“I don’t care what you say. I’m going to that party!” she insisted.
“What party?” their father asked, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.
If there were an award for the most embarrassing dad in the universe, Rufus Humphrey would have won it. He was wearing a sweat-stained white wife-beater and red checked boxer shorts, and was scratching at his crotch. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his gray beard seemed to be growing at different intervals. Some of it was thick and long, but in between were bald patches and patches of five o’clock shadow. His curly gray hair was matted and his brown eyes bleary. There was a cigarette tucked behind each of his ears.
Jenny and Dan looked at their father for a moment in silence.
Then Jenny sighed and turned back to the dishes. “Never mind,” she said.
Dan smirked and leaned back in his chair. Their father hated the Upper East Side and all its pretensions. He only sent Jenny to Constance because it was a very good school and because he used to date one of the English teachers there. But he hated the idea that Jenny might be influenced by her classmates, or “those debutantes,” as he called them.
Dan knew their dad was going to love this.
“Jenny wants to go to some fancy benefit next week,” he said.
Mr. Humphrey pulled one of the cigarettes from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth, playing with it between his lips. “A benefit for what?” he demanded.
Dan rocked his chair back and forth, a smug look on his face. Jenny turned off the faucet and glared at him, daring him to go on.
“Get this,” Dan said. “It’s a party to raise money for those peregrine falcons that live in Central Park. They’re probably going to build like, birdhouse mansions for them or something. Like there aren’t thousands of homeless people that could use the money.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jenny said, furious. “You think you know everything. It’s just a stupid party. I never said it was a great cause.”
“You call that a cause?” her father bellowed. “Shame on you. Those people only want those birds around because they’re pretty. Because it makes them feel like they’re in the pretty countryside, like they’re at their houses in Connecticut or Maine. They’re decorative. Leave it to the leisure class to come up with some charity that does absolutely no one any good at all!”
Jenny leaned back against the kitchen counter, stared up at the ceiling, and tuned her father out. She’d heard this same tirade before. It didn’t change anything. She still wanted to go to that party.
“I just want to have some fun,” she said stubbornly. “Why does it have to be such a big deal?”
“It’s a big deal because you’re going to get used to this silly debutante nonsense, and you’re going to wind up a big fake like your mother, who hangs around rich people all the time because she’s too scared to think for herself,” her father shouted, his unshaven face turning dark red. “Dammit, Jenny. You remind me more and more of your mother every day.”
Dan suddenly felt bad.
Their mother had run off to Prague with some count or prince or something, and she was basically a kept woman, letting the count or prince or whatever he was dress her and put her up in hotels all over Europe. All she did all day was shop, eat, drink, and paint pictures of flowers. She wrote them letters a few times a year, and sent them the odd present. Last Christmas she’d sent Jenny a peasant dress from Germany. It was about ten sizes too small.
It wasn’t a nice thing for their father to say that Jenny reminded him of their mother. It wasn’t nice at all.
Jenny looked like she was about to cry.
“Lay off, Dad,” Dan said. “We weren’t invited to the party anyway. So neither of us could go even if we wanted to.”
“See what I mean!” Mr. Humphrey said triumphantly. “Why would you want to hang out with those snobs anyway?”
Jenny stared glassy-eyed at the dirty kitchen floor.
Dan stood up. “Hurry up and get dressed, Jen,” he said gently. “I’ll walk you to your bus stop.”
n gets an e-vitation
In the six-minute interval between the bell signaling the end of Latin and the bell signaling the beginning of Gym, Nate slipped into the computer lab at the St. Jude’s School for Boys. Every Wednesday, he and Blair had grown accustomed to e-mailing each other a quick love note (okay, it was Blair’s idea), to help them get over the hump of the boring school week. Only two more days until the weekend, when they could spend as much time together as they wanted.
