drawn around four pinpricks in the sea between Vanuatu and Fiji. Underneath the circles, written
in black ink in Eleanor's loopy cursive, were the names Yale, Tyler, Aaron, and Blair.
Padonnez-moi?
Blair twisted her ruby ring around and around on her finger. "What the fuck, mom?" she
demanded impatiently.
Eleanor was still holding Blair's hand and she squeezed her daughter's fingers tightly with manic
delight. "I bought you an island, sweetie, and named it after you. Each of my four little darlings
has their own Pacific Island! And next year, when they print the new maps, your names will
appear right there nest to Fiji! Isn't that fantastic?"
Blair stared at the map. Fiji had always sounded sort of exotic to her, but the island of Blair
probably consisted of a scrappy shrub on top a piece of reef riddled with spiny sea urchins and
kelp.
Tyler's already planning our Big South Pacific Christmas trip next year," Eleanor rattled on. "He's
researching which of the Islands have the best surf."
"And your mom's buying each of us a board," Aaron informed her. "Except for Yale."
Blair's noticed that Aaron's toenails were painted black.
"It's a band thing," he explained, noticing her noticing. "We were bonding over the fact that, at the
moment, none of us has a girlfriend."
Big surprise Blair thought. If he wasn't careful, Aaron was going to become one of those pale,
skinny, asexual, vegetarian old men like Morrissey, fading into the ether without anyone
remembering that he'd ever been there. Aaron and Serena had hooked up and even been in love for
a fleeting moment that winter, but Aaron wasn't exciting enough to hold Serena's attention for
more than five minutes.
Than again, who was?
Blair wasn't all that interested in what Aaron and his loser Bronxdale Prep band mates did to
amuse themselves, or in her mother's insane need to buy random, completely pointless things like
islands and alpacas and surfboards, but she did want to know what Kitty Minky, her Russian Blue
cat, was doing digging around in the sumptuous pile of silk-covered bolsters, pillows, and throws
at the head of her bed.
"Meow-meow?" Blair playfully addressed the cat in the made-up cat language she'd used with
Kitty Minky since she was nine years old.
All of a sudden Kitty Minky let loose a stream of disgusting smelling cat pee.
"No!" Blair shouted, hurling a putty-colored leather Monolo sandal at him. Kitty Minky leapt off
the bed, but it was too late: Blair's rose-colored silk bedspread and throw pillows were soaked
through.
"Oh my!" Eleanor exclaimed, wringing her hands and looking like she was going to cry. "Oh dear
me, what a mess," she added despairingly, her mood shifting abruptly from high to low.
"Don't worry, Blair. You can sleep with me and Tyler in our room until Esther cleans this place
up," Aaron offered.
Tyler and Aaron's roomed smelled like beer and feet and tofu hot dogs and those foul herbal
cigarettes Aaron was always smoking. Blair wrinkled her nose. "Id rather sleep on the floor in
Yale's room," she responded miserably.
Eleanor wrung her hands. "Oh, but baby Yale's in quarantine for the next few days. She picked up
some sort of terrible face rash at the pediatrician's office when she was there for her checkup
yesterday. Apparently it's very contagious."
Ew.
Blair's small blue eyes narrowed. She adored her baby sister, but she wasn't about to risk getting a
rash, especially not a face rash. Which left a particular question unanswered: Exactly where the
fuck was she supposed to sleep?!
The penthouse was clearly uninhabitable, and while the Archibalds' house had seemed like an
obvious choice only an hour ago, it had since turned into an after-school program for
sixteen-year-old Nate-worshipping stoners. Serena's door was always open, but Serena's parents
were kind of old-fashioned, and they probably wouldn't like it if Blair had a boy in her room with
the door closed or whatever.
Like Serena never had a boy in her room with the door closed?!
Besides, Blair had already tried living with Serena for a few days that spring and they'd fought the
whole time. Of course that was when Blair had been trying to seduce Serena's brother Erik in
order to lure Nate away from that drugged-up lumber heiress he'd met in rehab. Still, now that she
and Serena were friends again, it was best not to risk it.
