by Zoey Dean
remained, save for a crappy advance movie poster that hung outside Dr. Nachos's office. And
her friends were still in full ass-kiss mode. This weekend, they'd taken her for a spa day at
Bliss (their treat) and then rented a bunch of her favorite movies-- Vertigo, Clueless, Mean
Girls, and the BBC version of Pride & Prejudice--to watch in Fortune's family's screening
room.
She hadn't seen Jojo all weekend. In fact, she'd carefully avoided her sister. Jojo was once
again her mortal enemy, but Myla was stumped when it came to a suitable revenge plot. It had
to be special, somehow, worthy of the terrible things Jojo had said. But nothing was coming.
She'd passed Jojo in the lunch line, her tray loaded with Myla-forbidden fries. Even with the
perfect opportunity to start a nasty round of whispers, Myla had come up blank.
She hadn't seen Ash, either. She kept glancing across the caf toward his table, but saw only
Tucker, Geoff, and his other friends. Ash must have been eating in the music lab, a privilege
he'd earned after Gordon donated an ungodly amount to the department. Last year, they'd had
weekly picnics in the room, kissing and cuddling and having a hard time pulling away from
each other once the bell for class rang.
Myla shuddered, picturing Daisy in her place on the plaid picnic blanket. She got what Ash had
meant about being haunted. Everywhere she looked, anytime she saw a couple holding hands,
she pictured Ash and Daisy, bound together. It was worse than if she'd seen them drunkenly
making out. Or if she'd learned Ash had hooked up with some common skank, like Cassie
"Easy" Eastman. To torture herself, Myla had played Daisy's songs on her iPod while she got
her massage at Bliss. She couldn't compete. The masseuse had ended the session saying, "I
work out a knot, it comes back. You have to learn to let go."
But she wouldn't let go. Her glimmer of hope lay in Daisy running from Ash at the party.
She picked at her honey-turkey-and-gouda panini, listening to the rain patter against the roof,
an echo of the rhythmic downpour ringing in her ears. The rain was picking up speed, which
meant every news station in L.A. would lead with a story called "Storm Watch." Thunder
rumbled and then a crack of lightning erupted, casting a split-second flash of blue light over the
entire cafeteria.
As if on cue, Myla's cell vibrated, quivering back and forth on her tray. Maybe she was being
obsessive, but she'd set a Google Alert for "Daisy Morton." Her first one had arrived. The top
headline, from TMZ, read Crazy About Daisy. She clicked it open.
Beneath it was a photo of Ash and Daisy leaving BLD, a cute, newish café near the Grove. The
photo was a little out-of-focus, but she could clearly make out Ash's hair and Daisy's smile.
They were holding hands again, and Myla felt like the lightning had struck her through the
heart. Myla caught Fortune's eyes as they shifted to the story still on Myla's screen. She placed
her phone, the picture still on-screen, in the center of the table. Her friends were jonesing for a
gossip fix and fought each other to look at the story.
Myla felt her lip trembling and she fought back tears. I did this to myself, didn't I? she thought,
stunned to even think it. It wasn't her style to take the blame. In a panic, she mentally scrolled
through anyone else who could take the fall. Ash's dad, who had put Ash on Daisy detail in the
first place. Her friends, for not being there when she needed them. Ash, for being so unwilling
to trust her. Jojo, who could have told her the kiss-someone-else idea was bad from the get-go.
But wouldn't she have told Jojo she was too untrained to know what she was talking about?
Myla pushed her lunch tray away, unable to look at the food she hadn't touched anyway. She
didn't even want to think about what she could have done differently. She needed to know what
she could do next. And not "next" in her plot to get Ash back. Nope, "next" as in helping her
survive the next few seconds. "What am I going to do?"
Talia shrugged, reading the story. "It says you should start dating someone else. Ooh! We
should go to the Kress. It's sooo hot right now. Girls' night!"
Fortune clapped excitedly. "Omigod! Speaking of girls' nights, did you guys hear about
Grant?" She whispered. "He got arrested with a prostitute in Hollywood."
Billie almost spit out her smoothie. "Eeew! Why would he get a hooker when he could have
us?"
Myla deleted the TMZ post on her phone and shoved it into her bag. Her friends might be
experts at spa sessions, clubbing, and all the other things girls with broken hearts were
supposed to do to recover. But trying to actually talk to them only made her feel worse.
Myla hugged her bad-day sweater around her, collecting as much warmth as she could from
the soft gray cashmere. But her whole body still felt cold. If Daisy could forgive Ash his nasty
comments, Ash and Daisy must have something meaningful. "What if they're in love?" Myla
said aloud, unable to stop herself from saying what she was thinking.Fortune rolled her eyes. "Who cares, My? You guys have been broken up for weeks. Maybe
now you'll finally start dating again. Single Myla is getting old, don't you think?"
Myla wanted to shove her plate away and storm off--but she couldn't. Without Ash, she needed
her friends. A tinkling, familiar laugh wove around the now-faster rainfall. Myla cast a glance
in the direction of the sound to see Jojo sitting with Miles Abelson and Jacob PG. For a
second, their eyes met, but Jojo quickly looked away.
