Don't You Forget About Me (18 page)

“Such a sweetheart.” Jeanette touched Jenny’s face with her palm. “I’ll make some oolong.” She breezed past Dan, stopping to smooth his hair like a mother who’d been smoothing hair all her life.

Tea? That probably meant girl talk. And Dan wasn’t sure he was ready to be one of the girls. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, shuffling toward his room.

“See you in a few hours,” Jenny replied with a yawn, stretching as she followed their mom into the kitchen.

“’Night, baby!” Jeanette called out from the kitchen sink, where she was busily filling the kettle with water.

Dan walked into his room and shut the door, then climbed into the empty bed. He could hear his mom and sister chattering away in the kitchen, whispers interspersed with the occasional giggle. How could they have so much energy this late at night? He’d never understand women. But then again, he barely understood himself. Dan sighed and watched the night change from purple to gray in the early morning light as he finally drifted into sleep, still wondering sleepily where Vanessa was and if she was okay.

Aren’t we all.

Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

hey people!

The end of summer is almost here, and the Waldorf Rose farewell party at the Met is rapidly approaching. If you haven’t heard—if you’ve been, say, camping in Siberia, for instance—Davita Fjorde, public relations guru to the crème de la crème (otherwise known as you and me), is planning the party and probably clicking her rhinestone-heeled Jimmy Choos right at this very moment, making amazing things happen. So break out those spanking new Christian Louboutins and a barely-there Zac Posen cocktail dress and book your hair and makeup appointments at Fekkai. After all, it’s your last chance to satisfy that secret crush on the cute boy you never had the nerve to talk to. It’ll be the last time you’ll see your fellow classmates—thank God. (Hey, I’m just being honest—so sue me.) And it’s your last chance to gossip about the people you love the least—or most! So let’s get to it, people, because it’s been one hell of an exciting week.

your e-mail

Q:
Dear GG,

So I e-mailed my new roomie, and she told me she’s from NYC and graduated from Constance Billard, and that got me thinking, OMG maybe she knows Serena van der Woodsen from
Breakfast at Fred’s
—my favorite movie of all time! My best friend’s movie producer dad screened it at their house a few weeks ago, and we’ve watched it, like, twenty-two times already! Did you hear that Serena is going to Yale? Guess what? Me too!! I so can’t wait to meet her.

—Crazy for Serena

A:
Dear CFS,

Constance Billard is a pretty small school, and, on top of that, Manhattan is a pretty small island. Everyone knows
everyone
here—or at least, everyone worth knowing! You can be sure that your new roomie knows
S,
or at the very least has been at a party with her once or twice. Here’s a thought that might just make you pee your pants: maybe your new roomie
is
S
?!

—GG

Q:
Dear GG,

I just got back from Europe and I
really
want to score an invite to
B
’s party at the Met! Can you help? How can I get invited at the last minute?

—Missing Out

A:
Dear MO,

Ah, the pain of not getting an invite—not something I can personally relate to, but I’m sure it really sucks. What I have to say won’t make you feel any better—but at least it’s honest: there’s always next year! So invite some friends over and spend the night watching
Lost
reruns. Your time will come—and sooner than you think.

—GG

sightings

A group of totally bizarro Brooklyn hipsters, doing a run-through of their “Ode to Love” in
Prospect Park
at sunrise. Practicing for something? There’s one invite we’re glad we didn’t get! And speaking of sunrise, a very intoxicated
V
and her soon-to-be-betrothed sister,
R,
were seen falling all over each other on their way up the stairs to
R
’s
Williamsburg apartment
—a long blonde . . . something . . . dragging behind them.
C
and some spectacled, cute geek at the
Magnolia Bakery
in the West Village, licking frosting off of each other’s pink cupcakes, and feeding C’s monkey spoonfuls of banana pudding, looking very smug and practically married.

pre-party planning

And you know what that means: it’s time to hit the stores. I’m off to stroll Fifth and take in more of Manhattan’s finest than my American Express black card can possibly hold. But, then again, it has no limits—and neither do I!

You know you love me.

gossip girl

s and b shop till they drop

Serena held an ivory Calvin Klein silk dress up to her slender shoulders, her blond hair falling over her back in a beautiful, tangled mess. The slick material draped over her perfect body like running water. Blair had tried that dress on earlier in the week, but it had looked like shit on her.

Jealous much?

“What do you think?” Serena turned to face Blair, her face flushed and glowing despite the unspeakably horrible fluorescent light of the dressing room. Blair didn’t answer. Shouldn’t Serena know by now that
everything
looked good on her? If she didn’t, Blair certainly wasn’t going to tell her.

“Ugh.” Serena placed the dress back on the hanger. “It’d probably look better on you anyway.” Blair rolled her eyes and stomped out of the dressing room. Serena had been tiptoeing around her since they’d met up in front of Barneys half an hour ago. First of all, she had brought her an iced latte and a fudge brownie—Blair’s favorite combination—and now there was all this ass-kissing talk about the dress. Why was Serena being so
nice
all of a sudden? Not that she wasn’t always nice—but this was overly, cloyingly nice.

Blair grabbed a Milly NY green-and-gold brocade print dress and held it up to her body, fluffing her newly extensioned hair with one hand. Her new golden streaks looked amazing against the metallic thread of the dress. Serena came thwacking out of the dressing room, her tanned legs extending from a short white miniskirt, turquoise flip-flops on her feet.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, walking up to Blair. “That’ll look incredible on you!” Blair stayed silent as she hung the dress back on the rack with a snap of her wrist and began manically flipping through a rack of Stella McCartney tunics.

