his hands shaking crazily。 If only he could have pulled off some heist like sabotaging theThe New
Yorker ？s printing presses so they couldn？t print vowels anymore。 Then all the Valentine？s Day
issues would have been recalled from the newsstands late last night。
As if he could ever have pulledthat off。
？Yo； dude；？ Dan heard the familiar； conceited voice of his least…favorite Riverside Prep classmate
behind him。 Dan stopped walking and turned around to see Chuck Bass flipping his signature navy
blue monogrammed cashmere scarf over one shoulder and running his manicured fingers through
his brown…and…blond highlighted hair。 ？Nice poem inThe New Yorker ； man。？ He gave Dan a
congratulatory clap on the shoulder； his monogrammed pinky ring glittering in the winter
sunlight。 ？Who knew you were such a stud？？
Was there something distinctlygay about Chuck Bass these days？ Or perhaps not。 Just because
he？d gotten blond highlights and was wearing a slim； cream…colored wool coat by Ralph
Laurenand orange leather Prada sneakers didn？t mean he？d given up molesting defenseless；
drunken girls at parties。 Perhaps he was simply expressing himself。
There？s certainly nothing wrong with that。
？Thanks；？ Dan mumbled as he fiddled with the plastic top on his coffee cup。 He wondered if
Chuck was planning on walking all the way to school with him so they could discuss his poem。
But then Dan？s cell phone rang； saving him from having to answer Chuck？s inane questions about
how many chicks he？d bagged before writing the poem； or whatever Chuck Bass liked to talk
about on his way to school in the mornings。
Dan put the phone to his ear and Chuck clapped him on the shoulder again and kept walking。
？Hello？？
？Congratulations； Danielson！？ Rufus shouted into the phone。 His father never got out of bed
before eight o？clock； so this was the first time Dan had spoken to him all morning。 ？You？re the
real banana； the genuine article！The New Yorker ； the goddamnedNew Yorker ！？
Dan chuckled； feeling slightly ashamed。 Countless notebooks filled with his father？s odd；
disjointed poems were stashed in a dusty box in the broom closet。 Even though he was an editor of
lesser…known Beat poets； the truth was； Rufus had never actually been published。
？And you？ll never believe？；？ Rufus continued； but then his voice broke off。 Dan heard the toilet
flush in the background。 Typical。 His dad had been talking to him while he was in the can。
Dan gulped his coffee and picked up his pace； crossing Broadway and heading down
Seventy…seventh Street。 He was going to be late for first…period chemistry if he didn？t hurry up。
Not that that would be such a bad thing。 ？Dad？ You still there？？ he asked。
？Hold on； kid；？ Rufus replied distractedly。 ？I got my hands full here。？
Dan could picture his dad drying his hands on the frayed red towel hanging on the back of the
bathroom door and then pulling his rolled…up copy ofThe New Yorker out from under his hairy
arm so he could read Dan？s poem again。
？The deans of admissions from Brown and Columbia just called to tell me what a prodigy you
are；？ Rufus explained。 It sounded like his mouth was full of something； and Dan could hear water
running。 Was he brushing his teeth？ ？They were slobbering all over themselves； the greedy
bastards。？
？Brown and Columbia？ Really？？ Dan repeated in disbelief。 Ahead of him the sidewalk；
shopfronts； and pedestrians suddenly all blurred together into a slow…moving； oceanic mass。 ？Are
you sure it was them？ Columbia and Brown？？
？As sure as my piss is still yellow；？ Rufus answered blithely。
Usually Dan blanched at his father？s crudeness； but right now he was too preoccupied with his
own success。 Maybe being a published poet wouldn？t be such a bad thing after all。 Ahead of him
the black metal doors of Riverside Prep？s upper…school entrance loomed before him。 ？Hey Dad； I
have to get to class； but thanks for calling。 Thank you foreverything ；？ he gushed with a rush of
affection for his belligerent old dad。
？That？s all right； kid。 Don？t let this go to your head； though；？ Rufus joked； unable to hide the
pride in his gruff voice。 ？Remember； poets are a humble bunch。？
？I？ll remember；？ Dan promised earnestly。 ？Thanks again； Dad。？
He clicked off and pushed open the school doors； waving to Aggie； the ancient front…desk
receptionist who wore a different wig every day of the week； as he signed in。 His cell phone
beeped and he realized he？d missed a call while he？d been talking to his father。 Cell phones were
forbidden during school hours； but first period had already begun and the halls were empty。
Trudging up the concrete stairs on the way to the chemistry lab； he called his voice…mail。
？Daniel Humphrey； this is Rusty Klein from Klein； Lowenstein & Schutt。 I read your poem
inThe New Yorker and； assuming you don？t have an agent yet； I？m going to represent you。 I？ve
got you on the guest list for the Better Than Naked show Friday night。 Let？s talk then。 You may
not know it yet； but you？re hot shit； Daniel。 The public needs a serious young poet to make them
feel worthless and superficial。 And now that we？ve got their attention； we？d sure as hell better
keep the momentum going。 You？re the next Keats； and we？re going to make you so famous so fast；
you？ll think you were born that way。 Looking forward to it。 Ciao！？
Dan wobbled outside the door of the chemistry lab as he listened to Rusty Klein？s loud；
breathless message for a second time。 He？d heard of Rusty Klein。 She was the agent who？d
