Zinovia_Dushkova_The_Book_of_Secret_Wisdom_-_The(b-ok_org).pdf The Book of Secret gossip girl novels created by Cecily von Ziegesar: Gossip Girl. NOBODY DOES IT BETTER(A Gossip Girl Novel - 07)Cecily Von ZiegesarContentsEpigraph raurollwillongdi.ga N's Bedroom Is. You Know You Love Me. Gossip Girl (Series). Book 2. Cecily von Ziegesar Author Christina Ricci Narrator (). cover image of You Know You Love Me.
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GOSSIP GIRL books :) PDF format:) yay!! happiness! raurollwillongdi.ga /0jgdjuh73x. In Cicely von Ziegesar's first novel in her Gossip Girl series, readers get a taste of what it's like to have everything you could even imagine- and more served to. The Gossip Girl novel series was created by Cecily von Ziegesar and written by herself as well as by an unknown ghost writer. The name of the first novel in the.
I have to go. You just enjoy yourself. She hung up and dialed Nate's cell phone again. No answer. She dialed his house line. No answer, just his admiral dad in the answering machine, reading from the actual instructions the machine came with that no normal person ever used: Please leave a brief message and we will return your call as soon as possible.
Another old favorite. Blair put the white terrycloth bathrobe back on a fluffed up the pillows on the giant bed. Then she dialed room service again. And a pack of Merit Ultra Lights. When she left his house, Nate had been partying with a bunch of stoners, including an annoying French hippie chick named Lexique. That stupid, lazy asshole who so didn't deserve to go to Yale probably hadn't even noticed that Blair had left. Tears seeped out from under her closed lids. Nate hadn't changed.
Nothing had changed- except the status of her virginity. She bit her lip and fought back an angry sob. Well, so what? Nate didn't deserve sex. Besides, eating a hot fudge sundae in a Plaza hotel bed while plotting her revenge on her asshole-of-a-loser-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend was even better than sex.
Way better. Yes, it's a school day. Unfortunately we'll be too busy getting ready for our hot-stone facials and seaweed body wraps to remember to show up! Please don't be worried about getting into trouble- not that you really are. Senior Cut Day is an ancientConstance Billard School tradition, and no one's ever been expelled or even punished for it. So here's what's happening.
Thursday night at 6: M we'll board the Archibald family's big sailboat, which is docked atBattery Park City. The Archibalds are having their annual benefit cruise to theHamptons , and they have generously offered us a ride. As soon as we dock in Sag Harbor, we'll be picked up by a fleet of limos, which will whisk us off to Isabel Coates's totally amazing beach house, where the biggest, bestest girls-only slumber party will take place.
In the morning we'll have breakfast by the pool, catered by TBA we're working on getting the chef who helped Julia Roberts lose all that weight after having her twins. After that, a day of treatment brought to us by Origins. And everyone will get an Origins gift bag valued at three hundred dollars to take home wither totally refreshed and revitalized new self! Resort casual.
Towels, hairdryers, bath, and beauty products galore will be supplied. No dogs, please even if they are really small. Let's heard it for an amazing weekend of bonding with the girls! Big Smoochies!!
Gossip Girl novels by Cecily von Ziegesar
S We put a suggestion box in the senior lounge, so your ideas are welcome, not that we haven't already planned the most perfect day! S Two, four, six, eight, only one month till we graduate!!! I mean is it okay to just, like, disappear?? Apparently a bunch of boys we all know and love at least most of the time have hijacked a very large, well-appointed sailboat and are headed into theAtlantic. It could be just another senior prank, except that half the boys on the boat are juniors.
It's kind of random time to take off, especially when all of us girls could use a little entertainment. Just who do they think they are- Christopher Colombus?
Rumor has it the latest couple of the moment is a certain blond-hairedFifth Avenue -dwelling senior girl and the lead guitarist from the Raves. How, when, and where they met is a complete mystery, but talk about a perfect couple! Don't even try to pretend it was someone else: I saw you sneaking into the Gap on Eighty-sixth and Madison and actually trying on a plum-colored Juicy Couture terrycloth zip-up hoodie in the kids' section.
Okay, I'm a snooping bitch. But the reason I'm ratting you out is I tried the very same hoodie on, and, unlike you although I know you wanted to , I bought three of them! Why not? Besides, terrycloth is terrycloth, and what better way to show off your white new jacquard Gucci bikini than with a cute plum-colored hoodie?
Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card: Dear GG, Are you ever going to tell us where you're going to college next year?
