And sure to make its way into the public realm—nudge, nudge.
n picks up another girl
Nate glanced at his beat-up platinum Rolex as he hopped out of the cab and into the blinding morning light. He shaded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the street signs, trying to get his bearings. “Thanks, man.” He turned to the cabbie and handed him forty bucks.
“Sir, you overpay—” The driver handed back one of the twenties, but Nate had already turned away.
“It’s all yours,” he called as he hurried down the street. He checked his watch again. Nine fifty-five. Only five more minutes.
He started to run now, his loafers slapping against the pavement as his feet made contact with the hot asphalt. A few paces and he was panting. The sweat trickled down the back of his gray T-shirt. The balls of his feet hurt and he wished he’d worn sneakers—and maybe eaten some breakfast.
Of course he’d be thinking of food at a time like this. His phone rang and buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. Blair. Again. He silenced the phone and put it back into his shorts.
Finally he rounded a corner and there she was, the sweet girl he’d be spending the next year with.
Who?
Nate raced down the Battery Park City wharf—the same dock he and Blair had sailed into ten days ago, although it felt like much longer. It was as if the moment he’d set foot on dry land, his days had turned into a confusing tangle of getting stoned and hurting the people he loved.
Story of his life.
Nate leapt onto the deck and strode into the stern of the Belinda, crashing into a pile of life preservers. He looked at his watch again.
“Nine fifty-nine!” he called out. “I’m early!”
Chips appeared from the cabin with a grin. “Glad you made it.” He was wearing his “traveling clothes,” a pristine pair of white duck cloth sailor’s pants and a navy blue windbreaker. His white hair was combed back from his deeply lined face, and his blue eyes sparkled as he moved around the boat, his bad leg dragging behind him but an excited spring in his step. He bent at the waist, untied a mass of rope at his feet, and began to raise the anchor with the hand crank. That’s what Nate was going to love about sailing with Chips. No computerized anything. Everything was done the old-fashioned way, with maps and muscle. “Belinda and I thought we might have to leave without you.” Nate grinned, extracting himself from the pile of life preservers, and started to help Chips with the rope. “I just wanted to make you sweat a little.” His phone rang again in his pocket and he pulled it out—even though he knew who was calling. He silenced the ringer.
Chips arched an eyebrow. “Which one is it? Does she know where you’ve gone?” “She doesn’t. Neither of them knows, actually. They both think I’m meeting them at Grand Central right now.” Nate thought about Blair and Serena standing in the train station, wondering where he was, and felt bad—but only for a minute. He closed his eyes as he pictured Blair’s excited, happy face and Serena’s wide, gorgeous smile. It really was better this way—for everyone—whether they realized it or not. Serena and Blair would be friends again—without him getting in the way all the time.
“You didn’t even tell them?” Chips coiled a length of rope around one arm, his brow furrowed. “Did nothing of my using-your-balls speech make its way through that thick hair of yours and into your head?” Nate looked out to sea. The sky above him was flooded with bright morning light that bounced off the calm surface of the water. “No . . .” he began. “I got it. It’s just . . . better this way. If I’d told them, they would have tried to stop me from leaving.” His phone started beeping wildly, breaking the perfect silence of the calm morning. Nate pulled it out of his pocket and silenced it again. “And I might have let them.” He glanced at the phone in his hand and its screen flashing 18 MISSED CALLS. He flipped it open and punched at the keypad, knowing exactly what he needed to say in his text. He pressed SEND and then SEND again. And then he brought his throwing arm back and tossed the phone out to sea. It made a tiny splash as it hit the calm surface of the water.
Chips nodded approvingly and Nate grabbed a rope to hoist the sail, giving it a fierce pull. The sail rose above him, fluttered in the breeze, and then grew taut.
“We’re off!” Chips cried as the boat motored out into the harbor.
Nate watched the dock grow smaller and smaller. Maybe college was the right choice for most people, but it wasn’t for him—at least not now. Yale could wait. He needed time to figure out who he was and what he really wanted, and he was never going to do that if every spare minute was taken up with classes, papers, and . . . Blair. Or Serena.
The tall buildings of Manhattan began to recede into the distance, and the spires of the Chrysler building and the Empire State building became tiny toy versions of themselves. The island Nate had called home his whole life suddenly looked . . . small. He planted his feet on the teak planks of the deck and turned his head into the wind as they sailed off into the sparkling, endless blue.
Like we’re never going to hear from him again? Not a chance. The world is big, but not that big.
the long goodbye
Blair crossed her arms and tapped her toe impatiently on the platform as the train began to fill up with hundreds of luggage-toting passengers. She was so fucking on edge that she felt like she might throw up. The bright silver train cars were momentarily engulfed in a white cloud of exhaust, and Serena coughed, one hand covering her mouth.
Blair dialed Nate’s number for the bazillionth time and sighed as it rang and rang and then went to voice mail. “Nate, it’s me,” she snapped into the phone. “I’m here on the platform at Grand Central . . . waiting. Where are you?” She glanced around and exhaled heavily, blowing her dark hair off her now-sweaty forehead. “You better get your ass here in two seconds or you’ll miss the train!” She closed her cell with a snap.Where could he be?
Serena’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Blair, I—I don’t think Nate’s coming.” Blair whipped around to face her. “What do you mean, not coming? Why not?” Serena looked down, playing with the ends of her hair.
Her voice was small and slightly muffled. “Just because you got him into Yale again doesn’t mean he wants to go.” She lifted her head, her eyes shining. “The truth is, Blair . . . the truth is, I love Nate too. And he knows. Because I told him.” Uh-oh.
