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The writing was alright; it was like past novels in the fact that things were basic, plots were straightforward and characters acted more or less the same as always. Games Movies TV Wikis. Aaaand that's it for the Gossip Girl series!

It's not that the books were bad; it's just that there was just no substance to them. This is the worst book I have ever read! I picked up the last book in a series and did not realize it.

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It is past time to bring back the original cast; I really don't know why the authors felt the need to move on from Blair and the gang in the first place. But with Ashley dating a penniless blue-collar, Lili shunning makeup and fashion, and A. Baby as carefree as ever. Luckily, next month brings an "original cast" hardcover, which is a welcome return to a better Gossip Girl. With the original ca This definitely ended like it was the last book in the series.

Jan 23, Diana rated it liked it Shelves: In the original series, Blair is at once hilarious, terrifying, and at the same time sympathetic. And that is a very good thing.

Remove the custom ad blocker rule s and the page will load as expected. Has Alloy pulled the plug on this series already? Avery finally found her loved one and so did Owen. The Carlyles also called The Carlyle Triplets is a Gossip Girl spin-off series that takes place after the last novel of the original series. Love Avery and Rhys, they are cute. Gossip Girl: The Carlyles novel series No trivia or quizzes yet.

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Jul 04, Sarah Kathleen rated it liked it Shelves: It somehow made the rest of the books look like fine literature. Is their friendship real and more than just going out, partying and talking fashion? May 05, Jessica Booked J rated it really liked it Shelves: This series is either growing on me or getting better. Espicelly since they left such a gaping hole in it. Hugh is annoyingly funny as usual, and Eddie is just so fun to read,I wish I had a mom like her. It was something else.

This novel also dives into the little relationships between each of the characters. I liked this book best out of the series. Does O have what it takes to lap Rin and out of the water? For a start, Gossip Girl: Break up sex is unacceptable. The characters as much as they were learning and growing and did somewhat find their place by the end their problems that they kept having to face felt trivial. Love the One You're With is a great book.

Meanwhile, uber-starlet Amelie Adams is just like any other teenage girl: It's our last best hope for saving this particular type of teen series, and I can't let these books die. However, as the story progresses, things get way more complicated than just a family vacation. She does find a boyfriend, someone who shes known for a long time but never confessed to, Rhys.

For being the last book, it was okay. Cashman ; Rhys Sterling ; and Kelsey Talmadge. Therefore, Owen dragged his best friend, Rhys, to the tropics with him. But anyway, if this series is getting axed, this book encapsulates many of the reasons why this would happen. I'm pretty sure this is the ending of the series, and I shall treat it as one. But then, that seemed sort of appropriate, considering she was about to have a hot-and-heavy liaison with her lover in a sumptuous hotel suite.

Where was Nate anyway? A cab away from his house to the Plaza would only take seven minutes. If she were Nate, she'd have made it in five.

She dialed his cell without even looking at the buttons on her phone, but there was no answer. Maybe he was showering and putting on his very sexy black Calvin Klein boxers in preparation for their rendezvous, she mused.

Blair stood up, removed her robe, and dimmed the lights. Then she spread a little caviar on one of the toast points and stood watching herself in the over-sized gilt-framed dressing mirror as she ate it. On the TV screen behind her, "Baby" was trying to look innocent after spending all night having big sweaty sex with Patrick Swayze, the dance instructor at the summer resort where her family was vacationing.

Baby's dad was so seriously pissed off at her; Blair wondered fleetingly how her own dad would feel if he knew she'd moved into a hotel suite just so she could have a little privacy with Nate.

Not that her gay, French-chateau-living, pastel-argyle-socks-and-baby-blue-Gucci-sunglasses-wearing dad and Baby's responsible doctor dad in 'Dirty Dancing' had anything in common. She dialed Nate once again and when he didn't answer, she made herself another caviar toast point sandwich and called her dad's number in southern France, where he'[d been living since he and Eleanor split up over his gayness almost two years ago. Is everything okay? Did you hear from those fuck-head at Yale yet?

