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GOSSIP GIRL NOBODY DOES IT BETTER PDF

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Thank you for reading nobody does it better gossip girl 7 cecily von ziegesar. As you may know, people have look hundreds times for their favorite books like this . Gossip Girl has 29 entries in the series. That I Want. Gossip Girl (Series). Book 6. Cecily von Ziegesar Author (). cover image of Nobody Does It Better. Cecily von Ziegesar is the author of the worldwide bestselling Gossip Girl book series. Her notorious satires of (). cover image of Nobody Does It Better.


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NOBODY DOES IT BETTER(A Gossip Girl Novel - 07)Cecily Von ZiegesarContentsEpigraph ronaldweinland.info N's Bedroom Is. Editorial Reviews. Review. 'Fabulous - funny and tight as a boob tube' Observer ' We love the Gossip Girl series there's enough gossip, back-stabbing and. Nobody Does It Better Gossip Girl 7 Cecily Von Ziegesar pdf download hunting for nobody does it better pdf download do you really need this document of.

Only two weeks left to make up out minds about which college we want to go to- for those of us who have a choice. Meanwhile, we are busy mastering the art of not flunking out of our last ever term of high school while spending as little time as possible actually in school or doing homework. If you see a group of immaculately groomed girls shedding their blue-and-white-seersucker uniforms and lying out in Sheep Meadow in Central Park in their cute new Malia Mills bikinis, that's us. If you see a group of shirtless boys in rolled-up khakis and bare feet, platinum Cartier tank watches gleaming from their tanned, lacrosse-muscled arms, those would be our boyfriends. And okay, yeah, it's only 11am on Friday and we're supposed to be in gym or AP French, but we're nearing the end of the most difficult year of our lives and we have a lot of excess steam to blow off, so cut us some slack, okay?

The language within the novel, which is very simple with large amounts of slang and brand names made the story very easy to read but slightly distracting. When the use of nicknames of the first letter of their names like S, V or B it becomes a little confusing, making the reader have to backtrack to all the characters and what character the letter is meant to associate. Though it does not seem I have explained much about this novel, I do not feel there is much I can really say.

Though the novel was interesting to read especially after the first two novels in my summer reading list, there is not much I can discuss about the book. I am looking forward to the next book, with a little bit of anxiety about it also. Though it seems it would be an interesting read it will also be a complicated one to follow as well.

I am assuming. You should probably have read the 6 books that come before this one before you wrote about it….. Blair has a little brother and step brother as well Second: Vanessa is living with Blair, not Dan. Dan just came over a lot so they could have sex. Even in the show, Blair finds out about Serena and Nate in the fall. Jenny is an artist instead of a designer Seventh: Serena and Dan only went on one date Lastly: Even in the show, they call each other by their initials.

They were honest mistakes, I know, but you deserve to know what you missed! Maybe it will encourage you to read the other Gossip Girl Books. The tv show seems a little more mature to me. Sorry, I feel like I said that mean…. True, the show is SO much better. The books are just a fun, easy read. It fits the first season almost perfectly!

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Does pdf gossip it girl nobody better

Nobody Does it better: A Gossip Girl Novel. The main characters Gossip Girl- narrator? Blair A. Nate A. Serena A. Vanessa A. Dan A. Jenny A. My Character tree of Gossip Girl novel.

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Blair is not an only child and has siblings, including a baby sister. Dan is a musican, of sorts, and his father Rufus is a writer. Jenny has to repeat year 9 or go to another school- in television show she is forced to leave the school by Blair There are various similarities as well to the television show, as in: I feel I should complete this post in the fashion of the book I have analysed… You know you love me.

Share this: Twitter Email. Like this: Like Loading About smithmonkey I am a proud mother of Olivia. I am completing University Arts degree, at University of Wollongong. I have completed a philosophy major, and am hoping to get into primary education once i have completed my degree. I try and be the best person i can be, I'm not perfect and I am happy that way.

This entry was posted in reviews , summer reading and tagged cecily von ziegesar , gossip girl novel. Bookmark the permalink. April 7, at Andi says: April 8, at 4: Also, Mrs. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email required Address never made public.

Not that Yale had accepted Nate because of his smarts: End of story.

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At least Blair had an excuse to use the delicious L'Occitane sandalwood body shampoo the housekeeper stocked in Nate's shower. She toweled herself off with a thick navy blue Ralph Lauren towel, slipped on her flimsy pink silk Cosabella underwear, zipped up her blue-and-white-seer-sucker Constance Billard School spring uniform skirt, and buttoned two of the six buttons on her white linen Calvin Klein three-quarter-sleeve blouse.

Braless and barefoot, it was the perfect my-girlfriend-just-got-out-of-the-shower-and-would-you-please-leave? Hopefully Nate's friends would get the hint, make like the bees and fuck off. She tousled her damp hair with her fingers and pushed open the bathroom door. Blair had met the girl before at parties. Her name was Lexus or Lexique or something equally annoying, a sixteen-year-old junior who'd done some modeling as a child inParis was now working on perfecting the French hippie-slut look.

Lexique, whose name was really Lexie, was wearing a lavender-and-mustard-yellow hand-dyed cotton wraparound dress that looked homemade but had actually been downloadd at Kirna Zabete for four hundred and fifty dollars, and those ugly flat Pakistani sheep herder sandals from Barneys that everyone but Blair seemed to think were so cool this year. Lexie's face was makeup-free; and she cradled an acoustic guitar in her skinny arms. On the bed beside her was a Ziploc bag full of pot. What a rebel.