Have you even decided? Dear qrs, That's for me to know and you to find out.
But let me ask you this- do I strike you as the indecisive type? Dear GG, I heard Damian Polk from the Raves used to live in the same building as that blond model you're always talking about. Dear ob-v-us, That's a great story, but I heard Damian's family lived inIreland until he was thirteen. Hence his funny accent and the reason why he's always seems a little drunk. The son, who I hear has been in lots of trouble before, took off in the sailboat yesterday evening and hasn't returned.
I'm afraid his ass will be grass whenever he gets back, because his dad is kind of tough. Dear captain, His ass is already grass, for more reasons than that! B downloading two La Perla nighties at Barneys.
I Like It Like That: A Gossip Girl Novel Summary & Study Guide Description
She seems to have developed an addiction to lingerie, but what else can one wear while lounging alone in a Plaza Hotel suite, waiting for one's boyfriend to turn up. D at Yellow Rat Bastard on lower Broadway, trying on every hat in the store. V downloading a new lip ring - ew! J in Barneys Co-op trying on every pair of Seven Jeans in the store ignoring the salesperson's suggestion that she'd have better luck finding jeans that fit in Bloomingdale's children's department.
K and I atJackson Hole again, scheming again. N- not. Where in the hell is N anyway? Don't worry I'll find him. It was Saturday night and they were getting ready for Dan's gig with the Raves at Funkiton, a new music venue in revamped fire station onOrchard Street.
Jenny glanced at Elise. Jenny was wearing a stretchy red top with cap sleeves and a plunging U-shaped neckline that made her breast look gargantuan. She was barely five feet tall, and her very first pair of seven jeans had always been too long for her when she bought them at Bloomingdale's, so she had the lady at the dry cleaner's on Broadway and Ninety-eighth shorten them about ten inches.
Now she noticed that the purposely "antiqued" spot on each leg where her knee was supposed to be fell at mid-shin. The only acceptable part of Jenny's body was her head. She liked her big, far-apart brown eyes, her clear whiter skin, her red lips, and her curly brown hair with its straight, severe nags across the forehead. As Serena once told her, she looked like a Prada model- with oversized breast implants and stumps for legs, although Serena would never have said that part.
Elise's body was totally the opposite. She was seven inches taller than Jenny, with long skinny legs, long skinny arms, and a flat chest. Nothing was ever too tight on her, except maybe in the belly region, which had sort of a doughnut roll around it. But that was easily hidden beneath a shirt. There was really nothing Jenny could do to hide her chest. Then again, Elise was covered in Freckles- there were even freckles on her eyelids- she had chin length straw-yellow hair that was so thick and so coarse, she could barely fit it into a rubber band.
Well nobody's perfect. Except for maybe a very select few of us. She pulled off her black V-neck T-shirt and handed it to Jenny.
Elise's shirt was from Express, and hers was from Anthropologie, which was slightly nicer, but Jenny didn't want to hurt Elise's feelings by saying anything. Besides the results were astronomical. Jenny's chest looked almost modest in the black top, and the red top made Elise's hair gleam with strawberry highlights neither of them had ever known she had. She dropped down on her knees and started crawling around the room. Everyone had heard.
Jenny crawled across the matted pink carpet to her closet to select a pair of shoes. Of course, Serena never had to crawl around like a dog in an attempt to make her jeans look normal.
Her dad said the sandals looked like something a belly dancer would wear, but she'd gotten them for free at the W photo shoot, and they were the nicest pair of shoes she owned. How strange that she'd had that little moment of superstardom- that photo shoot with Serena- and now she was back to being plain old her, a fourteen-going-on fifteen-year-old girl with big ambitions and an even bigger chest. It wasn't like her life's ambition was to quit school at the age of fourteen and become a super model, but it would have been kind of nice if someone asked her to.
Jenny stood up and brushed off the knees of her jeans. They were completely, disappointedly unfaded and, except for the wonky placement of the distressed part of the denim, completely uninteresting-just like everything else in her closet. Serena's clothes were always so perfectly frayed, faded and worn, belying the colorful and mysterious history of their wearer.
Jenny couldn't help but wonder whether her own clothes would fade and develop character too if she got kicked out ofConstance and sent to boarding school.
Elise made a face. No way. That wasn't how she pictured boarding school at all. In her mind boarding school meant freedom: Poet Rock God brother, from her manically overprotective and embarrassingly unkempt dad, from Constance Billard's horrendous school uniforms, from her dusty old bedroom, and from the everyday boringness of doing the same old same old now and for the next three years. It also meant opportunity: Rufus poked his head in the door, not even thinking about the fact that Jenny was no longer five years old and might be completely naked or something.
