And then she sighed. Julian. Jenny paused for a second when her feet hit the first floor. In a different mood, she would have smiled at the sight of the broom closet where he’d once been hiding. Their kiss had been . . . unexpected. And awesome.
She almost giggled, thinking back at it, her mood starting to lift. The door to Brett and Tinsley’s door was open, but as Jenny peeked hesitantly inside, not wanting Tinsley to bite it off, she saw that it was empty. She padded over to Kara’s room and knocked gently. There was a pause and some shuffling before Kara appeared wearing a baggy Red Hot Chili Peppers concert T-shirt and a pair of black leggings. “Hey,” Jenny said, grateful to see a friendly face. “I was just looking for Brett.” “Oh, yeah.” Kara opened the door further and saw Brett sitting in Kara’s desk chair. “What are you doing here?” Brett asked, her voice cold. Her short hair was pulled into two short pigtails at the side of her head, and her makeupless face looked kind of young and sad. She was wearing a pair of gray-striped flannel pajamas but seemed to be shivering inside them. Jenny was taken aback. She paused where she was and looked at Brett blankly. “I, uh . . . You weren’t in your room, so I figured you’d be here.” “Be a little louder, Jenny.” Brett laughed hollowly, sounding completely unlike herself. “Although I guess you already told everyone everything anyway.” Jenny rushed toward her. “I did not tell anyone!” she whispered. “I would never do that to you.” Tinsley could hate her all she wanted, and even Callie could want to murder her, but just the idea that Brett could be mad at her made Jenny want to dig a hole and bury herself in it. But Brett couldn’t be mad at her for this—she hadn’t done anything.
“No?” Brett asked, her voice wavering. She rubbed a hand across her face, looking completely forlorn.
Callie. It was all Callie and her stupid, drunkenly insinuating comments. Jenny bit her lip. “But I do think Callie knows . . . and I kind of heard her, well, implying things. To other people.” Brett covered her face in both hands. “I think I’m going crazy,” she admitted despondently. Her green cat eyes turned to Jenny, looking wobbly and sad. “I’m so sorry, Jenny. I didn’t meant to accuse you. I just . . . don’t know what I’m doing right now.” She tried to laugh but it came out as a hiccup. “I practically strangled Heath earlier when I thought it was him.” “It’s okay,” Jenny reassured her. Kara closed the door behind her and then plopped down on the bed. Jenny perched herself on the end, not sure if Brett wanted a hug or not. “But wait, how did Heath know about you guys?” Brett chuckled weakly. “He sort of started it all.” She smiled at Kara, who was sitting cross-legged with her pillow in her lap. It looked like the two of them were talking to each other across the room without even saying anything. “But it wasn’t him that spilled it—we had this sort of deal.” Jenny was still a little confused, but she nodded anyway. “But . . . how did Callie know anything?” Kara cleared her throat, and both girls turned to look at her. “About that.” She looked sheepishly at Brett, squeezing the pillow to her chest. “I am so, so sorry—we just had this sort of bonding moment after the last meeting.” Kara cringed, and her wide eyes started to fill with tears. “I didn’t mean to tell her, it just sort of slipped out. This is all my fault.” Brett slid off the chair and sat down on the bed next to her. “It’s okay.” She smiled, and Jenny could tell she was trying to sound tougher than she felt. “At least we didn’t burn the barn down.”
To: Undisclosed recipients
From:
[email protected] Date: Friday, October 11, 11:25 P.M.
Subject: Fire
Waverly Students,
As many of you know, there was a fire tonight at the Cinephiles party at the Millers’ farm that resulted in the destruction of a seventy-year-old barn. Not only was this a completely irresponsible act, it was also incredibly dangerous and infantile. Whoever was responsible for starting the fire will be expelled from Waverly Academy immediately.
A disciplinary committee hearing will be scheduled for next week for all those present at the Cinephiles party. Your names are on record at the front office.
This is a deplorable abuse of the school’s trust. Anyone who has information about the guilty party is morally and ethically required to report that information in immediately—at risk of expulsion.
Dean Marymount
40
A LOYAL OWL IS ALWAYS ON HIS GIRLFRIEND’S SIDE—NO MATTER WHAT.