negotiated the million…dollar book deal for the Scottish jockey who？d claimed to be Prince Charles？
illegitimate son。 Dan had read about it in theNew York Post 。 He had no idea what the Better Than
Naked show was； but it was pretty cool of Rusty to put him on the guest list for it when they？d
never even met。 He also loved being called the next Keats。 Keats was one of his major influences；
and if Rusty Klein could recognizethat after reading only one of his poems； he definitely wanted
her to represent him。
Tucking his phone back into his bag； he pulled out his copy ofThe New Yorker again。 This time
he turned to the Contributors page； reading his short bio before he turned to his poem on page
forty…two。 He read the poem from start to finish； no longer ashamed to see his own work in print。
Rusty Klein thought he was good？Rusty Klein！ So maybe it was true。 Maybe hewas good。 He
looked up and peeked through the little window in the chemistry lab door at the row of boys？
heads； all lined up like chess pieces facing the blackboard。 School suddenly seemed so trivial。 He
was on to phenomenally bigger and infinitely better things！
Suddenly the lab door swung open and the bizarrely short Mr。 Schindledecker stood gazing up at
Dan； wearing an ugly double…breasted suit and pulling on his wiry brown mustache。 ？Are you
planning to join us； Mr。 Humphrey； or would you rather stay out here and watch through the
window？？
Dan rolled up his copy ofThe New Yorker and tucked it under his arm。 ？I think I？ll join you；？ he
replied； stepping inside the lab and walking calmly to a seat at the back of the room。 How strange。
Dan never did anything calmly； and he？d barely recognized his voice when he？d spoken just now；
for in it was a brazen note of cockiness； as if something new inside of him had blossomed and was
ready to be let loose。
It was like that line in the Keats poem； ？Why Did I Laugh Tonight？？Verse； Fame； and Beauty are
intense indeed。 。 。 。
And Dan was definitely feeling it。
the scoop on the stoop
？Let？s go outside and smoke cigarettes；？ Elise whispered in Jenny？s ear as they headed down to
the cafeteria for recess； Constance Billard？s 11A。M。 juice…and…cookies break。 Only
second…semester seniors were allowed to leave school during recess； so she was very clearly
proposing something pletely illegal。
Jenny stopped on the stairs。 ？I didn？t know you smoked。？
Elise unzipped the small outside pocket of her beige Kenneth Cole backpack and pulled a pack of
Marlboro Lights halfway out。 ？Only every once and a while；？ she replied； pushing the pack back
inside in case a teacher came down the stairs。 ？Are you ing？？
Jenny hesitated。 If the receptionist noticed them leaving； she might yell at them and then call
their homeroom teacher or even their parents。 ？How？？？
？Let？s justgo ；？ Elise urged； tugging on Jenny？s hand。 She started to run down the stairs； pulling
Jenny after her。 ？Go； go；go ！？
Jenny held her breath as she followed Elise downstairs and sprinted across the red…carpeted
reception hall toward the front doors。 Trina； the school receptionist； was barking into her headset
and sorting the mail at the same time。 She didn？t even notice the two freshman girls streak past
without stopping to sign out。
Blair sat alone on the East Ninety…fourth Street stoop favored by the Constance Billard senior
girls； furiously smoking a Merit Ultra Light and running through the college interview questions
she？d been prepared to answer since October。 There were only two days left until her interview
with Owen Wells； and she absolutely refused to fuck this one up。
Tell me about your interests。 What kinds of things are you involved in after school？
I？m president of the French club and the social services board at school。 I？m also a peer group
leader； counseling freshmen on social issues。 I？m nationally ranked in tennis？I play all summer；
but only twice a week during the winter。 I volunteer in soup kitchens whenever I can。 I also chair
the organizing mittees for about eight charity functions a year。 We were going to do a
Valentine？s Day ball this Sunday to benefit Little Hearts； a charity for children with heart
problems； but the ball got canceled because of Fashion Week。 We were worried no one would
e。 I sent a letter to everyone on the guest list and still raised almost 300；000。 Fundraising has
always been one of my particular strengths； and I definitely plan to volunteer my services at Yale。
Blair could just imagine Owen？s eyes widening in impressed surprise。 How could Yalenot accept
her？ She was first class。
A first…class liar is more like it。 The whole soup kitchen thing is pletely bogus； and she？d sort
of skipped the part about the sevenother chairpeople who？d helped raise the money for Little
Hearts。
？Hey Blair！？
Serena was ambling down the sidewalk toward her； wearing black fishnets with a hole in one
knee； her luminous blond hair pulled up in a messy bun。 For some girls this would have been a
very white…trash moment； but for Serena it was an
I…can…get…away…with…this…because…I…look…good…in…anything moment。 A cab rushed down the street
and the driver whistled out the window and honked as he drove by。 Serena was so used to the
sound of men whistling and cars honking； she never even bothered to turn around。
She sat down next to Blair and pulled a crumpled turquoise…colored pack of American Spirits out
of her pocket。 She？d started smoking them when she and Aaron had gotten together； because they
were supposed to be all natural and additive…free。
As if there？s suc