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

Yuck.
“Oh!” Eleanor Waldorf squealed, patting her blown-out blond bob.
Blair’s mother was wearing the fitted, graphite-beaded cashmere
dress that Blair had helped her pick out from Armani, and little
black velvet mules. A year ago she wouldn’t have fit into the dress,
but she had lost twenty pounds since she met Cyrus. She looked
fantastic. Everyone thought so.
“She does look thinner,” Blair heard Mrs. Bass whisper to Mrs.
Coates. “But I’ll bet she’s had a chin tuck.”
“I bet you’re right. She’s grown her hair out—that’s the telltale sign.
It hides the scars,” Mrs. Coates whispered back.
The room was abuzz with snatches of gossip about Blair’s mother
and Cyrus Rose. From what Blair could hear, her mother’s friends
felt exactly the same way she did, although they didn’t exactly use
words like annoying, fat, or loser.
“I smell Old Spice,” Mrs. Coates whispered to Mrs. Archibald. “Do
you think he’s actually wearing Old Spice?”
That would be the male equivalent of wearing Impulse body spray,
which everyone knows is the female equivalent of nasty.
“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Archibald whispered back. “But I think he might
be.” She snatched a cod-and-caper spring roll off Esther’s platter,
popped it into her mouth, and chewed it vigorously, refusing to say
anything more. She couldn’t bear for Eleanor Waldorf to overhear
them. Gossip and idle chat were amusing, but not at the expense of
an old friend’s feelings.
Bullshit! Blair would have said if she could have heard Mrs.
Archibald’s thoughts. Hypocrite! All of these people were terrible
gossips. And if you’re going to do it, why not enjoy it?
Across the room, Cyrus grabbed Eleanor and kissed her on the lips
in full view of everyone. Blair shrank away from the revolting sight
of her mother and Cyrus acting like geeky teens with a crush and
turned to look out the penthouse window at Fifth Avenue and
Central Park. The fall foliage was on fire. A lone bicyclist rode out of
the Seventy-second Street entrance to the park and stopped at the
hot-dog vendor on the corner to buy a bottle of water. Blair had
never noticed the hot-dog vendor before, and she wondered if he
always parked there, or if he was new. It was funny how much you
could miss in what you saw every day.
Suddenly Blair was starving, and she knew just what she wanted: A
hot dog. She wanted one right now—a steaming hot Sabrette hot
dog with mustard and ketchup and onions and sauerkraut—and she
was going to eat it in three bites and then burp in her mother’s
face. If Cyrus could stick his tongue down her mother’s throat in
front of all of her friends, then she could eat a stupid hot dog.