His unruly hair was tied in a ponytail with a piece of the bright blue plastic bag the New york Times was delivered in every morning. Jenny could tell her dad was dying to go to Dan's gig with them, but tonight was his monthly anarchist writers' workshop- the only thing he took as seriously as raising his children, even though none of his writing had ever been published.
Yeah, but we're not exactly models-who-date-rock-stars material, Jenny thought as the two girls contemplated their reflections in mirror. Elise had on way too much lip gloss, and Jenny kinda wished that her Kors sandals weren't totally flat, so she'd at least appear taller.
After all, she wasn't going to the gig to see Dan. She wanted to meet Damian Polk and the rest of the band, and she wanted to make an impression. Jenny stood on tiptoe and then eased her heels back into her shoes again. But let her find out for herself. How had she missed them after all these years she had no idea. She twisted her head around and checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror once again.
They were, four big brown moles, all lined up on her neck behind her ear like some kind of fucked-up constellation. She felt like a girl in a Clearasil commercial, panicking because she'd gotten a zit right before going out on a date. Zits were temporary, though. The moles were there to stay. Who in her right mind would keep her head shaved with moles like that on her neck? She yanked open a drawer beneath the bathroom sink, looking for some of that skin-colored cover-up crap her sister Ruby put under her eyes when she'd been up all night.
She found a stick of something called Peekaboo that was a little pinker than her natural skin tone but good enough. She dabbed some over the moles, rubbed it in, and examined the results. Now she looked like she had poison ivy, or poison neck. She considered pasting a Band-Aid across the whole area, but she didn't have one big enough to cover all four of the moles, and a Band-Aid would only draw attention to the problem.
She washed off the cover-up and then dug around in the drawer, looking for something that might distractBeverly from the hideous deformities on her neck. As if the still-healing lip piercing on her upper lip wasn't distracting enough.
Beverly had been polite enough not to mention it before, but now that they were getting to know each other, he might ask if the crusty sore beneath that silver D-ring actually hurt. And why wouldBeverly even want to check out her neck?
They were only going to the Raves gig together- just hanging out to see if they'd mind cohabitating, as in roommates, not lovers who looked at each other's necks. Besides,Beverly was an artist. He might think her moles were cool. A sample vial of perfume called Certainty was rolling around in the bottom of the messy vanity drawer. It sounded like a name of a tampon or a pregnancy test, but Vanessa eased the little black cap off the vial and dabbed some perfume on her wrists and temples anyway.
Certainty smelled musky and powerful and might be so distracting toBeverly that he wouldn't even notice her disgusting configuration of neck moles. Maybe it would even work some sort of magic. She would walk into the club where Dan and the Raves were playing; Dan would turn purple with a mixture of desire, regret, and mad jealousy; andBeverly would feel immediately certain about wanting to live with her.
As a friend, of course. See you in a few," Damian replied. Perched on top of the toilet seat lid, Dan stared woefully down at his new sneakers and the absurdly wide pant legs that nearly covered them.
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Yesterday he'd wandered into Soul on Broadway inSoHo and let a sales guy talk him into a completely new performance wardrobe. Big yellow-and-black two-tone T-shirt, insanely huge and baggy gray rip-stop pants with drawstrings and toggles and pockets all over them, black canvas Converse sneakers with yellow laces, and a khaki-colored truckers' hat with a picture of yellow YEILD sign on it.
That hat kept his wild, shaggy hair under control and revealed his shaved neck, making him look more menacing than he'd ever thought possible. In fact, with his new outfit, he kinda looked like a shorter, skinnier Eminem.
Which was not really the look he wanted at all. None of the guys in his band had commented on his outfit when he showed up, but then again he hadn't really given them time. One look at the huge line forming outside the club and the instruments and microphones set up on the stage inside had sent him rushing to the bathroom to puke his guts out.
He'd been locked in a stall ever since. If only he had a lucky talisman like a handmade silver belt buckle or a shark tooth necklace the way most legendary rock singers probably did.
He could don his lucky whatever-it-was, his nervousness would disappear, and he'd perform with complete abandon, driving the crowd insane. Instead, he just sat on the toilet in the club's garish pea-green-painted men's room and smoked his lucky Camels- about forty of them- feeling progressively sicker and sicker.
