Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

B-r-e-a-s-t-find out what it means to me!

They were so perfect. Even if she finally got some of her own, they'd probably never be like that. Tan and round with a little blond fuzz on them. Okay, so now she sounded like the biggest pervert in the universe, even if no one could actually hear her thoughts. But it wasn't as if she could hide it, she was totally obsessed. If only there was something she could take to make her own grow just the tiniest bit bigger...

Jenny took one last, long look at the picture of Serena she'd just discovered on a Web site called Model Shoppers, featuring snapshots of models coming out of the changing rooms in stores like Barneys and Bendel's. Serena wasn't a model, but she'd cer- tainly fooled the photographers. Wearing only a simple white triangle-top bikini, everything about her was perfect, especially her perfectly sized breasts.

Hastily, Jenny typed "bigger breasts" into the search engine at the top of the page. Serena's picture vanished, replaced by the 2,407 search results. Bigger Breasts and a heightened libido in only three weeks. Feel better, look better, without weight gain. Low risk of side effects. The alternative to surgery! Ignoring the totally pornographic links like seemygreattitz.net, Jenny scanned down the list, pausing when she read the words all natural, risk- free with a link to a site called noknockers.com. It was a stupid name but it sounded safe. She clicked on the link and read through the list of ingredients of a 100 percent organic, all- natural breast enhancement supplement called MammaGro. Yams, fenugreek, something called kavu root from Thailand, barley. They really did sound totally harmless, but MammaGro cost $300 for a four-month supply, which was how long the Web site claimed you had to take the pills for them to have their full effect. In the testimonials at the bottom of the page, some women claimed to have gotten great results in even less time. "From a B cup to a C in two weeks! Vm so excited. So is my boyfriend!"

Jenny's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She'd have to order them in her dad's name, because you had to be over eighteen, and she'd have to use his credit card number, which she'd memorized, because she didn't have one of her own. The Discover card was supposed to only be for emergencies, but the truth was, her lack of any sign of breasts whatsoever had reached emergency proportions.

She filled in the appropriate information and hit "order now."

Thank you!

"Jenny, may I talk to you for a minute?" someone whispered directly behind her, causing Jenny to leap out of her seat with embarrassment. Her hand flew to the little button at the bottom of the computer monitor, flicking it off before anyone could see what she'd been doing. She'd totally forgotten that she was in the computer lab at school, presumably downloading fonts for the yearbook staff who liked to use smart seventh graders like her for cheap labor.

Jenny spun around to see her art teacher, Ms. Monet, whom she despised, even though art was her favorite subject. She was convinced that Ms. Monet had become an art teacher simply because of her last name, proving that she had absolutely no imagination. The thing was, Ms. Monet knew nothing about art. She made her students paint the most boring and predictable still lifes of bananas and plums and refused to use the word blue, preferring the word azure instead. Apparently blue was just blue to her, whereas to Jenny blue was as limitless and exciting as her future.

Or the robin's egg blue Balenciaga bag in the latest Barneys catalog.

Jenny perched on the computer desk and folded her arms in front of her, affecting the completely innocent stance of some- one who has not just ordered breast enhancement supplements over the Internet. "Yes?" she responded querulously.

Ms. Monet handed her a mustard-yellow sheet of paper. CONSTANCE BILLARD HYMNAL DESIGN CONTEST was typed in big bold letters at the top.

WINNER WILL BE CREDITED AS THE DESIGNER OF OUR ONE-OF-A-KIND HYMNALS TO BE USED IN WEEKLY SCHOOL ASSEMBLIES AND CHERISHED FOR GENERATIONS TO COME. ILLUSTRATE AND DESIGN THE PAGES FOR EACH HYMN. TO ENTER, CHOOSE YOUR FAVORITE HYMN TO ILLUSTRATE AND DESIGN IN THE FORM OF YOUR CHOOSING.

GRADES 9-12. DEADLINE MARCH 1. RESULTS WILL BE ANNOUNCED IN JUNE.

GOOD LUCK, GIRLS!

MRS. MCLEAN, HEADMISTRESS

The sign had been up ever since the girls returned from winter break last month. Since she was only in seventh grade, Jenny had ignored it.

"I knew at once that this was perfect for you," Ms. Monet told her in a loud whisper. The diminutive teacher was wear- ing a paint-splattered white men's button-down shirt over black tuxedo pants and flat black boots. She wore black Ray-Ban frames with green lenses in them and kept her gray-blond hair cropped in a severe chin-length bob. She probably thought she looked hip and artistic, but Jenny suspected she had merely cop- ied someone else's style.

Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada meets Bono?

Jenny pursed her lips. There was a strict no-talking rule in the computer lab, and the proctor—some male math teacher with a bristly brown mustache—was frowning at them. "It says grades nine through twelve," she responded quietly. "I'm in seventh."

Ms. Monet pushed her glasses up on her long, bulbous nose and shook her head. "Don't worry about that. You're the most talented artist in this school."

"I'll think about it." Jenny tucked her curly brown hair behind her ears in the same oh-so-poised-but-casual manner she'd seen Serena van der Woodsen employ when she spoke to her teach- ers. Of course she was dying to enter the contest, but no way was she about to admit it.

"Well, good." Ms. Monet pushed her Ray-Bans to the top of her head as if to suggest that what she had to say was too important for glasses. "Just submit some of those wonderful angels you scribbled in the margins of that pop quiz on Dali I gave last week. And a page of calligraphy. Your calligraphy is remarkable." Jenny stared at her. Angels? Angels? She'd never drawn any angels. The bell rang suddenly and the girls at the desks around hers began to pack up their belongings and leave. Jenny bent down to collect her dark purple nylon Le Sportsac backpack. Angels. What angels? Then she remembered. They weren't angels, they were pictures of Serena, so blond and golden and perfect that of course she looked like an angel.

"I've got to run to my fifth-grade class." Ms. Monet smiled fakely, her chapped, lipstick-free lips sliding across her coffee- stained teeth. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you!"

Even though she was late for English, Jenny sat down in front of the computer again. The hymnals were distributed on every girl's chair before assembly so they could read or sing along with Mrs. McLean to the Lord's Prayer or hymns like "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing." To think that her secret doodles of Serena might be printed hundreds of times over in the same hymnals that the entire student body saw almost every day was unthinkably bizarre.

But then a sudden shiver of excitement crept inside the turned-up cuffs of Jenny's black wool Old Navy V-neck sweater and wriggled its way up her arms and into her chest. Maybe she would win. And with that and bigger boobs, she just might become something one day—something more than just curly- haired, petite, and forgettable.

Don't forget ambitious. We'd be nowhere without ambition.