But today Nate wasn’t even thinking of Blair. He wanted to see how Serena was doing. Last night she had left a message on the answering machine in his room while he was watching a Yankees game with his friends. Her voice had sounded lonely and sad and very far away, even though she lived only a block and a half away from him. Nate had never heard Serena sound so down. And since when did Serena van der Woodsen go to bed early?
Nate sat down in front of one of the humming PCs in the lab. He clicked on the New Mail window and typed a message to Serena’s old Constance e-mail address. He didn’t know if she would check it or not, but it was worth a try.
TO:
[email protected] FROM:
[email protected] Hey. What are you up to? I got your message last night. Sorry I wasn’t there. I will definitely see you Friday, okay? Love, Nate.
Then he opened up his own e-mail. Surprise, surprise, there was a note from Blair. They hadn’t talked since her mother’s party the night before last.
TO:
[email protected] FROM:
[email protected] Dear Nate.
I miss you. Monday night was supposed to be really special. Before we got interrupted I was planning for us to do something we’ve been talking about doing for a while. I think you know what I’m talking about. The timing wasn’t right, I guess. I just wanted to tell you that I’m ready to do it. I wasn’t ready before, but now I am. My Mom and Cyrus are going away on Friday and I really want you to sleep over. I love you. Call me.
Love,
Blair.
Nate read Blair’s e-mail twice and then closed the file so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. It was only Wednesday. Was it possible that Blair could remain ignorant about him and Serena until Friday, even though she was in school with Serena every day and they were best friends and told each other everything? Chances were, no. And what about Chuck Bass? He wasn’t exactly good at keeping secrets.
Nate rubbed his pretty green eyes viciously. It didn’t matter how Blair found out. Any way he looked at it, he was fucked. He tried to come up with a plan, but the only plan he could think of was to wait and see what happened when he saw Blair on Friday night. There was no point in getting all worked up about it now.
Just then the door to the computer lab opened, and Jeremy Scott Tompkinson poked his head around the door.
“Yo, Nathaniel, we’re cutting Gym. Come to the park with us and play some ball.”
The second bell rang. Nate was late for Gym anyway, and after Gym he had lunch. Cutting sounded like an excellent idea.
“Yeah, sure,” Nate said. “Hold on a sec.” He clicked on Blair’s e-mail and dragged it across the screen and into the trash. “Okay,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go.”
Hmmm, if he really loved her, he probably would’ve saved the e-mail, or at least answered it, right?
It was a sunny October day in Central Park. Out in Sheep Meadow lots of kids were cutting school, just lying in the grass, smoking, or playing Frisbee. The trees surrounding the meadow were a blaze of yellows, oranges, and reds, and beyond the trees loomed the beautiful old apartment buildings on Central Park West. A guy was selling weed, and Anthony Avuldsen bought some to add to what Nate had picked up at the pizza place yesterday at lunch. Nate, Jeremy, Anthony, and Charlie Dern passed an enormous joint between them as they dribbled a soccer ball around on the grass.
Charlie puffed on the joint and passed it to Jeremy. Nate shot him th
e ball and Charlie tripped over it. He was six feet tall, and his head was too big for his body. People called him Frankenstein. Ever the blond athletic one, even when he was stoned, Anthony dove for the ball, kicked it up in the air and headed it at Jeremy. It hit Jeremy in his puny chest and he let it roll to the ground, dribbling it between his feet.
“Shit, this stuff is strong,” Jeremy said, hitching up his pants. They were always sliding down below his skinny hips, no matter how tightly he buckled his belt.
“Yeah, it is,” Nate agreed. “I’m all fucked up.” His feet were itchy. It felt like the grass was growing through the rubber soles of his sneakers.
Jeremy stopped dribbling the ball. “Hey, Nate. Have you seen Serena van der Woodsen yet?” he asked. “I heard she’s back.”
Nate looked at the ball longingly, wishing he had it so he could dribble it away across the field and pretend he hadn’t heard Jeremy’s question. He could feel the other three boys staring at him. He bent down and pulled his left shoe off so he could scratch the bottom of his foot. Damn, it itched. “Yeah, I saw her Monday,” he said casually, hopping up and down on one foot.