She strummed her thumb across the guitar strings. Blair wrinkled her nose with even more emphasis that she had at the thought of getting a tattoo.

She was so not into the whole getting-high, playing-guitars-and-laughing-at-your-friends'-totally-stupid-stoned-observations scene, and she really didn't want to hangout with this Lexique girl. Who obviously thought she was the coolest French girl inNew York. She'd rather watch Operah reruns on Oxygen in her cat-pee-soaked room while her delusional mom wept over baby alpacas.

Someone had stuck a stick of burning amber incense into the cork heel of one of Blair's new mint green Christian Dior espadrilles. She grabbed the stick of incense and jammed it into a porthole in one of Nate's beloved model sailboats on his desk. Then she laced up her shoes, buttoned a few more buttons on her blouse, and grabbed her vintage Gucci bamboo-handled tote bag. Hence Nate's sudden interest in tattoos?

Blair stomped down the stairs and let herself out ontoEighty-Second Street. It felt like summer already. The sun was still two hours from setting, and the air smelled of fresh-cut grass from Central Park, and suntan lotion from all the half-naked girls hurrying home to their apartments onPark Avenue. A gaggle of eleventh-grade St. Jude's Nate-and-Jeremy-wannabe's were hovering around the downstairs buzzer outside Nate's town house.

One of them had a guitar slung over his shoulder. Come on up! Nate's house seemed to draw all the stoner kids on theUpper East Side with some sort of magnetic pull.

And Blair swore she didn't mind- really, she didn't- as long as she didn't have to sit around watching them all jam. After all she and Nate had been through, Blair knew it was going to be different this time. She and Nate were together spiritually, and now physically, too, which meant she could leave him alone, feeling perfectly confident that he wouldn't dream of cheating on her.

She carried downEighty-Second Street towardFifth Avenue , checking her cell phone for a message from Nate at every corner. Obviously he'd call any se3cond now. Like all possessive, aggressive, obsessive girls, she liked to think Nate didn't have a life without her. Then again, if he didn't, she'd go completely nuts.

And so's that dark-haired little hottie friend of yours! She was now sitting in Serena's huge, awesomely old-fashioned bedroom- her private sanctuary- on her bed, flipping through the latest issue of the coolest fashion magazine in the world, looking for pages featuring the two of them modeling the type of amazing designer clothes Jenny had always gazed at longingly in stores but never once dreamed she'd actually wear. It was so unreal she could hardly breathe.

Across Serena's lap lay a spread of the two girls dressed head to toe in Les Best couture, motoring down the beach in a dune buggy, the Ferris wheel atConey Island rising up behind them, all lit up.

The style of the picture was typical Jonathan Joyce - the uber-famous fashion photographer who had shot the spread- totally natural and unposed, like he'd just happened upon these two girls riding their dune buggy on the beach at sunset and having the time of their lives.

Indeed they did look like badasses in leather vests over white bikini tops, and white leather knee-high go-go boots with teeny-tiny heels. Their hair was winged back, their nails were painted white, their lips were painted cotton candy pink, and peacock feathers dangled from their ears. Jenny couldn't pull her eyes away. There she was, in a magazine, and for the first time ever her enormous chest wasn't the focal point of the picture. In fact the two girls looked so fresh and pure the picture was almost wholesome.

It was beyond what Jenny could have hoped for. It was heavenly. But Jenny's crush was deeper than most: And the thing Serena had that she still lacked was a questionable past- that alluring air of mystery. If only we all had that problem. She'd been eight years old when she'd first gotten the bed, and she'd felt like a princess every night when she'd gone to sleep.

As a matter of fact, she still felt like a princess, only bigger. I like going to school with boys, and eating with them in the dining hall. It was like having a whole class of brothers. But I missed my room and the city, the weekends hanging out. She liked the sound of eating in a dining hall with a whole bunch of boys. She liked it a lot. And she'd never had a maid, so it wasn't as if she'd miss that.

Was it really necessary to answer so many questions? All of a sudden she kind of wished she hadn't invited Jenny over. I might not even go. I don't know," she mumbled, tossing the pillow on the floor next to her socks.

Gossip Girl #7: Nobody Does It Better: A Gossip Girl Novel

Her flaxen hair fanned out around her perfectly chiseled face as she gazed skyward with her enormous blue eyes. She looked so lovely, Jenny half expected a flock of white doves to flap out from underneath the bed. Serena grabbed the stereo remote from off her bedside table and clicked on the old Raves CD that she'd been listening to a lot lately.

The CD had come out last summer and reminded her of a time when she was completely carefree. She hadn't been kicked out of boarding school yet. She hadn't thought about applying to college. She hadn't even started modeling yet. Plus, she'd met a hunky Latin painter at Brown who was still totally in lobe with her.

But what about Harvard, and that sensitive nearsighted tour guide who'd also fallen in love with her? Or Yale and the Whiffenpoofs, who'd written a song for her?

And there was alwaysPrinceton , which she hadn't even visited. After all, it was the closest to the city. Model some, and maybe try acting. Like Claire Danes," Jenny suggested. Serena rolled off the bed and stood in front of the full length mirror that hung on the back of her closet door. She'd rumpled her turquoise Marni peasant blouse, and her blue-and-white-seersucker Constance Billard uniform was hanging lopsidedly on her hips.

