It Girl: Unforgettable Part 10

40.

A LOYAL OWL IS ALWAYS ON HIS GIRLFRIEND'S SIDE-NO MATTER WHAT.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, Callie was torn out of a deep sleep by the buzzing of her cell phone. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the tiny screen. She had a new text message: Get out of bed, lazybones. Meet me outside your dorm in 20, okay? Xo. Callie smiled in spite of herself. It was like Easy couldn't bear to be out of her sight for too long. Good. That was how it should be.

When she'd gotten undressed last night, she'd found a piece of hay stuck in her sweater, and she'd slipped it into her desk drawer so that whenever she opened it, she would remember last night. She kind of wished she had a sc.r.a.pbook, but then she realized it might be kind of weird to put something like that in there. She could picture her mom flipping through it and wanting to know why she had kept a piece of hay for posterity.

Callie glanced over at her roommate's bed, noticing it was empty. Her sheets and blankets were twisted into a giant lump at the foot of the bed. Probably one way of saying eff you to Callie after their fight last night. Well, nice f.u.c.king try. Like she gave a s.h.i.t if she left the room a mess-Callie left the room a mess. She flounced into the shower, resolved not to think any more about her self-righteous little roommate who needed to learn how to get over it.

After throwing on a pair of slim-fitting Stella McCartney jeans and her newest pair of boots-ultra-cozy black suede Michael Kors fur-lined ones that made her think of all the upcoming winter days that would be spent snuggling with Easy, with or without the boots on-she hurried outside, eager to walk into the dining hall with Easy on her arm and have the whole world know that finally, he was hers once again.

Take that, Ms. Humphrey.

Easy was waiting for her on the front steps. She paused before opening the door and going out to meet him. Through the window, she could see his outline against the brilliant blue sky, all the autumn leaves in full color. She'd never really gotten all the fuss about the leaves before. But right then, the beautiful colors seemed to be forming a perfect frame for the back of his head.

She opened the door slowly, and he spun around. "Hey," she said, a little awkwardly, stepping outside. Despite the sunny blue skies, it was freezing, and she was glad she'd decided to put on her cream-colored Ralph Lauren peacoat. She could feel her wet hair start to stiffen in the cold.

Easy still looked kind of sleepy, but unbelievably cute in his navy quilted vest and jeans. "Wanna go for a walk? I brought breakfast." She noticed two paper coffee cups sitting on the steps. He shook the bag in his hand. "Bagels." Callie tried to hide her disappointment. She'd really been looking forward to walking into the dining hall together and having everyone see them, to establishing the way things were going to be from now on. But . . . it was pretty sweet of him to surprise her. She smiled. "What kind?" "One cinnamon-raisin, extra-toasted, with fat-free cream cheese." His eyes glinted in the sunlight. "But that's for me." Callie slapped her hand against his chest and he caught it, holding it for a second in his own calloused hand. At the touch of his skin, she felt her own starting to heat up again. "Where are we going to go?" she asked, a little huskily.

He picked up one of the cups of coffee and handed it to her, still steaming. She gratefully wrapped her hands around the warm cup, but was very conscious of the whiteness of her coat. It seemed to be begging her to spill all over it. "Maybe up to the bluffs?" She hid her frown. No one would see them up there. But . . . whatever. Maybe that was the way he wanted it. They started out across the gra.s.s, their feet crunching noisily against the cold, colored leaves.

"Everyone's really talking about this fire," Easy said as they walked.

Callie glanced over at him. "Well, yeah. We don't have off-campus parties and burn down barns every day." He took a sip of coffee, making a cute little noise as he swallowed the hot liquid. Then he cleared his throat and glanced at her, his deep blue eyes looking troubled. "Well, I guess a lot of people kind of think we started it." "What?!" Callie stopped walking. Of course Jenny was spreading rumors that the fire was their fault. "It's Jenny. I know it is. She's trying to get us expelled." "What?" It was Easy's turn to be surprised. "Jenny? No way." Callie stiffened up. Was he defending that little fire-starting ho-bag? She felt her palms start to sweat. Not again. "She saw us, you know. We had a huge fight last night, and she called me all these names." That wasn't exactly true, but Easy didn't really need to know the exact truth. He just needed to be on his girlfriend's side, unquestioningly.