As if they wouldn't find something else to fight over.
Blair pulled open the top drawer of the cruelty-free mahogany dresser. She had a credit card, and
there were lots of nice hotels nearby. She grabbed a pair of clean white cotton Hanro underwear
and a white tank top. The one benefit of wearing a uniform to school was packing light. And the
benefit of packing light was that undoubtedly she would need something that she didn't have and
would therefore have to buy at on of the three Bs: Bendel's, Berfdorf's, or Barneys.
"Want to come see what Tyler's found out about our islands?" Aaron offered. "he's downloading a
whole bunch of stuff right now."
"The man I spoke to said the temperature on the islands is consistently between seventy-five and
eighty-five degrees all year round," Eleanor added gleefully. She glanced at her gold Cartier
chain-link wristwatch. "Phooey. I'm five minutes late for my Red Door makeup appointment." She
giggled conspiratorially and clapped her hands together like a little girl. "Cyrus is taking me out to
the four seasons tonight. I can't wait to surprise him with his present."
Blair didn't even want to think about what her mom could have dreamed up to buy Cyrus. A whole
country?
"I'll probably be back to pick up a few things," she informed her mother. "And we're definitely
need a new mattress, pillows, and sheets for this room. But I'm not sure if I'll even be coming back,
you know, to live."
Eleanor blinked dazedly at her daughter. After seventeen and a half years of being Blair's mother,
she still didn't quite know what to make of her.
"Just in case there's a civil war on your island or you new shipment of French underwear comes in,
exactly where might you be reached?" Aaron demanded with an annoying wise-assed smirk.
Blair smirked back. "The Plaza?"
And preferably a suite.
N IS EASILY LED OUT TO SEA
The roof terrace atop Nate's four-storey town house wasn't high enough for a real view, but it was
still nice to sit up there and suck hits out of Jeremy's giant green glass bong and reminisce about
all the wild shit they'd gotten up to when they were young and carefree- before they had stuff to
worry about like college and future.
As if they were worried.
"Dude. Remember that time in Latin when you were so baked you thought you were in French?"
Charlie Dern drawled, blowing smoke out of a tiny gap in the side of his wide, clownish mouth.
"You were just babbling in French like a fucking lunatic and Mr. Herman the she-man was like, "I
beg your pardon, Mr. Archibald. Although all romance languages find their roots in Latin, I never
did master French."
Anthony Avuldsen and Jeremy Scott Tompkinson began to crackle as they remembered that
legendary day.
"I was speaking fucking perfect French, too," Nate observed. "I think maybe for a moment there I
thought I was French. Like a native speaker."
"Right," Charlie agreed sarcastically. "Man, you know you could barely even talk."
Lexie floated by in her tie-dyed dress, barefoot and waving her hands in front of her face. "She'd
drawn flowers on her fingers and toes with a glow-in -the-dark pen she'd found on Nate's desk,
and they glowed neon green in the deepening twilight. A ponytailed boy named Malcolm was
playing the guitar and singing an ancient James Taylor song.
'You just call out my naaaame
And you know where ever I aaam
I'll come runnin' to see you again.'
"I wish we were all at the beach." Jeremy sighed and traced his index finger along the rim of the
bong. "Everything would be perfect if we were at the beach."
Nate nodded his golden brown head in agreement. "We will be soon. My parents' Hamptons booze
cruise is in a couple weeks. Boat's already docked down in Battery Park. You're coming right?"
The junior boys on the roof terrace looked up, wondering hopefully if Nate was addressing them.
Fat chance.
"Everyone's coming," Anthony Avuldsen responded, making the juniors feel like even worse
dweebs. "It's like the kick-off to the whole freaking summer."
"Blair's class is doing their senior cut day the next day," Nate mused. He realized vaguely that
Blair had never made an appearance on the roof terrace. Maybe, she was still in the shower, or
maybe she'd kissed him good-bye and gone home? He honestly couldn't remember. If she was still
in the shower, he might steal downstairs and surprise her. The thought of her wet and naked made
him smile deliciously.
