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 foodis really good there. Nate and I will visit you whenever we’re free,which might be . . . I don’t 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 didn’t know what to believe anymore. Plus, Serena still hadn’t 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 I’m going to be writing, directing, and filming this. And I’ve already cast my friend, Daniel Humphrey, from Riverside Prep, as Prince Andrei,” Vanessa explained. Her cheeks heated up when she uttered Dan’s name. “But I still need a Natasha for the scene. I’m 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. Blair’s arm shot up. “I’ll be the director!” she announced. Obviously she hadn’t 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 you’d 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 don’t have time.” And she didn’t. 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. “It’s 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 Vanessa’s 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, that’s it, girls. You can leave a little early today. Vanessa, why don’t 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 SquarePark. Park bench, Northeast corner. She resisted writing an exact description of the girl she was looking for, because she didn’t want to scare anyone away. But she had a clear picture in her mind, and it wasn’t going to be easy to find the right girl. Her perfect Natasha would be pale and blond, a natural dirty blond. She wouldn’t be too obviously pretty, but she’d have the kind of face that made you want to look at it. She would be the kind of girl to make Dan glow—full of movement and laughter—exactly the opposite of Dan’s 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: we’re all the same. “The invitations, the gift bags, and the champagne. That’s 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 don’t know—do 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 tho............