Are you in? Her father demanded as soon as he heard her voice. Blair could picture him perfectly, naked except for a pair of royal blue silk boxers shorts, his sleeping lover- Francois or Eduard or whatever his name was - snoring softly beside him. Harold Waldorf, Esq. Now he bottled his own wine from the vineyards surrounding his chateau, shopped at cute French boutiques that catered exclusively to tanned gay men, and swam laps in his pool while his tanned gay lovers attended him with fresh towels and glasses of cognac.

It was a luxe life, indeed. In fact, talking to her dad was exactly like talking to one of her girlfriends. He didn't mind that it was almost two in the morning inFrance and she had totally woken him up. You'll be here in an hour. I'm living here now. In a suite. He was so into his latest batch of white wine, he probably kept a bottle chilling next to the bed exactly for occasions like this.

In 'Dirty Dancing' Land, Baby's bitchy sister was performing in a stupid talent show, wearing a bikini top that was way to small for her. Blair muted the TV, spread another blob of caviar on a toast point, lit a cigarette and sighed dramatically. The staff would pick through her trash and steal her clothes, and tourists would stand on Central Park South opposite the hotel, just waiting to catch a glimpse of her. She'd be the talk of the town. As if she wasn't already.

Blair giggled and scarfed down another caviar sandwich between drags on her Merit Ultra Light. She contemplated the bottle of champagne she'd ordered, still chilling in its silver-plated ice bucket.

Nate wouldn't mind if she opened the bottle and had one tiny glass before he arrived, would he? Or course not. You deserve to have it all. Blair grabbed the bottle of champagne and held it between her bare knees, expertly untwisting the wire keeper from around the cork and then inching the cork out of the bottle's neck, slowly You are totally having a party!

On screen Patrick Swayze was face-to-face with Baby's dad. It was the cheesiest movie, but she still fantasized about Nate defending her in such a determined, angry way. Nate was seriously hot when he was angry, which was just about It's hard to get riled up when your stoned all the time. Although who knew what was taking him so goddamned long. They will let you in. Over the phone she heard someone mumble something in sleepy French.

I have to go. You just enjoy yourself. She hung up and dialed Nate's cell phone again. No answer. She dialed his house line. No answer, just his admiral dad in the answering machine, reading from the actual instructions the machine came with that no normal person ever used: Please leave a brief message and we will return your call as soon as possible. Another old favorite. Blair put the white terrycloth bathrobe back on a fluffed up the pillows on the giant bed.

Then she dialed room service again. And a pack of Merit Ultra Lights. When she left his house, Nate had been partying with a bunch of stoners, including an annoying French hippie chick named Lexique. That stupid, lazy asshole who so didn't deserve to go to Yale probably hadn't even noticed that Blair had left.

Tears seeped out from under her closed lids. Nate hadn't changed. Nothing had changed- except the status of her virginity.

She bit her lip and fought back an angry sob.

Well, so what? Nate didn't deserve sex. Besides, eating a hot fudge sundae in a Plaza hotel bed while plotting her revenge on her asshole-of-a-loser-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend was even better than sex. Way better. Yes, it's a school day. Unfortunately we'll be too busy getting ready for our hot-stone facials and seaweed body wraps to remember to show up!

Please don't be worried about getting into trouble- not that you really are. Senior Cut Day is an ancientConstance Billard School tradition, and no one's ever been expelled or even punished for it.

So here's what's happening. Thursday night at 6: M we'll board the Archibald family's big sailboat, which is docked atBattery Park City.

The Archibalds are having their annual benefit cruise to theHamptons , and they have generously offered us a ride. As soon as we dock in Sag Harbor, we'll be picked up by a fleet of limos, which will whisk us off to Isabel Coates's totally amazing beach house, where the biggest, bestest girls-only slumber party will take place. In the morning we'll have breakfast by the pool, catered by TBA we're working on getting the chef who helped Julia Roberts lose all that weight after having her twins.

After that, a day of treatment brought to us by Origins. And everyone will get an Origins gift bag valued at three hundred dollars to take home wither totally refreshed and revitalized new self! Resort casual. Towels, hairdryers, bath, and beauty products galore will be supplied. No dogs, please even if they are really small.

Let's heard it for an amazing weekend of bonding with the girls! Big Smoochies!! S We put a suggestion box in the senior lounge, so your ideas are welcome, not that we haven't already planned the most perfect day!

