You Know You Love Me (4 page)

turning into a loser. Serena steeled herself and pulled up a chair in the space next to
Blair. Blair, Im sorry Ive been such a complete asshole, she said, removing her linen
napkin from its silver ring and spreading it out on her lap. Your parents splitting up
must have totally sucked. Blair shrugged and grabbed a fresh sourdough roll from a basket
on the table. She tore the roll in half and stuffed one half into her mouth. The other
guests were still making their way toward the table and figuring out where to sit. Blair
knew it was rude to eat before everyone was seated, but if her mouth was full, she couldnt
talk, and she really didnt feel like talking. I wish Id been here, Serena said, watching
Blair smear the other half of her roll with a thick slab of French butter. But I had a
crazy year. I have the most insane stories to tell you. Blair nodded and chewed her roll
slowly, like a cow chewing its cud. Serena waited for Blair to ask her what kind of
stories, but Blair didnt say anything, she just kept on chewing. She didnt want to hear
about all the fabulous things Serena had done while she was away and Blair had been stuck
at home, watching her parents fight over antique chairs that nobody sat on, teacups nobody
used, and ugly, expensive paintings. Serena had wanted to tell Blair about Charles, the
only Rastafarian at Hanover Academy, whod asked her to elope with him to Jamaica. About
Nicholas, the French college guy who never wore underwear and whod chased her train in a
tiny Fiat all the way from Paris to Milan. About smoking hash in Amsterdam and sleeping in
a park with a group of drunk prostitutes because she forgot where she was staying. She
wanted to tell Blair how much it sucked to find out that Hanover Academy wouldnt take her
back senior year simply because shed blown off the first few weeks of school. She wanted
to tell Blair how scared she was to go back to Constance tomorrow because she hadnt
exactly been studying very hard in the last year and she felt so completely out of touch.
But Blair wasnt interested. She grabbed another roll and took a big bite. Wine, miss?
Esther said, standing at Serenas left with the bottle. Yes, thank you, Serena said. She
watched the C™te du Rhone spill into her glass and thought of the Red Sea once more. Maybe
Blair does know, she thought. Was that what this was all about? Was that why she was
acting so weird? Serena glanced at Nate, four chairs down on the right, but he was deep in
conversation with her father. Talking about boats no doubt. So, you and Nate are still
totally together? Serena said, taking a

risk. I bet you guys wind up married. Blair gulped her wine, her little ruby ring rattling
against the glass. She reached for the butter, slapping a great big wad on her roll.
Hello? Blair? Serena said, nudging her friends arm. Are you okay? Yeah, Blair slurred. It
was less an answer to Serenas question than a vague, general statement made to fill a
blank space while she was tending to her roll. Im fine. Esther brought out the duck and
the acorn squash soufflŽ and the wilted chard and the lingonberry sauce, and the table was
filled with the sound of clanking plates and silver and murmurs of delicious. Blair heaped
her plate high with food and attacked it as if she hadnt eaten in weeks. She didnt care if
she made herself sick, as long as she didnt have to talk to Serena. Whoa, Serena said,
watching Blair stuff her face. You must be hungry. Blair nodded and shoveled a forkful of
chard into her mouth. She washed it down with a gulp of wine. Im starving, she said. So,
Serena, Cyrus Rose called down from the head of the table. Tell me about France. Your
mother says you were in the South of France this summer. Is it true the French girls dont
wear tops on the beach? Yes, its true, Serena said. She raised one eyebrow playfully. But
its not just the French girls. I never wore a top down there, either. How else could I get
a decent tan? Blair gagged on an enormous bite of soufflŽ and spat it into her wine. It
floated on the surface of the crimson liquid like a soggy dumpling until Esther whisked it
away and brought her a clean glass. No one noticed. Serena had the tables attention, and
she kept her audience captive with stories of her travels in Europe right through dessert.
When Blair had finished her second plate of duck, she ate a huge bowl full of
chocolate-laced tapioca pudding, tuning out Serenas voice as she spooned it into her
mouth. Finally her stomach rebelled, and she shot up suddenly, scraping her chair back and
running down the hall to her bedroom, straight into its adjoining bathroom. Blair? Serena
called after her. She stood up. Excuse me, she said, and hurried away to see what was the
matter. She didnt have to move that fast; Blair wasnt going anywhere. When Chuck saw Blair
get up from the table, and then Serena, he nodded knowingly and nudged Isabel with his
elbow. Blairs getting the dirt, he whispered. Fucking awesome. Nate watched the two girls
flee the table with a mounting sense of

unease. He was pretty sure the only thing girls talked about in the bathroom was sex. And
mostly, hed be right. Blair kneeled over the toilet and stuck her middle finger as far
down her throat as it would go. Her eyes began to tear and then her stomach convulsed.
Shed done this before, many times. It was disgusting and horrible, and she knew she
shouldnt do it, but at least shed feel better when it was over.

The door to her bathroom was only half closed, and Serena could hear her friend retching
inside. Blair, its me, Serena said quietly. Are you okay? Ill be out in a minute, Blair
snapped, wiping her mouth. She stood up and flushed the toilet.