Charlie cleared his throat and spit in the grass. “What’d she look like?” he asked. “I heard she got into all sorts of trouble up at Hanover.”
“Me too,” Anthony said, sucking on the roach. “I heard she got kicked out for having sex with this whole group of guys in her room. Her roommate ratted her out.” He laughed. “Like, couldn’t she afford a hotel room?”
Charlie laughed. “I heard she has a kid. I’m serious. She had it in France and left it there. Her parents are paying to have it raised in some fancy French convent. It’s like a fucking movie, man.”
Nate couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He dropped his shoe and sat down in the grass. Then he took off his other shoe and pulled off both of his socks. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, scratching his bare feet.
“Can you imagine Serena with all these guys in her dorm room? Like, Ooh, baby. Harder, harder!” Jeremy fell down on the grass, rubbing his skinny belly and cackling hysterically. “Oh, man!”
“Wonder if she even knows who the daddy is,” Anthony said.
“I heard there was a pretty major drug thing going on, too,” Charlie said. “She was dealing and got addicted to whatever it was. She was in rehab in Switzerland all summer. After the baby was born, I guess.”
“Whoa, that is fucked up,” Jeremy said.
“You and her had a thing, didn’t you, Nate?” Charlie said.
“Where’d you hear that?” Nate asked, frowning.
Charlie shook his head and smiled. “I don’t know, man. Around. What’s the problem? She’s hot.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had hotter,” Nate said, and immediately regretted it. What was he talking about?
“Yeah, Blair’s pretty hot too, I guess,” Charlie said.
“I bet she gets pretty crazy in bed,” Jeremy agreed.
“Dude’s tired just thinking about it!” Anthony said, pointing at Nate and cackling.
Nate laughed and shook his head, trying to shake their words out of his ears. He lay back in the grass and stared at the empty blue sky. If he tilted his head all the way back, he could just see the rooftops of the penthouses along Fifth Avenue, Serena’s and Blair’s included. Nate let his chin fall so all he could see was blue sky again. He was too baked to deal with any of this. He tuned his friends out and tried to clear his mind completely, his head as empty and blue as the sky. But he couldn’t get the images of Serena and Blair out of his mind’s eye, floating naked above his head. “You know you love me,” they were saying. Nate smiled and closed his eyes.
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
I know it hasn’t been long. But I can’t resist writing more about N. My new favorite topic. He is so stunningly beautiful, after all. Even if he is kind of lacking in the balls department.
STONED IN CENTRAL PARK
Actually, my new favorite topic is the Waspoid—the elite version of the wasteoid, or stoner boy. Unlike the average stoner wasteoid, the Waspoid isn’t into metal or online dungeon games or skateboarding or eating vegan. He gets cute haircuts and has good skin. He smells nice, he wears the cashmere sweaters his girlfriend buys for him, he gets decent grades, and he’s sweet to his mom. He sails and plays soccer. He knows how to tie a necktie. He knows how to dance. He’s sexy! But the Waspoid never fully invests himself in anything or anyone. He isn’t a go-getter and he never says what’s on his mind. He doesn’t take risks, which is what makes it so risky to fall in love with him.
You might have noticed that I’m just the opposite—I never know when to shut up! And I seriously believe that opposites attract. I have to confess, I’m becoming a Waspoid groupie.
Apparently I’m not the only one.
Your E-mail
Dear Gossip Girl,
i hooked up majorly with N on a blanket in central park. at least, i think it’s the same N. he’s all freckley, right? does he smell like suntan lotion and weed?
—blanketbaby
Dear blanketbaby,
Hmmm. I bet he does.