Easy absentmindedly combed through his hair with his hand. "Well, I'm sure she's upset, and all." Wrong answer. Callie took a step away from Easy and took a sip of her coffee. Almost immediately, she felt a few drips sneak out the plastic top of the cup and splatter against her coat. f.u.c.k. "If you think she's so great, then maybe you should just go be with her right now." "Don't be like that." Easy took two steps forward and quickly put his arms around her-the quickest response he'd ever had to one of her temper tantrums. Callie was impressed. He nuzzled his lips against her ear and Callie closed her eyes and forgot about the coffee that was probably going to stain her brand-new coat. His hoa.r.s.e whisper tickled her ear deliciously. "You know last night was the best night of my life."

She sighed and pressed her lips to Easy's neck. That was more like it.

But he pulled away slightly. His forehead was furrowed with worry. His dry fingers traced her cheekbones.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm just worried. . . ." He stepped away from her and picked up a stick that was lying on the lawn and chucked it into the distance. "If I know Marymount-and after all the trouble I've been in, I think I do-someone's going to take the fall for this." Callie grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She and Easy were finally back together. They were in love, just in time to drink hot cocoa after dinner together at night and kiss in the middle of the quad the first time it snowed. It wasn't going to be them. It couldn't be. And if that meant it had to be someone else, well, so be it.

BennyCunningham: OMG. Did you hear? They found Julian's Zippo in the wreckage of the fi re!!

TinsleyCarmichael: No kidding.

BennyCunningham: I guess he's the prime suspect. Hope he doesn't get expelled. He's too cute, even if he's a freshman.

TinsleyCarmichael: I actually SAW him behind the barn . . . with Jenny. Guess they've been hooking up. Think they started it?

BennyCunningham: Probably. There's something shifty about a guy that tall and a girl that's practically a midget.

TinsleyCarmichael: Totally . . .

CallieVernon: Hey. How are you?

TinsleyCarmichael: Um, fi ne.

CallieVernon: Sorry we haven't talked this week.

TinsleyCarmichael: Whatever.

CallieVernon: U in trouble for the barn? Because I think I know who did it.

TinsleyCarmichael: Talk to me, sister.

CallieVernon: Jenny. She saw me and EZ, um, together.

Together, together.

TinsleyCarmichael: Sounds like motive to me. CallieVernon: Exactly.

TinsleyCarmichael: I'm soooo on it. And Cal?

CallieVernon: Yeah?

TinsleyCarmichael: It's good to have you back on the dark side.

CallieVernon: Good to be here. Later, babe.

Once upon a time on the Upper East Side of New York City, two beautiful girls fell in love with one perfect boy. . ..

Turn the page for a sneak peek of It had to be you the gossip girl preque!

and find out how it all began.

by the #1 New York Times bestselling author Cecily von Ziegesar Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Names, me.

hey people!

Ever have that totally freakish feeling that someone is listening in on your conversations, spying on you and your friends, following you to parties, and generally stalking you? Well, they are. Or actually, / am. The truth is, I've been here all along, because I'm one of you.

Feeling totally lost? Don't got out much? Don't know who "we" are? Allow me to explain. We're exclusive group of indescribably beautiful people who happen to live in those majestic, green-awninged, white-glove-doorman buildings near Central Park. We attend Manhattan's most elite single-s.e.x private schools. Our families own yachts and estates in various exotic locations throughout the world. We frequent all the best beaches and the most exclusive ski resorts. We're seated immediately at the nicest restaurants in the chicest neighborhoods without a reservation. We turn heads. But don't confuse us with Hollywood actors or models or rock Stars-those people you feel like you know because you hear so much about them, but who are actually completely boring compared to the parts they play or the songs they sing. There's nothing boring about me or my friends, and the more I tell you about us, the more you're going to want to know. I've kept quiet until now, but something has happened and I just can't stay quiet about it. . .

the greatest story ever told We learned in our first eleventh-grade creative writing cla.s.s this week that most great stories being in one of the following fashions: someone mysteriously disappears or a stranger comes to town. The story I'm about to tell is of the "someone mysteriously disappears" variety.

To be specific, S is gone.

In order to unravel the mystery of why she's left and where she's gone, I'm going to have to backtrack to last winter-the winter of our soph.o.m.ore year-when the La Mer skin cream hit the fan and our pretty pink rose-scented bubble burst. It all started with three inseparable, perfectly innocent, uumlber-gorgeous fiteen-years-olds. Well, they're sixteen now, and let's just say that two of them are not that innocent.

