Sunset Boulevard Part 15

Jojo fake-punched Jake in the arm, wondering even as she did it why she was acting like such a dork. Her gaze fell on the red writing on Jake's locker. "What about your advice to me? Shouldn't you be scrubbing your locker?"

Jake bit his lip. "No, that's actually a good thing. From the pep club. It's just kind of weird, right?" He grinned goofily. Having his existence acknowledged at school actually felt pretty good.

"No, it's not," Jojo said, touching one of the angel wings. "It's about time you got some respect at this school, Porter-Goldsmith. Even if you kind of went over to the douche side."

Jake's face turned the same red as his backpack. "I did bag on my best friend," he said. He wanted to say it out loud, because he still hadn't fully forgiven himself for the s.h.i.+tty way he'd treated Miles.

"I was just teasing you," Jojo said, worrying she'd taken it too far. In her heart, she knew the movie star Jake of Cla.s.s Angel hadn't been the real Jake who she'd come to know and like. "But it happens to the best of us." She shook her head, thinking of Willa and knowing exactly what he meant. Was best-friend ditchage a side effect of the charmed life? Couldn't you be fabulous and a decent person? Maybe she could try that next. "Anyway, I'll forgive you if you walk me to cla.s.s." She looked up at him with her flirtiest stare.

Jake brightened. "You sure you want to be seen with PG?" He reached out, and adjusted her backpack so that it sat straight on her shoulder. Jojo felt a tickle dance along her collarbone.

"I'm sure."

NO PICNIC.

Myla sat in her usual chair at the best table in the cafeteria, her boxy Prada bag on a chair of its own. Fortune had insisted she not let the b.u.t.tery leather touch the table.

Things were back to normal. Or, back to two-weeks-ago normal. No signs of Cla.s.s Angel remained, save for a c.r.a.ppy advance movie poster that hung outside Dr. Nachos's office. And her friends were still in full a.s.s-kiss mode. This weekend, they'd taken her for a spa day at Bliss (their treat) and then rented a bunch of her favorite movies-Vertigo, Clueless, Mean Girls, and the BBC version of Pride & Prejudice-to watch in Fortune's family's screening room.

She hadn't seen Jojo all weekend. In fact, she'd carefully avoided her sister. Jojo was once again her mortal enemy, but Myla was stumped when it came to a suitable revenge plot. It had to be special, somehow, worthy of the terrible things Jojo had said. But nothing was coming. She'd pa.s.sed Jojo in the lunch line, her tray loaded with Myla-forbidden fries. Even with the perfect opportunity to start a nasty round of whispers, Myla had come up blank.

She hadn't seen Ash, either. She kept glancing across the caf toward his table, but saw only Tucker, Geoff, and his other friends. Ash must have been eating in the music lab, a privilege he'd earned after Gordon donated an unG.o.dly amount to the department. Last year, they'd had weekly picnics in the room, kissing and cuddling and having a hard time pulling away from each other once the bell for cla.s.s rang.

Myla shuddered, picturing Daisy in her place on the plaid picnic blanket. She got what Ash had meant about being haunted. Everywhere she looked, anytime she saw a couple holding hands, she pictured Ash and Daisy, bound together. It was worse than if she'd seen them drunkenly making out. Or if she'd learned Ash had hooked up with some common s.k.a.n.k, like Ca.s.sie "Easy" Eastman. To torture herself, Myla had played Daisy's songs on her iPod while she got her ma.s.sage at Bliss. She couldn't compete. The ma.s.seuse had ended the session saying, "I work out a knot, it comes back. You have to learn to let go."

But she wouldn't let go. Her glimmer of hope lay in Daisy running from Ash at the party.

She picked at her honey-turkey-and-gouda panini, listening to the rain patter against the roof, an echo of the rhythmic downpour ringing in her ears. The rain was picking up speed, which meant every news station in L.A. would lead with a story called "Storm Watch." Thunder rumbled and then a crack of lightning erupted, casting a split-second flash of blue light over the entire cafeteria.