All of a sudden the men's room door creaked open and the scuffed toes of Damian's black work boots appeared under the stall door once more. Dan took the bottle. If he was going top perform tonight he'd need to feel as fly as his outfit. He opened it and took a swig. His stomach felt so bottomless and endless, it was like pouring a teaspoon of vodka into an empty well. He took another swig and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The Raves were all about not having a look and not trying too hard.
But Dan's mom had fled to theCzech Republic with some balding, horny count before he'd even started high school, so he didn't even own any polo shirts or khakis, only the clothes he picked out for himself and paid for with the barely adequate clothing allowance Rufus gave him. He could feel his panic mounting. Who was going to want to listen to a sick, skinny high-school kid with a shaved neck wearing fashion-disaster yellow-and-black shoes?
You'd be surprised. Everything her mom had chosen was gray or navy blue, which just happened to beYale University 's colors.
Hello, dorkdom! Did she really need her mom to pick out her clothes? How old was she, anyway- five? For them it was just another cocktail party- a chance to mingle with the parents of the children their own children had gone to school and tennis lessons and SAT prep with for most of their lives.
No one would know each other intimately, but everyone would know everyone. People like the van der Woodsens thought of everyone in their circle as their dearest friends, but how intimate did you really want to be with someone like Stanford Parris III?
After all, she could have been on her way to the Raves gig right now instead of to another totally boring and useless party with her parents. Ignoring the outfit her mother had selected for her, she sat down in front of her IMac and logged on.
Most of the e-mails were from fashion houses like launch a signature fragrance or shoe, but a new message from someone at Brown topped the list, followed by a message from Harvard, and one fromPrinceton. I used to be dead. Now my art has a face, and to have you here at Brown next year-oh living, breathing muse! I kneel at your feet. Christian P. S There is a rumor you are engaged to that madman lead guitarist in the Raves. My love, I pray this is only a rumor.
When I think about you, the windows in my Jeep steam up and I can't breathe. I'm going to fail my finals because of you. I don't think they make you repeat grades if you fail a term in college the way they do in high school, but I wouldn't mind if they did, because then we'd be together for even longer. I know this is kind of crazy to say, but you're my girl, so you better come to Harvard next year.
Here's to us for the next four years and forever. Love, Wade your Harvard tour guide's roommate - remember me? We are TOO excited to meet him, but first we have to take down all the pictures of him plastered all over our house- SO embarrassing!
Love, Your sisters, the Princeton Tri Delts Serena winced and deleted all three stalkerish messages from her computer, hoping to delete the last one from her brain.
There was nothing worse than a bunch of girls pretending to be your best friends when you didn't even know them, all gossiping about you and your new rock star boyfriend whom you'd never met. Way to make her not want to go to college at all!
She logged off without reading the rest of her mail and pulled her luxurious fair hair back into a messy ponytail with a plain white rubber band. Then she smeared her lips with Vaseline and opened her bedroom door to look for her parents. The elder van der Woodsens had their own suite of rooms consisting of a large bedroom with a massive four-poster bed, two dressing rooms with huge walk-in closets, two full bathrooms, and a lounge with a wet bar they never used, a plasma TV they never watched, and a library full of rare books they never read, because they were always out at charity dinners or the opera or watching polo matches up in Connecticut.
It could have been an apartment all by itself, but it took up only a quarter of the van der Woodsens' entireFifth Avenue spread. Van der Woodsen was tall and fair like Serena, with the same symmetrical features, which had grown haughtily handsome with age. She buttoned the jacket of her gold Chanel suit and glanced at the antique platinum Cartier wristwatch fastened to her slim,Santo Domingo- tanned wrist. Your father and I will be reading the newspapers in his study. Don't be difficult, darling.
It's just a party. You like parties. Her mother raised her thin gray-blond eyebrows so fiercely she decided not to mention that she'd much rather see the Raves play than schmooze with a bunch of kids and their parents all gloating about the fact that they'd gotten into one of the toughest colleges to get into in the world.
Serena went back to her room and grudgingly changed out of her jeans and into the gray pleated Marc Jacobs skirt laid out on her bed, pairing it with a beaded aqua-colored t-shirt and her orange Miu Miu clogs instead of the boring navy blue blouse and baby blue suede Tod's loafers her mother had chosen. And the pearls?
Gossip Girl #7: Nobody Does It Better: A Gossip Girl Novel
Sorry, mom. Her last effort was to pull out the messy ponytail and run her fingers through her pale blond hair. Then, without even a glance in the mirror, she strode out of her room and into the front hall. If only we could all be so sure of our exquisite beauty.