If anyone is going to tell this tale it has to be me, because I was at the scene of every crime. So sit back while I unravel the past and reveal everyone's secrets, because I know everything, and what I don't know I'll invent, elaborately.

Admit it: you're already falling for me.

Love you to. . .

gossip girl.

the best stories begin with one boy and two girls "Truce!" Serena van der Woodsen screamed as Nate Archibald body-checked her into a three-foot-high drift of powdery white snow. Cold and wet, it tunneled into her ears and down her pants. Nate dove on top of her, all five-foot eleven inches of his perfect, golden-brown-haired, glittering- green-eyed, fifteen-year-old boyness. Nate smelled like Downy and the Kiehl 's sandalwood soap the maid stocked his bathroom with. Serena just lay there, trying to breathe with him on top of her. "My scalp is cold," she pleaded, getting a mouthful of Nate 's snow-dampened, G.o.dlike curls as she spoke.

Nate sighed reluctantly, as if he could have spent all day outside in the frigid February meat locker that was the back garden of his family 's Eighty-second-Street-just-off-Park-Avenue Manhattan town house. He rolled onto his back and wriggled like Serena 's long-dead golden retriever, Guppy, when she used to let him loose on the green gra.s.s of the Great Lawn in Central Park. Then he stood up, awkwardly dusting off the seat of his neatly pressed Brooks Brothers khakis. It was Sat.u.r.day, but he still wore the same clothes he wore every weekday as a soph.o.m.ore at the St. Jude 's School for Boys over on East End Avenue. It was the unofficial Prince of the Upper East Side uniform, the same uniform he and his cla.s.smates had been wearing since they 'd started nursery school together at Park Avenue Presbyterian.

Nate held out his hand to help Serena to her feet. She frowned cautiously up at him, worried that he was only faking her out and was about to tackle her again. "I really am cold."

He flapped his hand at her impatiently. "I know. Come on."

She snorted, pretended to pick her nose and wipe it on the seat of her snow-soaked dark denim Earl jeans, then grabbed his hand with her faux-snotty one. "Thanks, pal." She staggered to her feet. "You 're a real chum."

Nate led the way inside. The backs of his pant legs were damp and she could see the outline of his tighty-whiteys. Really, how gay of him! He held the gla.s.s-paned French doors open and stood aside to let her pa.s.s. Serena kicked off her baby blue Uggs and scuffed her bare, Urban Decay Piggy Bank-pink-toenailed feet down the long hall to the stately town house 's enormous, barely used all-white Italian Modern kitchen. Nateys father was a former sea captain-turned-banker, and his mother was a French society hostess. They were basically never home, and when they were home, they were at the opera.

"Are you hungry?" Nate asked, following her. "I 'm so sick of takeout. My parents have been in Venezuela or Santa Domingo or wherever they go in February for like two weeks, and I 've been eating burritos, pizza, or sushi every freaking night. I asked Regina to buy ham, Swiss, Pepperidge Farm white bread, Grammy Smith apples, and peanut b.u.t.ter. All I want is the food I ate in kindergarten." He tugged anxiously on his wavy, golden brown hair. "Maybe I 'm going through some sort of midlife crisis or something."

Like his life is so stressful?

"It 's Granny Smith, silly," Serena informed him fondly. She opened a glossy white cupboard and found an unopened box of cinnamon-and-brown-sugar Pop-Tarts. Ripping open the box, she removed one of the packets from inside, tore it open with her neat, white teeth, and pulled out a thickly frosted pastry. She sucked on the Pop-Tart 's sweet, crumbly corner and hopped up on the counter, kicking the cupboards below with her size-eight-and-a-half feet. Pop-Tarts at Nate 's. She 'd been having them there since she was five years old. And now . . . and now . . .

Serena sighed heavily. "Mom and Dad want me to go to boarding school next year," she announced, her enormous, almost navy blue eyes growing huge and gla.s.sy as they welled up with unexpected tears. Go away to boarding school and leave Nate? It hurt too much to even think about.

Nate flinched as if he 'd been slapped in the face by an invisible hand. He grabbed the other Pop-Tart from out of the packet and hopped up on the counter next to Serena. "No way," he responded decisively. She couldn 't leave. He wouldn 't allow it.

