Her mother left, and Serena rolled over and stared out her window for a minute, watching birds take flight from the bronzed treetops surrounding the roof of the Met. Then she reached for the phone and pressed the speed-dial button for her brother Erik’s number at Brown. Whenever she needed reassurance, it was the first button she pressed. With her other hand she clicked the power button on her TV’s remote. SpongeBob SquarePants was on Nickelodeon. She stared at it without really seeing it, listening as the phone rang three times, then four.
On the sixth ring, Erik answered. “Yeah?”
“Hey,” Serena said. “What are you doing up?”
“I’m not up,” Erik said. He coughed loudly. “Oh, man.”
Serena grinned. “Sorry. Hard night, huh?”
Erik moaned in response.
“So, the reason I’m calling is I just found out that Blair’s mom is getting married to this guy, Cyrus. I don’t even think they’ve known each other all that long, but whatever. Anyway, I have to be a bridesmaid, and Blair is the maid of honor, which means … I don’t know what it means. But I’m pretty sure it’s going to stink.”
She waited for Erik to answer. “I guess you’re too hung-over to talk about this now, huh?” she said when he didn’t.
“Kind of,” Erik said.
“Okay, fine. I’ll call you later,” Serena said, disappointed. “Hey, I was also thinking about visiting you up there sometime soon. Like maybe next weekend?”
“Okay,” Erik yawned.
“Okay. Bye,” Serena said and hung up.
She rolled out from under the covers, stood up, and shuffled into the bathroom, where she examined herself in the mirror. Her gray boxer shorts were sagging in the butt, and her Mr. Bubble T-shirt was twisted around and hanging off one shoulder. Her straight blond hair was plastered to the back of her neck, and a thin line of crusted drool had dried on one cheek.
Of course, she still looked hot.
“Fatso,” Serena said to her reflection. She reached for her toothbrush and began to brush her teeth slowly, thinking about Erik. Even though he seemed to party even harder than she did, he’d managed not to get kicked out of boarding school and had gotten into Brown. Erik was the good son, while Serena was the bad daughter. It was so unfair.
She furrowed her eyebrows determinedly as she scrubbed at her molars.
So what if she’d been kicked out of boarding school, her grades were only mediocre, and her only extracurricular was this weird movie she had made for the Constance Billard School senior film festival? She was going to show everyone that she wasn’t as bad as they thought. She was going to show them by getting into a good college like Brown and becoming someone.
Not that she wasn’t already someone. Serena was the girl everyone remembered. The one everyone loved to hate. She didn’t have to try to shine: she shined brighter than the rest of them already.
She spat a wad of toothpaste into the sink.
Yes, she was definitely heading up to Brown next weekend, even if it was a long shot. She might get lucky. She usually did.
one lucky westsider, one lonely one
“Freak,” Jenny Humphrey whispered to her reflection.
She stood in front of the mirror holding her breath and pushing her stomach out as far as it would go. It still didn’t stick out as far as her boobs, which were enormous for a ninth-grader. Her pink nightgown fell in a tentlike triangle from her breasts to her knees, hiding her protruding stomach and her short little legs. She had grown out instead of up like Serena van der Woodsen, the senior at Constance Billard whom Jenny idolized. Jenny’s boobs erased any hope of her ever looking remotely cool, like Serena. They were the bane of her existence.
Jenny let out her breath and pulled her nightgown over her head so she could try on the new black tube top she’d bought at Urban Outfitters after school yesterday. She yanked it over her shoulders and down over her boobs and looked at her reflection. No longer did she have two gigantic boobs but one monster slug of a uniboob. She looked deformed.
Pushing her dark brown curly hair behind her ears, Jenny turned away from the mirror, disgusted. She pulled on a pair of old Constance Billard sweatpants and headed out to the kitchen for some tea. Her older brother, Dan, was just coming out of his room. He always looked scary in the morning, his hair wild and his eyes bleary. But this morning his eyes were huge and bright, as if he’d been up all night drinking coffee.