I'm ready! She'd give the party five or ten minutes- just enough time for her parents to get involved in some supremely boring and involved conversation with Stanford Parris III or one of the other ancient dull Yale alumni who'd been attending these parties for centuries, than she'd slip out and head downtown to the Raves gig.
After all, if she was going to spend the next four years being intellectual, she needed to enjoy herself while she had the chance. As if she didn't always enjoy herself. Jeremy, Charlie, and Anthony would not shut up about Bermuda, so when they got onboard the Charlotte, named after Nate's paternal grandmother, Nate did a search for ports in Bermuda on the boat's computer and then programmed Horseshoe Bay into the navigational system.
He set the motor for. That meant they were headed toBermuda very slowly. In fact, even though they'd left the dock in lowerManhattan nearly twenty hours ago, they were only drifting past Coney Island, inBrooklyn. Friday night had oozed into Saturday night, and the sun hung low overStaten Island as the sailboat motored slowly southward. The air was cooler than on land and smelled like wet dog.
Nate and everyone else on the boat remained stoned, sprawled on deck wit their eyes half closed and their mouths hanging lazily open, or drifting languidly below decks in bare feet to replenish their stashes of beer and snacks.
It had dawned only recently that Blair wasn't onboard. He recalled that she'd called him last night from the Plaza, and that he'd sort of blown off meeting her. Of course he would have called her, but his cell phone was missing, and when he tried to use Jeremy's phone, he discovered that he'd only ever speed-dialed Blair from his stored address book, and he didn't even know her number. And when you've been stoned for almost twenty-four hours, doing something like calling information to find your girlfriends number seems impossibly complicated.
Hello, lameness? Nate and his father had built theCharlotte themselves, up on the Archibald compound onMt. Desert Island ,Maine. It was one-hundred-and-ten-foot ketch, huge enough to comfortably ferry one hundred-plus passengers from Battery Park City to the Hamptons, or seventten high-school kids toBermuda.
In preparation for the upcoming cruise to theHamptons , the kitchen had been fully stocked with artisanal cheeses, Carrs table water crackers, smoked oysters, Belgian beer, Veuve Clicquot champagne, and vintage scotch. The cabin was equipped with the latest computer mapping and communication systems, and there were state-of-the-art sound systems both on deck and below decks.
After a dinner of beer, Brie, and potato chips, Nate passed up another session of bong hits with his buddies and climbed up into the crow's nest at the top of taller of the boat's two masts. He sat down and hugged his knees, contemplating the situation from up high. Since they were only drifting, he was pretty sure they weren't going to get farther than theNew Jersey Shore before Monday, which was fine with him. He was also pretty sure he was just about to miss that Yale party he was supposed to go to with his parents.
And he'd probably missed a whole slew of Blair's pissed-off, upset, and maybe even worried calls. Nate had the nagging feeling that his little foray onboard theCharlotte had been kind of a mistake. The crew would be frantic to find the boat missing, and his dad would be pissed as hell. But as long as they were back by the time theHamptons cruise was supposed to start, there was no harm done, right?
He lifted up his worn black T-shirt and checked to see if the hickey Blair had left on his belly the day before was still there. A shade lighter, but yes, still there. Just thinking about Blair eased his mind. Even if she was pissed off at him eighty percent of the time, they would stay together for always, and hopefully even go to Yale together. How good it was, he thought, as only a par-baked boy can, knowing you had someone's hand to hold when you were about to step into the big bad unknown.
From where he was sat she looked very small and bright-eyed, like a little girl. All over the deck, groups of guys and a few girls were smoking and drinking blond Belgian beer out of crystal beer steins.
In the aft of the boat the lazy music of one of Nate's mom's French jazz CDs wafted out of Bose waterproof speakers. He shifted his gaze to the brightly lit Coney Island Ferris wheel, turning slowly round and round across the twinkling, greenish-brown water. He was pretty sure he didn't want Lexie to join him in the crow's nest. First of all, there was hardly room up there for one person; second of all, if she did, the obvious thing would be for him to kiss her, because she was pretty and had that sexy tattoo, and because she so obviously had a crush on him.
But these days he really didn't feel like kissing anyone but Blair. After all, he and Blair were supposed to going to college together and getting married. They were going to spend their whole lives together. Is he, like having some sort of epiphany?
Nate stood up and began to climb down out of the crow's nest. He couldn't sit up there all night, waiting for the boat to turn itself around. Not when Blair was waiting for him, not when he had his whole future ahead of him He jumped down the ladder and Lexie handed him an Oreo.