S Two, four, six, eight, only one month till we graduate!!! I mean is it okay to just, like, disappear?? Apparently a bunch of boys we all know and love at least most of the time have hijacked a very large, well-appointed sailboat and are headed into theAtlantic.

It could be just another senior prank, except that half the boys on the boat are juniors. It's kind of random time to take off, especially when all of us girls could use a little entertainment. Just who do they think they are- Christopher Colombus? Rumor has it the latest couple of the moment is a certain blond-hairedFifth Avenue -dwelling senior girl and the lead guitarist from the Raves. How, when, and where they met is a complete mystery, but talk about a perfect couple!

Don't even try to pretend it was someone else: I saw you sneaking into the Gap on Eighty-sixth and Madison and actually trying on a plum-colored Juicy Couture terrycloth zip-up hoodie in the kids' section. Okay, I'm a snooping bitch. But the reason I'm ratting you out is I tried the very same hoodie on, and, unlike you although I know you wanted to , I bought three of them! Why not? Besides, terrycloth is terrycloth, and what better way to show off your white new jacquard Gucci bikini than with a cute plum-colored hoodie?

Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card: Dear GG, Are you ever going to tell us where you're going to college next year? Have you even decided? Dear qrs, That's for me to know and you to find out.

But let me ask you this- do I strike you as the indecisive type? Dear GG, I heard Damian Polk from the Raves used to live in the same building as that blond model you're always talking about. Dear ob-v-us, That's a great story, but I heard Damian's family lived inIreland until he was thirteen. Hence his funny accent and the reason why he's always seems a little drunk.

The son, who I hear has been in lots of trouble before, took off in the sailboat yesterday evening and hasn't returned. I'm afraid his ass will be grass whenever he gets back, because his dad is kind of tough. Dear captain, His ass is already grass, for more reasons than that!

B downloading two La Perla nighties at Barneys. She seems to have developed an addiction to lingerie, but what else can one wear while lounging alone in a Plaza Hotel suite, waiting for one's boyfriend to turn up. D at Yellow Rat Bastard on lower Broadway, trying on every hat in the store.

V downloading a new lip ring - ew! J in Barneys Co-op trying on every pair of Seven Jeans in the store ignoring the salesperson's suggestion that she'd have better luck finding jeans that fit in Bloomingdale's children's department. K and I atJackson Hole again, scheming again. N- not. Where in the hell is N anyway?

Don't worry I'll find him. It was Saturday night and they were getting ready for Dan's gig with the Raves at Funkiton, a new music venue in revamped fire station onOrchard Street.

Jenny glanced at Elise. Jenny was wearing a stretchy red top with cap sleeves and a plunging U-shaped neckline that made her breast look gargantuan. She was barely five feet tall, and her very first pair of seven jeans had always been too long for her when she bought them at Bloomingdale's, so she had the lady at the dry cleaner's on Broadway and Ninety-eighth shorten them about ten inches.

Now she noticed that the purposely "antiqued" spot on each leg where her knee was supposed to be fell at mid-shin. The only acceptable part of Jenny's body was her head. She liked her big, far-apart brown eyes, her clear whiter skin, her red lips, and her curly brown hair with its straight, severe nags across the forehead. As Serena once told her, she looked like a Prada model- with oversized breast implants and stumps for legs, although Serena would never have said that part.

Elise's body was totally the opposite. She was seven inches taller than Jenny, with long skinny legs, long skinny arms, and a flat chest. Nothing was ever too tight on her, except maybe in the belly region, which had sort of a doughnut roll around it. But that was easily hidden beneath a shirt.

There was really nothing Jenny could do to hide her chest. Then again, Elise was covered in Freckles- there were even freckles on her eyelids- she had chin length straw-yellow hair that was so thick and so coarse, she could barely fit it into a rubber band.

Well nobody's perfect. Except for maybe a very select few of us. She pulled off her black V-neck T-shirt and handed it to Jenny. Elise's shirt was from Express, and hers was from Anthropologie, which was slightly nicer, but Jenny didn't want to hurt Elise's feelings by saying anything. Besides the results were astronomical. Jenny's chest looked almost modest in the black top, and the red top made Elise's hair gleam with strawberry highlights neither of them had ever known she had.

