Gossip Girl

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  “Okay,” Hank said, looking disappointed as he reached over Dan to open the door of the truck.

  “Thanks!” Dan yelled as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and began making his way to his apartment three blocks up. New York was freezing, but the air felt redemptive. He felt like he could run up a mountain.

  He bounded up the stairs two at a time. Maybe it had been the outdoor air, but he barely felt winded as he reached the fifth-floor landing outside the apartment. Or maybe it was the fact that, unlike his roommate at Evergreen, who’d hooked up with almost every girl in the Victoria Woodhull Vegan Womyn’s Co-Op, Dan would never have to go through his life uncertain that he was loved and in love. He dug into his khakis and found his keys, held on a simple lanyard key chain that Jenny had made one summer at craft camp.

  He opened the door and heard the muted sound of a film playing in Vanessa’s room. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he surprised her.

  “Honey, I’m hooooome!” Dan called eagerly. He cracked a grin at how simple and lovely the phrase sounded. He swung the door to his bedroom open.

  “Dan!” Vanessa was lying on his bed, naked save for her red boy shorts with black X’s all over them. But she wasn’t alone. She was with a guy. An equally naked guy.

  Dan gaped, unsure of what was going on. Was this a bad joke or a dream or some weird sweat lodge vision?

  Vanessa scrambled out of bed and stood up, holding the blue flannel duvet around her body. “I can explain,” she stuttered helplessly. Her face was flushed, her lips looked red and bee-stung, and her dark eyes were wide and confused.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Dan heard himself asking. He felt like he was a character in one of those lame romantic comedies that Jenny loved. In just a second he’d find out that this wasn’t Vanessa, but her long-lost twin, who’d sneaked into the Humphreys’ house to hide her boyfriend from the Feds.

  Right.

  “I’ll leave you guys alone,” Hollis said bluntly. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled on his T-shirt. He shot Vanessa one last, long look, and then stalked out of the bedroom and out the front door.

  Vanessa felt rooted to the spot. She wanted to run after Hollis, and she wanted to comfort Dan, all at once. This was very bad.

  The understatement of the year.

  Dan could feel the tears beginning to well up in his hazel eyes. He felt his heart clench. Was this what having a heart attack felt like?

  He looked around for something to throw. He needed to hear something shattering, because that was what his heart was doing right now. He picked up Vanessa’s video camera and hurled it, as hard as he could, against the opposite wall. Instead of breaking, it bounced onto the floor, then rolled under the bed.

  Art is indestructible.

  “Fuck you,” Dan shouted. “And by the way, you can’t live here anymore!”

  He stormed out of the room and through the front door of his apartment, slamming the door behind him, and hurtled down the fire stairs. His hands were shaking. He was home, but he felt further away from anything he’d ever known.

  Sometimes home is where the heart breaks.

  that’s what makes b a fighter

  “Here’s good!” Serena announced to her driver as the Lincoln Town Car sailed past Nate’s limestone town house on Eighty-second. Normally, Serena was embarrassed that her agent demanded she be provided a town car for transportation to and from Coffee at the Palace shoots, but today, she was thankful that she could easily slip away from the soundstage.

  “Sure thing,” the driver said easily.

  Serena slipped out of the car and bounded up the snowy steps of Nate’s town house. As she ran, she didn’t notice the fresh set of footprints on the snow leading up to the door.

  She yanked off her ugly red Hermès goatskin driving gloves, a gift from her chain-smoking LA publicist, and stuffed them in the terra-cotta planter sitting to the left of the entrance. She pressed Nate’s buzzer with her red polished fingernails. It was dark outside, and the freshly falling snow made Serena feel nostalgic. Always on the first snowfall of the year, she, Blair, and Nate would meet for hot chocolate, then sit on the steps of the Met, not caring how cold it was. Maybe she and Nate could go there tonight.

  “Hello?” Nate’s voice sounded sleepy. Had she woken him up?

  Not really.

  “Natie!” she yelled into the intercom, trying to calm herself. She didn’t want to just burst in his room and profess her love. “It’s me and it’s freezing!”

