Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

Wimbledon can wait

Blair used to fantasize about rolling in the sand in a batik-print string bikini on some exotic beach with her tennis instructor, Duane, who had the most incredible muscles, black wavy hair, gorgeous turquoise-blue eyes, and spoke with an Australian accent. But now that she'd vocalized her infatuation with Nate to Serena, she was over Duane. Her entire raison d'être was Nate, Nate, Nate, and she no longer cared how taut Duane's hamstrings were or whether his hair was black, green, or purple.

Duane wanted to volley with her and work on her footwork, but Blair was so preoccupied with the notion that she needed to come up with a foolproof get-Nate-out-of-L'Wren's-bed-and-into-hers plan that she insisted on working on her serves. That way, each time Duane reloaded the ball machine she could whip out her cell and text another devious plan to Serena.

WE CLD GT HM DRNK & WRP HM UP IN BLANKTS & LCK HM IN A CLOST & NOT LT HM OUT TIL HE PROMSES NOT TO GO.

Duane released the next ball before Blair was ready and it hit her square in the chest.

"Jesus! Fuck you!" she yelled, glaring at him.

Now, now.

On a bench to the right of center court a little Sacred Heart girl who was waiting for her lesson giggled into her fist. She was wearing a short lemon-colored Lacoste tennis dress and had very impressive arm muscles for a girl of no more than eleven. Blair thought the girl looked a lot like herself only a few years ago—so serious about tennis, and not yet into boys. Now things were different. All she thought about was Nate. It was like there was a movie playing in her head at all times, a love story.

She and Nate would finally declare their passion for each other after so many years of denying it, and they'd spend their last few years of high school glued to each other at the lips. She'd spend most nights at his house, but occasionally they'd steal up to her family's summer home in Newport, Rhode Island, when her parents were playing golf in Scotland, and they'd make love on the sofas without even taking off the dustcovers that were put on each winter. Then they'd graduate and head off to Yale, where they both would have applied early, because really, when it came down to it, there wasn't any other college worth applying to. Then Nate would become a lawyer and she would become something worldly, glamorous, and fun that involved wearing amazing clothes and having intelligent conversations at the same time. They'd have the wedding of the century at St. Patrick's Cathedral, move into an incredible Park Avenue apartment, and have sex all the time. This movie was on constant replay in her mind, making it kind of hard to think about anything else. She certainly couldn't practice her serve.

The pocket of her conch-shell-pink-and-cream seersucker Lilly Pulitzer tennis skirt vibrated. Blair thwacked a vigorous serve at Duane's head and whipped out her phone. Serena had just texted her back.

WHAT IF WE GET NATE READY 4 BALL. GET HIM RLLY DRUNK. U KISS HIM. HE 4GETS 2 GO 2 BALL?

Blair speedily texted her reply:

COOL! CME OVR L8T 2 PLN? LV U!!

Duane released another ball, which glanced off Blair's shoulder. The next ball bounced directly in front of her and nearly took out an eye. She looked up from her phone. Duane stood on the other side of the court with his hands on his athletic waist, his nice dark eyebrows furrowed with impatience. "If you're serious about the nationals this year, I suggest you put down that phone!" he called out in his hot Australian accent before turning to fuss with his ball machine.

Blair had plotting to do, and Duane's little performance with the tennis balls was totally annoying. After all, she was the one paying him. He could wait while she texted highly important messages. Or he could go fuck himself. She shrugged her shoulders by way of reply, walked over to the little Sacred Heart girl, and handed the girl her tennis racket. "I think I just got my period. Please put this in my locker and tell Duane I went home," she instructed, casually strolling toward the exit.

Nice backhand.