That morning she'd been late as usual and had tripped running to school, losing her orange Miu Miu cork-heeled clogs and landing facedown on the sidewalk. Now the iridescent pink polish on the big toe of her left foot was chipped, and a purple-and-yellow bruise stood out on her right knee. Jenny wasn't sure how Serena could even stand to look at herself in a mirror every day without passing out in amazement at her own perfection.

That anyone as perfect as Serena could have issues was totally unfathomable. Tall and lanky, with the same pale blond hair, cut in a long shag framing his face, Erik was a male version of Serena. Same huge dark blue eyes, same full mouth that turned up at the corners, same straight white teeth and aristocratic chin. In the picture he was standing on a rocky beach, tan and shirtless. Jenny squeezed her bare knees together. Those chest muscles, that stomach, those arms- oh!

If boarding school was filled with boys who were even half as gorgeous as Erik van der Woodsen, they could sign her up! Easy there, cow girl. Serena's pink iMac beeped, indicating that she'd just received an e-mail. Serena went over to her antique letter-writing desk, jiggled her mouse, and clicked on the latest e-mail message.

And if you do go toPrinceton , you have to become a Tri Delt. We already have all these amazing fundraising ideas for this year, including a Les Best fashion show to benefit the Wild Horses of Chincoteague, featuring us, the Tri Delts, as models! The best part is you won't even have to pledge. Congratulations, Serena, you're already a sister!

All you have to do now is get your behind up toPrinceton a few days early this August so you can get a good room in our house. We totally can't wait. Big kisses. Your sis, Sheri Serena read the message again and then logged off, staring at the blank screen in shock. Pushy sorority sisters were just about the last people she wanted to hear from, and anyway, wasn'tPrinceton supposed to be sort of intellectual? She picked up the phone to call Blair and then slammed it down again, realizing she'd completely forgotten that Jenny was even there.

Jenny was sweet and adorable and everything- but she didn't have, like, homework or a movie to go to or something? See, even perfect goddesses have a bitchy side. Jenny slid off the bed and hitched up her extra wide supportive bra straps, guessing she was about to be dismissed.

I can put you on the special guest list if you want to come. All she knew she was getting free because she was Dan's sister. Dan thought he was so famous now that he was a member of a band with the number one album on the East Coast, but if she showed up to the gig with Serena- two gorgeous models out on the town in matching Les Best dresses- she'd completely out famous him.

Serena wrinkled her nose.

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She wanted to go to the Raves gig, she really did, but she and her parents had already RSVPed yes to some Yale prospective students' get-to-know-you party tomorrow night. She couldn't exactly make her parents go by themselves. But I'll try to get down there if it finishes early. She'd envisioned making an entrance at theLower East Side club with Serena. Never mind the Raves- they were rock stars, big deal. She and Serena were supermodels- at least Serena was.

Heads were guaranteed to turn, Guess she'll have to satisfy herself with being the lead singer's little sister. Like that would ever be enough. A lame-voiced wimp in worn khaki-colored corduroys and maroon Gap T-shirt. Not exactly rock'n'roll. The problem was, his voice always broke when he went into the higher ranged, coming out in a breathy whisper, and his face looked soft and young and totally unthreatening.

Dan rubbed at his bony chin and thought about growing a goatee. Vanessa had always had a strong aversion to facial hair, but what she thought was no longer relevant since they were no longer a couple. Almost two weeks ago at Vanessa's eighteenth birthday party at her apartment inWilliamsburg ,Brooklyn , Dan had been discovered by the megapopular indie band the Raves.

Or rather, his poems had been. Thinking they'd both go to NYU next year and live happily ever after, Dan had moved in with Vanessa only a few days before. Butt heir relationship had quickly deteriorated.

More depressed than usual, Dan had been sitting in a corner during the party, chugging Grey Goose vodka straight out of the bottle. Meanwhile, the Raves showed up at the party and their lead guitarist, Damian Polk, stumbled upon a stack of black notebooks filled with Dan's poetry. Damian and his band members had gone crazy over the poems, insisting they would work perfectly as lyrics. Their lead singer had just mysteriously quitrehab anyone? By then Dan was just piss drunk and thought the whole thing was totally hilarious.

Throwing himself into the task with drunken fervor, he'd stolen the show, electrifying drunken partiers with his brazen performance. He thought his was a one time deal, a way of distracting himself from the fact that he'd just broken up with the only girl who'd ever loved him. The next day he discovered he was card-carrying member of the band, and completely in over his head.

During rehearsals Dan found that his normally sober self was physically incapable of putting out the same reckless energy that he'd had at the party, and, compared to the other band members, who were all in their twenties and wore clothes tailor-made for them by avant-garde designers like Pisolcock and Better Than Naked, he felt like a geeky, squeaky little kid.

He'd even asked Damian Polk why in the hell the Raves wanted him to be their lead singer in the first place. Damian had replied simple, "It's all about the words, man. But maybe if he looked more like he could sing, he might actually convince people that he deserved to be in the band. Dan shuffled through his messy desk drawers searching for the battery-operated beard trimmer he'd bought last year during a week of experimenting with the length of his side-burns. He moved on to his little sister Jenny's room, and finally found it under her bed, inexplicably rolled up inside and old pink bath towel.