  “Serena?” His crackly voice sounded incredulous through the intercom.

  “No, silly, it’s your mom. Of course it’s me!” she said impatiently.

  “Oh.” Nate paused and Serena held her breath. She didn’t have another script to follow. Nate had to let her in. “Come in,” he said finally, pressing the buzzer long and loud.

  Serena pulled open the door, ran up the stairs, and burst into Nate’s bedroom. One of the best things about Nate’s house was the fact that the third floor was entirely his. When they were younger, they used to pretend his bedroom, den, and bathroom were their own private apartment.

  Some people still like playing house.

  “Hello?” Serena called again, hearing her voice bounce off the dark oak ceiling.

  Nate walked out of the bathroom, wearing a wrinkled green T-shirt and green plaid boxers. Serena looked gorgeous and healthy and happy, all in one spectacular package. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that Blair was still showering. “What are you doing here?” Nate asked. Blair had said Serena was at rehearsal all day.

  “I was just in the neighborhood!” Serena wandered over to his dresser and picked up a model sailboat. She passed it gently from hand to hand as if playing a game of catch with herself. “So, what have you been up to today? It’s freezing.”

  “Not much,” Nate mumbled. How long had Blair been in the shower? Ten minutes, fifteen minutes? She usually took forever, but he wasn’t sure how much time he had.

  To do what, exactly?

  Nate felt confused. Just as he’d always felt whenever he was with Serena and Blair at the same time. Why did they have to be so confusing? He loved Blair. He was following Blair to school, for God’s sake. So then why did Serena, with her deep blue eyes that reminded him of the Pacific Ocean and her long limbs, tight and taut like the strings of a tennis racket, make him feel… well, make him feel the way he felt right now.

  Serena put down the tiny sailboat model and picked up another, larger ship with three tiny canvas sails. Ever since she could remember, Nate had been obsessed with sailboats. She knew she was avoiding what she really wanted to say, but now that she was here, there were so many emotions bubbling inside her, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

  “You know, we’re supposed to wrap Coffee at the Palace next week. After that, I don’t have any projects. My parents were hoping I’d start at Yale in the spring, but I think I need an adventure.” She felt her heart hammering in her chest. “Are you going sailing again? Maybe I could come,” she offered, her face breaking into a sunny smile.

  “It’s not that much of an adventure. A lot of knot tying,” Nate said nonsensically. He knew he should explain that he and Blair were together now, and that he was going to Yale with her, but he couldn’t. Instead, he imagined what it would be like on the ocean with Serena.

  “I like tying knots. I showed you how to tie your shoes when we were kids, remember? Take me along. I can be first mate! Aye, aye, Captain!” Serena goofily did a mock salute, her dark eyes looking straight into Nate’s glittering green ones. Please say yes, she willed.

  “Like that would ever happen.” Blair strode out of the bathroom, wearing just a towel wrapped around her body, her chestnut hair damp around her shoulders. “Nate and I are going to Yale, together,” she added, narrowing her eyes. Why the fuck was Serena here? And had she really just asked Nate what Blair thought she had? Was she inviting herself to sail the world with him?

  Serena felt like she’d been pun
ched in the gut. Of course Blair had been eavesdropping from the bathroom this whole time. Of course she was here, watching over Nate’s every move, not letting him out of her sight. Of course they were riding off into the sunset together. “How does your boyfriend feel about that?” she muttered under her breath.

  Blair narrowed her icy blue eyes. “What did you say?”

  Serena crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Blair. If Blair wanted a fight, fine, she’d give it to her. She wasn’t going to let Blair get away with stealing Nate.

  Again.

  “I said,” Serena repeated coolly, making sure to enunciate each word, “What. Does. Your. Boyfriend. Think. About. That?”

  “Boyfriend?” Nate asked moronically, looking between the two girls as if he were watching a tennis match. Blair had a boyfriend?

  “I don’t have a boyfriend. How would Serena know, anyway?” Blair challenged.

