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

Chuck handed her a scarf, his trademark blue cashmere,
monogrammed with the letters C.B. “Wrap it around your head,” he
said. “Come on, let’s go.”
Serena took the scarf and followed Chuck out to the elevator. They
rode down in silence. Serena knew Chuck was disappointed that she
was leaving, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t wait to get out into
the fresh air and into her own bed.
A cab pulled up, the Remi brothers’ poster in the box on the cab’s
roof. Serena thought it looked like a close-up photograph of lips
puckered into a kiss.
“What’s that? Mars?” Chuck joked, pointing to it. He glanced at
Serena without a trace of humor in his eyes. “No, it’s your anus!”
Serena blinked at him. She couldn’t tell if Chuck trying to be funny
or if that’s what he actually thought the picture was.
Chuck held the cab door open for her, and she slid into the back
seat.
“Thanks, Chuck,” she said sweetly, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Whatever,” Chuck said. He leaned into the cab and pressed Serena
against the seat. “What’s your problem anyway?” he hissed.
“You’ve been fucking Nate Archibald since tenth grade, and I’m sure
you did just about every guy at boarding school, and in France, too.
What, are you like, too good to give me some?”
Serena stared directly into Chuck’s eyes, seeing him as he really
was for the first time. He’d always been hard to like, but she’d
never actually hated him before.
“That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to do it with you anyway,” Chuck
sneered. “I hear you have diseases.”
“Get away from me,” Serena hissed, putting her hands on his chest
and shoving him away. She slammed the cab door shut in his face,
and gave the driver her address.
As the cab pulled away, Serena hugged herself, staring straight
ahead through the rain-spattered windshield. When the taxi stopped
at a light on the corner of Broadway and Spring, she opened the
door, leaned out, and threw up into the gutter.
That will teach her not to drink on an empty stomach.
Chuck’s scarf swung from her neck and dangled in the puddle of
pink vomit on the pavement. Serena pulled the scarf off, wiped her
mouth on it, and stuffed it into her bag.
“Gross,” she said, slamming the cab door closed again.
“Tissue, miss?” the cab driver offered, passing a box of Kleenex
back to her.
Serena pulled one from the box and wiped her mouth with it.
“Thanks,” she said.
Then she sat back in the seat and closed her eyes, grateful, as