Little sister lesson number one: If you want to keep your shit, put a padlock on your door. Not bothering to return to his own room, he went over to the mirror on the back of Jenny's closet door and tugged at the outgrown Mr. Trendy Artiste haircut he'd gotten soon after he'd made his switch from bohemian poet to gritty rock star, it was time for a change.

Doesn't everyone know not to try a new look the day before a big event? The trimmer buzzed to life and Dan began shaving the back of his neck, watching the light brown strands gather on the faded chocolate-colored carpet in mousy clumps. Then he stopped, worried all of a sudden that a beard trimmer didn't have exactly the right sort of blades the shave one's entire head with. It might leave weird red track marks all over his skull, or shave his head unevenly so that it looked like his hair had been eaten rather than cut.

Sure he wanted to look hard-core, but not chewed-head hard-core. He debated whether or not to continue. If he stopped now, the shaved parts could be completely concealed by the rest of his hair until he bent over, and then, voila- a shaved neck.

It was kinda cool knowing the shaved part was there without being able to see it. Then again, an unnoticeable hair-cut wasn't exactly the look he was going for. He put the beard trimmer down, propped a Camel between his lips, and reached for Jenny's phone.

If there was one person who knew anything about shaving heads, it was Vanessa. She'd kept her own head shaved sine the ninth grade, and, shunning the expensive salons like Frederic Fekkai and Elizabeth Arden's Red Door that her coiffed classmates frequented, insisted on shaving it herself. Secretly he's always thought she looked prettier with a little more hair, but she obviously thought she looked great bald, he wasn't about to say anything.

She wanted to give Dan space to grow and blossom into the next Kurt Cobain or John Keats or whatever the fuck he weanted to be, but breaking up with her and kicking him out of her apartment hadn't been exactly been easy for her. The casual lets-be-friends tone in Dan's voice made her heart feel like a deflated balloon.

Then again, with her older sister Ruby gone on tour with her band, it would be kind of lonely and boring living all alone in the apartment, especially without him to keep her company. For a fleeting moment Dan was so overcome with regret he felt like grabbing a pen and writing a tragic breakup poem using the words cut or shaved, but then his newly shorn neck began to burn and prickle, and he remembered why he'd called Vanessa in the first place.

Is there like, a certain kind of razor you use? Like a certain blade? Look, I gotta go. It was from CVS and didn't have a blade size.

Maybe he'd be better going to a barber. See you at my gig tomorrow night though, right? Gotta go. He whipped off his t-shirt and struck out his pale, skinny gut, trying to look saucily bored and rebellious, like a shorter, thinner, less-fucked-up Jim Morrison.

His dad, Rufus, suddenly appeared in the doorway, wearing a cigarette burned gray Old Navy sweatshirt and the pink terrycloth headband that Jenny used to keep her hair back hen she washed her face.

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She might not be too thrilled to find you stripping in her room," he commented. He was a work-at-home single dad, the editor of lesser-known Beat poets and esoteric writers no one had ever heard of. He held the beard trimmer away from his face as if worried that it might turn on by itself and buzz off his famously unkempt beard. He handed the trimmer.

He tossed the trimmer on to Jenny's bed and pulled his shirt back on. Rufus shrugged his shoulders. His dad was so gung-ho about the whole college thing, it was seriously annoying. Alone in his room, Dan found a rubber band in his desk drawer and tied his hair up into a stubbly ponytail, leaving the shaved part exposed.

He picked up the beard trimmer again. He grimaced. There just wasn't ebough gristle in his voice to sound convincing. Trading the trimmer for the pile of college catalogs he'd been thumbing through for the past three months, he flopped don on his bed. He flipped to a picture of a tweedy, intellectual-looking Brown student, his back propped against the trunk of agiant elm tree, scribbling away in a notebook like a young Keats.

He looked exactly as Dan had envisioned he'd look himself next year- before he'd been discovered by the Raves and before he'd just shaved the back of his head. He ran his finger over the shaved part of his head and glanced down at his outfit.

He'd have to go shopping, because none of his clothes went with his hair anymore. And you thought that was something only girls worry about.

If only Jenny were there to help out, Dan thought grimly. But his little sister was too busy being a supermodel to go through his closet with him and tell him what was lame and what was acceptable.

Dan picked up a cup of Folgers instant coffee that had been cooling on the floor since that morning and took a sip. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror, and for an instant he could almost envision himself up on stage, giving the audience the same annoyed, pissed-off grimace.

Maybe, just maybe he could pull this off, without his sister's help. Or maybe not. I keep a pretty sick schedule, like I sleep all day and work at night Hairlessskat: What do you do? I'm working on it. Mostly I dance with my snakes. Even though the girl Vanessa was supposed to interview in three minutes had sounded cool in her e-mail that morning, she probably wouldn't be psyched if Vanessa greeted her at the door in her black cotton Hanes underwear.

Vanessa pulled a folded pair of pants off the top shelf in her bedroom closet without even looking. Everything in her closet was black, and she was a strong believer in shopping in duplicate. If you owned six pairs of straight-legged black stretchLevis , you never really had to think about what you were going to wear, and you only had to do laundry once a week. She pulled the jeans up around her pale and slightly pudgy hips, yanked her black long-sleeved V-neck tee down over them and ran her hands over her shaved, dark head.

