You Know You Love Me (6 page)

Oh, yeah, Jeffrey said. And I bet theres going to be a lot more than kissing going on. He
sniggered. Especially if Serenas there. The boys laughed, congratulating each other on
their incredible wit. Dan had had enough. He tossed his cigarette on the sidewalk only
inches from Chucks shoes and headed for the school doors. As he passed the three boys he
turned his head and puckered his lips, making a smooching sound three times as if he were
giving each boy a big fat kiss on the lips. Then he turned and went inside, banging the
door shut behind him.

Kiss that, assholes.

What Im going for is tension, Vanessa Abrams explained to Constances small Advanced Film
Studies class. She was standing at the front of the room, presenting her idea for the film
she was making. Im going to shoot the two of them talking on a park bench at night. Except
you cant really hear what theyre saying. Vanessa paused dramatically, waiting for one of
her classmates to say something. Mr. Beckham, their teacher, was always telling them to
keep their scenes alive with dialogue and action, and Vanessa was deliberately doing just
the opposite.

So theres no dialogue? Mr. Beckham said from where he was standing in the back of the
classroom. He was painfully aware that no one else in the class was listening to a word
Vanessa was saying. Youre going to hear the silence of the buildings and the bench and the
sidewalk, and see the streetlights on their bodies. Then youll see their hands move and
their eyes talking. Then youll hear them speak, but not much. Its a mood piece, Vanessa
explained. She reached for the slide projectors remote control and began clicking through
slides of the black-and-white pictures shed taken to demonstrate the look she was going
for in her short film. A wooden park bench. A slab of pavement. A manhole cover. A pigeon
pecking at a used condom. A wad of gum perched on the edge of a garbage can. Ha! someone
exclaimed from the back of the room. It was Blair Waldorf, laughing out loud as she read
the note Rain Hoffstetter had just passed her.

For a good time call Serena v.d. Woodsen Get it VD??

Vanessa glared at Blair. Film was Vanessas favorite class, the only reason she came to
school at all. She took it very seriously, while most of the other girls, like Blair, were
only taking Film as a break from Advanced Placement hellAP Calculus, AP Bio, AP History,
AP English Literature, AP French. They were on the straight and narrow

path to Yale or Harvard or Brown, where their families had all gone for generations.
Vanessa wasnt like them. Her parents hadnt even gone to college. They were artists, and
Vanessa wanted only one thing in life: to go to NYU and major in film.

Actually, she wanted something else. Or someone else, to be precise, but well get to that
in a minute. Vanessa was an anomaly at Constance, the only girl in the school who had a
nearly shaved head, wore black turtlenecks every day, read Tolstoys War and Peace over and
over like it was the Bible, listened to Belle and Sebastian, and drank unsweetened black
tea. She had no friends at all at Constance, and lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, with her
twenty-two-year-old sister, Ruby. So what was she doing at a tiny, exclusive private girls
school on the Upper East Side with princesses like Blair Waldorf? It was a question
Vanessa asked herself every day.

Vanessas parents were older, revolutionary artists who lived in a house made out of
recycled car tires in Vermont. When she turned fifteen, they had allowed the perpetually
unhappy Vanessa to move in with her bass guitarist older sister in Brooklyn. But they
wanted to be sure she got a good, safe, high-school education, so they made her go to
Constance.

Vanessa hated it, but she never said anything to her parents. There were only eight months
left until graduation. Eight more months and she would finally escape downtown to NYU.
Eight more months of bitchy Blair Waldorf, and even worse, Serena van der Woodsen, who was
back in all her splendor. Blair Waldorf looked like she was absolutely orgasmic over the
return of her best friend. In fact, the whole back row of Film Studies was atwitter,
passing notes tucked into the sleeves of their annoying cashmere sweaters.

Well, fuck them. Vanessa lifted her chin and went on with her presentation. She was above
their petty bullshit. Only eight more months. Perhaps if Vanessa had seen the note Kati
Farkas had just passed to Blair, she might have had a tad more sympathy for Serena.

Dear Blair, Can I borrow fifty thousand dollars? Sniff, sniff, sniff. If I dont pay my
coke dealer the money I owe him, Im in big trouble. Shit, my crotch itches. Let me know
about the money. Love, Serena v.d. Woodsen

Blair, Rain, and Kati giggled noisily. Shhssh, Mr. Beckham whispered, glancing at Vanessa
sympathetically. Blair turned the note over and scrawled a reply.

