Because I'm Worth it (9 page)
Mary, Vicky, and Cassie stared after them in hurt disbelief. They were
so
much cooler than Jenny and Elise. What did they have to do to prove it?
Serena remained on the chilly stoop, not exactly thrilled that she’d been left alone with Kati and Isabel. She examined her split ends, trying to come up with the perfect you-got-into-college! gift for Aaron while Kati and Isabel waited eagerly for the real scoop on Blair’s hair.
“Did she have lice or something?”
“I heard she had this manic depressive fit and hacked it off with a nail scissors. She had to go to the salon to fix it.”
“I think it looks cool,” Serena answered dreamily in reply.
Kati and Isabel glared at her, disappointed. If Serena wasn’t going to dish anything out, they’d just have to make something up.
And let’s be honest—that sounds like
much
more fun.
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
The premature male midlife crisis
What’s with
C
’s
highlights
? Sure, they sort of match his stretchy pastel shirts and orange Prada sneakers, but since when was he so . . . outré? I also heard he was seen on Monday night dancing at a new red-rope, guest-list-only club in Greenwich Village called
Bubble
, a very boys-only kind of scene, if you know what I mean. Could it be that since he’s already hit on every female in the city, he’s moved on to the males?
The other boy I’m a little concerned about is
N
, my personal favorite. Yes, he’s still as hot as ever, and yes, I would give up my Hermès Birkin bag to be his fairy princess. I just wish he’d stop lurking around upper Fifth Avenue taking surreptitious slurps from that silver flask he keeps in his pocket and looking like a nervous wreck. If he needs a hand to hold, he knows where to find me.
But the greatest transformation of all is in skinny, scruffy
D
. If you haven’t seen him since this morning, this is breaking news: he got a haircut! It’s definitely the work of the old man barber on Broadway and West Eighty-eighth, but his sweet brown eyes are actually visible now, which is definitely an improvement, and there seems to be some sexy-literary-dude sideburn action happening, too. He’s got it going on!
Hanging out with the big girls
It’s extremely flattering to be taken under the wing of an older girl and given a glimpse of the we’re-so-cool-we-don’t-even-have-to-think-about-trying side of life. But don’t get carried away, thinking said older girl is going to start asking you out to the movies. She’s not. And as soon as she gets too busy with APs and parties and shopping for sandals, or whatever it is older girls do in their spare time, she’s going to forget about all those groovy times you had together. She might even forget your name. Of course, I could be totally wrong. Maybe you’ll wind up friends for life and sponsor each other at the Connecticut country club you both join when you’re married with kids. Or not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Your e-mail
Q:
Dear GG,
So I may have misread what was going on, but I’m pretty sure I saw A from Bronxdale with this other girl in our class, and he was all, “I’m the man, I’m into Harvard,” and she was all, “You’re so hot. I want you.” Um, doesn’t he have a girlfriend?
—S.I.B.
A:
Dear S.I.B.,
What does S.I.B. stand for, anyway? Seeing is believing? Sad in Biloxi? Small is beautiful? If what you say is true, I’m S.F.A.C.B.—sad for a certain blond.
—GG
Q:
Dear Ggirl,
I heard B got caught doing drugs in school and now she secretly has to do community service. She’s going to rehab, too, which is why she cut all her hair off. They make you do that, like, in prison.
—Daisy
A:
Dear Daisy,
It sounds like a bad made-for-Lifetime special. You don’t really believe all that, do you?
—GG
Oops.
I’m late for my fake-tan rubdown at Bliss—it’s the
only
way to stay smiling till summer!
You know you love me.
gossip girl
On Tuesday after school, Nate wandered into Central Park to check out the dealers in Sheep Meadow. He’d gone a full twenty-four hours without getting high, and instead of feeling healthy and energized, he was bored out of his drug-free mind. His classes at school seemed twice as long, and even Jeremy Scott Tompkinson’s lame-ass fart jokes barely made him crack a smile.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting an eerie golden glow on the frozen brown grass in the meadow. Two heavyset guys dressed in black sweatshirts with the word
Staff
printed on the back were passing a football back and forth, and a tiny old woman wearing a red Chanel suit and a fox fur stole was walking her freshly groomed bichon frise. As usual, the dealers were all sitting on benches around the perimeter of the meadow, listening to WFAN on their Discmans or reading the
Daily News
. Nate spotted a familiar redheaded guy dressed in a light gray Puma tracksuit with matching gray-and-white Puma sneakers, gray wraparound shades, and a fuzzy black Kangol hat.
“Hey Mitchell!” Nate called delightedly. Damn, it was good to see him. Mitchell raised his hand in greeting as Nate walked over. “I thought you were in Amsterdam, man.”
Mitchell shook his head slowly. “Not yet.”
“I’ve been looking for you. I was almost going to buy from one of those other dirtbags. You’re carrying, right?” Nate asked.
Mitchell nodded and stood up. They began walking down the pathway together, just two friends taking a stroll in the park. Nate pulled a folded-up hundred-dollar bill from his coat pocket and held it in his fist, ready to slip it into Mitchell’s palm as soon as he passed over the goods.
“I got a new shipment in from Peru,” Mitchell said, pulling a plastic baggie of pot out of his pocket and handing it discreetly to Nate.
If you happened to be in the park watching them, you might have thought they were just sharing a snack or something. That is, if you were completely naïve.
“Thanks, man.” Nate handed over the hundred and tucked the plastic baggie into his coat pocket, breathing out a deep, relieved breath. Too bad he didn’t have any rolling papers with him or he would have rolled up a big fatty right then and there. “So,” he said, figuring it was only polite to make some casual conversation with Mitchell before taking off. “You still moving to Amsterdam or what?”