She dropped down on her knees and started crawling around the room. Everyone had heard. Jenny crawled across the matted pink carpet to her closet to select a pair of shoes. Of course, Serena never had to crawl around like a dog in an attempt to make her jeans look normal.

Her dad said the sandals looked like something a belly dancer would wear, but she'd gotten them for free at the W photo shoot, and they were the nicest pair of shoes she owned. How strange that she'd had that little moment of superstardom- that photo shoot with Serena- and now she was back to being plain old her, a fourteen-going-on fifteen-year-old girl with big ambitions and an even bigger chest.

It wasn't like her life's ambition was to quit school at the age of fourteen and become a super model, but it would have been kind of nice if someone asked her to. Jenny stood up and brushed off the knees of her jeans. They were completely, disappointedly unfaded and, except for the wonky placement of the distressed part of the denim, completely uninteresting-just like everything else in her closet.

Serena's clothes were always so perfectly frayed, faded and worn, belying the colorful and mysterious history of their wearer. Jenny couldn't help but wonder whether her own clothes would fade and develop character too if she got kicked out ofConstance and sent to boarding school.

Elise made a face. No way. That wasn't how she pictured boarding school at all. In her mind boarding school meant freedom: Poet Rock God brother, from her manically overprotective and embarrassingly unkempt dad, from Constance Billard's horrendous school uniforms, from her dusty old bedroom, and from the everyday boringness of doing the same old same old now and for the next three years.

It also meant opportunity: Rufus poked his head in the door, not even thinking about the fact that Jenny was no longer five years old and might be completely naked or something. His unruly hair was tied in a ponytail with a piece of the bright blue plastic bag the New york Times was delivered in every morning. Jenny could tell her dad was dying to go to Dan's gig with them, but tonight was his monthly anarchist writers' workshop- the only thing he took as seriously as raising his children, even though none of his writing had ever been published.

Yeah, but we're not exactly models-who-date-rock-stars material, Jenny thought as the two girls contemplated their reflections in mirror. Elise had on way too much lip gloss, and Jenny kinda wished that her Kors sandals weren't totally flat, so she'd at least appear taller.

After all, she wasn't going to the gig to see Dan. She wanted to meet Damian Polk and the rest of the band, and she wanted to make an impression.

Jenny stood on tiptoe and then eased her heels back into her shoes again. But let her find out for herself.

The Choice: Embrace the Possible

How had she missed them after all these years she had no idea. She twisted her head around and checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror once again. They were, four big brown moles, all lined up on her neck behind her ear like some kind of fucked-up constellation.

She felt like a girl in a Clearasil commercial, panicking because she'd gotten a zit right before going out on a date. Zits were temporary, though. The moles were there to stay. Who in her right mind would keep her head shaved with moles like that on her neck? She yanked open a drawer beneath the bathroom sink, looking for some of that skin-colored cover-up crap her sister Ruby put under her eyes when she'd been up all night.

She found a stick of something called Peekaboo that was a little pinker than her natural skin tone but good enough. She dabbed some over the moles, rubbed it in, and examined the results. Now she looked like she had poison ivy, or poison neck. She considered pasting a Band-Aid across the whole area, but she didn't have one big enough to cover all four of the moles, and a Band-Aid would only draw attention to the problem. She washed off the cover-up and then dug around in the drawer, looking for something that might distractBeverly from the hideous deformities on her neck.

As if the still-healing lip piercing on her upper lip wasn't distracting enough. Beverly had been polite enough not to mention it before, but now that they were getting to know each other, he might ask if the crusty sore beneath that silver D-ring actually hurt. And why wouldBeverly even want to check out her neck? They were only going to the Raves gig together- just hanging out to see if they'd mind cohabitating, as in roommates, not lovers who looked at each other's necks.

Besides,Beverly was an artist. He might think her moles were cool. A sample vial of perfume called Certainty was rolling around in the bottom of the messy vanity drawer. It sounded like a name of a tampon or a pregnancy test, but Vanessa eased the little black cap off the vial and dabbed some perfume on her wrists and temples anyway.

Certainty smelled musky and powerful and might be so distracting toBeverly that he wouldn't even notice her disgusting configuration of neck moles. Maybe it would even work some sort of magic. She would walk into the club where Dan and the Raves were playing; Dan would turn purple with a mixture of desire, regret, and mad jealousy; andBeverly would feel immediately certain about wanting to live with her.