Blair opened her mouth in shock, but before she could utter one venomous word, both girls’ phones began to chirp maniacally.
Serena pulled her phone out—anything to avoid Blair’s angry eyes. The screen read, ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE. She opened it.
“It’s from Nate.” Blair whispered, holding up her phone.
“To both of us.”
Serena looked down at her screen and read:
B AND S—SAILING AROUND THE WORLD. I LOVE YOU BOTH. ALWAYS HAVE. ALWAYS WILL. TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER. -N
The train hissed on the tracks. Serena bit her bottom lip and looked up at Blair’s shocked face. Nate had left—left them both. He loved them, but he didn’t want to be with either of them. Serena hugged herself, feeling unsteady on her feet. Blair looked like she was about to pass out.
And then, to Serena’s utter surprise, Blair began to giggle, small, hiccupping, hysterical giggles. Serena threw her arms open and hugged her friend, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Oh, Serena,” Blair gasped, “Don’t you see? It’s so classic. He just sailed off into the sunset without even saying goodbye.” As much as she wanted her own life to be like an old black-and-white movie, Nate’s departure was far more cinematic than anything she could have come up with.
The two girls clutched each other, their faces wet with tears as passersby on the platform turned to stare and whisper. The loudspeaker above their heads crackled with static, and then a booming voice filled the underground space.
This is the 10 o’clock to New Haven stopping at Stamford, Noroton Heights, Darien, South Norwalk, Norwalk, Bridgepor
t, Stratford, Milford, and New Haven. Ten o’clock to New Haven. All aboard!
Blair wiped the tears from her cheeks and straightened the bottom of her dress. Nate wasn’t there, but she still couldn’t wait to get on that train. Serena was going to be a big movie star, Nate was off sailing around the world, and she was going to Yale—her dream since she was a little girl. And who knew what might happen there? Maybe she’d meet some gorgeous lacrosse player with golden blond hair and glittering green eyes who wasn’t a total flake.
“‘Bye.” Serena whispered in her ear, her voice giddy with emotion. “Call me?” “Definitely.” Blair boarded the train on her own, adjusting her white pillbox hat and black Chanel sunglasses. She didn’t know what Yale—or the future—would hold, but she couldn’t find wait to find out.
Serena stepped back on the train platform as the doors began to close. But before they shut entirely, she and Blair blew each other kisses one last time, and yelled in unison:
“You know you love me!”
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
It’s time to say goodbye, my darlings, because at this point, everyone who’s anyone is on their way to college. Except for those of us who have the good sense to stay right here in old NYC. But if you find yourself feeling left behind, don’t be sad. There’s always a silver lining. Like . . .
(5) Now that your older (probably prettier and more perfect) best friend is gone, it’s your turn to really shine. By the time the first day of school rolls around, you’ll be ruling the hallways and wearing that imaginary diamond-encrusted tiara.
(4) No one’s here to scoff at your new back-to-school look—so go for it. After all, this coming school year will probably be the most important of your social existence, so go for those new, sex-kittenesque bangs. The boys will come barking—trust me.
(3) You’re finally free to make out with everyone you’ve ever had a crush on. Senior year is basically a get-out-of-jail-free card—like Las Vegas, whatever happens during senior year stays here, so its okay to take some chances and flirt your tushy off—you never know what might happen if you do!
(2) The city is now yours—take advantage. Remember, next year you might be stuck on the green, leafy campuses of Yale or Princeton with nary a Barneys or Bergdorf’s in sight. Time to explore the limits of your charge card—as if you need the reminder.
(1) And the number-one reason not to feel sad about being left behind is . . . things are not going to get boring around here—not if I have anything to do with it. Which, of course, I will.
sightings
D’s mom J at the Upper West Side branch of the New York Public Library, wearing a silk kimono and purple fuzzy slippers, attempting to donate the book HomoSensuality while insisting it’s essential to any great library. B on the train looking very Audrey, being helped with her bags by a hottie in a Yale T-shirt. S walking past La Goulue on Madison, a big smile on her face, getting stopped by everyone. D at a rest stop in Pennsylvania, cooing sweet nothings into his cell phone while drinking entirely too much black coffee. V strolling through the NYU campus near Washington Square Park in the early afternoon, manically filming everything. Something tells me that V will attempt to document every moment of her college existence. Those tapes will probably be worth a fortune someday. N . . . nowhere in sight. And finally, three new sightings:
After B left her apartment this morning, headed for Yale, three gorgeous new faces arrived for a quickie tour: I have it on good authority they’re the C triplets, set to move into B’s pad any day now. There’s blond A, looking every inch the Upper East Side bombshell she isn’t. Her adorable brother, O, whose chiseled features and white-blond hair are like a who’s who of hotness. And then there’s the über bohemian chic B, which I’ve heard stands for “Baby.” Her real name—or just what guys call out to her on the street? Because yes, she’s really that beautiful.
Well, my darlings, that kind of wraps it up . . . for now. If you’re wondering why I’m so chipper when B, S, N, D, and V, and all their wild friends have left, it’s because it looks like next year might be even more fun than this year, and I’m not going anywhere. That’s right, you heard me, I’m here to stay. Why leave when there’s going to be so much more to talk about?
Whatever I do, you know you’ll always love me.
gossip girl
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 prequel
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. Namely, 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, I am. The truth is, I’ve been here all along, because I’m one of you.
Feeling totally lost? Don’t get out much? Don’t know who “we” are? Allow me to explain. We’re an 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 begin 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, über-gorgeous fifteen-year-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 too . . .
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 t
he 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 frowned 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. Nate’s 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?