“So?” Jenny said as they filed into the kitchen.
She watched as Dan spooned some instant coffee grounds into a mug and ran the hot tap water over them. He wasn’t particularly discerning when it came to coffee. He stood by the sink silently stirring the stuff with a spoon, watching the brown froth spin round and round.
“I know you went out with Serena last night,” Jenny said, crossing her arms impatiently. “So what happened? Was it amazing? What’d she wear? What’d you do? What’d she say?”
Dan took a sip of his coffee. Jenny always got a little overexcited when it came to Serena. He enjoyed teasing her.
“Oh, come on, tell me something. What’d you guys do?” Jenny insisted.
Dan shrugged. “We ate ice cream.”
Jenny put her hands on her hips. “Wow. Hot date.”
Dan just smiled. He didn’t care if it drove his sister nuts; he wasn’t going to let go of any piece of last night. It was too precious, especially the kissing part. In fact, he’d just written a poem about it so he could relish it forever. He’d called the poem “Sweet.”
“So what else? What did you do? What did she say?” Jenny prodded.
Dan filled his mug with more hot water. “I don’t know—,” he started to say. Then the phone rang.
Both Dan and Jenny leapt to get it. But Dan was faster.
“Hey Dan, it’s Serena.”
Dan pressed the phone close to his ear and walked out of the kitchen and over to the window seat in the den. Through the dust-covered pane he could see kids Rollerblading in Riverside Park and the bright autumn sun sparkling on the Hudson River beyond. Dan took a deep, calming breath. “Hey,” he said.
“Listen,” Serena said. “I know this is kind of a weird thing to ask, but I have to be a bridesmaid in this big wedding in three weeks, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me, you know, as my date.”
“Sure,” Dan said, before she could say more.
“It’s Blair Waldorf’s mother’s wedding,” Serena said. “You know, the girl I used to be friends with?”
“Sure,” Dan said again. It sounded like Serena not only wanted him to go with her, she needed him to go, for moral support. It made Dan feel important, and it gave him courage. He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper, just in case Jenny was listening in the other room. “I’d really like to go up to Brown with you, too,” he said. “If that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Serena paused. “Um, I think I’m going up this Friday after school. We have half-days on Friday. Do you?”
It kind of sounded like she’d forgotten about asking Dan to come with her. But Dan decided he was hearing her wrong.
“I get out of school at two on Fridays,” he told her.
“Okay, so you could meet me at Grand Central. I’m going to get the train up to our country house in Ridgefield and pick up the caretaker’s car there,” she said.
“Sounds good,” Dan said.
“It’ll be great,” said Serena, sounding a bit more enthusiastic. “So thanks for agreeing to come to the wedding with me. It might be fun.”
“I hope so,” Dan said. He didn’t see how he could not have fun with her. But he’d have to find something decent to wear. He should have kept that Barneys tux after all.
“Um, I’d better go. The maid is yelling for me to come eat my breakfast,” Serena said. “So I’ll call you later on, and we can make plans for next weekend, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
“’Bye.”
“’Bye,” said Dan. He hung up before he could say somet
hing else. I love you.
“That was her, right?” Jenny asked, when he returned to the kitchen.
Dan shrugged.
“What’d she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, right. You were whispering,” Jenny accused.
Dan pulled a bagel out of a paper bag on the kitchen counter and examined it. Surprise, surprise, it was moldy. Their dad wasn’t the best housekeeper in the world. It was hard to remember to shop for groceries or mop the floors when you were busy writing essays on why some poet no one had ever heard of was the next Allen Ginsberg. Most of the time Dan and Jenny survived on Chinese takeout.
Dan threw out the bag of moldy bagels and found an unopened bag of potato chips in the cupboard. He ripped open the bag and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. They were better than nothing.
Jenny made a face at him. “Do you have to be such an annoying idiot?” she said. “I already know it was Serena on the phone. Why can’t you just tell me what she said?”