  “I don’t know, because you wouldn’t stop talking about him the other day? You know, after you spent Christmas with him and all?” Serena said sarcastically.

  Nate glanced between the two of them in disbelief. Out on the ocean with Chips, they could always tell a storm was coming by the change in the air. It was the same with Serena and Blair. He could feel a change in the room, as if a palpable electric charge was emanating from the girls’ skin.

  “Serena, just get your own fucking life,” Blair snapped. “You know nothing about me.” Her white Egyptian cotton towel was askew, and blotches of pink appeared on her pale neck. She looked like she was ready to claw Serena’s eyes out.

  Uh-oh.

  “Oh, please. You think you can just have whatever you want, whenever you want.” Serena’s voice had taken on a slightly hysterical edge.

  Instead of speaking, Blair hurled a Mason Pearson hairbrush at Serena. Because Blair had terrible aim, she missed, creating a dent in the wall. The brush clattered onto Nate’s dresser and hit one of the sailboat models, splintering it into pieces.

  “I can’t do this,” Nate yelled, surprising himself. His voice echoed in his head. “You two always fight. I never should have come back. I’m leaving. Don’t look for me.” He grabbed a few pairs of clean boxers from his dresser, tossed them in the duffel he hadn’t bothered unpacking since the Belinda, and stalked down the hallway.

  “Nate, wait!” Serena yelled, running behind him.

  “Nate!” Blair called at the same time, racing after Serena.

  The door slammed, leaving Blair and Serena alone.

  Blair glared at Serena. “We’re no longer friends,” she spat. Then she turned on her heel and followed Nate down the hall and out the door to the stairs that led to the street.

  “Good!” Serena retorted. She knew she sounded like an angry four-year-old whose best friend has stolen her favorite toy.

  Familiar story.

  Serena collapsed on Nate’s bed and stared up at the ceiling. The skylight window up above was covered with pure white snow. She wanted to cry, but no tears fell. Instead, she seethed. Everything that had ever gone wrong in her life was Blair’s fault.

  Happy fucking New Year!

  II

  hey people!

  As we’ve all learned by now, the etymology of the word sophomore comes from the Greek words sophos, meaning “wise,” and moros, meaning “foolish.” It’s a contradictory term for a contradictory year: We’ve learned that pizza and PBR don’t mix with our favorite skinny jeans, that a TA can be extremely hot if we look past his dorky collection of PBS tote bags, and that placing a kegerator in the common area of your dorm does not constitute a design decision. But we still have a lot to figure out.

  Take, for example, N, who’s displaying a lot of sophomoric tendencies despite his official class year. Last year, he may have toyed with the idea of attending Yale, but as a tussle between B and S became his own personal crash course in conflict, he realized that he might be better off with just boys—at least for now. He’s now a first year at Deep Springs College, an all-male two-year academy on a working alfalfa farm in California. To each his own….

  For many, the key to figuring out your future is determining whom you want to spend it with. Case in point: B. She and her boyfriend, P, patched things up quickly after their Tiffany fallout last year, and are now happily ensconced in their Chapel Street town house. But what will happen to their cozy domesticity once P graduates in the spring? Or consider V. Her boyfriend, H, may have wowed the critics at Cannes, but Hollywood hasn’t gone to his head—he’s often spotted picking up V’s favorite Hummus Place order while she studies late in Bobst Library. How sweet. Or, um, salty.

  On the other hand, you could do some soul-searching and find that the only person you want to spend time with is you. Take S, who’s often curled up with a cappuccino and Kant at Doma Cafe around the corner from her Perry Street apartment. Or our favorite shaggy-haired poet, D, surrounded by plenty of girls in his Columbia poetry seminars, but always leaving campus solo. After all, the most important thing you learn about in college might just be yourself.