Serena pushed the door open and Blair turned and glared at her. Im fine, Blair said.
Really. Serena put the lid down on the toilet seat and sat down. Oh, dont be such a bitch,
Blair, she said, exasperated. Whats the deal? Its me, remember? We know everything about
each other.

Blair reached for her toothbrush and toothpaste. We used to, she said and began brushing
her teeth furiously. She spat out a wad of green foam. When was the last time we talked,
anyway? Like, the summer before last?

Serena looked down at her scuffed brown leather boots. I know. Im sorry. I suck, she said.
Blair rinsed her toothbrush off and stuck it back in the holder. She stared at her
reflection in the bathroom mirror. Well, you missed a lot, she said, wiping a smudge of
mascara from beneath her eye with the tip of her pinky. I mean, last year was really . . .
different. Shed been about to say hard, but hard made her sound like a victim. Like shed
barely survived without Serena around. Different was better.

Blair glanced down at Serena sitting on the toilet, with a sudden sense of power. Nate and
I have become really close, you know. We tell each other everything. Yeah, right.

The two girls eyed each other warily for a moment. Then Serena shrugged. Well dont worry
about me and Nate, she said. Were just friends, you know that. And besides, Im tired of
boys. The corners of Blairs mouth curled up. Serena obviously wanted her to ask why, why
was she tired of boys? But Blair wasnt going to give her the satisfaction. She tugged her
sweater down and glanced at her reflection one more time. Ill see you back in there, she
said, and abruptly left the bathroom.

Shit, Serena thought, but she stayed where she was. It was no use

going after Blair now, while she was obviously in such a crappy mood. Things would be
better tomorrow at school. She and Blair would have one of their famous heart-to-hearts in
the lunchroom over lemon yogurts and romaine lettuce. It wasnt like they could just stop
being friends.

Serena stood up and examined her eyebrows in the bathroom mirror, using Blairs tweezers to
pluck a few stray hairs. She pulled a tube of Urban Decay Gash lip gloss from her pocket
and smeared another layer on her lips. Then she picked up Blairs hairbrush and began
brushing her hair. Finally, she peed and rejoined the dinner party, forgetting her lip
gloss on Blairs sink.

When Serena sat down, Blair was eating her second helping of pudding, and Nate was drawing
a small-scale picture of his kick-ass sailboat for Cyrus on the back of a matchbook.
Across the table Chuck raised his wine glass to clink it with Serenas. She had no idea
what she was toasting, but she was always up for anything.

Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or
abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me. hey people! S SEEN DEALING ON STEPS OF MET

Well, were certainly off to a good start. You sent me tons of e-mail, and I had the best
time reading it all. Thanks so much. Doesnt it feel good to be bad? Your E-Mail

hey gossip girl, i heard about a girl up in New Hampshire who the police found naked a
field, with a bunch of dead chickens. ew. they thought she was into some kind of voodoo
shit or something. do you think that was S ? i mean it sounds like her, right? l8ter.
catee3

Dear Catee3,I dont know, but I wouldnt be surprised. S is a big fan of chickens. Once, in
the park, I saw her eat a whole bucket of fried chicken without stopping for air. But
supposedly shed been hitting the bong pretty heavily that day.GG

Dear GG,My name starts with S and I have blond hair!!! I also just came back from boarding
school to my old school in NYC. I was just so sick of all the rules, like no drinking or
smoking or boys in your room. :( Anyway, I have my own apartment now and Im having a party
next Saturdaywanna come? :-)S969

Dear S969, The S Im writing about still lives with her parents like most of us
seventeen-year-olds, you lucky bitch. GG

whatsup, gossip girl? last night some guys I know got a handfull of pills from some blond
chick on the steps of the metropolitan museum of art. they had the letter S stamped all
over them.

coincidence, or what? N00name Dear N00name,Whoa, is all I have to say.GG

3 GUYS AND 2 GIRLS

I and K are going to have a little trouble fitting into those cute dresses they picked up
at Bendels if they keep stopping in at the 3 Guys Coffee Shop for hot chocolate and French
fries every day. I went in there myself to see what the fuss was about, and I guess I
could say my waiter was cute, if you like ear fuzz, but the food is worse than at Jackson
Hole and the average person in there is like, 100 years old.

Sightings C was seen in Tiffany, picking up another pair of monogrammed cufflinks for a
party. Hello? Im waiting for my invite. B s mother was seen holding hands with her new man
in Cartier. Hmmm, whens the wedding? Also seen: a girl bearing a striking resemblance to
S, coming out of an STD clinic on the Lower East Side. She was wearing a thick black wig
and big sunglasses. Some disguise. And very late last night, S was seen leaning out her
bedroom window over Fifth Avenue, looking a little lost. Well, dont jump, sweetie, things
are just starting to get good. Thats all for now. See you in school tomorrow. You know you
love me,

Welcome back, girls, Mrs. McLean said, standing behind the podium at the front of the
school auditorium. I hope you all had a terrific long weekend. I spent the weekend in
Vermont, and it was absolutely heavenly.