On Saturday morning, Callie was torn out of a deep sleep by the buzzing of her cell phone. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the tiny screen. She had a new text message: Get out of bed, lazybones. Meet me outside your dorm in 20, okay? Xo. Callie smiled in spite of herself. It was like Easy couldn’t bear to be out of her sight for too long. Good. That was how it should be.
When she’d gotten undressed last night, she’d found a piece of hay stuck in her sweater, and she’d slipped it into her desk drawer so that whenever she opened it, she would remember last night. She kind of wished she had a scrapbook, but then she realized it might be kind of weird to put something like that in there. She could picture her mom flipping through it and wanting to know why she had kept a piece of hay for posterity.
Callie glanced over at her roommate’s bed, noticing it was empty. Her sheets and blankets were twisted into a giant lump at the foot of the bed. Probably one way of saying eff you to Callie after their fight last night. Well, nice fucking try. Like she gave a shit if she left the room a mess—Callie left the room a mess. She flounced into the shower, resolved not to think any more about her self-righteous little roommate who needed to learn how to get over it.
After throwing on a pair of slim-fitting Stella McCartney jeans and her newest pair of boots—ultra-cozy black suede Michael Kors fur-lined ones that made her think of all the upcoming winter days that would be spent snuggling with Easy, with or without the boots on—she hurried outside, eager to walk into the dining hall with Easy on her arm and have the whole world know that finally, he was hers once again.
Take that, Ms. Humphrey.
Easy was waiting for her on the front steps. She paused before opening the door and going out to meet him. Through the window, she could see his outline against the brilliant blue sky, all the autumn leaves in full color. She’d never really gotten all the fuss about the leaves before. But right then, the beautiful colors seemed to be forming a perfect frame for the back of his head.
She opened the door slowly, and he spun around. “Hey,” she said, a little awkwardly, stepping outside. Despite the sunny blue skies, it was freezing, and she was glad she’d decided to put on her cream-colored Ralph Lauren peacoat. She could feel her wet hair start to stiffen in the cold.
Easy still looked kind of sleepy, but unbelievably cute in his navy quilted vest and jeans. “Wanna go for a walk? I brought breakfast.” She noticed two paper coffee cups sitting on the steps. He shook the bag in his hand. “Bagels.” Callie tried to hide her disappointment. She’d really been looking forward to walking into the dining hall together and having everyone see them, to establishing the way things were going to be from now on. But . . . it was pretty sweet of him to surprise her. She smiled. “What kind?” “One cinnamon-raisin, extra-toasted, with fat-free cream cheese.” His eyes glinted in the sunlight. “But that’s for me.” Callie slapped her hand against his chest and he caught it, holding it for a second in his own calloused hand. At the touch of his skin, she felt her own starting to heat up again. “Where are we going to go?” she asked, a little huskily.
He picked up one of the cups of coffee and handed it to her, still steaming. She gratefully wrapped her hands around the warm cup, but was very conscious of the whiteness of her coat. It seemed to be begging her to spill all over it. “Maybe up to the bluffs?” She hid her frown. No one would see them up there. But . . . whatever. Maybe that was the way he wanted it. They started out across the grass, their feet crunching noisily against the cold, colored leaves.
“Everyone’s really talking about this fire,” Easy said as they walked.
br /> Callie glanced over at him. “Well, yeah. We don’t have off-campus parties and burn down barns every day.” He took a sip of coffee, making a cute little noise as he swallowed the hot liquid. Then he cleared his throat and glanced at her, his deep blue eyes looking troubled. “Well, I guess a lot of people kind of think we started it.” “What?!” Callie stopped walking. Of course Jenny was spreading rumors that the fire was their fault. “It’s Jenny. I know it is. She’s trying to get us expelled.” “What?” It was Easy’s turn to be surprised. “Jenny? No way.” Callie stiffened up. Was he defending that little fire-starting ho-bag? She felt her palms start to sweat. Not again. “She saw us, you know. We had a huge fight last night, and she called me all these names.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Easy didn’t really need to know the exact truth. He just needed to be on his girlfriend’s side, unquestioningly.