Sure, Serena. Whatever you want. Call me from jail. I hear the food is really good there.
Nate and I will visit you whenever were free, which might be . . . I dont know . . .
NEVER?! I hope the VD gets better soon.

Love, Blair

Blair handed the note back to Kati, feeling only the tiniest speck of remorse for being so
mean. There were so many stories about Serena flying around, she honestly didnt know what
to believe anymore. Plus, Serena still hadnt actually told anyone what she was doing back,
so why should Blair say anything in her defense? Maybe some of it was true. Maybe some of
this stuff had really happened.

Besides, passing notes is so much more fun than taking them. So Im going to be writing,
directing, and filming this. And Ive already cast my friend, Daniel Humphrey, from
Riverside Prep, as Prince Andrei, Vanessa explained. Her cheeks heated up when she uttered
Dans name. But I still need a Natasha for the scene. Im casting her tomorrow after school,
in Madison Square Park at dusk. Anyone interested? she asked.

The question was a private little joke with herself. Vanessa knew no one in the room was
even listening to her; they were too busy passing notes. Blairs arm shot up. Ill be the
director! she announced. Obviously she hadnt heard the question, but Blair was so
desperate to impress the admissions office at Yale, she was always the first to volunteer
for anything.

Vanessa opened her mouth to speak. Direct this, she wanted to say, giving Blair the
finger. Put your hand down, Blair, Mr. Beckham sighed tiredly. Vanessa just got through
telling us she is directing and writing and filming. Unless youd like to try out for the
part of Natasha, I suggest you focus on your own project.

Blair glared sourly at him. She hated teachers like Mr. Beckham. He had such a chip on his
shoulder because he was from Nebraska and had finally attained his sad dream of living in
New York City only to find himself teaching a useless class instead of directing cutting
edge films and becoming famous.

Whatever, Blair said, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. I guess I really dont have
time. And she didnt. Blair was chair of the Social Services Board and ran the French Club;
she tutored third graders in reading; she worked in a soup kitchen one night a week, had
SAT prep on Tuesdays, and on Thursday afternoons she took a fashion design course with
Oscar de la Renta. On weekends she played tennis so she could keep up her national
ranking. Besides all that, she was on the planning committee of every social function
anyone would be bothered to go to, and the fall/winter calendar was busy, busy, busy. Her
PalmPilot was always running out of memory.

Vanessa flicked on the lights and walked back to her seat at the front of the room. Its
okay, Blair, I wanted a blond girl for Natasha anyway, she said. Vanessa smoothed her
uniform around her thighs and sat down daintily, in an almost perfect imitation of Blair.

Blair smirked at Vanessas prickly shaved head and glanced at Mr. Beckham, who cleared his
throat and stood up. He was hungry, and the bell was going to ring in five minutes. Well,
thats it, girls. You can leave a little early today. Vanessa, why dont you put up a
sign-up sheet in the hall for your casting tomorrow?

The girls began to pack up their bags and file out of the room. Vanessa ripped a blank
sheet of paper out of her notebook and wrote the necessary details at the top of it. War
and Peace. Short film. Try out for Natasha. Wednesday P.M., sunset. Madison Square Park.
Park bench, Northeast corner. She resisted writing an exact description of the girl she
was looking for, because she didnt want to scare anyone away. But she had a clear picture
in her mind, and it wasnt going to be easy to find the right girl.

Her perfect Natasha would be pale and blond, a natural dirty blond. She wouldnt be too
obviously pretty, but shed have the kind of face that made you want to look at it. She
would be the kind of girl to make Dan glowfull of movement and laughterexactly the
opposite of Dans quiet energy, which burned deep inside him and made his hands shake
sometimes.

Vanessa hugged herself. Just thinking about Dan made her feel like she had to pee. Under
that shaved head and that impossible black turtleneck, she was just a girl. Face it: were
all the same.

The invitations, the gift bags, and the champagne. Thats all we have left to do, Blair
said. She lifted a cucumber slice off her plate

and nibbled at it thoughtfully. Kate Spade is still doing the gift bags, but I dont knowdo
you think Kate Spade is too boring? I think Kate Spade is perfect, Isabel said, winding
her dark hair into a knot on top of her head. I mean, think how cool it is to have a plain
black handbag now instead of all those animal prints and military shit everyone has. Its
all such . . . bad taste, dont you think?

