they were hanging around her neck on a gold chain and slid them
onto her nose so she could examine Serena’s schedule； which was
lying on her desk。 “Let’s see； now。 Mmmm。 Yes。 Right；” she
muttered； reading the schedule over。
Serena sat in front of Ms。 Glos； with her legs crossed； waiting
patiently。 There were no diplomas on Ms。 Glos’s wall； no evidence of
any accreditations at all； just pictures of her grandchildren。 Serena
wondered if Ms。 Glos had even gone to college。 You would have
thought that if she were going to dish out advice on the subject； she
could have at least tried it。
Ms。 Glos cleared her throat。 “Yes； well； your schedule is perfectly
acceptable。 Not stellar； mind you； but adequate。 I imagine you’re
making up for it with extracurriculars； yes？”
Serena shrugged her shoulders。 If you can call drinking Pernod and
dancing naked on a beach in Cannes an extracurricular。 “Not
really；” she said。 “I mean； I’m not actually signed up for any
extracurriculars at the moment。”
Ms。 Glos let her glasses drop。 Her nostrils were turning very red and
Serena wondered if she was about to have a bloody nose。 Ms。 Glos
was famous for her bloody noses。 Her skin was very pale； with a
yellowish tinge。 All the girls thought she had some terrible
contagious disease。
“No extracurriculars？ But what are you doing to improve yourself？”
Serena gave Ms。 Glos a polite； blank look。
Who said she needed improving？
“I see。 Well； we’ll have to get you involved in something； won’t we？”
Ms。 Glos said。 “I’m afraid the colleges aren’t going to even look at
you without any extracurriculars。” She bent over and pulled a big
looseleaf binder out of a drawer in her desk and began flipping
through pages and pages of flyers printed on colored paper。 “Here’s
something that starts this week。 ‘Feng Shui Flowers； the Art of Floral
Design。’ ”
She looked up at Serena； who was frowning doubtfully。 “No； you’re
right。 That’s not going to get you into Harvard； is it？” Ms。 Glos said
with a little laugh。
She pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and frowned at the binder
as she flipped briskly through the pages。 She wasn’t about to give
up after only one try。 She was very good at her job。
Serena gnawed on her thumbnail。 She hadn’t thought about this。
That colleges would actually need her to be anything more than she
already was。 And she definitely wanted to go to college。 A good
one。 Her parents certainly expected her to go to one of the best
schools。 Not that they put any pressure on her—but it went without
saying。 And the more Serena thought about it； the more she
realized she really didn’t have anything going for her。 She’d been
kicked out of boarding school； her grades had fallen； she had no
idea what was going on in any of her classes； and she had no
hobbies or cool after…school activities。 Her SAT scores sucked
because her mind always wandered during those stupid fill…in…thebubble
tests。 And when she took them again； they would probably
suck even worse。 Basically； she was screwed。
“What about drama？ Your English grades are quite good； you must
like drama；” Ms。 Glos suggested。 “They’ve only been rehearsing this
one for a little over a week。 It’s the Interschool Drama Club doing a
modern version of Gone With the Wind。” She looked up again。 “How
’bout it？”
Serena jiggled her foot up and down and chewed on her pinky nail。
She tried to imagine herself alone on stage playing Scarlett O’Hara。
She would have to cry on cue； and pretend to faint； and wear huge
dresses with corsets and hoop skirts。 Maybe even a wig。
I’ll never go hungry again！ she’d cry dramatically； in her best
Southern…belle voice。 It might be kind of fun。
Serena took the flyer from Ms。 Glos’s hand； careful not to touch the
paper where Ms。 Glos had touched it。
“Sure； why not？” she said。 “It sounds like fun。”
Serena left Ms。 Glos’s office as the final class of the day was getting
out。 Gone With the Wind rehearsal was in the auditorium； but it
didn’t begin until six so that the students who did sports right after
school could still be in the play。 Serena walked up Constance’s wide
central stairwell to the fourth floor to retrieve her coat from her
locker and see if anyone wanted to hang out until six。 All around
her； girls were flying past； a blur of end…of…the…day energy； rushing
to their next meeting； practice； rehearsal； or club。 Out of habit； they
paused for half a second to say hello to Serena； because ever since
they could remember； to be seen talking to Serena van der
Woodsen was to be seen。
“Hey Serena；” Laura Salmon yelled before diving down the stairs for
Glee Club in the basement music room。
“Later； Serena；” Rain Hoffstetter said； as she slipped past in her
gym shorts； heading for soccer practice。
“See you tomorrow； Serena；” Lily Reed said softly； blushing because
she was wearing her riding breeches； which always embarrassed
her。
“Bye；” Carmen Fortier said； chewing gum in her leather jacket and
jeans。 She was one of the few scholarship girls in the junior class
and lived in the Bronx。 She claimed she couldn’t wear her uniform
home or she’d get beaten up。 Carmen was headed to the Art of
Floral Design Club； although she always lied to her friends in her
neighborhood and said she took karate。
Suddenly the hallway was empty。 Serena opened her locker； pulled
her Burberry coat off the hook； and put it on。 Then she slammed her
locker shut and trotted downstairs and out the school doors； turning
