Novels by Cecily von Ziegesar: Gossip Girl You Know You ... - Weebly

the sides of her mouth and changed hands, clapping the left one
over her mouth and reaching out to shake hands with her right
hand.
“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” the woman said as they
clasped hands. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
Blair nodded and pulled her hand away. Enough was enough. She
couldn’t hold on any longer. Her eyes darted around the crowded
room, desperately seeking help.
There were Kati and Isabel, dancing with each other. There was
Anthony Avuldsen, handing out tabs of E. There was Jeremy Scott
Tompkinson, trying to teach Laura Salmon and Rain Hoffstetter how
to blow smoke rings by the bar. There was Chuck, holding that little
Ginny girl so tight it looked like her boobs might explode.
All the extras were there, but where was her leading man, her
savior?
“Blair?”
She turned around and saw Nate pushing his way through the crowd
toward her. Nate’s eyes were bloodshot, his face slack, his hair
uncombed. He looked more like a forgettable supporting actor than
a leading man.
Was this all there was? Was Nate it?
Blair didn’t have much choice. She opened her eyes wide, silently
asking Nate for help and praying he’d be up to the job.
Ms. Agnelli frowned and turned around to see what Blair was staring
at. Blair made a run for it, and Nate stepped in just in time.
Thank God he was so stoned.
“Nate Archibald,” Nate said, shaking hands with the woman. “My
mother is a big fan of those falcons.”
Ms. Agnelli laughed and blushed a little. What a charming young
man. “Well, of course she is,” she said. “Your family has been very
generous with our foundation.”
Nate plucked two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and
handed one to her. He raised his glass. “To the birds,” he said,
clinking his glass with hers and trying to fend off an outbreak of the
giggles.
Ms. Agnelli blushed again. This boy was too cute!
“Hey, those two girls helped plan the party, too,” Nate said,
pointing at Kati and Isabel, who were standing on the edge of the
dance floor, useless as usual. He waved them over.
“Hello, Nate,” said Kati, tottering over on four-inch stilettos.
Isabel clutched her drink and stared at the strange woman standing
next to Nate. “Hi,” she said. “I love your suit.”
“Thank you, dear. I’m Rebecca Agnelli, from the Central Park Save
the Peregrine Falcons Foundation,” the woman said. She held her