All seven hundred students at the Constance Billard School for Girls, kindergarten through
twelfth grade, and its fifty faculty and staff members tittered discreetly. Everyone knew
Mrs. McLean had a girlfriend up in Vermont. Her name was Vonda, and she drove a tractor.
Mrs. McLean had a tattoo on her inner thigh that said, Ride Me, Vonda.

Its true, swear to God. Mrs. McLean, or Mrs. M, as the girls called her, was their
headmistress. It was her job to put forth the cream of the crop send the girls off to the
best colleges, the best marriages, the best livesand she was very good at what she did.
She had no patience for losers, and if she caught one of her girls acting like a loser
persistently calling in sick or doing poorly on the SATsshe would call in the shrinks,
counselors, and tutors and make sure the girl got the personal attention she needed to get
good grades, high scores, and a warm welcome to the college of her choice. Mrs. M also
didnt tolerate meanness. Constance was supposed to

be a school free of cliques and prejudice of any sort. Her favorite saying was, When you
assume, you make an ass out of u and me. The slightest slander of one girl by another was
punished with a day in isolation and a seriously difficult essay assignment. But those
punishments were a rare necessity. Mrs. M was blissfully ignorant of what really went on
in the school. She certainly couldnt hear the whispering going on in the very back of the
auditorium, where the seniors sat.

I thought you said Serena was coming back today, Rain Hoffstetter whispered to Isabel
Coates. That morning, Blair and Kati and Isabel and Rain had all met on their usual stoop
around the corner for cigarettes and coffee before school started. They had been doing the
same thing every morning for two years, and they half expected Serena to join them. But
school had started ten minutes ago, and Serena still hadnt shown up.

Blair couldnt help feeling annoyed at Serena for creating even more mystery around her
return than there already was. Her friends were practically squirming in their seats,
eager to catch their first glimpse of Serena, as if she were some kind of celebrity. Shes
probably too drugged up to come to school today, Isabel whispered back. I swear, she spent
like, an hour in the bathroom last night at Blairs house. Who knows what she was doing in
there. I heard shes selling these pills with the letter S stamped on them. Shes completely
addicted to them, Kati told Rain. Wait till you see her, Isabel said. Shes a total mess.
Yeah, Rain whispered back. I heard shed started some kind of voodoo cult up in New
Hampshire. Kati giggled. I wonder if shell ask us to join. Hello? said Isabel. She can
dance around naked with chickens all she wants, but I dont want to be there. No way. Where
can you get live chickens in the city, anyway? Kati asked. Gross, Rain said. Now, Id like
to begin by singing a hymn. If you would please rise and open up your hymnals to page
forty-three, Mrs. M instructed. Mrs. Weeds, the frizzy-haired hippie music teacher, began
banging out the first few chords of the familiar hymn on the piano in the corner; then all
seven hundred girls stood up and began to sing. Their voices floated down Ninety-third
Street, where Serena van der Woodsen was just turning the corner, cursing herself for
being late. She hadnt woken up this early since her eleventh-grade final exams at Hanover
last June, and shed forgotten how badly it sucked.

Hark the herald angels si-ing! Glo-ry to the newborn king! Peace on Earth and mercy
mi-ild, God and sin-ners reconciled.

Constance ninth grader Jenny Humphrey silently mouthed the words, sharing with her
neighbor the hymnal which Jenny herself had been commissioned to pen in her exceptional
calligraphy. It had taken all summer, and the hymnals were beautiful. In three years the
Pratt Institute of Art and Design would be knocking her door down. Still, Jenny felt sick
with embarrassment every time they used the hymnals, which was why she couldnt sing out
loud. To sing aloud seemed like an act of bravado, as if she were saying, Look at me, Im
singing along to the hymnals I made! Arent I cool?

Jenny preferred to be invisible. She was a curly-haired, tiny little freshman, so
invisible wasnt a hard thing to be. Actually, it would have been easier if her boobs
werent so incredibly huge. At fourteen, she was a 34D.

Can you imagine?

Hark the heavenly host proclaims, Christ i-is born in Beth-le-hem!

Jenny was standing at the end of a row of folding chairs, next to the big auditorium
windows overlooking Ninety-third Street. Suddenly a movement out on the street caught her
eye. Blond hair flying. Burberry plaid coat. Scuffed brown suede boots. New maroon
uniformodd choice, but she made it work. It looked like . . . it couldnt be . . . could it
possibly . . . No! . . . Was it?

Yes, it was. A moment later Serena van der Woodsen pushed open the heavy wooden door of
the auditorium and stood in front of it, looking for her class. She was out of breath and
her hair was windblown. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright from running the
twelve blocks up Fifth Avenue to school. She looked even more perfect than Jenny had
remembered. Oh. My. God, Rain whispered to Kati in the back of the room. Did she like,
pick up her clothes at a homeless shelter on the way here? She didnt even brush her hair,
Isabel giggled. I wonder where she slept last night. Mrs. Weeds ended the hymn with a
crashing chord. Mrs. M cleared her throat. And now, a moment of silence for those less
fortunate than we are. Especially for the Native Americans that were slaughtered in the
founding of this country, of whom we ask no hard feelings for celebrating Columbus Day
yesterday, she said.