Gossip Girl

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  Blair gazed at Nate, holding eye contact. Every night before she went to sleep at Yale, she’d revisited the same fantasy, like a movie playing itself on loop in her head: Nate opening the door to her tiny dorm room and sitting down on the edge of her regulation-size bed. Telling her that he’d gone out to sea to forget her, but that he couldn’t stay away. That he couldn’t live without her. That he loved her, always and forever.

  It wasn’t happening exactly as she’d imagined it. But it was still happening.

  “Can we go back to your house?” Blair asked boldly, surprising herself. She knew what would happen when she was alone with Nate. But she also knew, finally, that Nate loved her. And he deserved a second chance.

  Or a third, or a fourth…

  the last moment is the one that counts

  Vanessa ran up the steps of the First Avenue L train station at eleven thirty on New Year’s Eve, eager to get to Hollis’s party before midnight. The stairwell smelled like pee and was crowded with scantily clad revelers getting a late start on party hopping.

  She spontaneously pulled out her camera from her bright orange Brooklyn Industries bag. Last year, she’d captured footage from a midnight run in Central Park. She loved the idea of having an archive of footage of anonymous New Yorkers, celebrating the start of a new year. She began filming the packs of people swarming out of the subway station and onto the sidewalk. Avenue B had been a sketchy avenue in the eighties and nineties, but it was now dotted with gourmet coffee shops and wine bars. The entire street had the atmosphere of an enormous party, and Vanessa felt a shiver of anticipation run up her spine.

  She made her way to the address from Hollis’s text. The black door to the four-story-tall building was propped open with a broom, and strains of the Clash emanated from the top floor.

  The apartment was sticky and humid from so many bodies in such close proximity. Vanessa pulled off her puffer coat and draped it over her arm. She was wearing black jeans and a black hoodie emblazoned with the logo of her sister’s band, Sugar-Daddy. She felt plain and underdressed compared to the guys in skinny jeans and ironic T-shirts and the girls in vintage silk dresses, toasting each other with plastic cups.

  Vanessa felt a tug on the hood of her sweatshirt and turned around.

  “You came!” A slow smile spread across Hollis Lyons’s face, reaching his slate gray, thickly lashed eyes. He was tall and lean, and wore jeans and a purple-and-black-striped vest over a white button-down. A black newsboy cap sat jauntily on his head, his messy black hair sticking out from underneath. On anyone else, the outfit would’ve looked ridiculous, but on Hollis, it somehow worked. Vanessa randomly thought of a young Christian Bale in Newsies, a movie Jenny loved for no apparent reason.

  Hollis draped his arm over Vanessa’s shoulder and led her into the kitchen.

  “As you can see, we’re extremely well stocked.” He gestured to the makeshift bar like a game show host. The cracked laminate counter was littered with empty bottles and cans. “What can I get you?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “PBR?” Hollis opened the refrigerator and held out a can toward her. “Seems to be all that’s left. I thought we’d just have a couple of people, but we’re at capacity.” He passed the beer to Vanessa. “Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of drinking with my students.”

  “I’m not your student anymore!” Vanessa had to yell above the music. Le Tigre was pounding so hard through the stereo that the hardwood floor seemed to be shaking.

  “I know!” Hollis grinned and clinked his glass against hers. “Let’s go upstairs!”

  He opened the door of the apartment and Vanessa followed. He swung his leg onto a rickety fire escape ladder installed four feet above the floor, holding his beer precariously with one hand the whole time. Vanessa clambered after him, her hands gripping the freezing fire escape, and stepped onto a narrow landing. They faced a large black metal door with a note tacked on: DO NOT OPEN, ALARM WILL SOUND.

  Hollis pushed open the door. They were greeted by silence instead of a loud siren. “That’s been there for years,” he explained, walking out onto the unfinished tar-covered roof. Around them, other people were on their own rooftops, setting off rogue fireworks, toasting each other, and laughing.

  “I love it up here,” Hollis said. “It’s like a party in the sky. LA was nothing like this. In LA, you always have to get in your car to do just about anything. Here, everyone’s so connected.” He shrugged as he sipped his beer and surveyed the surrounding rooftops. “I kind of wish I had my camera.”

