Nothing Can Keep Us Together (11 page)

A not-so-private party at the yale club

In case you were feeling left out of Saturday’s Yale Club all-day-and-all-night festival of debauchery—they certainly kept the staff busy trotting over to Grand Central for more Prosecco from the Campbell Apartment and cheesecake from Junior’s—a certain Yalie-to-be will host the graduation party of a lifetime at the club next Monday night. The Yale Club is strictly members-only, but never fear. Yalie Daddy has paid the club handsomely to keeps its doors open all night long to any well-dressed merrymaker who wanders in looking for more ways to make merry. It’s his way of apologizing to his daughter for not being there in the flesh. Aw, how sweet.

Let’s hope he doesn’t forget that she will also need some way of getting around New Haven next year. Vroom, vroom.

Postbreakfast depression

Ken Mogul is either extremely fussy, extremely mean, or both. Rumor has it that only four girls were called back for a second audition for the lead role in his new feature film, Breakfast at Fred’s. Another rumor is that he’s casting his younger sister in the Holly Golightly part and the casting on Saturday was actually just for extras. What a waste of talent.

An arranged marriage

We’ve all heard about how the British royals have a penchant for arranged marriages. It saves a lot of trouble and embarrassment when no one has to sneak around or worry about introducing their socially inept, badly dressed girlfriend to their mom, who happens to be the queen. Well, according to my sources in the U.K., a certain blue-blooded English hunk, who recently graduated from Yale and is currently residing at the Yale Club while he finishes up some business—aka partying—in New York before going home for the summer, has been betrothed to an equally royal English girl since he was barely two years old. I haven’t seen a picture of her, but having witnessed how quickly he snapped up our B, my guess is she’s probably not much of a looker, and he’s probably not too thrilled about marrying her.

Thief of stolen goods identified

Not that I want to be the bearer of more bad news, but my coach friend has been e-mailing me regularly—hey, who gave him this link?!—and apparently the Viagra perp has been identified and will be punished accordingly. Does that mean he/she won’t graduate??

Your e-mail

Q: Dear GG,

I know I shouldn’t have, but I kind of told on one of my pals and now I’m worried he’s not gonna graduate cuz of me. I just thought, better him than me, you know?

—lamo

A: Dear lamo,

Yeah, that was kind of lamo. But you know that already.

—GG

Q: Dear Gossip Girl,

I wanted to personally invite you to try out for my new movie. You have the attitude I’m looking for. Hopefully you have the look. When r u available?

—mogs

A: Dear mogs,

Nice try.

—GG

Sightings

B, S, N, and Lord M at Cipriani Dolci across from the Yale Club, drinking Bloody Marys at Sunday brunch. They certainly know how to prepare for finals! V with A in his red Saab, pretending not to notice when they almost ran over D crossing Houston Street on their way to a movie at the Angelika. D was on his way back from one of those Chinese herbalists on Canal Street, carrying a small pouch of what was advertised as “Love Potion XXX.” Oh, the tangled web we weave. J alone in the Gristedes on West Ninety-sixth Street buying a liter screw-top bottle of red wine and a jumbo-size can of Folgers instant crystals. Her clothes and hands were smeared with what looked like gray eye shadow, coffee, and wine. Obviously, she’s so dedicated to her art, they didn’t dare card her.

One more week to go

So this is it, my sweetnesses—the final stretch. Aside from exams, which are just trivial annoyances really, school is essentially over. Repeat after me: only one week till graduation. Only one week till graduation. Only one week till graduation.

Good luck!!!!

You know you love me.

gossip girl

Nothing Can Keep us Together

Dan finished his AP English exam with twenty minutes to spare and began rewriting his graduation speech about love in the back of his blue book. This time he planned on quoting from Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken”:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The words sounded sterile and entirely overused to him, though, especially in the context of graduation. Besides, neither he nor his classmates were actually taking the road less traveled. They were graduating and going straight to college. And how boring was that? The truth was, it had never really occurred to him to do anything else. Until now.

He’d been battling with the notion for days that come fall, Vanessa would be here in New York and he would be there, in Olympia, Washington—on the other side of the country. The thought was unbearable to him, even though he was still unsure of Vanessa’s true feelings for him, especially after she’d so brusquely dismissed him the other night the minute Aaron had come home and had proceeded to not call him all weekend.