She might have looked odd to all the so-called "normal" girls she went to school with, but the girl she was about to meet sounded more interesting than they could ever hope to be- well, at least she had online. The downstairs buzzer rang, just as she'd anticipated. Vanessa went over to the window and pulled aside the curtain, which was really just a black poly-blend Martha Stewart Everyday bed sheet she and her sister Ruby had bought at K-mart last Halloween.

On the street two floors below, a drunk homeless guy was shouting at empty parked cars. A little boy with green spiked hair and no shirt on sped down the sidewalk on a mountain bike that was way too big for him. The crumbling cement block that served as Vanessa's front stoop was empty. The Prospective roommate was already on her way up. Normal girls, , like the girls in her class atConstance , wore pink lip gloss and different versions of the exact same pair of shoes and were religious about things like highlights and pedicures.

In her e-mail application this girl Beverly had said she was an art student at Pratt, so she was older, for one thing, and was probably kind of alternative. Hopefully she'd be as cool as she sounded. Vanessa opened the door to the apartment just asBeverly mounted the top of the stairs. And to Vanessa's complete surprise,Beverly wasn't a she, she was a he.

Vanessa had sort of forgotten to specify that she was looking for a girl roommate in her web posting. A deliberate mistake? Don't worry I'm used to it. She'd mastered the unexpressive stare long ago while eating alone day after day in theConstance Billard School cafeteria, turning out the senseless babble of her beautiful, bitchy classmates. She tucked her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans and nonchalantly led the way into the apartment "I was just IMing with this weirdo chick who dances with snakes.

You don't have any snakes, do you? The walls were white and the wood floors were bare. The only decorations were framed stills from the dark, morose films that Vanessa notoriously made in her spare time. Vanessa discovered she was staring atBeverly 's firm, round buttocks and quickly averted her eyes.

Vanessa loved that he didn't start babbling about how offbeat or depressing the were, the way people usually did. Just the way he said, "whose work? Her fridge was uncharacteristically full of beer from her eighteenth-birthday party two weekends ago, and she'd take any opportunity to get rid of it.

Ask any high-school boy if he wanted a beer and he'd down a whole six-pack in three seconds flat. AllBeverly needed was a little water to whet his palate, and a place to live- for instance, with her. Slow down, Nellie! What about the interview? Vanessa went into the tiny open kitchen and got out a vintage Scooby-Doo glass and some ice and a pitcher of filtered water from the refrigerator. She filled the glass slowly, surreptitiously studyingBeverly as she did so.

His small, intense eyes were pale blue, and his short, tousled hair was nearly black. The palms of his hands and his fingernails were stained black with some sort of ink he must have been using in his artwork, and his drab green t-shirt was flecked with what looked like sawdust. His black pants were just the sort of loose black cotton poplin slacks she would have worn everyday if she were a guy, and on his feet were a pair of those thin orange rubber flip-flops you can download at the drugstore for ninety-nine cents.

He was so not like the people she went to school with, Vanessa couldn't help but feel kind of excited. Could that have anything to do with the fact that he's a guy? She walked around the counter and handedBeverly the water, already envisioning what it would be like to stay up late and watch movies together. She could bring him water and he would nod his head at her in that thoughtful, sexy way of his.

And then they would dissect Stanley Kubrick's work, film by film Vanessa took a seat on the futon sofa andBeverly sat down beside her. It can get pretty crazy there sometimes, though. She knew exactly how he felt.

Of course, she'd never expected to share an apartment with a guy- other than Dan- but she was eighteen now, an adult, able to make her own decisions and mature enough to have a guy roommate and no intention of jumping his bones. So he didn't want to live with her? Do stuff. Get to know each other. See if it could work out," he added. Vanessa sat on her hands feeling embarrassingly like one of those so-called normal girls she hated after some hottie had asked them to a prom or whatever they called those ridiculous dress-up parties they were always going to because it gave them the opportunity to download a new dress.

Beverly did want to live with her. He just wanted to get to know her first. How refreshing and exciting to finally meet someone so intelligent, creative, cool- and hot!

I mean, you're right. It's important to know who you're about to move in with. Wow, he even cleans up after himself. He flip-flopped back into the living room. What better way to show Dan that she'd moved on and had a life of her own beyond him and his selfish self than to bring a guy to his first gig?

Want to go? He pressed his palms together and nodded his head in that sexy, monklike way of his. I'll call you tomorrow to make a plan. Saturday mornings she and Beverly would sit by that window, making use of its southern exposure to make their art. He would work silently at his canvas, smearing black ink all over it with his hands while she filmed him. And both of them would be Of course. How exciting to live with an artist. Of course, Dan was a poet, but that was different. All he did was scribble in notebooks all day, drinking bad coffee and getting shakier and more neurotic by the hour.

Of course she would continue to interview other people- at least Instant Messenger- until everything was worked out. But she was already pretty sure she'd found what she was looking for, the perfect mate. Doesn't she mean roommate? What are you guys doing? Eleanor Waldorf and Blair's stepbrother, Aaron Rose, were standing on the bed in Blair's makeshift bedroom, thumb tacking some sort of large map on the wall.

Blair stood in the doorway with her arms folded, awaiting an explanation. Eleanor was wearing a bizarre Versace outfit that had bad sample-sale download written all over it.

