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

“Hark the herald angels si-ing! Glo-ry to the newborn king! Peace
on Earth and mercy mi-ild, God and sin-ners reconciled.”
Constance ninth grader Jenny Humphrey silently mouthed the
words, sharing with her neighbor the hymnal which Jenny herself
had been commissioned to pen in her exceptional calligraphy. It had
taken all summer, and the hymnals were beautiful. In three years
the Pratt Institute of Art and Design would be knocking her door
down. Still, Jenny felt sick with embarrassment every time they
used the hymnals, which was why she couldn’t sing out loud. To
sing aloud seemed like an act of bravado, as if she were saying,
“Look at me, I’m singing along to the hymnals I made! Aren’t I
cool?”
Jenny preferred to be invisible. She was a curly-haired, tiny little
freshman, so invisible wasn’t a hard thing to be. Actually, it would
have been easier if her boobs weren’t so incredibly huge. At
fourteen, she was a 34D.
Can you imagine?
“Hark the heavenly host proclaims, Christ i-is born in Beth-le-hem!”
Jenny was standing at the end of a row of folding chairs, next to the
big auditorium windows overlooking Ninety-third Street. Suddenly a
movement out on the street caught her eye. Blond hair flying.
Burberry plaid coat. Scuffed brown suede boots. New maroon
uniform—odd choice, but she made it work. It looked like . . . it
couldn’t be . . . could it possibly . . . No! . . . Was it?
Yes, it was.
A moment later Serena van der Woodsen pushed open the heavy
wooden door of the auditorium and stood in front of it, looking for
her class. She was out of breath and her hair was windblown. Her
cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright from running the twelve
blocks up Fifth Avenue to school. She looked even more perfect than
Jenny had remembered.
“Oh. My. God,” Rain whispered to Kati in the back of the room. “Did
she like, pick up her clothes at a homeless shelter on the way
here?”
“She didn’t even brush her hair,” Isabel giggled. “I wonder where
she slept last night.”
Mrs. Weeds ended the hymn with a crashing chord.
Mrs. M cleared her throat. “And now, a moment of silence for those
less fortunate than we are. Especially for the Native Americans that
were slaughtered in the founding of this country, of whom we ask
no hard feelings for celebrating Columbus Day yesterday,” she said.