  “I have mine.” Vanessa pulled her camera out of her messenger bag and offered it to him. She crossed her arms over her chest and clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter. She didn’t want Hollis to know how cold she was, because she didn’t want him to suggest they head back downstairs.

  Is that so?

  Hollis took the camera carefully from her hands and pointed it in her direction. “I’m glad we came up here,” he said, slowly panning the camera so it took in the other rooftops. He stopped once he came to Vanessa. “So, tell me the story of your life. Maybe I can make it into a movie that’ll get me out of my five-hundred-square-foot apartment.”

  “Do you use all your students for story ideas?” Vanessa took a sip of PBR to stop herself from saying anything else stupid. Why was she suddenly so nervous? She’d spent plenty of time alone with Hollis, debating the merits of Cassavetes after class. But for some reason, being alone with him right now felt scary and thrilling at the same time.

  “As you pointed out: You’re not my student anymore. Now, sit on the picnic table over there and tell me more about yourself. That’s an order,” he added, a playful smile snaking across his lips.

  “What do you want to know?” Vanessa perched on a rickety picnic table surrounded by rusted lawn chairs, the cold seeping through her jeans. No guy had ever asked to film her before. She used to film Dan a lot. But she didn’t want to think about Dan right now.

  Wonder why?

  “Right now, you’re doing this little snarl thing with your upper lip, but you’re smiling the whole time. It’s cute. Has anyone ever told you you do that?” Hollis asked.

  “No.” Vanessa shook her head. She smiled while snarling? And Hollis thought it was cute?

  We all have our special talents.

  Below them, people from the bar across the street were spilling onto the sidewalk, blowing noisemakers. “It’s almost New Year’s!” someone yelled into the night air.

  “Should we go back downstairs?” Vanessa asked nervously. Hollis put the camera down on the bench and sat down next to her.

  Just then, the group clustered on the sidewalk began counting down: “Five, four, three, two, one…

  “Happy New Year!” The phrase rose like a collective chorus, from the streets below and the roofs around them.

  Hollis brushed his hand against Vanessa’s cheek, then cupped her chin and pulled her mouth toward his. “In case you thought you missed your opportunity for a New Year’s kiss,” he murmured as his lips brushed hers.

  Vanessa hesitated for a fraction of a second, as an image of Dan’s sallow face flashed across her mind. Dan, her Dan, who was back and wanted to move in together, go to school together, start a life together. But it was this thought exactly that made her kiss Hollis right back. His mouth tasted clean and cinnamony and not at all like Folgers. She knew it was wrong and that she’d have a lot of thinking to do in the morning. But up here, on the roof, so close to the winter stars, it felt so right.

  In film-speak, this is called a central conflict.

  missed connections

  From: svw@vanderWoodsen.com

  To: bcw@yaleuniversity.edu

  Time: Friday, December 31, 11:58 p.m.

  Subject: Re: Here!

  … with 2 mins to go before New Year’s! A million sorries and a thousand ridiculous reasons why I’m late but I’ll make it up to you, I promise! Just let me know where you are because th
is party needs fun and you and I are the only ones who can supply it. Xoxoxoxoxoxox Serena

  From: bcw@yaleuniversity.edu

  To: svw@vanderWoodsen.com

  Time: Saturday, January 1, 12:18 a.m.

  Subject: Re: re: Here!

  Left party early and found another place to stay. Will call you tomorrow. Happy New Year.

  Xo,

  Blair

  the honest truth and other rewards

  All of the lights in Nate’s Eighty-second Street town house were off. Nate didn’t bother to turn them on as he led Blair up the stairs to his room. They hadn’t talked at all in the cab uptown. Talking—even if only the cabdriver could hear them—felt unnecessary. Besides, it was impossible for either of them to know where to begin. Instead, they’d both stared out at the city as it passed, their hands intertwined.

  Blair followed Nate up the familiar creaky stairs toward the three rooms that made up his private third-floor space. Nate paused in the doorway.

  “Blair,” he said urgently. He planted his lips on hers. She tasted familiar, like peppermint gum and vanilla lip gloss. He’d never, ever leave Blair again. He was so thankful she’d given him another chance. He wouldn’t fuck it up this time.