She would listen. She knew how to make Myla feel better. She'd probably see right through
Myla, but in a good way. In the way she needed desperately to be seen right now. As a
terrified, heartbroken, and lonely girl who never wanted anyone to see her terrified,
heartbroken, or alone. She'd driven away Jojo the same way she had Ash. She was an expert at
hurting people more than they could hurt her. She'd just never realized how badly she could
hurt herself.
"Myla... hey, wake up," Talia snapped her fingers in front of Myla's face. "Did you hear me?
We're going to hit Bebe and Bloomie's after school, to get new outfits for the Kress this
weekend. Remember what you always say, 'The only things you need in this world are
fabulous clothes and a place to be seen in them.'"
The words hit Myla like a blunt object as she realized that she'd asked for this, just like she'd
asked for every nightmare of the last few weeks. Her friends were well trained. Being around
her long enough had taught them to act like and treat her like the girl she thought she should be:
cool, calm, purposeful, and never willing to let her guard down. They'd soaked up all her
maxims, and Myla-isms. Probably too well. Jojo had been the only one smart enough to get
out.
As a clap of thunder cracked her heart into even smaller pieces, Myla wished the rain would
fall hard enough to wash away all the parts of her she didn't like. Because Jojo had been right.
It wasn't them. It was her.
Blair Waldorf, Serena van der Woodsen, Nate Archibald, Dan Humphrey, and Vanessa
Abrams went off to live their lives. Now, they're coming home for the holidays. A lot can
change in a few months... but some things never do.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
I will always love you
a new gossip girl hardcover featuring the original castHey people!
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
For years, New York City--the center of the universe, the place where anything can happen-was our home. But we've moved beyond our uniform-required, single sex schools and into
bastions of higher education around the country. Yes, it finally happened: we went to college.
For the past few months, we've been surrounded by people who don't know who we've
hooked up with, who don't remember the time we wet our pants on the playground in
kindergarten. We've learned new things and made new friends and maybe even met the loves
our lives. We've changed.
Or at least, some of us have. Others are just as fabulous as always. Take B, heading to
Vermont to spend a perfect holiday with her perfect Yale boyfriend and his perfect family. That
girl always had her eye on the prize.... And speaking of prizes, what's rumored SAG nominee
S doing these days? Formerly worshipped by her Constance Billard classmates, she's now
followed by paparazzi and a posse of fellow movie starlets. No matter where she is or what she
does, S will always be the center of attention.
Then there are the people who've tried their hardest to change: N is on a sailing trip around the
world. But as we all know from reading Kant in our freshman seminars, no man is an island.
He'll be back. Then there's D, scratching out poetry in his Moleskine notebook in the Pacific
Northwest. It may look like a total lifestyle change, but he still insists on Folgers instead of
French press in the coffee capital of the US. He also spends every waking moment attempting
to Skype his shaven-headed, ultra independent filmmaker girlfriend, V, who's at NYU and
seems to almost... have hair. And friends. Lastly there's C, last seen with a pack of flannelwearing, very rugged boys. Is he into a new type, or has he gone through yet another
reinvention? That man puts Madonna to shame.
Everyone's back in town for the holidays, and this winter break is guaranteed to be filled with
makeups, breakups, and shakeups. Lucky for you, I'm going to report everything worth
reporting. Let the reunion begin.
sightings:
B on a train from New Haven to Montpelier, VT, looking very out of place in a sea of flannel...
S with three identical girls, on the red carpet for a premiere.... V and some friends from NYU,
including her very young, very cute teaching assistant, at a film-screening party in Bushwick.
Is someone trying to get extra credit?... D and his little sister, J, splitting a plate of chocolatechip pancakes at one of those curiously packed diners on upper Broadway.... C and a group of
cowboy-boot clad guys ordering sodas at the lounge at the Tribeca Star. Ride 'em, cowboy!
Break the rules
Remember, you don't technically live under your parents' roof anymore. You've already
indulged them in holiday merry-making: Scrabble with the siblings, kissing Grandma, and
decorating cookies that nobody's going to eat. Which means now is the time to use all your
pent-up energy to party. Remember, you can always reform after January 1st--that's what
resolutions are for. So go out, have fun, and most of all, show your former besties and former
flames just how much better you've become.
Besides, now that you know I'm watching, aren't you just dying to put on a show? Thought so.
You know you love me, gossip girl
All B wants for Christmas
"You awake, Scout?"
Blair Waldorf awoke from a nap to the sight of her boyfriend, Pete Carlson, gazing down at
her. Pete smiled his adorable, lopsided smile. His eyes were a yellowish brown and reminded
Blair of her cat, Kitty Minky.
She threw the plaid Black Watch duvet to the foot of the couch and discreetly checked for drool
with her index finger. She loved being woken up by Pete, especially when he called her by an
adorable nickname. Currently, it was Scout because she'd directed him and his three older
brothers to the best Douglas fir Christmas tree, deep in the woods of the Carlsons' expansive
Woodstock, Vermont, estate.