Her tie-dyed dress had somehow loosened or gotten torn, and the cap sleeves drooped down over the tops of her arms, revealing her tanned shoulders and making the most of her tiny sun, moon, and stars tattoo.
Nate took an Oreo, pulled the two halves apart, and licked the white icing inside. Yes, he had his whole future ahead of him, but sometimes it's important to enjoy the simple things in life. Blair glared at the annoying dreadlocked head that had poked its way into her so-called bedroom.
Nate was till MIA and she'd just had the humiliating experience of taking a cab home from the Plaza in her school Uniform, even though it was Saturday and there was no school. Girls who must wear uniforms to school try their hardest not to be seen in uniform outside of school hours, and especially not on weekends. Earlier that afternoon she's actually had a par of Earl jeans delivered to her room at the Plaza directly from Barneys Co-op, but when the jeans arrived they were totally different style than the ones she was used to wearing- pencil straight and meant to ride so low that at least six inches of her butt crack would show.
Blair could barely get them over her knees. And, with only her school uniform, her La Perla underwear, and a white terrycloth Plaza Hotel bathrobe to wear, and nothing to do but watch TV for sixteen hours straight, she'd slowly been going insane. The Yale party Serena had mentioned would offer a welcome escape, as well as provide an opportunity to take revenge on Nate.
Roll camera. She'd arrive at the party in a cloud of perfume and cigarette smoke, like some sort of genie, wearing something so adorably irresistible that all the incoming freshmen boys and even the stodgy old Yale alumnae at the party would toss back their scotches and fall on their knees at her immaculately manicured feet.
She'd have a torrid, newsworthy affair with the handsomest, most influential one in the bunch, making sure Nate heard all about it, and then demand that the aforementioned alumnus secure her acceptance at Yale. Then she'd tell Nate to go fuck himself and go to Brown or someplace even further away, because she honestly never wanted to see his sorry face again.
She was kind of snippy. Blair frowned down at the slip dress in her hands. It was a lovely shade of deep Yale blue, but not quite as come-hither as she would have liked. Unless she wore an outrageously sexy pair of strappy high-heeled sandals with it- of which she had many. It was a sort of stripy blue-gray, one of Missoni's latest weaves. She held it against the dress to see if it would go, and it did, but it wasn't exactly the alluring you-know-you-want-me look she needed to get those Yalies hearts aflutter.
She threw Aaron an icy get-the-fuck-out-of-here-I'm-trying-to-get-dressed glance. However, I am confident that eventually I will get in, so I really don't see why I shouldn't attend this party.
He'd gotten into Harvard early admission. What the fuck did he care? Aaron backed away, holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm. Blair slammed the door. A few minutes later, she opened it again, wearing the royal blue slip dress and a pair of silver metallic three-and-a-half-inch Manolo sandals. She teetered down the hall to her old room. Baby Yale had the perfect notice-me accessory for her outfit. If Blair could just sneak into the nursery without anyone seeing Yale's room was decorated in shades of pale yellow and peach and was filled with pluch toys and miniature wooden furniture.
The crib was draped with thick white mosquito netting imported from India, so that it was impossible to see if Yale was sleeping inside it or not, but there was a hush about the room that suggested she was. It also suggested that the baby was still in quarantine. Blair tiptoed up to the buttery yellow antique armoire, slid open the top drawer, and removed a small white velvet jewelry box.
Then closed the door and tiptoed over to the crib. She lifted up the mosquito netting and planted a kiss on Yale's soft pink cheek, too focused on her prize to notice that the baby was wearing little mittens on her hands to keep her from scratching her rosy, rash-ridden body. Usually it's the younger sister who steals stuff from her older sister's room, but, as baby Yale will eventually find out, Blair isn't exactly your average older sister.
The Lower East Side was one of those lucky New York neighborhood that had been cool forever but was just out of the way had dirty enough to remain free of tourists and Starbucks, and to resist becoming the trendy neighborhood of the moment like the Meatpacking District had become.
A line of girls in halter tops and pleated miniskirts and guys in jeans and polo shirts with the collars turned up had formed outside Funktion, theOrchard Street club where the Raves were performing. Jenny gripped Elise's elbow, gloating inwardly at how cool it was not to have to wait in line with the others, worrying about whether or not the bouncer would let them in.
Instant coolness. Inside, Funktion was smaller than Jenny had envisioned, and even though it was new, it felt old. The club's floor was painted black and the walls were made of cement blocks painted red. It was crowded, and instead of sitting at the black-and-white checkerboard tables, people crowded near the stage, standing up with beers in hand. The coolest and corniest thing about the club was the fireman's pole left over from when it had been a firehouse.