Easy absentmindedly combed through his hair with his hand. “Well, I’m sure she’s upset, and all.” Wrong answer. Callie took a step away from Easy and took a sip of her coffee. Almost immediately, she felt a few drips sneak out the plastic top of the cup and splatter against her coat. Fuck. “If you think she’s so great, then maybe you should just go be with her right now.” “Don’t be like that.” Easy took two steps forward and quickly put his arms around her—the quickest response he’d ever had to one of her temper tantrums. Callie was impressed. He nuzzled his lips against her ear and Callie closed her eyes and forgot about the coffee that was probably going to stain her brand-new coat. His hoarse whisper tickled her ear deliciously. “You know last night was the best night of my life.”
She sighed and pressed her lips to Easy’s neck. That was more like it.
But he pulled away slightly. His forehead was furrowed with worry. His dry fingers traced her cheekbones.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m just worried. . . .” He stepped away from her and picked up a stick that was lying on the lawn and chucked it into the distance. “If I know Marymount—and after all the trouble I’ve been in, I think I do—someone’s going to take the fall for this.” Callie grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She and Easy were finally back together. They were in love, just in time to drink hot cocoa after dinner together at night and kiss in the middle of the quad the first time it snowed. It wasn’t going to be them. It couldn’t be. And if that meant it had to be someone else, well, so be it.
BennyCunningham: OMG. Did you hear? They found Julian’s Zippo in the wreckage of the fi re!!
TinsleyCarmichael: No kidding.
BennyCunningham: I guess he’s the prime suspect. Hope he doesn’t get expelled. He’s too cute, even if he’s a freshman.
TinsleyCarmichael: I actually SAW him behind the barn . . . with Jenny. Guess they’ve been hooking up. Think they started it?
BennyCunningham: Probably. There’s something shifty about a guy that tall and a girl that’s practically a midget.
TinsleyCarmichael: Totally . . .
CallieVernon: Hey. How are you?
TinsleyCarmichael: Um, fi ne.
CallieVernon: Sorry we haven’t talked this week.
TinsleyCarmichael: Whatever.
CallieVernon: U in trouble for the barn? Because I think I know who did it.
TinsleyCarmichael: Talk to me, sister.
CallieVernon: Jenny. She saw me and EZ, um, together.
Together, together.
TinsleyCarmichael: Sounds like motive to me. CallieVernon: Exactly.
TinsleyCarmichael: I’m soooo on it. And Cal?
CallieVernon: Yeah?
TinsleyCarmichael: It’s good to have you back on the dark side.
CallieVernon: Good to be here. Later, babe.
Once upon a time on the Upper East Side of New York City, two beautiful girls fell in love with one perfect boy. . ..
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
It had to be you
the gossip girl preque!
and find out how it all began.
by the #1 New York Times bestselling author
Cecily von Ziegesar
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Names, me.
hey people!
Ever have that totally freakish feeling that someone is listening in on your conversations, spying on you and your friends, following you to parties, and generally stalking you? Well, they are. Or actually, / am. The truth is, I’ve been here all along, because I’m one of you.
Feeling totally lost? Don’t got out much? Don’t know who “we” are? Allow me to explain. We’re exclusive group of indescribably beautiful people who happen to live in those majestic, green-awninged, white-glove-doorman buildings near Central Park. We attend Manhattan’s most elite single-sex private schools. Our families own yachts and estates in various exotic locations throughout the world. We frequent all the best beaches and the most exclusive ski resorts. We’re seated immediately at the nicest restaurants in the chicest neighborhoods without a reservation. We turn heads. But don’t confuse us with Hollywood actors or models or rock Stars—those people you feel like you know because you hear so much about them, but who are actually completely boring compared to the parts they play or the songs they sing. There’s nothing boring about me or my friends, and the more I tell you about us, the more you’re going to want to know. I’ve kept quiet until now, but something has happened and I just can’t stay quiet about it. . .
the greatest story ever told
We learned in our first eleventh-grade creative writing class this week that most great stories being in one of the following fashions: someone mysteriously disappears or a stranger comes to town. The story I’m about to tell is of the “someone mysteriously disappears” variety.