As a friend, of course. See you in a few," Damian replied. Perched on top of the toilet seat lid, Dan stared woefully down at his new sneakers and the absurdly wide pant legs that nearly covered them. Yesterday he'd wandered into Soul on Broadway inSoHo and let a sales guy talk him into a completely new performance wardrobe. Big yellow-and-black two-tone T-shirt, insanely huge and baggy gray rip-stop pants with drawstrings and toggles and pockets all over them, black canvas Converse sneakers with yellow laces, and a khaki-colored truckers' hat with a picture of yellow YEILD sign on it.

That hat kept his wild, shaggy hair under control and revealed his shaved neck, making him look more menacing than he'd ever thought possible. In fact, with his new outfit, he kinda looked like a shorter, skinnier Eminem. Which was not really the look he wanted at all. None of the guys in his band had commented on his outfit when he showed up, but then again he hadn't really given them time. One look at the huge line forming outside the club and the instruments and microphones set up on the stage inside had sent him rushing to the bathroom to puke his guts out.

He'd been locked in a stall ever since. If only he had a lucky talisman like a handmade silver belt buckle or a shark tooth necklace the way most legendary rock singers probably did.

He could don his lucky whatever-it-was, his nervousness would disappear, and he'd perform with complete abandon, driving the crowd insane. Instead, he just sat on the toilet in the club's garish pea-green-painted men's room and smoked his lucky Camels- about forty of them- feeling progressively sicker and sicker. All of a sudden the men's room door creaked open and the scuffed toes of Damian's black work boots appeared under the stall door once more. Dan took the bottle. If he was going top perform tonight he'd need to feel as fly as his outfit.

He opened it and took a swig. His stomach felt so bottomless and endless, it was like pouring a teaspoon of vodka into an empty well. He took another swig and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The Raves were all about not having a look and not trying too hard. But Dan's mom had fled to theCzech Republic with some balding, horny count before he'd even started high school, so he didn't even own any polo shirts or khakis, only the clothes he picked out for himself and paid for with the barely adequate clothing allowance Rufus gave him.

He could feel his panic mounting. Who was going to want to listen to a sick, skinny high-school kid with a shaved neck wearing fashion-disaster yellow-and-black shoes? You'd be surprised.

Everything her mom had chosen was gray or navy blue, which just happened to beYale University 's colors. Hello, dorkdom! Did she really need her mom to pick out her clothes? How old was she, anyway- five?

For them it was just another cocktail party- a chance to mingle with the parents of the children their own children had gone to school and tennis lessons and SAT prep with for most of their lives. No one would know each other intimately, but everyone would know everyone. People like the van der Woodsens thought of everyone in their circle as their dearest friends, but how intimate did you really want to be with someone like Stanford Parris III?

After all, she could have been on her way to the Raves gig right now instead of to another totally boring and useless party with her parents. Ignoring the outfit her mother had selected for her, she sat down in front of her IMac and logged on. Most of the e-mails were from fashion houses like launch a signature fragrance or shoe, but a new message from someone at Brown topped the list, followed by a message from Harvard, and one fromPrinceton. I used to be dead. Now my art has a face, and to have you here at Brown next year-oh living, breathing muse!

I kneel at your feet. Christian P. S There is a rumor you are engaged to that madman lead guitarist in the Raves. My love, I pray this is only a rumor. When I think about you, the windows in my Jeep steam up and I can't breathe. I'm going to fail my finals because of you.

I don't think they make you repeat grades if you fail a term in college the way they do in high school, but I wouldn't mind if they did, because then we'd be together for even longer.

I know this is kind of crazy to say, but you're my girl, so you better come to Harvard next year. Here's to us for the next four years and forever.

Love, Wade your Harvard tour guide's roommate - remember me? We are TOO excited to meet him, but first we have to take down all the pictures of him plastered all over our house- SO embarrassing! Love, Your sisters, the Princeton Tri Delts Serena winced and deleted all three stalkerish messages from her computer, hoping to delete the last one from her brain.

