TEACHER B That does not make a poem. A poem is ... well, a poem is poetry. STUDENT C That on the whale? TEACHER C Arrais. What do you think? STUDENT C Well, I really think it would be better if the whale speak. A fourth teacher goes to the door, look at the corridor on both sides and then slam the door. Audrey runs through the corridor, looking esfarrapada. She knocks on the door of the teacher who just close it. Audrey Professor Weeks! Oh, professor Weeks! PROF. WEEKS You are late. Audrey Yes, but I have a perfectly good excuse. The teacher makes a break, hoping to hear the excuse. PROF. WEEKS Yes?
Audrey (breathless) Oh, but I can not tell you! It is something illegal. PROF. WEEKS (making a frown) Illegal? I need to call the campus security? Audrey (swinging the head) Oh, no. At least, not yet. She spends her work to him. Audrey I could not decide on which the writing of Shakespeare, so I wrote about them all. I hope you do not mind. The teacher puts the reading glasses and begins to read the work. He sits at the table, completely oblivious to what you're reading. While he continues to read, Audrey casually it leaves the room and closes the door. She walks the aisle and out the door of the building, get a bike and pedal the lawn. EXT. QUADRA OF FACULTY - SEQUENCE Triangulated by a huge lawn of tijolinhos buildings. Audrey pedal by lawn, watching the fall foliage rather than look at where you are going. She hits a boy with a sweater that USA's rowing team that is the way to the training. The boy falls to the ground. He is Colin Davis Oh! Audrey down the bike and if agacha next to it.
Audrey Sorry. Is everything okay? COLIN I think I broke my leg. He tries to move it again. COLIN Oh! Audrey Do not move. I'll call an ambulance. She scouts looking for the bag phone. A weapon drops the floor. COLIN looks at the gun. Audrey takes a gun and stick in the bag again. She opens the phone and dials the number of emergency. s is the movida Serena concluded that the only way to repair the horrific was having a Christmas-New Year truly sensational, and the best way to ensure this was to give his own party. She loved planning parties and was extremely good at it, but it was Wednesday and only had three and a half days to organize everything. Blair would not help. Was isolated in a room with the iBook, a package of cigarettes and an espresso machine and would not leave until we finish the script I was writing to the proposal to Yale. Serena was always delegating tasks better than doing everything yourself, then who should call unless the two girls who so desperately wanted to be your new best friends? - Hello? Kati? It's Serena. - Hi! - Look, Isabel is there? - Arrais. Of course it was. - Legal. So I was wondering if it would import you to come help me plan my New-Year's Eve party. I kind of decided at the last minute and really want to be great, but I am with little time. The two girls were speechless. Then began to screech together. - Oh my God! Vai to be the best party of all! Do not worry, we will get there quickly. And here. Serena came to the door using a pair of red velvet and a Juicy Couture camisetinha with a picture of a snowman. - Oh, my God, you're so tanned exultou Isabel, kissing her on the face. - You emagreceu? - Kati said, kissing her too.
As Serena needed weight. The eternal gracious host, Serena took them to the living room of the family's huge apartment in Fifth Avenue overlooking the Metropolitan Museum of Art her parents were to spend the holidays and Ridgefield brother was in Boston, with friends of college, then Serena had an apartment just for her. Had already placed several blank sheets of paper in the huge coffee table with glass top and writing them headers: Local. Drink / Food. Music / Sound. Theme / Decoration / Lighting. Invitations. List of Guests. She became the sheets of paper for Kati and Isabel. See how Serena knew delegate? - You were the organizing committee of the party in Boca Kiss in October, is not it? They are based. - Great. Can call the same buffet and decorator that same party? - Of course! - Isabel bent for the stock market looking for PalmPilot. - And we need to find a legal DJ - Serena instructed. Kati seemed confused. - It is not the 45 that will play? Serena blinked. I had no idea where Flow would spend the New Year, but was not sure that he wanted to stay in pursuing his own party. - No, actually he is busy writing the new disc - she lied. - A DJ is better anyway. More variety. The two girls seemed disappointed. - I thought we could use this list of guests of the ball Black-and-White - Serena continued, taking another stack of paper in the coffee table. - Of course I can add who you want. - Flow is at least? Serena faltered. If that was not going to say, Kati and Isabel probably start to spread rumors again, about the engagement of Serena and Flow was over and blah blah blah. And it could be an elegant gesture send an invitation to the house of Flow in Malibu, especially after it left the parrot in reception of the resort in St. Barts and returned to New York on the morning of Christmas, without seeing him again. It was as if he really was the party anyway. - He promised me he would - she said, pointing to the name of Flow on the list. Without thinking about doing that, Serena went to thumb through the list until the U.S. to make sure that the name of Aaron Rose was there. Aaron just back from St. Barts in the 30th, but she hoped it was the party. He looked so sad the last time she saw him she wanted to do something to cheer him. - Should I take care of the invitations? - Kati asked, every executive. Nokia's mobile phone took the bag Hervé Chapelier red. - Can I call the paper right now. - Great - Serena said. - And, Isabel, why not call the realtor for parties? Tell him I want a big loft in the center with a good view of fireworks. Preferably with a deck. While passing the list of invitees to Kati, a name at the top of the list drew attention to Serena: Nathaniel Archibald. Where the hell andava Nate, indeed, "she is asked. He had to go to her party. The new-year would not be the same without him. Nate was busy opening the package of memories of Jenny, which was not a simple task, since it was wrapped in a layer of five centimeters of magazines for teenagers and Scotch tape. The package had arrived yesterday afternoon, but somehow, between being snowboarding down the mountain with Cadillac John and Ryan and smoking hashish in the bathtub