The pole descended centre stage from the ceiling, providing a dramatic entrance for whatever was performing. Jenny wondered if they should brave the bar and order drinks, or if they would have more luck if they just sat down, looking bored and sophisticated until a cocktail waitress came and took their order.
Maybe they didn't need to drink at all. Every girl over the age of nine and under the age of twenty-nine was in love with the Raves. Just being in the same room with them, live, would be intoxicating enough. She tugged on the strap of Elise's black sequined Banana Republic purse and led the way to the back of the club so they could sit down and focus on looking drunkenly bored, like the fashion models always looked in those candid pictures in the front pages of theNew York magazine.
The Rave's drummer and bassist were already onstage, fiddling with their instruments and testing mikes. But he's, like, twenty-five years old! He's the cute one," she insisted. He's not twenty-five. Okay, so the drummer was wearing white painter's overalls, with a pink-and-Kelly-green-stripped polo shirt and new white Treton tennis shoes. It was a bizarrely innocent and preppy outfit for someone famous for breaking his drumsticks against his forehead during concerts.
But that was part of his appeal, part of the whole band's appeal. The Raves were a perfect mixture of psychotic serial killer and loveable goofball mama's boys, like Marilyn Manson crossed with the scarecrow from 'Wizard of Oz'. She adjusted her chair so she was looking directly at the drummer.
He winked in her general direction and she giggled, blushing furiously. He had straight white teeth and a wide mouth, like Cheshire Cat, and his dark hair was short and neatly combed, like he'd just come from that old barber shop on Eighty-third and Lexington where all the Upper East Side boys go with their dads for their first haircuts. Elise pulled an unopened pack of Malboro Lights out f her sparkly purse and threw on the table. She didn't even know his name, but she liked him. She just did.
And she wouldn't have minded seeing him naked. After all, the total number of boys she'd seen completely naked in her lifetime added up to what- zero?
The club was filling up. Jenny even recognized a few people from the line outside who'd finally made it in. All of a sudden the lights went out, except for a single bare bulb illuminating the fireman's pole. Jenny grabbed Elise's hand underneath the table and squeezed it hard, barely able to contain her excitement.
Then Damian, the Raves' lead guitarist, slid down the pole, his reddish blond hair sticking up like he'd slept on it funny. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt with a big black capital R on the front of it- the Raves' new promo T-shirt, which he'd designed himself. If you call that a design. I would say the theme is typical high school drama because there is constantly a new rumor or problem with their lives. But the biggest problem? I would say it's Gossip Girl, the anonymous website sharing all of upper east side's ju This book takes place in modern day upper east side, New York.
I would say it's Gossip Girl, the anonymous website sharing all of upper east side's juiciest secrets. I absolutely loved this book, it was just my type. I've always been the kind of person for romantic dramas and this fit right in. Along with the book, I would recommend the TV series as well. Most people I know either love or hate it, so it just depends on what genres or themes you prefer.
My favorite character was definitely Serena cause Gossip Girl shares the juiciest secrets about her! Apr 27, Sarah rated it it was amazing. I have read all of the Gossip Girl series that include the original characters. Almost instantly after completing one book i would go to the next because they were so good. A few of my close friends and i would share them and take turns downloading the next one and it became part of one of my fondest memories when i was in highschool.
The concept of how "Manhatten's elite" teenagers lived and all that ensued because of that was interesting and amusing.
Blair was without a doubt my favorite character, I have read all of the Gossip Girl series that include the original characters. Blair was without a doubt my favorite character, who i think was misunderstood by many. Obviously this series was good, otherwise they wouldn't have made a TV show off it. I'm a fan of the show as well despite the fact that not much of the show is based on the books.
Definitely recommend this book to females who are 15 years old or older. Oct 28, Anna Richards rated it really liked it. I rated it 4 stars, because of what I thought of it at the time that I read it [I started the series when I was sort of ish, and finished it this year when I read the prequel].
I can't really remember what happened in which book, so I rated the overall series. I liked the books - they're a fun, name-dropping, slightly-silly, slightly-exaggerated thing to read.
Sometimes I get tired of the repetitiveness of the plots, and really, GG could never exist in real life - for one thing she keep s on I rated it 4 stars, because of what I thought of it at the time that I read it [I started the series when I was sort of ish, and finished it this year when I read the prequel]. Sometimes I get tired of the repetitiveness of the plots, and really, GG could never exist in real life - for one thing she keep s on telling us where she is and if she ever developed a stalker who tracked her movements everywhere, she would be discovered v.
