the bench and the
sidewalk, and see the streetlights on their bodies. Then youll see their hands move and
their eyes talking. Then youll hear them speak, but not much. Its a mood piece, Vanessa
explained. She reached for the slide projectors remote control and began clicking through
slides of the black-and-white pictures shed taken to demonstrate the look she was going
for in her short film. A wooden park bench. A slab of pavement. A manhole cover. A pigeon
pecking at a used condom. A wad of gum perched on the edge of a garbage can. Ha! someone
exclaimed from the back of the room. It was Blair Waldorf, laughing out loud as she read
the note Rain Hoffstetter had just passed her.
For a good time call Serena v.d. Woodsen Get it VD??
Vanessa glared at Blair. Film was Vanessas favorite class, the only reason she came to
school at all. She took it very seriously, while most of the other girls, like Blair, were
only taking Film as a break from Advanced Placement hellAP Calculus, AP Bio, AP History,
AP English Literature, AP French. They were on the straight and narrow
path to Yale or Harvard or Brown, where their families had all gone for generations.
Vanessa wasnt like them. Her parents hadnt even gone to college. They were artists, and
Vanessa wanted only one thing in life: to go to NYU and major in film.
Actually, she wanted something else. Or someone else, to be precise, but well get to that
in a minute. Vanessa was an anomaly at Constance, the only girl in the school who had a
nearly shaved head, wore black turtlenecks every day, read Tolstoys War and Peace over and
over like it was the Bible, listened to Belle and Sebastian, and drank unsweetened black
tea. She had no friends at all at Constance, and lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, with her
twenty-two-year-old sister, Ruby. So what was she doing at a tiny, exclusive private girls
school on the Upper East Side with princesses like Blair Waldorf? It was a question
Vanessa asked herself every day.
Vanessas parents were older, revolutionary artists who lived in a house made out of
recycled car tires in Vermont. When she turned fifteen, they had allowed the perpetually
unhappy Vanessa to move in with her bass guitarist older sister in Brooklyn. But they
wanted to be sure she got a good, safe, high-school education, so they made her go to
Constance.
Vanessa hated it, but she never said anything to her parents. There were only eight months
left until graduation. Eight more months and she would finally escape downtown to NYU.
Eight more months of bitchy Blair Waldorf, and even worse, Serena van der Woodsen, who was
back in all her splendor. Blair Waldorf looked like she was absolutely orgasmic over the
return of her best friend. In fact, the whole back row of Film Studies was atwitter,
passing notes tucked into the sleeves of their annoying cashmere sweaters.
Well, fuck them. Vanessa lifted her chin and went on with her presentation. She was above
their petty bullshit. Only eight more months. Perhaps if Vanessa had seen the note Kati
Farkas had just passed to Blair, she might have had a tad more sympathy for Serena.
Dear Blair, Can I borrow fifty thousand dollars? Sniff, sniff, sniff. If I dont pay my
coke dealer the money I owe him, Im in big trouble. 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 food is really good there.
Nate and I will visit you whenever were free, which might be . . . I dont 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
sidewalk, and see the streetlights on their bodies. Then youll see their hands move and
their eyes talking. Then youll hear them speak, but not much. Its a mood piece, Vanessa
explained. She reached for the slide projectors remote control and began clicking through
slides of the black-and-white pictures shed taken to demonstrate the look she was going
for in her short film. A wooden park bench. A slab of pavement. A manhole cover. A pigeon
pecking at a used condom. A wad of gum perched on the edge of a garbage can. Ha! someone
exclaimed from the back of the room. It was Blair Waldorf, laughing out loud as she read
the note Rain Hoffstetter had just passed her.
For a good time call Serena v.d. Woodsen Get it VD??
Vanessa glared at Blair. Film was Vanessas favorite class, the only reason she came to
school at all. She took it very seriously, while most of the other girls, like Blair, were
only taking Film as a break from Advanced Placement hellAP Calculus, AP Bio, AP History,
AP English Literature, AP French. They were on the straight and narrow
path to Yale or Harvard or Brown, where their families had all gone for generations.
Vanessa wasnt like them. Her parents hadnt even gone to college. They were artists, and
Vanessa wanted only one thing in life: to go to NYU and major in film.
Actually, she wanted something else. Or someone else, to be precise, but well get to that
in a minute. Vanessa was an anomaly at Constance, the only girl in the school who had a
nearly shaved head, wore black turtlenecks every day, read Tolstoys War and Peace over and
over like it was the Bible, listened to Belle and Sebastian, and drank unsweetened black
tea. She had no friends at all at Constance, and lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, with her
twenty-two-year-old sister, Ruby. So what was she doing at a tiny, exclusive private girls
school on the Upper East Side with princesses like Blair Waldorf? It was a question
Vanessa asked herself every day.
Vanessas parents were older, revolutionary artists who lived in a house made out of
recycled car tires in Vermont. When she turned fifteen, they had allowed the perpetually
unhappy Vanessa to move in with her bass guitarist older sister in Brooklyn. But they
wanted to be sure she got a good, safe, high-school education, so they made her go to
Constance.
Vanessa hated it, but she never said anything to her parents. There were only eight months
left until graduation. Eight more months and she would finally escape downtown to NYU.
Eight more months of bitchy Blair Waldorf, and even worse, Serena van der Woodsen, who was
back in all her splendor. Blair Waldorf looked like she was absolutely orgasmic over the
return of her best friend. In fact, the whole back row of Film Studies was atwitter,
passing notes tucked into the sleeves of their annoying cashmere sweaters.
Well, fuck them. Vanessa lifted her chin and went on with her presentation. She was above
their petty bullshit. Only eight more months. Perhaps if Vanessa had seen the note Kati
Farkas had just passed to Blair, she might have had a tad more sympathy for Serena.
Dear Blair, Can I borrow fifty thousand dollars? Sniff, sniff, sniff. If I dont pay my
coke dealer the money I owe him, Im in big trouble. 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 food is really good there.
Nate and I will visit you whenever were free, which might be . . . I dont 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
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