As if on cue, Myla's cell vibrated, quivering back and forth on her tray. Maybe she was being obsessive, but she'd set a Google Alert for "Daisy Morton." Her first one had arrived. The top headline, from TMZ, read Crazy About Daisy. She clicked it open.

Beneath it was a photo of Ash and Daisy leaving BLD, a cute, newish cafe near the Grove. The photo was a little out-of-focus, but she could clearly make out Ash's hair and Daisy's smile. They were holding hands again, and Myla felt like the lightning had struck her through the heart. Myla caught Fortune's eyes as they s.h.i.+fted to the story still on Myla's screen. She placed her phone, the picture still on-screen, in the center of the table. Her friends were jonesing for a gossip fix and fought each other to look at the story.

Myla felt her lip trembling and she fought back tears. I did this to myself, didn't I? she thought, stunned to even think it. It wasn't her style to take the blame. In a panic, she mentally scrolled through anyone else who could take the fall. Ash's dad, who had put Ash on Daisy detail in the first place. Her friends, for not being there when she needed them. Ash, for being so unwilling to trust her. Jojo, who could have told her the kiss-someone-else idea was bad from the get-go. But wouldn't she have told Jojo she was too untrained to know what she was talking about? Myla pushed her lunch tray away, unable to look at the food she hadn't touched anyway. She didn't even want to think about what she could have done differently. She needed to know what she could do next. And not "next" in her plot to get Ash back. Nope, "next" as in helping her survive the next few seconds. "What am I going to do?"

Talia shrugged, reading the story. "It says you should start dating someone else. Ooh! We should go to the Kress. It's sooo hot right now. Girls' night!"

Fortune clapped excitedly. "OmiG.o.d! Speaking of girls' nights, did you guys hear about Grant?" She whispered. "He got arrested with a prost.i.tute in Hollywood."

Billie almost spit out her smoothie. "Eeew! Why would he get a hooker when he could have us?"

Myla deleted the TMZ post on her phone and shoved it into her bag. Her friends might be experts at spa sessions, clubbing, and all the other things girls with broken hearts were supposed to do to recover. But trying to actually talk to them only made her feel worse.

Myla hugged her bad-day sweater around her, collecting as much warmth as she could from the soft gray cashmere. But her whole body still felt cold. If Daisy could forgive Ash his nasty comments, Ash and Daisy must have something meaningful. "What if they're in love?" Myla said aloud, unable to stop herself from saying what she was thinking.

Fortune rolled her eyes. "Who cares, My? You guys have been broken up for weeks. Maybe now you'll finally start dating again. Single Myla is getting old, don't you think?"

Myla wanted to shove her plate away and storm off-but she couldn't. Without Ash, she needed her friends. A tinkling, familiar laugh wove around the now-faster rainfall. Myla cast a glance in the direction of the sound to see Jojo sitting with Miles Abelson and Jacob PG. For a second, their eyes met, but Jojo quickly looked away.

She would listen. She knew how to make Myla feel better. She'd probably see right through Myla, but in a good way. In the way she needed desperately to be seen right now. As a terrified, heartbroken, and lonely girl who never wanted anyone to see her terrified, heartbroken, or alone. She'd driven away Jojo the same way she had Ash. She was an expert at hurting people more than they could hurt her. She'd just never realized how badly she could hurt herself.

"Myla... hey, wake up," Talia snapped her fingers in front of Myla's face. "Did you hear me? We're going to hit Bebe and Bloomie's after school, to get new outfits for the Kress this weekend. Remember what you always say, 'The only things you need in this world are fabulous clothes and a place to be seen in them.'"

The words. .h.i.t Myla like a blunt object as she realized that she'd asked for this, just like she'd asked for every nightmare of the last few weeks. Her friends were well trained. Being around her long enough had taught them to act like and treat her like the girl she thought she should be: cool, calm, purposeful, and never willing to let her guard down. They'd soaked up all her maxims, and Myla-isms. Probably too well. Jojo had been the only one smart enough to get out.