  We’ve heard that one before.

  Blair pulled away, her hands resting lightly on Nate’s strong back. The moon cast a wide shaft of light on his Italian cotton duvet and part of her was eager to lie down and have Nate ravish her. But part of her—the grown-up part—needed to know that what had happened four months ago wouldn’t happen again; that Nate really was hers forever. She sat on the bed, knitting her perfectly manicured fingers together in her lap.

  “You really hurt me this summer,” she said quietly.

  It was funny. In the past, when Blair was pissed, she’d scream or throw a Manolo. Her hesitant manner was almost worse. “I know I did. I feel so guilty about that.” Nate hoped his words conveyed how sorry he was. He’d never meant to hurt her. She needed to know that. “I just had to figure out some stuff. But I know what I want, now. You,” he said huskily. He couldn’t believe the words he was saying. They seemed so cheesy, like lines from one of those black-and-white movies Blair used to force him to watch.

  A single tear fell on the hem of Blair’s dress. Normally, she never let anyone see her cry. “You left me. You left me, Nate,” she whimpered, finally letting go of all the anger and frustrations and dashed hopes she’d carried with her for the past four months.

  Nate felt his heart breaking in two as proud tears rolled down Blair’s beautiful cheeks. He wanted to kiss her again and again until everything was better. Instead, he sat beside her and placed his hand tentatively over hers.

  “I’ll never leave you again. Blair. I love you.” Nate’s stomach knotted, willing her to echo his feelings.

  “I love you too,” Blair said finally, another tear trickling down her cheek. She wasn’t sure why she was still crying. She was just so relieved and happy and homesick and excited, all at once. Nate gently wiped the tear away with his index finger.

  Blair leaned in and kissed him, hard. “I love you,” she said again.

  Together, they lay down so they were facing each other. The strap of Blair’s dress was falling down her shoulder. He reached out and eased it down, so Blair’s skin was exposed. They didn’t need to talk anymore. All they needed was each other.

  Just then, a loud buzz emanated from Blair’s Chloé clutch where it had been hastily tossed on the wood floor.

  “Let’s ignore that,” Blair said, reaching toward the waistband of Nate’s khakis. She wasn’t mad at him anymore. What he’d done last summer didn’t even matter anymore. All that mattered was this—them, together.

  breakfast of champions

  Please answer the phone, Serena whispered as she dialed Blair’s number on New Year’s morning. It was 10 a.m. and she’d been up since seven, feeling guilty about abandoning Blair last night. She wasn’t sure how to interpret Blair’s e-mail. It wasn’t bitchy, exactly.

  Not exactly.

  But what could she have done? It wasn’t like she could leave Thaddeus alone with his homophobic ditz of a date. She’d only been able to leave after Carilee passed out on Thaddeus’s bed after one too many amaretto sours. It had proved impossible to get a cab, so she’d gone back up to the party and begged Ira to let her use his town car. Finally, she’d gotten to Chuck’s party. It was crawling with L’École and Seaton Arms underclassmen she’d never met before, all eager to hang out with her. But no sign of Blair.

  Knowing Blair, she’d probably gotten a suite and was watching an Audrey Hepburn marathon and hating her life—and maybe even Serena. She felt guiltier each time she thought about it.

  Hi, you’ve reached Blair Waldorf…. Serena threw the phone on her bed in frustration.

  Just then, the intercom buzzer to the apartment rang. Serena sprang up and buzzed Blair in.

  She raced back to her bedroom, plucked a pair of black Stella McCartney for Adidas yoga pants off the floor, and yanked them over her Cosabella boy shorts, padding to the door on her size nine bare feet.

  “Hey Booger Braids!” Serena called the kindergarten-age endearment down the hall, not caring what her neighbors might think about her inappropriate greeting. “Sorry I missed you last night.”

  Blair rounded the corner of the elevator bank into the hallway. But she wasn’t alone.

  “Look who I found!” Blair announced, feeling a slight thrill of pleasure at the look of shocked surprise on Serena’s face.