To be specific, S is gone.
In order to unravel the mystery of why she’s left and where she’s gone, I’m going to have to backtrack to last winter—the winter of our sophomore year—when the La Mer skin cream hit the fan and our pretty pink rose-scented bubble burst. It all started with three inseparable, perfectly innocent, uumlber-gorgeous fiteen-years-olds. Well, they’re sixteen now, and let’s just say that two of them are not that innocent.
If anyone is going to tell this tale it has to be me, because I was at the scene of every crime. So sit back while I unravel the past and reveal everyone’s secrets, because I know everything, and what I don’t know I’ll invent, elaborately.
Admit it: you’re already falling for me.
Love you to. . .
gossip girl.
the best stories begin with one boy and two girls
“Truce!” Serena van der Woodsen screamed as Nate Archibald body-checked her into a three-foot-high drift of powdery white snow. Cold and wet, it tunneled into her ears and down her pants. Nate dove on top of her, all five-foot eleven inches of his perfect, golden-brown-haired, glittering- green-eyed, fifteen-year-old boyness. Nate smelled like Downy and the Kiehl ’s sandalwood soap the maid stocked his bathroom with. Serena just lay there, trying to breathe with him on top of her. “My scalp is cold,” she pleaded, getting a mouthful of Nate ’s snow-dampened, godlike curls as she spoke.
Nate sighed reluctantly, as if he could have spent all day outside in the frigid February meat locker that was the back garden of his family ’s Eighty-second-Street-just-off-Park-Avenue Manhattan town house. He rolled onto his back and wriggled like Serena ’s long-dead golden retriever, Guppy, when she used to let him loose on the green grass of the Great Lawn in Central Park. Then he stood up, awkwardly dusting off the seat of his neatly pressed Brooks Brothers khakis. It was Saturday, but he still wore the same clothes he wore every weekday as a sophomore at the St. Jude ’s School for Boys over on East End Avenue. It was the unofficial Prince of the Upper East Side uniform, the same uniform he and his classmates had been wearing since they ’d started nursery school together at Park Avenue Presbyterian.
Nate held out his hand to help Serena to her feet. She frown
ed cautiously up at him, worried that he was only faking her out and was about to tackle her again. “I really am cold.”
He flapped his hand at her impatiently. “I know. Come on.”
She snorted, pretended to pick her nose and wipe it on the seat of her snow-soaked dark denim Earl jeans, then grabbed his hand with her faux-snotty one. “Thanks, pal.” She staggered to her feet. “You ’re a real chum.”
Nate led the way inside. The backs of his pant legs were damp and she could see the outline of his tighty-whiteys. Really, how gay of him! He held the glass-paned French doors open and stood aside to let her pass. Serena kicked off her baby blue Uggs and scuffed her bare, Urban Decay Piggy Bank-pink-toenailed feet down the long hall to the stately town house ’s enormous, barely used all-white Italian Modern kitchen. Nateys father was a former sea captain-turned-banker, and his mother was a French society hostess. They were basically never home, and when they were home, they were at the opera.
“Are you hungry?” Nate asked, following her. “I ’m so sick of takeout. My parents have been in Venezuela or Santa Domingo or wherever they go in February for like two weeks, and I ’ve been eating burritos, pizza, or sushi every freaking night. I asked Regina to buy ham, Swiss, Pepperidge Farm white bread, Grammy Smith apples, and peanut butter. All I want is the food I ate in kindergarten.” He tugged anxiously on his wavy, golden brown hair. “Maybe I ’m going through some sort of midlife crisis or something.”
Like his life is so stressful?
“It ’s Granny Smith, silly,” Serena informed him fondly. She opened a glossy white cupboard and found an unopened box of cinnamon-and-brown-sugar Pop-Tarts. Ripping open the box, she removed one of the packets from inside, tore it open with her neat, white teeth, and pulled out a thickly frosted pastry. She sucked on the Pop-Tart ’s sweet, crumbly corner and hopped up on the counter, kicking the cupboards below with her size-eight-and-a-half feet. Pop-Tarts at Nate ’s. She ’d been having them there since she was five years old. And now . . . and now . . .