As a clap of thunder cracked her heart into even smaller pieces, Myla wished the rain would fall hard enough to wash away all the parts of her she didn't like. Because Jojo had been right.

It wasn't them. It was her.

Blair Waldorf, Serena van der Woodsen, Nate Archibald, Dan Humphrey, and Vanessa Abrams went off to live their lives. Now, they're coming home for the holidays. A lot can change in a few months... but some things never do.

Turn the page for a sneak peek of I will always love you a new gossip girl hardcover featuring the original cast Hey people!

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

For years, New York City-the center of the universe, the place where anything can happen-was our home. But we've moved beyond our uniform-required, single s.e.x schools and into bastions of higher education around the country. Yes, it finally happened: we went to college. For the past few months, we've been surrounded by people who don't know who we've hooked up with, who don't remember the time we wet our pants on the playground in kindergarten. We've learned new things and made new friends and maybe even met the loves our lives. We've changed.

Or at least, some of us have. Others are just as fabulous as always. Take B, heading to Vermont to spend a perfect holiday with her perfect Yale boyfriend and his perfect family. That girl always had her eye on the prize.... And speaking of prizes, what's rumored SAG nominee S doing these days? Formerly wors.h.i.+pped by her Constance Billard cla.s.smates, she's now followed by paparazzi and a posse of fellow movie starlets. No matter where she is or what she does, S will always be the center of attention.

Then there are the people who've tried their hardest to change: N is on a sailing trip around the world. But as we all know from reading Kant in our freshman seminars, no man is an island. He'll be back. Then there's D, scratching out poetry in his Moleskine notebook in the Pacific Northwest. It may look like a total lifestyle change, but he still insists on Folgers instead of French press in the coffee capital of the US. He also spends every waking moment attempting to Skype his shaven-headed, ultra independent filmmaker girlfriend, V, who's at NYU and seems to almost... have hair. And friends. Lastly there's C, last seen with a pack of flannel-wearing, very rugged boys. Is he into a new type, or has he gone through yet another reinvention? That man puts Madonna to shame.

Everyone's back in town for the holidays, and this winter break is guaranteed to be filled with makeups, breakups, and shakeups. Lucky for you, I'm going to report everything worth reporting. Let the reunion begin.

sightings: B on a train from New Haven to Montpelier, VT, looking very out of place in a sea of flannel... S with three identical girls, on the red carpet for a premiere.... V and some friends from NYU, including her very young, very cute teaching a.s.sistant, at a film-screening party in Bushwick. Is someone trying to get extra credit?... D and his little sister, J, splitting a plate of chocolate-chip pancakes at one of those curiously packed diners on upper Broadway.... C and a group of cowboy-boot clad guys ordering sodas at the lounge at the Tribeca Star. Ride 'em, cowboy!

Break the rules Remember, you don't technically live under your parents' roof anymore. You've already indulged them in holiday merry-making: Scrabble with the siblings, kissing Grandma, and decorating cookies that n.o.body's going to eat. Which means now is the time to use all your pent-up energy to party. Remember, you can always reform after January 1st-that's what resolutions are for. So go out, have fun, and most of all, show your former besties and former flames just how much better you've become.

Besides, now that you know I'm watching, aren't you just dying to put on a show? Thought so.

You know you love me, gossip girl All B wants for Christmas "You awake, Scout?"

Blair Waldorf awoke from a nap to the sight of her boyfriend, Pete Carlson, gazing down at her. Pete smiled his adorable, lopsided smile. His eyes were a yellowish brown and reminded Blair of her cat, Kitty Minky.