The outfit consisted of an orange-and-black vertically striped halter top attached to green-and-black horizontally striped pedal-pushers by way of a mess of gold chains and buttons. The petal-pushers even sported gold fringe. Why is it that the mom population is always drawn to designer's biggest mistakes?

Not only was Eleanor's outfit ugly, but in another fit of postpartum depression she'd dome something dreadful to her hair. That morning it had been shoulder-length and blonde. Now it's dyed dark red and cropped close to her head, like Sharon Osbourne's. Needless to say, it was sort of hard for Blair to look at her.

Aaron pushed the last tack into the corner of the map and hopped down from the bed, his wannabe Rastafarian mini dreadlocks banging merrily against his hollow vegan cheeks. After all his father and her mother had only been married since thanksgiving, so Eleanor was definitely not his mom and she was very definitely not his sister. Despite the existence of her little brother Tyler, who was a boy, and Yale, who was only a baby, Blair had always identified herself as an only child, except for those rare occasions when she and Serena were getting along so well it felt like they were sisters.

Eleanor scooted off the bed, grabbed Blair's hand, and dragged her over to the sage-colored wall to look at the map. It was a detail ofAustralia and the Pacific Ocean, and there were four red circles drawn around four pinpricks in the sea betweenVanuatu andFiji.

Underneath the circles, written in black ink in Eleanor's loopy cursive, were the names Yale, Tyler, Aaron, and Blair. Blair twisted her ruby ring around and around on her finger. Eleanor was still holding Blair's hand and she squeezed her daughter's fingers tightly with manic delight.

Each of my four little darlings has their ownPacific Island! And next year, when they print the new maps, your names will appear right there nest toFiji! Isn't that fantastic? Fiji had always sounded sort of exotic to her, but theisland ofBlair probably consisted of a scrappy shrub on top a piece of reef riddled with spiny sea urchins and kelp.

If he wasn't careful, Aaron was going to become one of those pale, skinny, asexual, vegetarian old men like Morrissey, fading into the ether without anyone remembering that he'd ever been there. Aaron and Serena had hooked up and even been in love for a fleeting moment that winter, but Aaron wasn't exciting enough to hold Serena's attention for more than five minutes.

Than again, who was? Blair wasn't all that interested in what Aaron and his loser Bronxdale Prep band mates did to amuse themselves, or in her mother's insane need to download random, completely pointless things like islands and alpacas and surfboards, but she did want to know what Kitty Minky, her Russian Blue cat, was doing digging around in the sumptuous pile of silk-covered bolsters, pillows, and throws at the head of her bed.

All of a sudden Kitty Minky let loose a stream of disgusting smelling cat pee. Kitty Minky leapt off the bed, but it was too late: Blair's rose-colored silk bedspread and throw pillows were soaked through. You can sleep with me and Tyler in our room until Esther cleans this place up," Aaron offered. Tyler and Aaron's roomed smelled like beer and feet and tofu hot dogs and those foul herbal cigarettes Aaron was always smoking. Blair wrinkled her nose. Eleanor wrung her hands. She picked up some sort of terrible face rash at the pediatrician's office when she was there for her checkup yesterday.

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Apparently it's very contagious. Blair's small blue eyes narrowed. She adored her baby sister, but she wasn't about to risk getting a rash, especially not a face rash. Which left a particular question unanswered: Exactly where the fuck was she supposed to sleep?! The penthouse was clearly uninhabitable, and while the Archibalds' house had seemed like an obvious choice only an hour ago, it had since turned into an after-school program for sixteen-year-old Nate-worshipping stoners.

Serena's door was always open, but Serena's parents were kind of old-fashioned, and they probably wouldn't like it if Blair had a boy in her room with the door closed or whatever.

Like Serena never had a boy in her room with the door closed?! Besides, Blair had already tried living with Serena for a few days that spring and they'd fought the whole time. Of course that was when Blair had been trying to seduce Serena's brother Erik in order to lure Nate away from that drugged-up lumber heiress he'd met in rehab. Still, now that she and Serena were friends again, it was best not to risk it.

As if they wouldn't find something else to fight over. Blair pulled open the top drawer of the cruelty-free mahogany dresser. She had a credit card, and there were lots of nice hotels nearby. She grabbed a pair of clean white cotton Hanro underwear and a white tank top. The one benefit of wearing a uniform to school was packing light.

And the benefit of packing light was that undoubtedly she would need something that she didn't have and would therefore have to download at on of the three Bs: Bendel's, Berfdorf's, or Barneys. She glanced at her gold Cartier chain-link wristwatch. I'm five minutes late for my Red Door makeup appointment. I can't wait to surprise him with his present. A whole country? But I'm not sure if I'll even be coming back, you know, to live.

After seventeen and a half years of being Blair's mother, she still didn't quite know what to make of her. Blair smirked back. As if they were worried. Remember that time in Latin when you were so baked you thought you were in French? Herman the she-man was like, "I beg your pardon, Mr.

Although all romance languages find their roots in Latin, I never did master French. Like a native speaker. A ponytailed boy named Malcolm was playing the guitar and singing an ancient James Taylor song. My parents'Hamptons booze cruise is in a couple weeks. Boat's already docked down in Battery Park. You're coming right?