  sightings

  B, with her boyfriend, P, at LAX. After a sunny West Coast holiday, is the happy couple headed back our way? D shuffling from his apartment up to the Columbia campus, muttering to himself and chain-smoking Camels. Still playing the tortured artist, or has he really lost it? V and H at a Miramax holiday party, talking to a New York reporter about V’s decorating plans for H’s brand-new Williamsburg loft. And the biggest transformation award goes to? S at Doma (again!), reading Civilization and Its Discontents and looking pretty discontent herself. Research for a role, or is someone having a little slump of her own? D’s little sister, J, at JFK, boarding a flight to Paris—Bonne Année! N in flannel, hitching a ride to Eastern Sierra Regional Airport, his green eyes glinting with tears. Why so sad, N?

  your e-mail

  q: Dear Gossip Girl,

  I’m a sophomore womyn who’s always dated other womyn. I had a sense my last girlfriend was more of a BUG—you know, a bisexual until graduation, which is one of those acronyms I hate, but it’s become so accepted in popular society that at least people are talking about it. Anyway, this BUG not only broke up with me, but she’s dating this dumb football player who I know for a fact always defaces our womyn’s center posters. Should I stage an intervention?

  —stilllove

  a: Dear Still Love,

  I’m sorry to hear about your romantic woes, but if your ex is just a bug to you, then maybe she wasn’t worth it to begin with. Instead of postering for the womyn’s center, post a personal ad. Who knows what will happen!

  —GG

  q: Dear Gossip Girl,

  There’s a guy in my poetry class who’s that tortured, soulful type—the kind of guy who’s too busy being an artist to even think about things like food. I’ve only seen him ingest instant coffee and cigarettes, which I think is cute, but my suitemates find creepy. What do you think?

  —hotforsoulful

  a: Dear HFS,

  Sounds like this particular soul may be in mourning for a muse. My advice: Tortured artists rarely make stable partners. Instead, find a happy-go-lucky communications major and read poetry to each other.

  —GG

  ready, set, go… again

  One of the best things about being in school is the opportunity to have two fresh starts a year. There’s September, with the new housing assignments, new books, and new professors; it’s the start of the academic year. But January 1 is a golden do-over opportunity. And some of us just might need a do-over. Here’s to second chances.

  You know you love me,

  gossip girl

  you never can say goodbye

  “You okay, son?” Captain Archibald placed a firm hand on Nate’s shoulder outside All Souls Church on Lexington Avenue. Around them, patrons were spilling out of the church onto the cold stone steps. White lilies were set up around the entrance of the church as if for a celebration, not a funeral.

  “I’m fine,” Nate mutte
red, though he was anything but fine. His Brooks Brothers blazer was too tight across his shoulders, and his sky-blue Hermès tie felt like it was choking him. It didn’t feel right to be dressed like this, it didn’t feel right to be back in New York, and it definitely didn’t feel right to be at Chips’s funeral. He couldn’t believe Chips was dead. He’d had cancer and hadn’t even bothered to tell Nate he’d been sick. He’d been slowly dying for months now in Lenox Hill Hospital and hadn’t bothered to call, or e-mail, or even send a letter.

  Nate hadn’t planned to come back to New York for the holidays. He’d been at Deep Springs College for the past eight months, trying to sort his mind out. He’d thought he’d done that with Chips on the Belinda. That he had a handle on who he was and what he wanted from life. That Serena and Blair wouldn’t confuse him as much as they had before.

  But nothing could have been further than the truth. After he saw them fighting, it was all too apparent that he could never be around them anymore. There were too many feelings, too much history, too many swirling emotions. It practically killed him that he was the one who’d caused all the problems in their friendship.

  He’d immediately run to his parents’ vacation home on Mt. Desert Island, Maine, and it was there, sitting on the beach and watching the waves roll in, that he thought of Chuck and his transformation from a monkey-toting metrosexual to a decent-seeming dude. Immediately, he’d called Deep Springs and interviewed for a spot for spring semester. Because all the students of Deep Springs sat on the admissions committee, and all had a tremendous amount of respect for Chuck—and because Nate was consistently lucky—he’d gotten in.

  Since then, he’d done a total one-eighty. Deep Springs was intense and unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Thirty guys living in one house, studying and working the farm together. No girls. No pot. No drinking. No drama.