Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

S channels all the best leading ladies

Serena's cream-colored lace-patterned Wolford tights itched, and her dad was driving her crazy with his endless questions.

"Tell me, Serena's quite creative. It occurred to me that she should act. I can't recall—does Hanover have a decent acting program? I was a debate team man myself."

William van der Woodsen was tall and handsome, with dark blue eyes like his daughter's, blondish gray hair, and an affinity for silk cravats instead of ties. He was the epitome of dapper, and more than once Serena had witnessed women, from young stewardesses to matronly school administrators, swoon in his presence. He crossed his long, squash-playing legs. "I think she'd be quite an asset to any theater program, don't you?"

Serena felt her cell phone buzz in her satin-lined coat pocket. Reflexively she glanced at it and read Blair's text. Leaning forward so that her hands were obscured by the coffee table, she typed back a hasty reply.

Hanover's dean of admissions turned out to be a middle-aged woman named Candice Kaplan who looked like she tried very hard to be cool. Her boyishly cropped hair was dyed a dark amber color and she was wearing a pretty pink angora Chanel suit and black patent leather Manolo pumps. Actually, she was sort of cool.

"I played Lady Macbeth in our senior production," Dean Kaplan gushed in her alluring, velvety voice. "We got such good reviews, we toured Europe for the summer." She winked conspiratorially at Serena and pushed her pink hexagonal glasses up on her long, bony nose. A gigantic platinum-and-sapphire engagement ring glittered on the ring finger of her left hand. "I was hoping you would ask me some questions yourself, dear," she said pointedly.

The main lounge of the Yale Club was ballroom size, with floor-to-ceiling navy blue velvet–curtained windows overlooking Grand Central Station. Bow-tied servers whisked in and out of the quietly huddled groups seated in brown leather club chairs, efficiently delivering cocktails and tea and newspapers. It was an excellent choice for a meeting such as this, since there was no chance anyone Serena knew would be anywhere nearby. She took a deep breath, about to deliver the performance of a lifetime.

"I have no idea what I'm good at," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at her brown Marni lace-up boots. "I've traveled all over the world and had private tutors in French, Latin, and world history. I play tennis, field hockey, soccer. I swim, I read, I write. I suck at math, and yeah, I've done some acting. But when I think about the future, I'm like, maybe I'll just be . . ." Her voice trailed off dramatically as she pulled her gorgeous mane of blond hair up on top of her head and pouted her pink-glossed lips. Then she let her hair cascade messily down over her well-defined shoulders. "A hair stylist? An actress? Who knows? I'll probably learn how to do lots of things, but I won't do anything very well."

Serena didn't know exactly who she was channeling—Liz Taylor as a child prodigy mixed with a little Lindsay Lohan?—but she could tell it was working. Candice took off her glasses and scrutinized Serena, as if noticing for the first time that Serena might be a Thoroughbred, an exquisite specimen of a human being with perfect conformation, but also a stupid, spoiled brat.

"I mean, I'm only fifteen. How am I supposed to know anything?" Serena added, glancing at her father. He took a great big swig of Scotch and uncrossed and recrossed his long, graceful legs. She could tell he could barely resist taking her over his knee and spanking her. Sorry, Daddy, she told him silently, but I can't go now. I just can't.

"Well, you've certainly got the looks to do anything you set your mind to," Dean Kaplan observed, the corners of her fuchsia-lipsticked mouth turned down with displeasure. She cleared her throat and swiftly pushed her glasses up on her nose. "But you're applying late, your grades are only fair, and your practice SAT scores leave a lot to be desired. Your brother, Erik, is an absolute treasure at Hanover—what a skier!—but I'm afraid that's not quite enough to get you in at such a late date." She pursed her lips. "Serena, you need to prove to me that you really want to go."

Serena stared wordlessly down at her boots. I don't, I don't, I don't want to go!

Dean Kaplan stood up and held out her hand to Mr. van der Woodsen. "We'll review her application as soon as we receive it, but I'm sorry to say I can't make any promises. Thank you for the tea."

Serena leapt to her feet and shook the dean's hand, smiling stupidly. As soon as Dean Kaplan had left, Mr. van der Woodsen sat down again, straightened his hunter green silk cravat, and swirled his Scotch around in its crystal tumbler, looking chagrined. "I missed a board meeting for this," he noted bitterly. He glanced up at his daughter, his blue eyes cold with hurt. "If you don't want to go to boarding school, why didn't you just say so?"

Serena chewed on her thumbnail, feeling totally ashamed. Her father had always been so quietly supportive of her, appearing out of nowhere at all her pageants and school plays when she'd always assumed he had no idea what she was up to. She smiled to herself, remembering the time in fourth grade when she'd lost five teeth in one week and was playing the second-oldest daughter in The Sound of Music. Her tongue kept popping out of the gap in her mouth so that she could barely talk, let alone yodel.

High on a hill was a lonely goatherd. Lay odl, lay odl lay hee hoo!!

But she finished the performance, her face hot and red and her eyes wet with embarrassed tears. Afterwards her father presented her with a huge bouquet of Japanese daisies from Takashimaya and whisked her away to Serendipity for a gigantic peppermint chip sundae, even though both ice cream and restaurants full of screaming children gave him the chills.

She gazed hopefully across the cocktail table at him. He might be disappointed, but he was her father, and she knew he only wanted her to be happy. "I don't want to go, Daddy," she told him, her great big eyes shiny and blue. "I don't want to go to boarding school."

Mr. van der Woodsen set his drink on the table and opened up his arms. She rushed into them, sitting on his lap as she sniffled into his perfectly tailored white collar, feeling like that gap-toothed nine-year-old again. She loved the way her father smelled—like well-oiled leather, fresh limes, and Scotch. "It's all right," he soothed, patting her back. "If you don't want to, you certainly don't have to."

Serena sighed happily and played with one of his gold sport coat buttons. She couldn't wait to tell Nate she was staying. There was nothing now to keep them apart. Her cell phone buzzed where she'd left it on the seat of her leather armchair, and she lunged for it as though it were a life preserver. Natie? No, just another text from Blair.

Oh, her.

I NEED SOME FANCY UNDERWR FOR U KNW WHO. BARNEYS L8R?

Serena tossed her phone into her quilted black Balenciaga bag and slipped her arms into her raspberry-colored coat. She was tired of lying. Of course she didn't want Nate to go to that ball with L'Wren What's-her-face, but she also didn't want to read any more texts about Blair needing sexy underwear for him. Blair was her best friend. It was time to tell her the truth so they could stop this charade and get on with planning the summer and finding Blair a perfect boyfriend of her own. Sure, she'd be a little miffed, but when Serena told her how amazing-looking the boys in Holland were, she'd get over it.

Sure she would.