She threw the plaid Black Watch duvet to the foot of the couch and discreetly checked for drool with her index finger. She loved being woken up by Pete, especially when he called her by an adorable nickname. Currently, it was Scout because she'd directed him and his three older brothers to the best Douglas fir Christmas tree, deep in the woods of the Carlsons' expansive Woodstock, Vermont, estate.

"Of course I am," Blair lied, sitting up and yawning. Why sleep when her waking life was so much better?

"Good." Pete settled next to her on the couch, pus.h.i.+ng Blair's long bangs tenderly off her small, foxlike face. Her hair was a little s.h.a.ggier then she'd like, but she simply didn't trust any of the hair salons in New Haven. Besides, what were unkempt bangs when she was with a guy who loved her?

"Have any dreams? You were making these little growls in your sleep. It was cute." Pete pulled the blanket off the floor and draped it over their legs.

"Oh." Blair frowned. She was growling?

In truth, she'd been having a lot of weird dreams lately. Last night, she'd woken up and thought she was at a sleepover at her old best friend Serena van der Woodsen's house, only to find herself all alone in the guest bedroom of the Carlsons'.

Maybe it was just homesickness. After all, she hadn't seen Serena since August, she didn't have a home in New York anymore, and no one in her family was even in the United States this week. Her father, Harold, was celebrating Christmas in France with his boyfriend and their adopted twins. Her stepbrother Aaron was spending the break on a kibbutz in Israel. Her mother, stepfather, brother Tyler, and baby sister Yale had moved to LA back in August, to a gigantic, tacky Pacific Palisades mansion that they were making even bigger and more tacky. While the renovations were taking place, they were spending the holidays in the South Pacific, visiting the islands that Eleanor Rose, in a fit of pregnancy-induced mania last spring, had bought for each member of the family. Blair had been somewhat tempted to tag along, if only to see her baby sister, the least f.u.c.ked-up member of her tragically absurd family.

Not to mention pay a visit to Blair Island.

But once she'd been invited to spend Christmas with the Carlsons, she felt it was her duty as a girlfriend to go.

"I was just dreaming about you. Us. I'm just so happy." Blair sighed contentedly as she gazed into the orange fire roaring in the wood-burning stove across the room. Outside, a thin blanket of snow covered the ground.

"Me too." Pete ruffled her hair and pulled her face into his for a kiss.

"You taste nice," Blair breathed, letting her body relax into Pete's muscular arms.

It was funny how things worked out. When she arrived at Yale, Blair discovered that her roommate, Alana Hoffman, sang a cappella all the time. Blair would wake up to Alana singing "Son of a Preacher Man" to her collection of teddy bears. Avoiding her room, Blair spent a lot of time in the library, where Pete was writing a paper for his Magical Realism in the Caribbean cla.s.s. They'd exchanged flirty glances, and finally Pete invited her for coffee.

It was amazing how easy everything could be with Pete. For the first time in Blair's nineteen years, her life felt like it made sense. She loved her cla.s.ses, had an adoring, handsome boyfriend, and had even found a surrogate family in the Carlsons.

For the past few days, they'd spent every waking hour with the family: his former US senator dad, Chappy; his Boston debutante mom, Jane; his three older brothers, their wives, and a.s.sorted nephews and nieces Blair couldn't even try to keep straight. It sounded like a nightmare, but it was great. His dad was barrel-chested and red-faced and told bad jokes in a way that made everyone crack up, and his mom would randomly recite poetry at the dinner table without being drunk. The brothers were friendly and smart, their wives were nice, and even the kids were polite. So far, it had been a perfect holiday.

And it was about to get even better. To celebrate the New Year, Chappy had booked the entire family at an exclusive resort in Costa Rica. Obviously, Blair could do without the rainforest adventure part, but she'd heard the beaches were pristine, the sun was hot, and the villas had the most incredible mattresses.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "You kids decent?" Pete's brother Jason called as he entered. He had the same lanky frame as Pete. Tall, blond, and handsome, all four of the Carlson brothers-Everett, Randy, Jason and Pete-looked like they could be quadruplets, even though there was a two-year age difference between them. A second-year law student at UPenn, Jason was the second youngest of the Carlson brothers. He was adorable, and Blair would've had a crush on him if she wasn't dating Pete.