There was nothing worse than a bunch of girls pretending to be your best friends when you didn't even know them, all gossiping about you and your new rock star boyfriend whom you'd never met.

Way to make her not want to go to college at all! She logged off without reading the rest of her mail and pulled her luxurious fair hair back into a messy ponytail with a plain white rubber band.

Then she smeared her lips with Vaseline and opened her bedroom door to look for her parents. The elder van der Woodsens had their own suite of rooms consisting of a large bedroom with a massive four-poster bed, two dressing rooms with huge walk-in closets, two full bathrooms, and a lounge with a wet bar they never used, a plasma TV they never watched, and a library full of rare books they never read, because they were always out at charity dinners or the opera or watching polo matches up in Connecticut.

It could have been an apartment all by itself, but it took up only a quarter of the van der Woodsens' entireFifth Avenue spread. Van der Woodsen was tall and fair like Serena, with the same symmetrical features, which had grown haughtily handsome with age. She buttoned the jacket of her gold Chanel suit and glanced at the antique platinum Cartier wristwatch fastened to her slim,Santo Domingo- tanned wrist.

Your father and I will be reading the newspapers in his study. Don't be difficult, darling. It's just a party. You like parties. Her mother raised her thin gray-blond eyebrows so fiercely she decided not to mention that she'd much rather see the Raves play than schmooze with a bunch of kids and their parents all gloating about the fact that they'd gotten into one of the toughest colleges to get into in the world.

Serena went back to her room and grudgingly changed out of her jeans and into the gray pleated Marc Jacobs skirt laid out on her bed, pairing it with a beaded aqua-colored t-shirt and her orange Miu Miu clogs instead of the boring navy blue blouse and baby blue suede Tod's loafers her mother had chosen.

And the pearls?

Sorry, mom. Her last effort was to pull out the messy ponytail and run her fingers through her pale blond hair. Then, without even a glance in the mirror, she strode out of her room and into the front hall. If only we could all be so sure of our exquisite beauty.

I'm ready! She'd give the party five or ten minutes- just enough time for her parents to get involved in some supremely boring and involved conversation with Stanford Parris III or one of the other ancient dull Yale alumni who'd been attending these parties for centuries, than she'd slip out and head downtown to the Raves gig.

After all, if she was going to spend the next four years being intellectual, she needed to enjoy herself while she had the chance. As if she didn't always enjoy herself. Jeremy, Charlie, and Anthony would not shut up about Bermuda, so when they got onboard the Charlotte, named after Nate's paternal grandmother, Nate did a search for ports in Bermuda on the boat's computer and then programmed Horseshoe Bay into the navigational system. He set the motor for.

That meant they were headed toBermuda very slowly. In fact, even though they'd left the dock in lowerManhattan nearly twenty hours ago, they were only drifting past Coney Island, inBrooklyn. Friday night had oozed into Saturday night, and the sun hung low overStaten Island as the sailboat motored slowly southward.

The air was cooler than on land and smelled like wet dog. Nate and everyone else on the boat remained stoned, sprawled on deck wit their eyes half closed and their mouths hanging lazily open, or drifting languidly below decks in bare feet to replenish their stashes of beer and snacks. It had dawned only recently that Blair wasn't onboard. He recalled that she'd called him last night from the Plaza, and that he'd sort of blown off meeting her. Of course he would have called her, but his cell phone was missing, and when he tried to use Jeremy's phone, he discovered that he'd only ever speed-dialed Blair from his stored address book, and he didn't even know her number.

And when you've been stoned for almost twenty-four hours, doing something like calling information to find your girlfriends number seems impossibly complicated. Hello, lameness? Nate and his father had built theCharlotte themselves, up on the Archibald compound onMt. Desert Island ,Maine. It was one-hundred-and-ten-foot ketch, huge enough to comfortably ferry one hundred-plus passengers from Battery Park City to the Hamptons, or seventten high-school kids toBermuda.

In preparation for the upcoming cruise to theHamptons , the kitchen had been fully stocked with artisanal cheeses, Carrs table water crackers, smoked oysters, Belgian beer, Veuve Clicquot champagne, and vintage scotch.