  “Natie?” Serena said weakly, letting her arms fall slack against her body as she leaned against the doorframe for support. How was Nate here? How were he and Blair here, together? Blair’s hair was damp and tousled around her small, pretty face. Nate’s expression was dazed and happy, like he was in a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

  Suddenly, everything came horribly together. Blair and Nate were here with each other because they’d been with each other. Blair had spent the night at Nate’s. No wonder she was in such a good mood.

  Serena sighed, trying to will her bad feelings away. This fall she’d tagged along to a yoga class with Alysia, where the instructor told them to think of their minds as an endless blue sky, and any negative thoughts as little rain clouds that would eventually go away. She would not let her rain clouds ruin her reunion with her two best friends. “Blair, I am so sorry about last night!”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Blair shrugged, as if she hadn’t been cursing out Serena for the entire night prior to meeting Nate.

  Nate licked his lips nervously as he glanced between Serena and Blair. Serena had that sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look. Blair wore jeans and an old navy blue Ralph Lauren sweater of his. He loved the way his sweater hung off Blair’s frame, reminding him of how small she was compared to him. They were both beautiful. But Blair was his girl.

  For now, at least.

  “It’s great to see you, Serena,” Nate said awkwardly, offering his adorable, lopsided smile. Serena felt her stomach twist in jealousy. Let it go. She imagined her angry storm cloud thoughts disappearing to reveal a blue sky.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving. Let’s go out!” she announced brightly, sounding like an overcaffeinated camp counselor.

  Or a jealous best friend?

  The cab pulled up to Serendipity on Sixtieth and Third, which was equally famous for its retro-kitschy Tiffany glass lampshade decor as it was for its high-calorie desserts. Once they were seated, Serena glanced down at the cracked hexagonal floor tiles so she wouldn’t have to watch Blair and Nate gazing adoringly at each other. She didn’t get it. Didn’t Blair have a boyfriend? And wasn’t Nate supposed to be off sailing the world still?

  “So, Nate, where the hell have you been?” she asked. She poked the ice cubes in her water glass down with her straw as if she were trying to drown them.

  “All over.” Nate shrugged uncomfortably. He’d been everywhere, from sailing around Latin America
to exploring the Pacific Northwest, but he didn’t know where to start. Besides, no matter where he was, he’d been thinking about both of them. But he couldn’t say that to Serena in front of Blair. Serena’s navy blue eyes gleamed, and she looked like she wanted him to talk for hours. But he didn’t know what else to say. “We sailed without a navigation system. It was really cool,” he added vaguely.

  The waiter, a chipper man who had way too much energy for New Year’s Day morning, approached the table. “Happy New Year!” he practically shouted, causing droplets of spit to rain on the table. “Now, where are you folks from?”

  “I’ll have the eggs Benedict and coffee and he’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon that’s just a little crispy,” Blair said, ignoring the waiter’s inane question. How embarrassing to be taken as tourists. Then again, this was a tourist trap. Sure, they used to come here all the time when they were little and split a frozen hot chocolate while their nannies gossiped over coffee. But that was years ago. Didn’t Serena realize they weren’t kids anymore?

  Serena smiled tightly. “I’ll have coffee. And toast,” she said, brushing away the menu. She didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “You’re not eating? That’s no fun!” Blair wrinkled her nose. “She’ll have chocolate chip pancakes. With extra whipped cream,” she announced.

  “Sure thing, captain!” The waiter dorkily saluted her. Blair rolled her eyes.

  “So are you back for good?” Serena asked, turning to Nate. He looked gaunt and more careworn than she remembered. She wanted to call the waiter back and order extra pancakes and sausages and eggs for Nate, then feed them to him until he regained his strength.

  Nate shrugged. “Maybe I’ll borrow the Charlotte and do some sailing,” he said. The boat was docked in Newport, Rhode Island, for the winter. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Chips was still in Florida, and Nate doubted he was going to set sail again anytime soon. And now that he knew Blair didn’t hate him, he didn’t really want to go anywhere. “I could train for the America’s Cup,” he added. That would be pretty cool. He could sail up and down the East Coast during the week, see Blair on the weekends, and maybe catch up with Serena for coffee on Monday mornings. It would be perfect.