At least she has a backup.

"We're playing charades. Your presence has been requested."

"Do we have to?" Blair suppressed a groan. It was cute in theory, but they'd played Charades, Pictionary, or Scrabble the last three nights.

Maybe they should shake it up with some Truth or Dare.

"And guess who's requested you on his team again?" Jason smirked, flas.h.i.+ng Blair the trademark white-toothed Carlson smile. "Our dad loves you!"

"Aw, that's cute!" Blair said, mustering her enthusiasm. They'd be at the resort soon, so she might as well continue being as polite and friendly as possible to his family. She followed Pete through the wide, arching hallway that led to the kitchen. A large wood stove hunkered in the corner opposite two ma.s.sive Sub-Zero refrigerators. Several overstuffed yellow chairs sat in front of a large dormer window, each one containing a different member of the family. Pete's father Chappy stood in front of the group.

"Scout!" He called happily as he spotted Blair and Pete.

"Hi, Mr. Carlson." Blair smiled warmly.

"I already claimed you, so back off, boys," Chappy said jovially to Pete's brothers, who all smiled politely back at her. "I'm telling you, Scout, I don't know how I'm going to manage without you next week," Chappy continued.

"Oh, well, I'm sure we can play on the beach or something," Blair said. She blushed. "Play charades on the beach," she clarified.

"Yeah, but what'll I do without my favorite teammate?" Chappy shook his head sorrowfully. "No offense, Jane." He cupped his hand over Blair's ear. "My wife cheats," he whispered, winking at his wife. Jane Carlson had wheat-blond hair cut in a sensible bob and was tall, with an athletic frame. Only the deep wrinkles in her forehead made her seem old enough to be Pete's mom, and they didn't make her look ancient so much as friendly.

"I do cheat, I'll be the first to admit it," Jane said merrily. "I'm glad you're on the straight and narrow." She winked at Blair.

But Blair was still stuck on the part of Chappy's sentence that implied she wouldn't be in Costa Rica with them. She'd bought five new Eres bikinis for the occasion. They made the most of the five pounds she'd gained from Yale's meal plan. "Without me?" Blair repeated stupidly.

"I mean, I'd bring you along, but we've got a saying in the Carlson family..." Chappy began, his eyes s.h.i.+ning, as if he were about to deliver a stump speech. "I believe, when it comes to vacations, in the no ring, no bring rule."

"It's the Carlson curse." Jason sighed, elbowing Blair in the ribs sympathetically. Blair stepped away. While it was true she'd never officially been invited to Costa Rica, she'd been invited for Christmas, for G.o.d's sake. Wasn't that even more exclusive than a beach holiday? And why not invite her? After all, she'd brought Nate Archibald, her high school boyfriend, on her family vacations for years and it wasn't like she'd been married to him.

Except in her dreams.

"Blair, we love you and we want you in our family for years to come, but I need to be a stickler on this," Chappy explained sympathetically, as if she were one of his const.i.tuents, arguing over some impossible and arcane rule. "I've raised four boys, and while they've behaved around you, honestly, these gentlemen cause more theatrics when it comes to ladies than the Yale School of Drama," he finished.

"Maybe you could get together with your girlfriends and have a girl's adventure!" Pete's sister-in-law Sarah piped up from the corner of the room, stroking her eight-months-pregnant belly. "I remember when I heard the Carlson rule, I had a great time with the Theta girls. We went to Cancun!" A look of happy reminiscence crossed Sarah's heart-shaped face.

"You did?" Randy asked, shooting a look at Sarah. "I didn't know that."

"All I'm saying is that Blair should have her own fun." Sarah winked conspiratorially at Blair.

"More hot chocolate, anyone?" Pete's mother asked, excusing herself.