“She wants me to go to a wedding with her. That Blair girl’s mother is getting married, and Serena is going to be a bridesmaid. She wants me there with her,” Dan explained.
“You’re going to Mrs. Waldorf’s wedding?” Jenny gasped. “Where is it?”
Dan shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” he said.
Jenny bristled. “I can’t believe this. It’s like, all this time you and Dad were so totally against all those fancy girls I go to school with and their ritzy families. And now you’re like, going out with the queen of all of them and getting invited to incredible weddings. It’s so unfair!”
Dan shoved another handful of potato chips in his mouth. “Sorry,” he said with his mouth full.
“Well, I just hope you haven’t forgotten that I was the one who like, told you that you even had a chance with Serena,” Jenny huffed. She flung her used teabag angrily into the sink. “Do you realize that wedding’s probably going to be in like, Vogue? I can’t believe you’re going.”
But Dan was barely listening. In his mind he was riding on a train, holding hands with Serena and gazing into the deep blue depths of her eyes.
“Did she say anything about tomorrow?” Jenny asked him.
Dan stared at her blankly.
“Me and Vanessa and Serena are supposed to meet at Vanessa’s boyfriend’s bar in Williamsburg to go over the film we helped Serena make for the Constance film festival. Make sure it’s all set to go.”
Another blank look.
“I thought maybe she would have invited you.”
No response.
Jenny sighed, exasperated. Dan was hopeless, she realized, so entirely lovesick that she might as well forget about trying to get any information out of him. He hadn’t even asked why she was wearing a black tube top around the house on a Saturday morning. Suddenly Jenny felt extremely lonely. She had always relied on her brother for company, but now he was flaking out on her.
She definitely needed to find some other friends.
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR
This time of year is usually a little dull, with nothing much happening until the holiday party season. But B’s mother has given us all something to talk about. I mean, how long have she and her boyfriend known each other, anyway? Like two or three months? If I were going to spend the rest of my life with someone, or even a weekend, I’d want to know them better than that. Anyway, I’ve heard he is seriously tacky, so the wedding is definitely going to be a sight to behold. And how is’ B going to have any fun when she has S to deal with?? I smell a catfight, and it’s not going to be pretty. Yay! I can’t wait!
Your E-Mail
Q: Hey GG,
I don’t know if you knew this already, but B’s gonna have a new stepbro. I’m in his class at school, and he’s kind of out there. But he’s also pretty cute. ;)
—BronxKat
A: Dear BronxKat,
All I can say is this whole wedding thing is looking better and better!
—GG
Q: dear gg,
i heard b’s dad gave yale like a million dollars so she doesn’t even have to try very hard to get in. anyways i bet n and b aren’t going to wind up at the same college next year, what do you think?
—bookwrm
A: Dear bookwrm,
I’m not making any bets yet. B is more unpredictable than she seems….
—GG
SPEAKING OF COLLEGE …
Now’s the time when we’re all supposed to be freaking out, looking at all the pictures in the college catalogs we’ve sent for, imagining ourselves talking to hot boys on green lawns in front of massive, ivy-clad, brick buildings. Now’s the time when we’re supposed to look back at all those tests we blew off or volunteer work we didn’t do and kick ourselves for being so stupid and lazy. Now’s the time when the goody-goodies are applying early-decision and making us normal people feel like crap. Well, I refuse to let it get me down. Here’s my recipe for senior stress management: Mix one gorgeous boy with a nice new pair of leather boots, a new cashmere sweater, a long night out, and several drinks. Stir in a very late morning and hot chocolate in bed. Begin working on your college applications when you’re good and ready. See? There’s no need to get all stressed out.
Sightings
N at Asphalt Green, playing tennis with his dad. B at the cinema on Eighty-sixth, watching some action flick with her little brother. Guess she’d rather watch guys shooting at each other from burning helicopters than hang out at home with Mom, discussing dresses and cakes and caterers. S buying perfume at Barneys. I swear, that girl is in there practically every day. D scribbling in a notebook down by the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin. Another love poem about S perhaps? J returning a black tube top at Urban Outfitters.