of a girl at a party in Bar Harbor, he simply had forgotten to open. The only clean underwear that remained in the drawer of Nate was that Jenny had bought for him at Barneys, he now was sitting on the floor using the samba-song of sailfish, ripping the pages of a magazine covering box of Nike shoes, exactly of how Jenny had imagined. He raised the lid of the box and looked inside, laughing even while it was the finger in the tinder-haired Jenny. Mandar a wick of hair almost seemed that Blair would do something, but it probably fill with perfume first, then put a box of Tiffany's silver-coated red velvet and with a monogram of the initials of Nate or something. Nate got the program of The Break-nuts and leaves. Instead of remembering five days before, when he led Jenny to see the ballet and they sat in the front row of the balcony at the New York State Theater of Lincoln Center hold hands while the army of nutcracker toy soldiers in the fighting the mice against the evil under the huge Christmas tree, he thought the last time they took Blair to see the same ballet. Blair had colic. So in the meantime, Nate managed an Advil and a Perrier for her with the bartender and then they took to smoking cigarettes behind the counter. They were kissing and it went the whole second act there, smoking, kissing and watching people passing by the source and the empty Lincoln Center. Blair was wearing a coat of camel hair with the collar of mink in which Nate liked to pull his face, breathing the aroma of the combination of animal skin, the scent of cigarette smoke and Blair. From the top of the dresser Shaker board room of Nate in Mount Desert, the phone rang. The phone had nine messages, all with the number of Jenny, and Nate had not been concerned with the answer either. But this time the number it flashes on the screen was different. Nate laughed. He was always happy to hear Serena. It is, as all the guys on the planet. - And then? What 's up? - Natie? - The voice sounded calm in your ears. - I was wondering when am I gonna see you again. Or will you, so kind, to stay in Maine until graduation? Nate is bent and picked up the package of blueberry Pop-Tarts box of memories of Jenny. Opened with the teeth and took one of the Pop-Tarts, devouring it before throwing the bag back to the box. - I think I will stay longer here - he wanted to avoid dealing with Jennifer until the last minute. Or forever, if possible. - But I will give a party-New Year's - Serena said a voice in a bad mood. - Kati and Isabel are here now, helping me to plan. The theme will be great and we have the best DJ, and a huge deck so that everyone can see the fireworks. You are a Mané is not coming, and I promise I will regret fully. Nate laughed. The party seemed legal. Then he thought of something. - Hey, Where to Blair? You were not in St. Barts? - Back sooner - Serena sighed. - Blair on this side and a nerd working on the proposal to Yale. - Ah - Nate got the copy of Romeo and Juliet and spent the thumb at the edge of the pages full of ears. Then he looked for cover, a classic image of a boy and a girl intertwined in a hug. - But it will at the party, right? - Of course, silly - Serena exclaimed. - It is not as well nerd. - OK - Nate agreed, still holding the book. - I will. Serena hung up. Facing her, sitting on the couch of red and white chintz, Kati and Isabel were busy to phone, scheduling the buffet and beverage ordering more than ever need. Serena smiled to herself. It was half as interesting Nate said only that the party was going after it said that Blair would be there. He had a feeling that would be a very interesting new-year. the tormented artists suddenly have their moment Still using the same coffee-stained white shirt to wear for almost a week, Dan had almost filled an entire block with morbid poems about love poetry was a hoax invented by Hallmark to sell cards of Valentine's Day and give people the false impression that their life had meaning. Now he was working on a poem entitled "Car Full of Stones," about a guy who fills your car from stones and leads to a river because the car reminds of the ex-girlfriend who liked to go out there and listen to the static car instead of music. Jenny knocked on the door. - Have a letter for you, Mr. total recluse. Dan dropped the pen and opened the door. Jenny was wearing a robe pink and had a mustache of white cream. She spent an envelope. - What is it in your face? - Asked him, getting the letter. - I depilando - she said, turning up and following the corridor to the bathroom. Do not know what that means, Dan thought, closing the door. Jenny was spending too much time stuck at home reading of fashion magazines, but combined well with her for being a bitch. Dan turned the thin white envelope and examined the address of the sender. It was the New Yorker, probably offering a signature, when his father was a lifetime subscriber. He opened and deployed a sheet of paper that was inside. Dear Mr. Humphrey, Thank you for sending your poem, "Whores", to The New Yorker. Our congratulations! I am happy to inform you that post your poem in our edition of the Valentine's Day. Fill, if your interest, the Author's information sheet attached to this so we can include aglumas information about you on our colleagues. A check for $ 800 will be sent. Happy New-Year! Jani Price PublisherThat was a joke, "said Dan He releu up the letter twice before letting it fall into the bed, the whole body trembling with fear. The New Yorker rarely published poems by unknown authors, and Jani Price was famous for sending letters of rejection unpleasant, such as. "Good try!" Or "Sorry, Charlie." Dan reviewed the letter. It looked authentic. Then read the letter again, his hands still shaking madly with the idea that a stranger - and even more so famous in the literary world as Jani Price - had read his poem. The more I thought about it, became more evident that the only person who could have sent the poem to the magazine was Vanessa. As if it had not already caused enough damage. What the hell - not, what the fuck she was thinking? Dan threw the letter on the bed and took a dirty shirt. First would take a hot bath and wear clothes files. At last! Then went straight to Brooklyn to make a hole in Vanessa. As she dared violate his work sending it to someone without having to work to ask him first? Who thought that was it, anyway? Her fairy godmother croppy and boots to fight? How about the Ba............