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Fat chance. He realized vaguely that Blair had never made an appearance on the roof terrace. Maybe, she was still in the shower, or maybe she'd kissed him good-bye and gone home? He honestly couldn't remember. If she was still in the shower, he might steal downstairs and surprise her.

The thought of her wet and naked made him smile deliciously. Charlie pulled a marijuana-stuffed Ziploc from out of his khaki pants pocket and began loading it up on the bong. Nate pressed answer and put the phone on to his ear without actually saying anything. So get your ass over here right now. I have a suite. Nate gazed in the general direction of downtown. It seemed very far away, but it would be nice to lie on a big white hotel bed and watch lots of movies and order room service.

He was pretty hungry. Not exactly what Blair had in mind. I've got everything else covered," she added coyly. Meaning the three Cs: Champagne , caviar and condoms. He'd pick the green alligator away from his Lacoste shirt, and it dangled from his chest like a partially removed scab. It's stocked with booze, and the crew's probably doing the tourist thing in town and won't even notice if we take it out for a spin, right? You sail like a master. Why not go on a little pre-Hamptons excursion to, say-" "Bermuda!

The three boys looked at Nate. They knew they were asking to do something completely outrageous, but they could tell by the interested glimmer in Nate's eye that he was sort of into it. Nate's mind was racing in a blurry, zig-zaggedy, stoned way. Sail the boat toBermuda?

Sure, why not? They were seniors they could do whatever they wanted. Blair could come too, and they could drink mimosas and make love on the beach under the warm sun. She was always talking about going away together. Lexie came over and sat down in Nate's lap. The tip of her jet-black ponytail just grazed the sun, moon and the stars tattoo on her shoulder blade. Nate waited until she was done with the bong to pushing her out of his lap and hoisting himself to his feet.

He clapped his hands together like a stoned camp counselor. Not only had they gotten to party at Nate Archibalds' town house, he was taking them somewhere- probably somewhere cooler than they had ever been before.

Jude's junior whose name happened to be Nte lyons, and who mimicked his namesake down on the color of his navy blue Brooks Brothers socks. There was a mass rush to the exit. Nate Archibald, the coolest senior boy on theUpper East Side , was taking them out on his boat. It was their big fucking day! Nate followed the rest of the boys downstairs with good-natured amusement, completely forgetting what he's been about to do before the topic of a sail toBermuda even came up.

She'd called Serena just to brag about being at the Plaza, feeling guilty as she dialed but getting over the guilt by the time the phone began to ring. She leaned toward the massive gilt-framed bathroom mirror and applied another coat of Chanel Vamp lipstick. It was dark red and she usually only wore it in winter, but when you were locked in a sumptuous hotel suite with your boyfriend having constant sex, who cared what season it was? Blair had confessed to finally loosing her virginity to Nate the morning after it happened, but she'd resisted too much detail and Serena resisted asking too many questions.

After all, Serena and Nate had lost their virginities together, so sex withy Nate was kind of an awkward subject. Her acceptance to Yale was an even worse subject. Of course she wasn't exactly into Yale yet, but she was on the fucking waiting list- they still could have invited her.

Nate was into Yale too, but he hadn't mentioned any Yale party. And if he wasn't going, she certainly couldn't go. They might be Boys buzzed and hovered around her like flies at a picnic. She slipped into one of the Plaza's thick white terrycloth robes and answered the door. She tipped the guy and waited until he closed the door. Then she slipped out of her robe, flopped down on her side on the massiveCalifornia king bed, and reached for the remote.

To her disappointment, 'Dirt Dancing' was playing. Since when was anything made after a true classic? Blair wondered. All of a sudden she felt odd. But then, that seemed sort of appropriate, considering she was about to have a hot-and-heavy liaison with her lover in a sumptuous hotel suite. Where was Nate anyway? A cab away from his house to the Plaza would only take seven minutes. If she were Nate, she'd have made it in five.

She dialed his cell without even looking at the buttons on her phone, but there was no answer. Maybe he was showering and putting on his very sexy black Calvin Klein boxers in preparation for their rendezvous, she mused. Blair stood up, removed her robe, and dimmed the lights. Then she spread a little caviar on one of the toast points and stood watching herself in the over-sized gilt-framed dressing mirror as she ate it. On the TV screen behind her, "Baby" was trying to look innocent after spending all night having big sweaty sex with Patrick Swayze, the dance instructor at the summer resort where her family was vacationing.

Baby's dad was so seriously pissed off at her; Blair wondered fleetingly how her own dad would feel if he knew she'd moved into a hotel suite just so she could have a little privacy with Nate. Not that her gay, French-chateau-living, pastel-argyle-socks-and-baby-blue-Gucci-sunglasses-wearing dad and Baby's responsible doctor dad in 'Dirty Dancing' had anything in common.

She dialed Nate once again and when he didn't answer, she made herself another caviar toast point sandwich and called her dad's number in southern France, where he'[d been living since he and Eleanor split up over his gayness almost two years ago. Is everything okay? Did you hear from those fuck-head at Yale yet? Are you in? Her father demanded as soon as he heard her voice. Blair could picture him perfectly, naked except for a pair of royal blue silk boxers shorts, his sleeping lover- Francois or Eduard or whatever his name was - snoring softly beside him.