More soon!
You know you love me,
gossip girl
b is determined to make n want her
“Come and have pancakes, darling,” Mrs. Waldorf called down the hall, hoping to unearth Blair from her room. “I had Myrtle make them nice and thin, just the way you like them.”
Blair opened her bedroom door and stuck her head out. “Hold oh,” she said. “I’m getting dressed.”
“There’s no need, dear. Cyrus and I are still in our jammies,” Blair’s mother said perkily. She retied the cord on her green silk dressing gown. Cyrus was wearing one just like it. They’d bought them yesterday at Saks after sizing wedding rings at Cartier. Then they’d gone to the dark and cozy King Cole bar in the St. Regis Hotel to drink champagne. Cyrus had even joked about getting a room. It was so romantic.
Gross.
“Just hold on,” Blair repeated stubbornly, and her mother retreated to the dining room. Blair sat on the edge of her bed, looking at her reflection in the closet mirror. She’d lied to her mother just then. In truth, she’d been up for hours and was already completely dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck, and boots. She’d even painted her nails dark brown to suit her mood.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Not Blair—at least not today.
She’d spent her entire Saturday feeling pissed off. Then she’d gone to bed pissed off, and she’d woken up pissed off on Sunday morning. In fact, it looked like she was going to spend the rest of her life permanently pissed off. Nate hadn’t tried to see her since Friday night, so he was obviously more than a little disappointed about what had happened. She was still a virgin. Her mother was marrying an obnoxious idiot. And the date they’d chosen for their wedding happened to be Blair’s most important birthday ever.
Oh, yes, her life definitely sucked, big-time.
Since it couldn’t suck any worse than it already did, and because she was hungry, Blair got up and headed out to the dining room to eat pancakes with her mother and Cyrus.
“There she is,” Cyrus boomed
loudly. He patted the seat next to him. “Come, sit.”
Blair did as she was told. She picked up the platter laden with pancakes and forked a few onto her plate.
“Don’t take the one with the hole in the middle,” her eleven-year-old brother, Tyler, told her. “It’s mine.” Tyler was wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and had a red bandanna tied around his head. He wanted to be a rock-and-roll journalist and modeled himself after Cameron Crowe, the movie director who’d toured with Led Zeppelin when he was only like fifteen. Tyler had a huge collection of vinyl and kept an antique hookah pipe under his bed. Not that he’d ever used it. Blair was concerned that Tyler was turning into a freak who was going to have trouble making friends. Her parents thought it was cute, as long as he wore his Brooks Brothers suit to St. George’s every morning like a good boy and got into a good boarding school.
In the world Blair and her friends lived in, everyone’s parents were like that—as long as their kids didn’t screw up and embarrass them, they could basically do whatever they wanted. In fact, that was the mistake Serena had made. She’d been caught screwing up, and getting caught was unacceptable. She ought to have known better.
Blair poured maple syrup over her pancakes and then rolled each of them up like a burrito, just the way she liked them.
Her mother snagged a grape from the fruit bowl and popped it into Cyrus’s mouth. He hummed happily as he chewed and swallowed it. Then he puckered up his lips like a fish, begging for more. Mrs. Waldorf giggled and fed him another one. Blair rolled her pancake burritos around in their syrup, ignoring their revolting display.
“I’ve been on the phone with the man at the St. Claire all morning,” her mother told her. “He’s very flamboyant and very concerned about the dÉcor. He’s hilarious.”
“Flamboyant? You mean gay. It’s okay to say ‘gay,’ Mom,” Blair said.
“Yes, well …,” her mother stuttered uncomfortably. She didn’t like to say the word gay. Not after having been married to one—it was too humiliating.
“We’re trying to decide if we should book a few suites in the hotel,” Cyrus said. “You girls could use one for changing into your gowns and doing your hair. And who knows—some of our guests might get so tipsy they’ll want to crash out until morning.” He laughed and winked at Blair’s mother.
You Know You Love Me Page 4