left down Ninety…third Street toward Central Park。
There was a box of orange Tic Tacs in her pocket with only one Tic
Tac left。 Serena fished the Tic Tac out and put it on her tongue； but
she was so worried about her future； she could barely taste it。
She crossed Fifth Avenue； walking along the sidewalk that bordered
the park。 Fallen leaves scattered the pavement。 Down the block；
two little Sacred Heart girls in their cute red…and…white checked
pinafores were walking an enormous black Rottweiler。 Serena
thought about entering the park at Eighty…ninth Street and sitting
down for a while to kill time before the play rehearsal。 But alone？
What would she do； people…watch？ She had always been one of
those people everyone else watches。
So she went home。
Home was 994 Fifth Avenue； a ritzy； white…glove building next to the
Stanhope Hotel and directly across the street from the Metropolitan
Museum of Art。 The van der Woodsens owned half of the top floor。
Their apartment had fourteen rooms； including five bedrooms with
private bathrooms； a maid’s apartment； a ballroom…sized living
room； and two seriously cool lounges with wet bars and huge
entertainment systems。
When Serena got home the enormous apartment was empty。 Her
parents were rarely home。 Her father ran the same Dutch shipping
firm his great…great…grandfather had founded in the 1700s。 Both her
parents were on the boards of all the big charities and arts
organizations in the city and always had meetings or lunches or
fundraisers to go to。 Deidre； the maid； was out shopping； but the
place was spotless and there were vases of fresh cut flowers in
every room； including the bathrooms。
Serena slid open the door to the smaller of the lounges and flopped
down on her favorite blue velvet armchair。 She picked up the
remote control and pressed the buttons to open the TV cabinet and
turn on the flat…screen TV。 She flipped through the channels
impatiently； unable to focus on anything she saw； finally settling on
TRL； even though she thought Carson Daly was the most annoying
man alive。 She hadn’t been watching much TV lately。 At boarding
school； her dormmates would make popcorn and hot chocolate and
watch Saturday Night Live or Jackass in their pajamas； but Serena
preferred to slip away to drink peach schnapps and smoke cigars
with the boys in the chapel basement。
But what bothered her most now was not Carson Daly or even the
fact that she was sitting alone in her house with nothing to do； but
the thought that she might spend the rest of her life doing just that
—watching TV alone in her parents’ apartment—if she didn’t get her
act together and get into college！ Why was she so stupid？ Everyone
else seemed to have their shit together。 Had she missed the all
important “it’s time to get your shit together” talk？ Why hadn’t
anyone warned her？
Well； there was no point in freaking out。 She still had time。 And she
could still have fun。 She didn’t have to bee a nun just because
she was joining the Interschool Drama Club； or whatever。
Serena clicked the TV off and wandered into the kitchen。 The van
der Woodsens’ kitchen was massive。 Glass cabinets lined the walls
above gleaming； stainless…steel counter tops。 There were two
restaurant stoves and three Sub…Zero refrigerators。 An enormous
butcher…block table stood in the center of the kitchen； and on the
table was today’s pile of mail。
Serena picked up the mail and sifted through it。 Mostly； there were
invitations for her parents—white square envelopes printed with
old…fashioned typefaces—to balls； benefit dinners； fundraisers； and
auctions。 Then there were the art openings—postcards with a
picture of the artist’s work on one side and the details of the
opening on the back。 One of these caught Serena’s eye。 It had
obviously been lost in the mail for a little while； because it looked
beaten up； and the opening it announced was beginning at 4 P。M。
on Wednesday； which was 。 。 。 right now。 Serena flipped the card
over and looked at the picture of the artist’s work。 It looked like a
close…up black…and…white photograph of an eye； tinted with pink。
The title of the work was Kate Moss。 And the name of the show was
“Behind the Scene。” Serena squinted at the picture。 There was
something innocent and beautiful about it； and at the same time it
was a little gross。 Maybe it wasn’t an eye。 She wasn’t sure what it
was。 It was definitely cool； though。 There was no question about it；
Serena knew what she was doing for the next two hours。
She flew into her bedroom； whipped off her maroon uniform； and
pulled on her favorite pair of black leather jeans。 Then she grabbed
her coat and called the elevator。 Within minutes she was stepping
out of a taxi in front of the Whitehot Gallery downtown in Chelsea。
The minute she got there； Serena grabbed a free gin martini and
signed the guest list。 The gallery was full of twenty…something
hipsters in cool clothes； drinking free martinis and admiring the
photographs hanging on the walls。 Each picture was similar to the
one on the postcard； that same close…up black…and…white eye； blown
up； all in different shapes and sizes and tinted with different colors。
Under each one was a label； and on every label was the name of a
celebrity： Kate Moss； Kate Hudson； Joaquin Phoenix； Jude Law；
Gisele Bundchen； Cher； Eminem； Christina Aguilera； Madonna； Elton
John。
French pop music bubbled out of invisible speakers。 The photo
artists themselves； the Remi brothers； identical twin sons of a