But maybe he was the one who hadn’t been clear. He’d already told that nutty professor he’d decided not to spend the summer working in Olympia. Why not take it one step further and announce to everyone at graduation that he wasn’t going to college, period. That would show Vanessa, and the world, how far he was willing to go—for love. He would take the road less traveled by.

Dan turned the page and scribbled the words Ode on Love, modeling his new poem on those of his favorite poet, John Keats. Keats wrote odes all the time: “Ode to Psyche,” “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” “Ode to a Nightingale,” “Ode on Melancholy,” but never an “Ode on Love.” So why shouldn’t Dan be the one to do it?

“Seventeen minutes to go,” Ms. Solomon called out. Dan glanced up at the stiff backs of his classmates bent over their desks, pens working frantically as the black wall clock ticked the minutes by. He went back to his blue book. “Ode on Love.” Of course, his love for Vanessa was mixed with a heavy dose of undying lust. But how to convey that without sounding pornographic? After all, the poem was supposed to be part of his graduation speech.

Your milky white orbs,

The pillows of your stomach,

Thighs like birches.

Ew, enough!!

He drew a heavy X across the words. The pillows of your stomach? Yuck.

Exactly.

Then he remembered the lines from “Ode on a Grecian Urn”:

More happy love! more happy, happy love!

Forever warm and still to be enjoyed

Forever panting, and forever young;

All breathing human passion far above,

That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,

A burning forehead and a parching tongue.

Was there any better way to say it?

Probably not.

Dan began to sketch a picture of the water tower on top of Vanessa’s building, but he was no artist and his water tower looked more like a giant acorn. If only he were allowed to use his phone during exams. He could call the Evergreen admissions office and let them know he wasn’t coming.

Instead, he tried to rework the opening segment of his graduation speech in the last few pages of his blue book.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending this year’s commencement exercises for the Riverside Preparatory School for Boys. You must be very proud of your sons—so proud that you are giving them exactly what they wanted for graduation, right? (Pause for laughter.)

Anyway, I’m honored to be the graduation speaker this year. I’d like to start out by reading from a Robert Frost poem.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

This is a popular quote for graduation speeches. I know, because I Googled it. (Pause for laughter.) It’s ironic, though, because how many of us are actually taking the road less traveled? (Pause for awkward silence.) Well, I am. And here’s how I’m going to do it: I’m going to follow my heart—

The little white egg-shaped egg timer on Ms. Solomon’s desk went off. “Put down your pencils, please,” she announced.

Dan looked up with a dazed expression. As usual, he’d gotten carried away.

“Didn’t finish the exam, huh?” Chuck Bass snickered to his left. Seniors were allowed to break dress code for exams, and Chuck had chosen to wear a bright yellow cut-up Dolce & Gabbana sleeveless shirt that was somehow more revealing than if he hadn’t worn a shirt at all.

Dan glared at him. Was it possible to be killed in the line of duty while you were still only in military school? He certainly hoped so.

Ms. Solomon walked over to collect their blue books. “Is there a problem, Mr. Humphrey?” she demanded, sticking her bony chest out at him through her weirdly ugly black-and-orange striped halter dress.

Dan frowned. “Would it be all right if I ripped out the last couple pages in my blue book?” he asked, without much hope that she’d let him.

The teacher shrugged her inappropriately bare shoulders. “Go ahead.”

Dan ripped the pages out before she could change her mind, surprised at her total lack of bitchiness. Maybe Ms. Solomon had finally gotten herself a boyfriend and was too busy daydreaming about the approaching hot and sexy summer of late mornings and steamy sex to bother being nasty to Dan.

Oh, like he wasn’t daydreaming about late mornings and steamy sex? In fact, who isn’t?!

Nothing Can Keep us Together

Biology was Jenny’s last exam and she’d stayed up all night studying for it. Nuclei, protozoa, osmosis—she knew it all. She answered the questions automatically, filling in the blanks without pause and making her classmates seriously jealous. Osmosis was the process in which organisms took on each other’s qualities just by hanging out together. Well, if it worked for tiny little organisms, why didn’t it work for them? They’d been hanging out with Jenny all year, and yet they still weren’t any smarter.

And their boobs aren’t much bigger, either.