Harold Waldorf, Esq. Now he bottled his own wine from the vineyards surrounding his chateau, shopped at cute French boutiques that catered exclusively to tanned gay men, and swam laps in his pool while his tanned gay lovers attended him with fresh towels and glasses of cognac.

It was a luxe life, indeed. In fact, talking to her dad was exactly like talking to one of her girlfriends. He didn't mind that it was almost two in the morning inFrance and she had totally woken him up.

You'll be here in an hour. I'm living here now. In a suite. He was so into his latest batch of white wine, he probably kept a bottle chilling next to the bed exactly for occasions like this. In 'Dirty Dancing' Land, Baby's bitchy sister was performing in a stupid talent show, wearing a bikini top that was way to small for her. Blair muted the TV, spread another blob of caviar on a toast point, lit a cigarette and sighed dramatically.

The staff would pick through her trash and steal her clothes, and tourists would stand on Central Park South opposite the hotel, just waiting to catch a glimpse of her. She'd be the talk of the town.

As if she wasn't already. Blair giggled and scarfed down another caviar sandwich between drags on her Merit Ultra Light. She contemplated the bottle of champagne she'd ordered, still chilling in its silver-plated ice bucket. Nate wouldn't mind if she opened the bottle and had one tiny glass before he arrived, would he? Or course not. You deserve to have it all.

Blair grabbed the bottle of champagne and held it between her bare knees, expertly untwisting the wire keeper from around the cork and then inching the cork out of the bottle's neck, slowly You are totally having a party! On screen Patrick Swayze was face-to-face with Baby's dad. It was the cheesiest movie, but she still fantasized about Nate defending her in such a determined, angry way.

Nate was seriously hot when he was angry, which was just about It's hard to get riled up when your stoned all the time. Although who knew what was taking him so goddamned long. They will let you in. Over the phone she heard someone mumble something in sleepy French. I have to go. You just enjoy yourself. She hung up and dialed Nate's cell phone again.

No answer. She dialed his house line. No answer, just his admiral dad in the answering machine, reading from the actual instructions the machine came with that no normal person ever used: Please leave a brief message and we will return your call as soon as possible.

Another old favorite. Blair put the white terrycloth bathrobe back on a fluffed up the pillows on the giant bed. Then she dialed room service again. And a pack of Merit Ultra Lights. When she left his house, Nate had been partying with a bunch of stoners, including an annoying French hippie chick named Lexique.

That stupid, lazy asshole who so didn't deserve to go to Yale probably hadn't even noticed that Blair had left. Tears seeped out from under her closed lids. Nate hadn't changed. Nothing had changed- except the status of her virginity.

She bit her lip and fought back an angry sob. Well, so what? Nate didn't deserve sex. Besides, eating a hot fudge sundae in a Plaza hotel bed while plotting her revenge on her asshole-of-a-loser-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend was even better than sex.

Way better. Yes, it's a school day. Unfortunately we'll be too busy getting ready for our hot-stone facials and seaweed body wraps to remember to show up! Please don't be worried about getting into trouble- not that you really are. Senior Cut Day is an ancientConstance Billard School tradition, and no one's ever been expelled or even punished for it.

So here's what's happening. Thursday night at 6: M we'll board the Archibald family's big sailboat, which is docked atBattery Park City. The Archibalds are having their annual benefit cruise to theHamptons , and they have generously offered us a ride. As soon as we dock in Sag Harbor, we'll be picked up by a fleet of limos, which will whisk us off to Isabel Coates's totally amazing beach house, where the biggest, bestest girls-only slumber party will take place.

In the morning we'll have breakfast by the pool, catered by TBA we're working on getting the chef who helped Julia Roberts lose all that weight after having her twins. After that, a day of treatment brought to us by Origins. And everyone will get an Origins gift bag valued at three hundred dollars to take home wither totally refreshed and revitalized new self!

Resort casual. Towels, hairdryers, bath, and beauty products galore will be supplied. No dogs, please even if they are really small. Let's heard it for an amazing weekend of bonding with the girls! Big Smoochies!! S We put a suggestion box in the senior lounge, so your ideas are welcome, not that we haven't already planned the most perfect day!

S Two, four, six, eight, only one month till we graduate!!! I mean is it okay to just, like, disappear?? Apparently a bunch of boys we all know and love at least most of the time have hijacked a very large, well-appointed sailboat and are headed into theAtlantic.

It could be just another senior prank, except that half the boys on the boat are juniors. It's kind of random time to take off, especially when all of us girls could use a little entertainment.

Just who do they think they are- Christopher Colombus? Rumor has it the latest couple of the moment is a certain blond-hairedFifth Avenue -dwelling senior girl and the lead guitarist from the Raves. How, when, and where they met is a complete mystery, but talk about a perfect couple! Don't even try to pretend it was someone else: I saw you sneaking into the Gap on Eighty-sixth and Madison and actually trying on a plum-colored Juicy Couture terrycloth zip-up hoodie in the kids' section.

Okay, I'm a snooping bitch. But the reason I'm ratting you out is I tried the very same hoodie on, and, unlike you although I know you wanted to , I bought three of them! Why not? Besides, terrycloth is terrycloth, and what better way to show off your white new jacquard Gucci bikini than with a cute plum-colored hoodie? Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card: Dear GG, Are you ever going to tell us where you're going to college next year?

Have you even decided? Dear qrs, That's for me to know and you to find out.