Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

N tosses and turns in his teeny-tiny twin bed

"Don't forget your towel, sir," the bald guy behind the pristine white gym desk called. He handed Nate a warm white bath towel. "The girls are in the steam room," he added helpfully.

Nate pushed open the heavy door to the locker room. It wasn't the locker room at St. Jude's with its old muddy green-painted locker doors—it was the locker room at the Bridge, his dad's golf club in Bridgehampton. The lockers had teak doors. A freshly laundered white towel and a hand-rolled cigar were placed in each one. Very nice.

A receiving line of his lacrosse team buddies stood waiting for him, wearing their St. Jude's lacrosse team hunter-green-and-white-striped uniforms and carrying their sticks.

"Way to go, man." Jeremy Scott Tompkinson slapped Nate's hand and flashed his wicked stoner grin.

"Fucking awesome, dude," Anthony Avuldsen agreed, holding out his fist for Nate to bang.

"You're the man," Charlie Dern agreed. He shook Nate's hand, placing a fat, neatly rolled joint in his palm as he did so.

"It's an honor to have a player like you on my team." Coach Michaels reached out and gave Nate a burly bear hug.

The team disappeared into the ether and Nate fired up the joint. Smoking it was like eating the most amazing hot fudge sundae he'd ever tasted. He took one last hit and then took off his khakis and polo shirt and boxer shorts and wrapped the white towel the clerk had given him around his waist. He put his clothes in an empty locker. He wasn't wearing any shoes.

The glass door of the steam room was all fogged up. He pulled it open and stepped inside.

"Hey Natie," a girl's voice greeted him.

Nate moved through the steam in the direction of the voice. Suddenly he felt arms around his neck and the girl was kissing him. It was so unbelievably fantastic. Just kissing her was the most amazing sensation he'd ever experienced. It was like this total natural high, and he could have kept on kissing her forever. The girl's hair looked brown but it was wet and she felt ribbier than Blair, and taller. She smelled like Blair's perfume, though, and she kissed like Blair—eager, ravenous, hyperactive.

"You know you love me," the girl murmured in his ear, and her voice sounded exactly like Serena's voice on her voice-mail greeting.

"Let's do it," Nate told her. "I really want to do it with you."

"Nate, darling? Are you all right?"

Nate woke with a start and sat up. His tartan plaid flannel sheets were soaked with sweat. His parents' heads peered in at him through the open bedroom door. They looked tan and dapper. His mother wore a diamond comb in her hair and a mink stole around her neck. His dad was holding a glass of Scotch.

"You were talking in your sleep," his mother told him in her aristocratic French accent. "Quite loudly."

Nate rubbed his eyes and checked his bed for girls. Was he still dreaming? "You guys are back?" he asked, dazed. While he was in Sun Valley his parents had gone to St. Barts. Or maybe Barcelona. He couldn't remember.

His father cleared his throat and swirled the ice around in his Scotch. "As a matter of fact, we got "back yesterday. We've been at the opera. The first installment of Wagner's Ring Cycle began tonight. How was the skiing?"

"Skiing was good," Nate responded automatically, even though he hadn't really done much skiing. He rubbed his eyes some more, hoping his room didn't smell like pot. He didn't think it did, although the green sweater Blair had given him reeked, and it was draped over his desk chair, not four feet from the door.