Charlie pulled a marijuana-stuffed Ziploc from out of his khaki pants pocket and began loading it
up on the bong. "You said the boat's in the harbor?"
Before Nate had a chance to respond, his cell phone rang. BLAIR flashed up on the phone's little
screen
Speak of the she-devil.
Nate pressed answer and put the phone on to his ear without actually saying anything.
"Guess where I am?" Blair gushed happily. "The Plaza. So get your ass over here right now. I have
a suite."
The Plaza was only about twenty blocks away. Nate gazed in the general direction of downtown. It
seemed very far away, but it would be nice to lie on a big white hotel bed and watch lots of movies
and order room service. He was pretty hungry.
Not exactly what Blair had in mind.
"Just bring your toothbrush. I've got everything else covered," she added coyly.
Meaning the three Cs: Champagne, caviar and condoms.
"Sounds good," Nate responded gamely. "See you in a minute." He clicked off and Jeremy shoved
the bong at him.
"So what I'm thinking is," he told Nate with the intense face of a seriously stoned person. He'd
pick the green alligator away from his Lacoste shirt, and it dangled from his chest like a partially
removed scab. "We all head down to your parents' boat. It's stocked with booze, and the crew's
probably doing the tourist thing in town and won't even notice if we take it out for a spin, right?
You sail like a master. Why not go on a little pre-Hamptons excursion to, say-"
"Bermuda!" Charlie piped up.
"Fuck, yeah," Anthony agreed.
The three boys looked at Nate. They knew they were asking to do something completely
outrageous, but they could tell by the interested glimmer in Nate's eye that he was sort of into it.
Nate's mind was racing in a blurry, zig-zaggedy, stoned way. Sail the boat to Bermuda? Sure, why
not? They were seniors they could do whatever they wanted. Blair could come too, and they could
drink mimosas and make love on the beach under the warm sun. She was always talking about
going away together.
Lexie came over and sat down in Nate's lap. She smelled like amber incense and goose-liver paté.
The tip of her jet-black ponytail just grazed the sun, moon and the stars tattoo on her shoulder
blade. "Alors, what's next?" she yawned, taking the bong from Nate.
Nate waited until she was done with the bong to pushing her out of his lap and hoisting himself to
his feet. He clapped his hands together like a stoned camp counselor. "Come on, everybody, we're
going on an adventure."
The junior boys began to murmur excitedly. Not only had they gotten to party at Nate Archibalds'
town house, he was taking them somewhere- probably somewhere cooler than they had ever been
before.
"Anyone who pukes on boats should probably stay behind!" Jeremy warned.
"No fucking way," whispered a St. Jude's junior whose name happened to be Nte lyons, and who
mimicked his namesake down on the color of his navy blue Brooks Brothers socks. There was a
mass rush to the exit. Nate Archibald, the coolest senior boy on the Upper East Side, was taking
them out on his boat. It was their big fucking day!
Nate followed the rest of the boys downstairs with good-natured amusement, completely
forgetting what he's been about to do before the topic of a sail to Bermuda even came up. behind
him, his cell phone lay forgotten on the roof terrace, its little screen flashing the name BLAIR as it
rang every two minutes for the next half hour.
'Winter, sprinf, summer, or fa-waall
All you have to do is ca-waall
And I'll be there!'
Yeah. Right.
ANOTHER WASTED PAIR OF LA PERLA UNDERWEAR
"Nate's on his way over," Blair announced to Serena smugly over the phone. She'd called Serena
just to brag about being at the Plaza, feeling guilty as she dialed but getting over the guilt by the
time the phone began to ring. She leaned toward the massive gilt-framed bathroom mirror and
applied another coat of Chanel Vamp lipstick. It was dark red and she usually only wore it in
winter, but when you were locked in a sumptuous hotel suite with your boyfriend having constant
sex, who cared what season it was?
"Don't be mad," Blair pleaded with her best friend. "We can hang out in my suit tomorrow
afternoon or something, okay?" she flashed her reflection a sexy, knowing grin. "After Nate and I
wake up."
"you two are ridiculous," Serena scoffed without the slightest note of jealously. Blair had