Blair nodded. Completely, she agreed. Hey, what about my leopard skin coat? Kati said,
looking hurt. Yes, but thats real leopard skin, Blair argued. Thats different. The three
girls were sitting in the Constance cafeteria, discussing the upcoming Kiss on the Lips
benefit to raise money for the Central Park Peregrine Falcon Foundation. Blair was chair
of the organizing committee, of course. Those poor birds, Blair sighed. As if she could
give two shits about the damned birds. I really want this party to be good, she said. You
guys are coming to my meeting tomorrow, right? Of course were coming, Isabel said. What
about Serenadid you tell her about the party? Is she going to help? Blair stared blankly
back at her. Kati wrinkled her pert little ski-jump nose and nudged Isabel with her elbow.
I bet Serena is too busy, you know, dealing with everything. All her problems. She
probably doesnt have time to help us, anyway, she said, smirking. Blair shrugged. Across
the cafeteria, Serena herself was just joining the lunch line. She noticed Blair right
away and smiled, waving cheerfully as if to say, Ill be there in a minute! Blair blinked,
pretending shed forgotten to put in her contacts. Serena slid her tray along the metal
counter, choosing a lemon yogurt and skipping all the hot lunch selections until she came
to the hot-water dispenser, where she filled up a cup with hot water and placed a Lipton
tea bag, a slice of lemon, and a packet of sugar on the saucer. Then she carried her tray
over to the salad bar, where she filled up a plate with a pile of romaine lettuce and
poured a small puddle of bleu cheese dressing beside it. She would have preferred a
toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich in the Gare du Nord in Paris, eaten in a hurry before
leaping onto her London train, but this was almost as good. It was the same lunch shed
eaten at Constance every day since sixth grade. Blair always got the same thing too. They
called it the diet plate. Blair watched as Serena got her salad, dreading the moment when
Serena would sit down next to her in all her glory and start trying to be friends again.
Ugh.

Hey guys, Serena said, sitting down next to Blair, smiling radiantly. Just like old times,
huh? She laughed and peeled back the top of her yogurt. The cuffs of her brothers old
shirt were frayed, and stray threads dangled in the yogurts watery whey. Hello, Serena,
Kati and Isabel said in unison. Blair looked up at Serena and turned the corners of her
glossy lips upwards. It was almost a smile. Serena stirred the yogurt up and nodded at
Blairs tray, where the remains of her bagel with cream cheese and cucumber were strewn. I
guess you outgrew the diet plate, she observed. I guess, Blair said. She smashed a lump of
cream cheese into her paper napkin with her thumb, staring at Serenas sloppy cuffs in
bewilderment. It was fine to wear your brothers old clothes in ninth and tenth grade.
Then, it was cool. But now? It just seemed . . . dirty. So my schedule totally sucks,
Serena said, licking her spoon. I dont have a single class with you guys. Um, thats
because youre not taking any APs, Kati observed. Youre lucky, Isabel sighed. I have so
much work to do I dont even have time to sleep. Well, at least Ill have more time to
party, Serena said. She nudged Blairs elbow. Whats going on this month, anyway? I feel so
completely out of it. Blair sat up straight and picked up her plastic cup, only to find
there was no water left in it to drink. She knew she should tell Serena all about the Kiss
on the Lips party and how Serena could help with the preparations and how fun it was all
going to be. But somehow she couldnt bring herself to do it. Serena was out of it, all
right. And Blair wanted her to stay that way. Its been pretty lame. There really isnt much
going on until Christmas, Blair lied, shooting a warning glance at Kati and Isabel.
Really? Serena said, disappointed. Well what about tonight? You guys want to go out? Blair
glanced at her friends. She was all for going out, but it was only Tuesday. The most she
ever did on a Tuesday night was rent a movie with Nate. Suddenly Blair felt seriously old
and boring. Leave it to Serena to make her feel boring. I have an AP French test tomorrow.
Sorry, Serena, Blair said. She stood up. Actually, I have a meeting with Madame Rogers
right now. Serena frowned and began to chew on her thumbnail, a new habit shed picked up
at boarding school. Well, maybe Ill give Nate a call. Hell go out with me, she said. Blair
picked up her tray and resisted hurling it in Serenas face.