasn't planning to board one of the buses.
"I don't think it's true," she said. "Anyhow, what you gonna do to survive if you don't have no job?"
In the meantime, the family is trying mightily to adjust to a life alongside thousands of strangers. Security is a constant concern, Ashley said.
"You don't know who you're staying with in here," she said. "You don't really have any safe, secure places up in here."
Basic concerns
With little to occupy the days, smaller worries become hot topics.
"Everybody's been talking about the sauerkraut," Darrell said, describing a meal that included custard, fruit cocktail and sauerkraut - all heaped into a pile.
"It would have been one thing if the plate had compartments," he said. "But that's insult to injury, under the circumstances."
Nearby, 8-month-old Lanaya - Ashley's daughter - didn't seem at all troubled by the food. A pile of donated Gerber jars was stacked underneath a cot.
"She's the happiest thing going in the bunch," said Irma Maxwell, a close friend of Rhonda's who evacuated along with the family. "She's the glue holding everything together."
Maxwell was as restless as anyone to get out of the shelter - "I'm going crazy without work!" - but said everyone was blessed to be somewhere with a bed, plenty of food and an army of volunteers.
"Nobody wants to be here," she said. "But right now it's a necessity for us to be here until we can do better."
Contact the State & National Editor at stntdesk@unc.edu.