“So,” she began, her voice casual as she turned to face her friend, “where were you yesterday? I called to see if you wanted to get your hair done with me, but I kept getting your voice mail.” Serena looked at the floor, the windows, at the rows of shining, expensive dresses surrounding them—anywhere but Blair’s face. Did Blair know what had happened between her and Nate? Had Nate said something? Serena didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure either. She’d thought that if she and Blair went shopping the way they used to, that everything would somehow magically go back to normal—in spite of the fact that absolutely
nothing
was normal anymore.

Blair had been in love with Nate for as long as Serena could remember. The problem was,
so had she.
And after spending the entire day and night in bed together yesterday, Serena was positive Nate loved her too. She tried to hide the ridiculous smile that was in grave danger of spreading across her face. She and Nate were finally, really,
seriously
going to be together soon—just as soon as Blair left for Yale on Sunday. Serena didn’t want to hurt her—that was the
last
thing she wanted to do—but she was ecstatic to have finally won Nate’s heart. Even if it meant breaking Blair’s. Ugh. Why did she always have to choose between her best friend and her boyfriend?

Um . . . because technically he’s
Blair’s
boyfriend?

“Yesterday? I don’t remember what I was doing,” she finally answered, looking up into Blair’s impassive face and narrowed eyes. Blair grabbed a black satin Dior dress and fingered the price tag. “I think I just forgot to turn my phone back on—and then by the time I got your messages, it was too late.” The haute couture department of Barneys was spare and intimidating. Light wafted in through floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the dark wood floor. Not a salesperson was in sight—Barneys prided themselves on their aloof, unpushy sales staff who turned out to be enormously helpful, but only when called upon. That was one of the reasons the girls liked the store so much. It was their home away from home.

“Huh.” Blair turned and walked at a brisk clip across the floor, her flat, delicate Dolce & Gabbana silver sandals barely making a sound. “Talk to Nate lately?” “No,” Serena answered quickly. “Not at all.” Blair ran her hands along a pile of electric-orange-and-robin’s-egg-blue TSE cashmere sweaters. Was it just her, or was Serena acting a little jumpy? She wondered if Nate had told Serena about not graduating and not going to Yale and otherwise ruining Blair’s life. “You sure?” She pushed.

“Not since, um, we did the slide-show stuff that day you caught us.” Serena laughed awkwardly and turned to rifle through the colorful Missoni knit dresses behind her.

Blair squinted distrustfully at the back of Serena’s blond head, trying to read her possibly evil, maybe lying, definitely-in-love with Nate thoughts. “Well, you missed Vanessa Abrams getting one hot makeover yesterday. You should really keep your phone on,” she finally said to her back. “I’m going back to look at the Prada dresses.” Serena followed Blair, trying to match her quick steps. “Vanessa got a makeover? How come?” Serena asked, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. She stopped on the opposite side of the rack from Blair and started flipping through the chocolate- and mocha-colored Prada bubble dresses Blair had already passed over.

“Her sister’s getting married this weekend.” Blair lifted her eyes from the white silk Prada dress she was fingering. “And, you know—sometimes people just need a change.” Serena bent down and tried to make eye contact through a gap in the dresses. There was something else she was feeling guilty about not telling Blair. “Speaking of changes—there’s something I need to tell you,” she said quietly.

Blair pushed her hair off her shoulders and straightened the straps of her white Nation tank top. “I already know about Nate,” she snapped. “You don’t have to hide it from me.” “You
do
?” Serena gripped a plush hanger with both hands.
Blair knew about her and Nate?

“Of course I do.” Blair squinted, irritated that Serena would think for a second that Nate would not tell
her
, his girlfriend. “I cannot fucking believe he’s not going to Yale. Repeating senior year. He’s totally retarded,” she spat.

“Oh.” Serena looked at Blair, her navy blue eyes wide. That was a close call. “Oh! I mean that’s . . . that is awful. But that’s not what I was going to say. . . .” Her voice trailed off, her heart thumping hard against her rib cage.

Blair pulled a Lauren Moffatt houndstooth-print tunic over her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Serena stood behind her, standing almost a full head taller and looking nervous. She twirled a long blond lock around her finger. Blair wondered if Serena was finally going to confess to her about her love letter to Nate. Well, it was about time. Then Blair could forgive her and they could go off to Yale, best friends forever, and put all this behind them. Even if Nate had to stay in the city, at least she’d have Serena—and at least Serena would be far, far away from him. Blair took a deep breath and prepared herself to try and forgive her best friend.

“What is it then?” She moved on to the Diane von Furstenberg dresses Serena was practically hiding behind.

“I’m not going to Yale either,” Serena admitted sheepishly as she fingered a wildly patterned wrap dress, avoiding Blair’s eyes. “I’m going to defer for a year so I can do some more acting.”
Excuse me?
Blair felt like her brain was on fire.
Not going to Yale, not going to Yale
—the words spun around and around in her head until she thought she might pass out. First Nate, now Serena? She dropped the yellow DVF chiffon gown she’d been holding. The light silk fluttered soundlessly to the floor.

“You’re
what
?” Blair demanded in disbelief, shaking her head from side to side like she had water in her ears.

“I’m just . . . not going.” Serena shrugged. “I’m going to stay in New York and shoot the sequel to
Breakfast at Fred’s.
” Serena was staying in New York?
With Nate?
Blair felt the ground start to wobble beneath her.

Just then a group of tourists passed by, squealing and pointing at Serena, cameras hanging around their necks. The crowd engulfed both girls, and Blair was rudely shoved out of the way by a sharp, jabby elbow. They surrounded Serena in a mob.