—GG
Sightings
B buying condoms at Zitomer Pharmacy. Lifestyles Extra-Long Super-Ribbed! What I want to know is how she knew what size to get. I guess they’ve done everything but. Afterwards, B made a beeline (no pun intended!) to the J. Sisters salon for her first Brazilian bikini wax. Ouch. But believe me, it’s worth it. Also caught S at the post office, mailing a big package. Barneys baby clothes for her little French tot, maybe? Caught I and K in the 3 Guys Coffee Shop, eating fries and hot cocoa again. They’d just returned those cute little dresses they bought at Bendel’s the other day—oh dear, are they getting too fat?—and were discussing other options for what to wear to the Kiss on the Lips party. Too bad it’s not a toga party.
Vocab
Since so many of you have been asking, I’m going to answer the big question that’s been baffling you since you found out about the party for the peregrine falcons.
Okay. According to my handy unabridged dictionary:
Falcon, n. 1. any of several birds of prey of the family Falconidae, esp. of the genus Falco, usually distinguished by long, pointed wings, a hooked beak with a tooth-like notch on each side of the upper bill, and swift agile flight, typically diving to seize prey: some falcon species are close to extinction. Peregrine falcon, a globally distributed falcon, Falco perigrinus, much used in falconry because of its swift flight.
I’m sure I had you on the edge of your seat about that one. But I’m just trying to keep you in the know—that’s my job.
See you in the park!
You know you love me,
s tries to improve herself
“Well, it’s wonderful to have you back, dear,” Ms. Glos, Constance’s college advisor, told Serena. She picked her glasses up from where they were hanging around her neck on a gold chain and slid them onto her nose so she could examine Serena’s schedule, which was lying on her desk. “Let’s see, now. Mmmm. Yes. Right,” she muttered, reading the schedule over.
Serena sat in front of Ms. Glos, with her legs crossed, waiting patiently. There were no diplomas on Ms. Glos’s wall, no evidence of any accreditations at all, just pictures of her grandchildren. Serena wondered if Ms. Glos had even gone to college. You would have thought that if she were going to dish out advice on the subject, she could have at least tried it.
Ms. Glos cleared her throat. “Yes, well, your schedule is perfectly acceptable. Not stellar, mind you, but adequate. I imagine you’re making up for it with extracurriculars, yes?”
Serena shrugged her shoulders. If you can call drinking Pernod and dancing naked on a beach in Cannes an extracurricular. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, I’m not actually signed up for any extracurriculars at the moment.”
Ms. Glos let her g
lasses drop. Her nostrils were turning very red and Serena wondered if she was about to have a bloody nose. Ms. Glos was famous for her bloody noses. Her skin was very pale, with a yellowish tinge. All the girls thought she had some terrible contagious disease.
“No extracurriculars? But what are you doing to improve yourself?”
Serena gave Ms. Glos a polite, blank look.
Who said she needed improving?
“I see. Well, we’ll have to get you involved in something, won’t we?” Ms. Glos said. “I’m afraid the colleges aren’t going to even look at you without any extracurriculars.” She bent over and pulled a big looseleaf binder out of a drawer in her desk and began flipping through pages and pages of flyers printed on colored paper. “Here’s something that starts this week. ‘Feng Shui Flowers, the Art of Floral Design.’ ”
She looked up at Serena, who was frowning doubtfully. “No, you’re right. That’s not going to get you into Harvard, is it?” Ms. Glos said with a little laugh.
She pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and frowned at the binder as she flipped briskly through the pages. She wasn’t about to give up after only one try. She was very good at her job.
Serena gnawed on her thumbnail. She hadn’t thought about this. That colleges would actually need her to be anything more than she already was. And she definitely wanted to go to college. A good one. Her parents certainly expected her to go to one of the best schools. Not that they put any pressure on her—but it went without saying. And the more Serena thought about it, the more she realized she really didn’t have anything going for her. She’d been kicked out of boarding school, her grades had fallen, she had no idea what was going on in any of her classes, and she had no hobbies or cool after-school activities. Her SAT scores sucked because her mind always wandered during those stupid fill-in-the-bubble tests. And when she took them again, they would probably suck even worse. Basically, she was screwed.