Vanessa already hated the party before she even stepped out of the blindingly bright elevator. What sort of assholes played Christmas-themed rap at a party—any party, especially one in February? Fuckers. She could barely muster the strength to grace them with her nearly bald presence.
Tossing her black-wool-lined waxed canvas military jacket on top of the pile of designer coats in the massive front hall, she stomped into the kitchen and ran a cup of warm water from the tap. Her nose was running and she was getting a cold. She certainly wasn't interested in drinking that disgusting neon green shit everyone was tossing back. She preferred black tea but when pressed would drink plain warm tap water.
"Awesome haircut!" Serena van der Woodsen squealed, flinging her über-blondness in Vanessa's general direction. Maybe it was her imagination, but the air around Serena always seemed to smell like cotton candy and the girl herself seemed to float a fraction of an inch off the ground, even when she was wearing the most impossible-to-walk-in Jimmy Choos. Vanessa stood patiently sipping her water while Serena fondled her head. "I loved your hair so much. I mean, who has natural black hair that healthy and shiny? But this is totally beyond cool. You are so brave," Serena gushed, hugging her.
Vanessa dumped the rest of her water into the sink. She liked Serena more than she liked Blair. Serena seemed less calculatedly fashionable, more effortless somehow, which was probably why the other girls in their class—no, the whole school—-resented her so much. Still, it was impossible to have a conversation with someone who knew perfectly well how blond and tall and pretty she was but who pretended to be just like everyone else. "Do you mind if I take your picture?" Vanessa demanded, holding her Nikon in front of her face.
Serena pouted her full, lavender-glossed lips like a pro. "Mais non." She laughed an inebriated laugh and did a little twirl, flipping up the hem of her tiny purple velvet dress and exposing the bottoms of her bare, red-heart-embellished ass cheeks.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Blair Waldorf shimmied over to join her friend. "You really do have a perfectly shaped head," she gushed drunkenly as Vanessa snapped away. The two girls grabbed another pair of neon green beverages off the counter, poured them down their swanlike throats, then turned and flipped up their skirts simultaneously so Vanessa could take a super-special shot. Although neither of them would ever admit it out loud, the only reason they were drinking so much and acting so completely obnoxious was because Nate was ignoring them. He was far too busy with L'Wren, who didn't even love him like Blair and Serena did. She was just using him, and he was using her.
Not a bad deal, actually.
Vanessa felt like the stunt double for a photographer on a Playboy shoot. "Assholes in Paradise" had taken on a whole new meaning. She personally would rather die than bare her ass to the camera, but there was something riveting about her beautiful classmates' total confidence. They were a superior breed, so flawless they seemed to have nothing to hide.
Not even wobbly bum fat.
"Work it, ladies!" a guy with shaving-cream-commercial good looks and a creepy smile shouted at them from across the room.
"Did I hire you?" a geeky-looking boy with Mick Jagger lips and overgrown reddish brown hair whispered wetly in Vanessa's ear. "Are you the dude from Vanity Fair?" He shoved a green drink at her, barely missing her camera.
"Another horrible rap song came on, this one by Diddy or Daddy or whatever the fuck his name was—the guy who used dog fur on the clothes in his fashion line.
Nice.
"Hey, I love this song!" Blair grabbed Vanessa's arm. "Come on, dance with us!"
Vanessa hated rap and she hated dancing. Wiggling her hips around to repetitive beats just wasn't her thing. And the boy with the mouth had just called her "dude."
"You know you want to." Serena breathed alcoholic fumes into her face, waggling her perfectly groomed blond eyebrows like she was making an offer Vanessa positively could not refuse.
Vanessa had to leave right away, or at least get some air. A red EXIT sign flashed over a chrome door with a porthole window that seemed to lead somewhere. And just maybe that somewhere had a hot tub and a view of the Hudson River, and everyone at the party was too drunk and stupid to have discovered it yet.
"Just going to grab a few scenic shots," she mumbled and strode over to the EXIT door. She pushed it open and let it slam closed behind her.
"Fuck!" she gasped as the frigid outside air nearly froze her ears off. She leaned her shoulder into the chrome door, thinking she'd just go back inside, grab her coat, and head for the elevator. But the door didn't budge. She was locked out without a cell phone, wearing only a thin black T-shirt and black jeans, on a fire escape that hung ten floors above a dark lot between the backs of two converted warehouse buildings. No hot tub. No friends inside.
And no hair to keep her warm, poor thing.
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Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You
Teen Fiction'Welcome to New York City's Upper East Side, where my friends and I all live in huge, fabulous apartments and go to exclusive single-sex private schools. We aren't always the nicest people in the world, but we make up for it in looks and taste.' Ent...