"Sorry, son!" Chappy said, genuinely sounding remorseful as he clapped Pete on the back. "Sorry, Scout!"

Blair narrowed her eyes at a painting that hung over the fireplace, of a s.h.i.+p in what looked like an exceptionally violent storm. What type of f.u.c.king art was that to hang in a house? And what the f.u.c.k was up with that stupid nickname? Scout?

Out would have been more appropriate.

"Blair, I'm sorry," Pete said simply. "I thought you understood..."

"What? I knew I wasn't coming," Blair lied, smiling fakely. Her stomach was churning wildly. For a brief second, she wanted to excuse herself, run to the second-floor bathroom, and puke everything she'd eaten for the past five days. But she didn't.

"Blair, darling, here's your hot chocolate. I made sure to put some extra marshmallows in there." Jane pushed the steaming mug into Blair's hands. "Won't you sit down?" She gestured to one of the comfortable overstuffed chairs.

"Thanks," Blair said. She squared her shoulders and turned to the waiting Carlson clan. "You all ready to play?" She forced herself to smile, a plan already forming.

"Maybe I will have a wild girls' weekend," she whispered to Pete. "I haven't been to New York all year." His face fell as he no doubt pictured all the fun she'd be having without him. Blair raised an eyebrow challengingly. After all, she was a woman. A Yale woman. She had places to go.

And games to play.

make new friends, but keep the old...

"This came from the man at the other end of the bar," the skinny bartender slash model said as he proffered a gla.s.s of champagne.

"Thanks." Serena van der Woodsen glanced down the long, dark oak bar of Saucebox, the new lounge in the just-opened hotel on Thompson Street. Breckin O'Dell, an actor she vaguely remembered meeting a few times, held up his own gla.s.s of champagne and saluted her. Serena nodded, brought the gla.s.s to her lips and took a sip, even though she preferred vodka.

"Oh my G.o.d, you should totally date him. His agent has ridiculous connections," Amanda Atkins said, pulling on the sleeve of Serena's The Row scoopneck jersey dress in excitement. "Can we get some shots down here?" she called to the bartender. Serena smiled indulgently. Amanda was an eighteen-year-old recent LA transplant best known for her role in a dorky sitcom about a girl from Paris who moves to a farm in Tennessee to live with her redneck uncle. Recently, though, she'd been cast in an indie film and was trying to break free from her good girl reputation.

Another shot and she's almost there.

"Maybe," Serena said unconvincingly. She stared at the bubbles fizzing to the top of her gla.s.s as if they held the secrets to the universe. If she looked around her, she'd see tons of Breckin O'Dell look-alikes, no doubt wis.h.i.+ng they'd been the ones to buy Serena van der Woodsen-the Serena van der Woodsen-a drink. Instead, they buzzed around Amanda and her other two actress-friends, Alysia and Alison. They called themselves the three A's, even though Alysia's name was actually Jennifer.

The three A's were admittedly a little shallow, but they were also goofy and fun and never turned down a party. Usually, Serena had a blast hanging out with them, but tonight, she felt a little... off. Her parents had just left for St. Barts, while her brother, Eric, was spending the winter break in Australia with a girl who'd been a visiting student at Brown last year. It wasn't like she wanted to spend New Year's Eve with her family, but she also didn't like waking up in their huge Fifth Avenue apartment alone. Serena downed her champagne in one gulp, telling herself that she just needed to have fun.

And, after all, she is the expert.

"Hey, you're that farm chick!" one guy stuttered, not looking Amanda in the eye. His hair was gelled and he was wearing a pink and white striped b.u.t.ton-down. It was clear that he'd had to bribe the bouncer to get into the bar.

"Yes," Amanda sighed. "But, actually, I have to stand over here now." Amanda took two steps away, as Alysia and Alison snorted in laughter. Serena offered the guy a sympathetic smile. Even though she was beautiful, Serena was never mean.

An infuriating combination.