"They want to travel more," Serena explained. The pink, perfect curve of her lower lip trembled dangerously. "If I 'm home, they feel like they need to be home more. Like I want them around? Anyway, they 've arranged for me to meet some of the deans of admissions and stuff. It 's like I have no choice."

Nate scooted over a few inches and put his arm around her. "The city is going to suck if you 're not here," he told her earnestly. "You can 't go."

Serena took a deep shuddering breath and rested her pale blond head on his shoulder. "I love you," she murmured, closing her delicate eyelids. Their bodies were so close the entire Nate-side of her hummed. If she turned her head and tilted her chin just so, she could have easily kissed his warm, lovely neck. And she wanted to. She was actually dying to, because she really did love him, with all her heart.

She did? h.e.l.lo? Since when?!

Maybe since ballroom-dancing school way back in fourth grade. She was tall for her age, and Nate was always such a gentleman about her lack of rhythm and the way she stepped on his insteps and jutted her bony elbows into his sides. He 'd finesse it by grabbing her hand and spinning her around so that the skirt of her puffy, oyster-colored satin tea-length Bonpoint dress twirled out magnificently. Their teacher, Mrs. Jaffe, who had long blue hair that she kept in place with a pearl-adorned black hairnet, worshipped Nate. So did Serena 's best friend, Blair Waldorf. And so did Serena-she just hadn 't realized it until now. Serena shuddered and her perfect skin broke out in a rash of goose b.u.mps. Her whole body seemed to be having an adverse reaction to the idea of revealing something she 'd kept so well hidden for so long, even from herself.

Nate wrapped his lacrosse-toned arms around her long, narrow waist and pulled her close, tucking her pale gold head into the crook of his neck and ma.s.saging the ruts between the ribs on her back with his fingertips. The best thing about Serena was her total lack of embarra.s.sing flab. Her entire body was as long and lean and taut as the strings on his Prince t.i.tanium tennis racket.

It was painful having such a ridiculously hot best friend. Why couldn 't his best friend be some lard-a.s.sed dude with zits and dandrufl? Instead he had Serena and Blair Waldorf, hands down the two hottest girls on the Upper East Side, and maybe all of Manhattan, or even the whole world.

Serena was an absolute G.o.ddess-every guy Nate knew talked about her-but she was mysterious. She 'd laugh for hours if she spotted a cloud shaped like a toilet seat or something equally ridiculous, and the next moment she 'd be wistful and sad. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking most of the time. Sometimes Nate wondered if she would 've been more comfortable in a body that was slightly less perfect, because it would 've given her more incentive, to use an SAT vocabulary word. Like she wasn 't sure what she had to aspire to, since she basically had everything a girl could possibly want.

Blair was pet.i.te, with a pretty, foxlike face, blue eyes, and wavy chestnut-colored hair. She let everyone know what she was thinking, and she was fiercely compet.i.tive. For instance, she always found opportunities to point out that her chest was almost a whole cup size larger than Serena 's and that she 'd scored almost 100 points higher than Serena on the practice SAT.

Way back in fifth grade, Serena had told Nate she was pretty sure Blair had a crush on him. He started to notice that Blair did stick her chest out when he was looking, and she was always either bossing him around or fixing his hair. Of course Blair never admitted that she liked him, which made him like her even more.

Nate sighed deeply. No one understood how difficult it was being best friends with two such beautiful, impossible girls.

Like he would have been friends with them if they were awkward and b.u.t.t-ugly?

He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of Serena 's Frederic Fekkai Apple Cider clarifying shampoo. He 'd kissed lots of girls and had even gone to third base last June with L'Wren Knowes, a very experienced older Seaton Arms School senior who really did seem to know everything. But kissing Serena would be . . . different. He loved her. It was as simple as that. She was his best friend, and he loved her.

And if you can 't kiss your best friend, who can you kiss?

upper east side schoolgirl uncovers shocking s.e.x scandal!

"Ew," Blair Waldorf muttered at her reflection in the full- length mirror on the back of her closet door. She liked to keep her closet organized, but not too organized. Whites with whites, off-whites with off-whites, navy with navy, black with black. But that was it. Jeans were tossed in a heap on the closet floor. And there were dozens of them. It was almost a game to close her eyes and feel around and come up with a pair that used to be too tight in the a.s.s but fit a little loosely now that she 'd cut out her daily after-dinner milk-and-Chips-Ahoy routine.