"Of course I am," Blair lied, sitting up and yawning. Why sleep when her waking life was so
much better?
"Good." Pete settled next to her on the couch, pushing Blair's long bangs tenderly off her
small, foxlike face. Her hair was a little shaggier then she'd like, but she simply didn't trust any
of the hair salons in New Haven. Besides, what were unkempt bangs when she was with a guy
who loved her?
"Have any dreams? You were making these little growls in your sleep. It was cute." Pete pulled
the blanket off the floor and draped it over their legs.
"Oh." Blair frowned. She was growling?
In truth, she'd been having a lot of weird dreams lately. Last night, she'd woken up and thought
she was at a sleepover at her old best friend Serena van der Woodsen's house, only to find
herself all alone in the guest bedroom of the Carlsons'.
Maybe it was just homesickness. After all, she hadn't seen Serena since August, she didn't
have a home in New York anymore, and no one in her family was even in the United States
this week. Her father, Harold, was celebrating Christmas in France with his boyfriend and their
adopted twins. Her stepbrother Aaron was spending the break on a kibbutz in Israel. Her
mother, stepfather, brother Tyler, and baby sister Yale had moved to LA back in August, to a
gigantic, tacky Pacific Palisades mansion that they were making even bigger and more tacky.
While the renovations were taking place, they were spending the holidays in the South Pacific,
visiting the islands that Eleanor Rose, in a fit of pregnancy-induced mania last spring, had
bought for each member of the family. Blair had been somewhat tempted to tag along, if only to
see her baby sister, the least fucked-up member of her tragically absurd family.
Not to mention pay a visit to Blair Island.
But once she'd been invited to spend Christmas with the Carlsons, she felt it was her duty as a
girlfriend to go.
"I was just dreaming about you. Us. I'm just so happy." Blair sighed contentedly as she gazed
into the orange fire roaring in the wood-burning stove across the room. Outside, a thin blanket
of snow covered the ground.
"Me too." Pete ruffled her hair and pulled her face into his for a kiss.
"You taste nice," Blair breathed, letting her body relax into Pete's muscular arms.
It was funny how things worked out. When she arrived at Yale, Blair discovered that her
roommate, Alana Hoffman, sang a cappella all the time. Blair would wake up to Alana singing
"Son of a Preacher Man" to her collection of teddy bears. Avoiding her room, Blair spent a lot
of time in the library, where Pete was writing a paper for his Magical Realism in the Caribbean
class. They'd exchanged flirty glances, and finally Pete invited her for coffee.
It was amazing how easy everything could be with Pete. For the first time in Blair's nineteen
years, her life felt like it made sense. She loved her classes, had an adoring, handsome
boyfriend, and had even found a surrogate family in the Carlsons.
For the past few days, they'd spent every waking hour with the family: his former US senator
dad, Chappy; his Boston debutante mom, Jane; his three older brothers, their wives, and
assorted nephews and nieces Blair couldn't even try to keep straight. It
sounded like a
nightmare, but it was great. His dad was barrel-chested and red-faced and told bad jokes in a
way that made everyone crack up, and his mom would randomly recite poetry at the dinner
table without being drunk. The brothers were friendly and smart, their wives were nice, and
even the kids were polite. So far, it had been a perfect holiday.
And it was about to get even better. To celebrate the New Year, Chappy had booked the entire
family at an exclusive resort in Costa Rica. Obviously, Blair could do without the rainforest
adventure part, but she'd heard the beaches were pristine, the sun was hot, and the villas had the
most incredible mattresses.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. "You kids decent?" Pete's brother Jason called as he
entered. He had the same lanky frame as Pete. Tall, blond, and handsome, all four of the
Carlson brothers--Everett, Randy, Jason and Pete--looked like they could be quadruplets, even
though there was a two-year age difference between them. A second-year law student at
UPenn, Jason was the second youngest of the Carlson brothers. He was adorable, and Blair
would've had a crush on him if she wasn't dating Pete.
At least she has a backup.
"We're playing charades. Your presence has been requested."
"Do we have to?" Blair suppressed a groan. It was cute in theory, but they'd played Charades,
Pictionary, or Scrabble the last three nights.
Maybe they should shake it up with some Truth or Dare.
"And guess who's requested you on his team again?" Jason smirked, flashing Blair the
trademark white-toothed Carlson smile. "Our dad loves you!"
"Aw, that's cute!" Blair said, mustering her enthusiasm. They'd be at the resort soon, so she
might as well continue being as polite and friendly as possible to his family. She followed Pete
through the wide, arching hallway that led to the kitchen. A large wood stove hunkered in the
corner opposite two massive Sub-Zero refrigerators. Several overstuffed yellow chairs sat in
front of a large dormer window, each one containing a different member of the family. Pete's
father Chappy stood in front of the group.
"Scout!" He called happily as he spotted Blair and Pete.
"Hi, Mr. Carlson." Blair smiled warmly.