These are the kind of books one likes to indulge in in between serious books, in my case - classics. Jul 20, Sarah A French Girl rated it liked it. It was just so funny and I loved the brand name dropping in almost every sentence, lol. The story better developped and the character were more interesting and more relatable in a way.
If I rated ths series purely on the level of enjoyement I had reading it, I might have given it 5 stars. However, I took into account the fact that even though Gossip Girl was funny and entertaining, it was also dephtless.
And that's why it received 3 stars instead of 5: I made a full review of the series on my blog, if you're interested, check it out: Aug 10, Donna Lyn rated it it was ok. Jun 25, Sara rated it really liked it Shelves: There's really not much to them. The books follow the lives of a group of extremely wealthy upper east side high schoolers. They may be shallow and pretentious but I still find them engaging. I've gone back to them a few times when I wanted to read something without really thinking about it.
I must say though that the show is significantly better than the books. I don't know why, but there's something about reading about the lives of the elite wealthy that interests me. Maybe I just like seeing that having it all isn't always a good thing.
Aug 25, Faye rated it it was amazing Shelves: I read this back when I was a teenager, before the show was made. This was a complete guilty-pleasure, and I loved everything from the brand-name dropping I know everyone hated it, but I loved it! Easy to read, fast-paced, and completely brilliant. A very different writing style to most YA books out there, and no insta-love!
I even got my brother, who is 3 years younger than me, addicted to the series. The TV series is vaguely 'inspired' by the books, but the plot I read this back when I was a teenager, before the show was made.
The TV series is vaguely 'inspired' by the books, but the plotlines and the characters themselves are quite different. I would view them quite separately, but both guilty pleasures. Dec 12, Shannon Lawson rated it really liked it.
Who am I kidding? I still love these books Blair Waldorf has, and always will be my idol. Many love to hate her, I just love her She's a powerful woman - she doesn't take "no" as an answer. While she may be a privileged princess, every young girl could take a few lessons from this heroine. While the UES' Upper East Siders for all you non-GG fans may do it on a grander scale, every young adult can relate to at least one of these scenarios. A great read Dec 12, Clare rated it really liked it.
Overall, I loved the series. Much better than the TV series on the CW. The characters are complicated and the stories and descriptions are written really well. They are quick reads - I remember flying through some of these in less than a day and then rushing to Borders to download the next one!
I was pretty much addicted. But while I first started reading these I was in high school. I'm not sure if I picked it up today as a 23 year old I would enjoy it as much. Apr 05, Hailie rated it liked it. It is one of those chick-lit that got you hooked so lightly, teenage-girl-ly you can't stop.
The show is wayyy better anyhow but that doesn't mean to any extend the book sucks! They were both awesome and I am most thankful for all the entertaining and emotional experience I've had.
Apr 18, Teniya rated it it was amazing. Read these when i was about 12 years old and totally fell in love with the lives of the filthy rich teens of the upper east side. Nate and his friends join Serena and Dan, to Dan's great disappointment. During the trip, Serena and Nate reconnect as friends.
Blair and her soon-to-be stepbrother, Aaron, drive off to Yale for her interview. During their trip, she smokes some of his all-natural cigarettes. She almost misses her interview when she oversleeps and she bombs it by not thinking clearly.
She inadvertently tells the interviewer too many personal details, including the fact that she stole some pajamas for her boyfriend. To compensate, she asks her father to make a donation to Yale. After the college weekend, Serena discovers that the film she made with Vanessa won first place in the Film Festival.
She gives the tickets to Cannes that she won to Vanessa and Jenny. The wedding plans continue and Blair and Serena get thrown together.
Blair continues to ignore the other girl, but Serena doesn't retaliate. The wedding goes off without a hitch, in spite of gossip and rumors surrounding the marriage.She reached up and felt the stubble gathering between her dark, neat arched eyebrows. After all his father and her mother had only been married since thanksgiving, so Eleanor was definitely not his mom and she was very definitely not his sister.
Everyone is totally bonding, revealing their most personal secrets, and hugging out their past rivalries. She'd envisioned making an entrance at theLower East Side club with Serena. End of story. If there was one person who knew anything about shaving heads, it was Vanessa. Butt heir relationship had quickly deteriorated.
Just the way he said, "whose work? She leaned toward the massive gilt-framed bathroom mirror and applied another coat of Chanel Vamp lipstick.
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