Blair looked at the mirror, a.s.sessing her outfit. Her Marc by Marc Jacobs sh.e.l.l pink sheer cotton blouse was fine. It was the fuchsia La Perla bra that was the problem. It showed right through the blouse so that she looked like a stripper. But she was only going to Nate 's house to hang out with him and Serena. And Nate liked to talk about bras. He was genuinely curious about, for instance, what the purpose of an underwire was, or why some bras fastened in front and some fastened in back. It was a big turn-on for him, obviously, but it was also sort of sweet. He was a lonely only child, craving sisterhood.

Right.

She decided to leave the bra on for Nate 's sake, hiding the whole ensemble under her favorite belted black cashmere Lora Piano cardigan, which would come off the minute she stepped into his well-heated town house. Maybe, just maybe, the sight of her hot pink bra would be the thing to make Nate realize that he 'd been in love with her just as long as she 'd been in love with him.

Maybe.

She opened her bedroom door and yelled down the long hall and across the East Seventy-second Street penthouse 's vast expanse of period furniture, parquet floors, crown moldings, and French Impressionist paintings. "Mom! Dad? I 'm going over to Nate 's house! Serena and I are spending the night!"

When there was no reply, she clomped her way to her parents ' huge master suite in her noisy Kors wooden-heeled sheepskin clogs, opened their bedroom door, and made a beeline for her mom 's dressing room. Eleanor Waldorf kept a tall stack of crisp emergency twenties in her lingerie drawer for Blair and her ten-year-old brother, Tyler, to pa.r.s.e from- for taxis, cappuccinos, and, in Blair 's case, the occasional much-needed pair of Manolo Blahnik heels. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one hundred. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, two hundred. Blair counted out the bills, folding them neatly before stuffing them into the back pocket of her peg-legged Seven jeans.

"If I were a cabernet," Blair 's father 's dramatically playful lawyer 's voice echoed out of the adjoining dressing room, "how would you describe my bouquet?"

Excusez-moi?

Blair clomped out of her mom 's dressing room and reached for the chocolate brown velvet curtain hanging in the doorway of her dad 's. "If you guys are in there together, like, doing it while I 'm home, then that 's really gross," she declared flatly. "Anyway, I 'm going over to Nate 's, so-"

Her father, Harold J. Waldorf, Esquire, pulled aside the velvet curtain, dressed in his cashmere tweed Paul Smith bathrobe and nothing else, his nicely tanned, handsome face looking slightly flushed. "Mom 's out looking at dishes for the Guggenheim benefit. I thought you were out. Where are you going exactly?"

Blair stared at him. He wasn 't holding a phone, and if her mom was out, then who the f.u.c.k had he just been talking to? She stood blinking at him with her hands on her hips, tempted to peek inside his dressing room to see who he was hiding in there.

Does she really want to know?

Instead, she stumbled out of the master suite, clomped her way across the penthouse, grabbed her blood orange-colored Jimmy Choo treasure chest hobo, and ran for the elevator.

Outside it was breathtakingly cold, and fat flakes fell at random. Usually she walked the twelve blocks to Nate 's house, but today Blair had no patience for walking-she had just discovered that her father was a lying, cheating sc.u.m- bag, after all, and a cab was waiting for her downstairs. Or rather, a cab was waiting for Mrs. Solomon in 4A, but when the hunter green uniform-clad doorman saw the terrifying look on Blair 's normally pretty face, he let her take it. Besides, hailing cabs in the snow was probably the high- light of his day.

The stone walls bordering Central Park were blanketed in snow. A tall, elderly woman and heryorkshire terrier, dressed in matching red Chanel quilted coats with matching black velvet bows in their white hair, crossed Seventy-second Street and entered the Ralph Lauren flagship store. Blair 's cab hurtled recklessly up Madison Avenue, past Agnes B. and Williams-Sonoma and the Three Guys coffee shop where all the Constance Billard girls gathered after school, and finally pulled up to Nate 's town house.

"Let me in! ' ' she yelled into the intercom outside the Archibalds ' elegant wrought-iron-and-gla.s.s front door as she swatted the buzzer over and over with her hand.