I like your hair, Kim Swanson scribbled on the edge of Jessica Soames’s gray plastic desktop with her number two pencil. Can you see fenny’s answer to #21?

Kim Swanson was the most perfectly groomed girl in the ninth grade. She’d been getting her naturally light brown hair highlighted blond since she was nine and preferred perfectly ironed Agnès B. white button-down shirts with her gray pleated uniform. It was rumored that even her underwear was ironed, and she never left the house without full makeup, a gold-and-silver Cartier chain bracelet on each wrist, and her not-so-tiny Cartier diamond studs in her ears. She spent so much time grooming herself that she hardly had time to study.

Hold on, Jessica Soames scribbled back. Jessica had been the class slut starting in fourth grade, when she’d gotten her period, and culminating in sixth grade, when she lost her virginity. She’d had the biggest chest in the class, too—until Jenny had blossomed in seventh grade, surpassing her by three whole cup sizes. Jessica stole a subtle glance at the desk to her right, trying to read the answers on Jenny’s exam. But Jenny was already finished and was now doodling in calligraphy on an empty page in her blue book.

Loser, she’d written in elegant, loopy black bubble letters, and Jessica tried not to take it personally.

The truth was, Jenny had written the word to describe herself. First thing Monday morning, she’d FedExed Waverly Prep her trio of brilliant new portraits, all matted and framed, but now it was Thursday and she still hadn’t heard from the admissions office. It was the first week in June. September was only three short months away, and she had nowhere to go to school. She was quietly approaching desperation.

Before they’d sat down for their exam, Elise had reminded her that Waverly was winding up the school year too and probably wouldn’t get to the package she’d sent them until after their seniors graduated. But Jenny was having none of that. She’d obviously missed her chance to go to boarding school. Her only other option besides public school was to ace her exams and then beg Mrs. M to let her stay at Constance. She could repeat ninth grade, cultivate her reputation as a total geek, wear thick tortoiseshell glasses, and lengthen her uniforms to her ankles. No more appearances on Page Six. No more racy fashion spreads. No dating rock bands. No online nudity.

Aw. But isn’t that what makes Jenny so special?

The problem was, she was already a straight-A student. How could she do better than she was already doing?

It occurred to Jenny that maybe her grades and her new artwork weren’t enough. Why not send Waverly a copy of the W magazine spread she’d modeled for with Serena van der Woodsen and the Page Six piece featuring a photograph of her kissing Damian, the lead guitarist from the Raves, outside the Plaza Hotel?

And while she’s at it, why not send them a lock of her hair? Or one of her massive Bali support bras?

Kim Swanson snickered discreetly as she scrawled something on Jessica Soames’s desk. Jenny put down her pencil and rested her forehead on her arms, her curly dark hair cascading in little ringlets all over her desk. If she sent Waverly the W spread and the excerpt from Page Six, she’d be the talk of the school before she even arrived. That was one way of getting people’s attention, but then everyone would be so full of preconceived notions about her, she’d never change their minds. Better to earn her reputation and demand people’s notice once she got there.

Ahead of her was a bizarre summer in Prague with her mother, attending some famous Czech art camp—something she’d committed to over Passover under the influence of too much Manischewitz wine. Her dad had reminded her last week, when she’d thought she’d at least have boarding school to look forward to in the fall, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Two, four, six, eight, only four more days till we graduate!” a group of seniors shrieked excitedly in the hall outside the biology lab. Then the bell rang and Jenny’s classmates threw their pencils in the air and started hugging one another and signing yearbooks. Even Elise came over to ask for Kim Swanson’s signature in her yearbook, and she’d despised Kim ever since Kim had spread the awful rumor that Elise had been born deformed and had had a hump in her back removed when she was two.

“Summertime,” Roni Chang began to sing in her glee-club-trained falsetto, “and the living is easy!”

Jenny wished she could share their excitement. After all, this was her last exam. She was done for the year! Three long summer months awaited her in Europe, and the possibilities were endless. But somehow she just didn’t feel like shrieking or signing anyone’s yearbook, even though her calligraphy was way better than theirs.

Now she realized how the seniors must have felt all winter while they were waiting to hear back from colleges. She’d done everything she could do. Her fate was in someone else’s hands.

Nothing Can Keep us Together