The cabin was equipped with the latest computer mapping and communication systems, and there were state-of-the-art sound systems both on deck and below decks. After a dinner of beer, Brie, and potato chips, Nate passed up another session of bong hits with his buddies and climbed up into the crow's nest at the top of taller of the boat's two masts.

He sat down and hugged his knees, contemplating the situation from up high. Since they were only drifting, he was pretty sure they weren't going to get farther than theNew Jersey Shore before Monday, which was fine with him.

He was also pretty sure he was just about to miss that Yale party he was supposed to go to with his parents. And he'd probably missed a whole slew of Blair's pissed-off, upset, and maybe even worried calls. Nate had the nagging feeling that his little foray onboard theCharlotte had been kind of a mistake.

The crew would be frantic to find the boat missing, and his dad would be pissed as hell. But as long as they were back by the time theHamptons cruise was supposed to start, there was no harm done, right? He lifted up his worn black T-shirt and checked to see if the hickey Blair had left on his belly the day before was still there.

A shade lighter, but yes, still there.

Gossip Girl Livro 2 PDF

Just thinking about Blair eased his mind. Even if she was pissed off at him eighty percent of the time, they would stay together for always, and hopefully even go to Yale together.

How good it was, he thought, as only a par-baked boy can, knowing you had someone's hand to hold when you were about to step into the big bad unknown. From where he was sat she looked very small and bright-eyed, like a little girl. All over the deck, groups of guys and a few girls were smoking and drinking blond Belgian beer out of crystal beer steins. In the aft of the boat the lazy music of one of Nate's mom's French jazz CDs wafted out of Bose waterproof speakers. He shifted his gaze to the brightly lit Coney Island Ferris wheel, turning slowly round and round across the twinkling, greenish-brown water.

He was pretty sure he didn't want Lexie to join him in the crow's nest. First of all, there was hardly room up there for one person; second of all, if she did, the obvious thing would be for him to kiss her, because she was pretty and had that sexy tattoo, and because she so obviously had a crush on him.

But these days he really didn't feel like kissing anyone but Blair. After all, he and Blair were supposed to going to college together and getting married. They were going to spend their whole lives together.

Is he, like having some sort of epiphany? Nate stood up and began to climb down out of the crow's nest. He couldn't sit up there all night, waiting for the boat to turn itself around. Not when Blair was waiting for him, not when he had his whole future ahead of him He jumped down the ladder and Lexie handed him an Oreo. Her tie-dyed dress had somehow loosened or gotten torn, and the cap sleeves drooped down over the tops of her arms, revealing her tanned shoulders and making the most of her tiny sun, moon, and stars tattoo.

Nate took an Oreo, pulled the two halves apart, and licked the white icing inside. Yes, he had his whole future ahead of him, but sometimes it's important to enjoy the simple things in life. Blair glared at the annoying dreadlocked head that had poked its way into her so-called bedroom. Nate was till MIA and she'd just had the humiliating experience of taking a cab home from the Plaza in her school Uniform, even though it was Saturday and there was no school.

Girls who must wear uniforms to school try their hardest not to be seen in uniform outside of school hours, and especially not on weekends. Earlier that afternoon she's actually had a par of Earl jeans delivered to her room at the Plaza directly from Barneys Co-op, but when the jeans arrived they were totally different style than the ones she was used to wearing- pencil straight and meant to ride so low that at least six inches of her butt crack would show.

Blair could barely get them over her knees. And, with only her school uniform, her La Perla underwear, and a white terrycloth Plaza Hotel bathrobe to wear, and nothing to do but watch TV for sixteen hours straight, she'd slowly been going insane. The Yale party Serena had mentioned would offer a welcome escape, as well as provide an opportunity to take revenge on Nate.

Roll camera. She'd arrive at the party in a cloud of perfume and cigarette smoke, like some sort of genie, wearing something so adorably irresistible that all the incoming freshmen boys and even the stodgy old Yale alumnae at the party would toss back their scotches and fall on their knees at her immaculately manicured feet.

She'd have a torrid, newsworthy affair with the handsomest, most influential one in the bunch, making sure Nate heard all about it, and then demand that the aforementioned alumnus secure her acceptance at Yale. Then she'd tell Nate to go fuck himself and go to Brown or someplace even further away, because she honestly never wanted to see his sorry face again.