Mitchell stopped walking and unzipped his Puma jacket. “Nah. I’m stuck here for a while.” He pulled up his gray thermal shirt to reveal his bare, freckled chest. There were wires taped to it.
Nate had seen
Law & Order
enough times to know what those wires meant. The bleak scenery seemed to close in on him, and he stumbled backwards. Had he blacked out or something? Was this all a bad dream?
Mitchell let his shirt drop and zipped his jacket up again. He took a step toward Nate, as if he was worried Nate would try to make a break for it. “Sorry, kid. They got me. I’m working for the man now.” He jerked his head at the benches behind them. “Those ‘dirtbags’ on the bench are all cops, okay, so don’t try to run. You and I are going to wait here until I give the sign, and then one of them is going to walk you down to the precinct on Amsterdam.
Amsterdam
—pretty ironic, huh?”
Nate could tell Mitchell was trying to get him to smile so the dealer wouldn’t have to feel so bad for busting him. “Okay,” Nate said woodenly. How had this happened? He’d never been double-crossed before, and it was a pretty crappy feeling. He dropped the baggie of pot on the ground and kicked it away from him. “
Shit
,” he swore under his breath.
Mitchell picked up the baggie and put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. He raised his free hand in the air and waved to the cops on the benches. Two guys stood up and hurried over. They didn’t even look like cops. One of them was wearing black Club Monaco jeans and the other was wearing a stupid red pom-pom hat. They flashed their badges at Nate.
“We’re not going to cuff you,” Club Monaco explained. “You’re a minor, right?”
Nate nodded sullenly, avoiding the cop’s gaze. He didn’t turn eighteen until April.
“When we get to the precinct you can call your parents.”
I’m sure they’ll be thrilled,
Nate thought bitterly.
Across the meadow the two guys playing football and the old lady and her fluffy white dog were all huddled together, watching Nate getting busted like it was the first episode of some hot new reality show.
“You’ll be out in a couple hours,” the red pom-pom cop said, writing something in a notebook. Nate noticed the cop was wearing gold hoop earrings and he realized she was a woman, despite her broad shoulders and thick-fingered hands. “They’ll fine you and probably give you mandatory rehab.”
Mitchell kept his hand on Nate’s shoulder as if to offer moral support. “You’re lucky,” he added.
Nate kept his head down, hoping no one he knew would see him. He didn’t feel very lucky.
Tuesday afternoon, Vanessa stood outside Riverside Prep, filming the frozen remains of a dead pigeon carcass and thinking about sex while she waited for Dan to appear. Dan had left a message for her at the reception desk at Constance Billard to come and meet him after school.
Urgent. Meet me here at four,
it said.
What a freak,
Vanessa thought lovingly. What could possibly be so urgent? He was probably just having an attack of paranoia because his poem had come out in
The New Yorker
today. Either that or he was feeling extremely stimulated and couldn’t
wait
to do it again. Before even taking a shower that morning Vanessa had run downstairs and bought six
New Yorker
s from the newsstand on the corner. That way there would always be a spare copy to wave in Dan’s face when he was feeling especially inadequate.
When she really thought about it,
she
was the one who should have been freaking out. The poem was all about a guy feeling insecure around women, particularly his dominating girlfriend. People who knew them were going to think Vanessa was a real ball-breaker. But the last line was so sweet and sexy, she couldn’t really complain.
Take care of me. Take me. Take care. Take me.
Reading it made her want to rip off all her clothes and jump him.
Gently
, of course.
Just then Dan burst through the black doors of Riverside Prep practically in midsentence. He waved his rumpled copy of
The New Yorker
at Vanessa and galloped up to her in his worn-out white Pumas and navy blue cords, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on her mouth. “This has been the best day of my life!” he trumpeted. “I love you!”
“You don’t have to be romantic to get in my pants again,” Vanessa giggled and kissed him again. “I’m always available. And by the way, I love you, too.”
“Cool.” Dan smiled goofily back at her.
Vanessa couldn’t believe this was the same old Dan she’d seen only yesterday. He was still pale, thin, and overcaffeinated, but his brown eyes were shining and there were traces of smiley-face dimples in his usually sallow cheeks. Wait a minute. Since when could she actually see his eyes? “Whoa, you got a haircut,” she observed, standing back to check it out.
Dan had asked the barber to cut his hair short with long sideburns, figuring the sideburns would keep him from looking like all the preppy assholes in his class. He swept his hand over his head self-consciously. It felt odd, but somehow cleaner than before, more . . .
homogenous
. And that was exactly what he wanted—to be judged by his work, not his hair.
Whatever you say, Sideburn Man.
Vanessa put her hands on the hips of her black parka coat. Something about Dan’s haircut was so deliberate, like he was actually going for a certain artsy, bohemian look instead of just stumbling upon one by mistake. “It’s different,” she mused, already feeling a little nostalgic for the old scruffy-haired Dan. “I guess I’ll get used to it.”
Behind them a group of eighth-grade boys spilled out the school doors singing “Hello Dolly” at the top of their lungs. They’d just been released from music class and were still too young and innocent to realize how gay they sounded.
Hello, Dolly! Well hel-loo, Dolly!
It’s so nice to have you back where you belong!
Dan pulled a pack of unfiltered Camels out of his black messenger bag, tipped one out, and stuck it between his lips. His fingers trembled wildly as he lit it. Well, at least
that
hadn’t changed. He offered the pack to Vanessa. “Want one?”
Vanessa stared at him and chuckled in disbelief. “Since when do I smoke?”
Dan exhaled into the air above her head and rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know why I just did that.” He shoved the pack back into his bag and grabbed Vanessa’s frozen fingers. “Come on. Let’s walk somewhere. I have something major to tell you.”