She was kind of snippy. Blair frowned down at the slip dress in her hands. It was a lovely shade of deep Yale blue, but not quite as come-hither as she would have liked. Unless she wore an outrageously sexy pair of strappy high-heeled sandals with it- of which she had many. It was a sort of stripy blue-gray, one of Missoni's latest weaves. She held it against the dress to see if it would go, and it did, but it wasn't exactly the alluring you-know-you-want-me look she needed to get those Yalies hearts aflutter.

She threw Aaron an icy get-the-fuck-out-of-here-I'm-trying-to-get-dressed glance. However, I am confident that eventually I will get in, so I really don't see why I shouldn't attend this party. He'd gotten into Harvard early admission. What the fuck did he care? Aaron backed away, holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm. Blair slammed the door. A few minutes later, she opened it again, wearing the royal blue slip dress and a pair of silver metallic three-and-a-half-inch Manolo sandals.

She teetered down the hall to her old room. Baby Yale had the perfect notice-me accessory for her outfit. But if getting caught with boys and going up against the Disciplinary Committee is what it takes, Jenny is ready.

United States of America. After all, there can only be one It Girl Can you take a little heat? Popular Gossip Girl character Jenny Humphrey never goes looking for trouble; but trouble always seems to find her. Or could it have been Callie and Easy who were in the barn together when the blaze began?

Her childhood dream was to grow up to be a ballerina; she began lessons at age 3 and auditioned for the School of American Ballet at age 8, but was rejected.

Too bad Callie Vernon also has her eye on the newly made-over Sebastian. But there can only be one It Girl. But her last-minute escape from expulsion made her the most talked-about girl in school. Now Callie is dressing up as Cinderella in hopes of winning back his heart. Jun 1, Country: She quickly caught the eye of three of the hottest guys on campus, kissed two of them, and made one her boyfriend: But no one ever said being adored was easy. While working at a book-packaging firm, Cecily von Ziegesar, formed the idea for a series of books bas Cecily Brooke von Ziegesar is an American author best known for the young adult Gossip Girl series of novels.

Callie Vernon knows who her Prince Charming is: Refresh and try again. With girls this wild, anything can happen, but only one can be it. Everyone wants a fairytale ending. Only here, the battles are fought with icy glares and vicious rumors.

But when some enterprising students decide that playing Secret "Satan "is infinitely more fun, the entire school starts acting naughty. A gorgeous brother-sister pair is taking Waverly by storm, and the campus is abuzz with fresh gossip and even fresher crushes. But what happens when she uncovers a shady secret from his past instead?

Sharing is caring, right? Callie Vernon is starting to wonder if a girl can have two soulmates. Now V has disappeared, and B is left to pick through the wreckage of her high school career as everyone is gearing up for the next stage of their lives.

And just like that, it was war. Now the campus is overrun with peculiar pairings, odd couples, and mischief makers hoping to play Cupid for a day. But when Dean Marymount announces that someone is going to be held responsible for burning down the antique red barn, and expelled from Waverly Academy, the heat is really on. Cecily von Ziegesar was born in New York City. Novelist , Author Date of Birth: Now the four roommates have been split up across enemy lines - Jenny and Callie are living together in Dumbarton , and Brett and Tinsley are seemingly miles away downstairs.

After seeing Serena with her new boyfriend, Dan, Blair intends to respond in kind!She dabbed some over the moles, rubbed it in, and examined the results. But his little sister was too busy being a supermodel to go through his closet with him and tell him what was lame and what was acceptable.

S We put a suggestion box in the senior lounge, so your ideas are welcome, not that we haven't already planned the most perfect day! Earlier that afternoon she's actually had a par of Earl jeans delivered to her room at the Plaza directly from Barneys Co-op, but when the jeans arrived they were totally different style than the ones she was used to wearing- pencil straight and meant to ride so low that at least six inches of her butt crack would show.

She walked around the counter and handedBeverly the water, already envisioning what it would be like to stay up late and watch movies together. In the picture he was standing on a rocky beach, tan and shirtless.

Back in New York, Dan and Vanessa are rekindling their love. He moved on to his little sister Jenny's room, and finally found it under her bed, inexplicably rolled up inside and old pink bath towel.

Poor Blair.

TIERA from New Bedford
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