gossip girl 7 英文-第9部分

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uninteresting…just　like　everything　else　in　her　closet。　Serena's　clothes　were　always　so　perfectly　
frayed；　faded　and　worn；　belying　the　colorful　and　mysterious　history　of　their　wearer。　Jenny　couldn't　
help　but　wonder　whether　her　own　clothes　would　fade　and　develop　character　too　if　she　got　kicked　
out　of　Constance　and　sent　to　boarding　school。　

〃Ever　thought　about　going　to　boarding　school？〃　Jenny　wondered　out　loud。　

Elise　made　a　face。　〃Eat　school　food　three　meals　a　day　and　live　with　your　teachers？　No　way。〃　

Jenny　frowned。　That　wasn't　how　she　pictured　boarding　school　at　all。　In　her　mind　boarding　school　
meant　freedom：　from　her　manic…depressive　Mr。　Poet　Rock　God　brother；　from　her　manically　
overprotective　and　embarrassingly　unkempt　dad；　from　Constance　Billard's　horrendous　school　
uniforms；　from　her　dusty　old　bedroom；　and　from　the　everyday　boringness　of　doing　the　same　old　
same　old　now　and　for　the　next　three　years。　It　also　meant　opportunity：　to　live　and　go　to　school　with　
boys；　boys；　boys　and　to　be…　the　girl　no　one　could　stop　talking　about。　

Rufus　poked　his　head　in　the　door；　not　even　thinking　about　the　fact　that　Jenny　was　no　longer　five　
years　old　and　might　be　pletely　naked　or　something。　His　unruly　hair　was　tied　in　a　ponytail　with　
a　piece　of　the　bright　blue　plastic　bag　the　New　york　Times　was　delivered　in　every　morning。　〃You　
girls　want　me　to　help　you　get　a　cab？〃　he　asked　with　cheerful　concern。　

Jenny　could　tell　her　dad　was　dying　to　go　to　Dan's　gig　with　them；　but　tonight　was　his　monthly　
anarchist　writers'　workshop…　the　only　thing　he　took　as　seriously　as　raising　his　children；　even　


though　none　of　his　writing　had　ever　been　published。　

〃That's　okay；　Dad。〃　Jenny　smiled　sweetly；　daring　him　to　say　something　rude　about　her　sexy　gold　
sandals。　〃Ready？〃　she　asked　Elise。　

Elise　smeared　an　extra　layer　of　Jenny's　favorite　MAC　Ice　lip　gloss　on　her　already　shinny　lips。　
〃Ready；〃　she　responded。　

〃You　two　look　so。。。〃　Rufus　tugged　on　his　straggly　beard；　struggling　for　the　right　adjective。　
〃Grown…up；〃　he　said　at　last。　

Yeah；　but　we're　not　exactly　models…who…date…rock…stars　material；　Jenny　thought　as　the　two　girls　
contemplated　their　reflections　in　mirror。　Elise　had　on　way　too　much　lip　gloss；　and　Jenny　kinda　
wished　that　her　Kors　sandals　weren't　totally　flat；　so　she'd　at　least　appear　taller。　After　all；　she　wasn't　
going　to　the　gig　to　see　Dan。　She　wanted　to　meet　Damian　Polk　and　the　rest　of　the　band；　and　she　
wanted　to　make　an　impression。　

Jenny　stood　on　tiptoe　and　then　eased　her　heels　back　into　her　shoes　again。　〃Lucky　we're　on　the　
guest　list；〃　she　sighed；　〃or　they'd　never　let　us　in。〃　

Actually　with　a　chest　like　that　she　could　probably　get　in　anywhere。　But　let　her　find　out　for　herself。　

V　CAN　BE　SUCH　A　GIRL　SOMETIMES　

〃What　the　fuck？〃　Vanessa　demanded。　How　had　she　missed　them　after　all　these　years　she　had　no　
idea。　She　twisted　her　head　around　and　checked　her　reflection　in　the　bathroom　mirror　once　again。　
They　were；　four　big　brown　moles；　all　lined　up　on　her　neck　behind　her　ear　like　some　kind　of　
fucked…up　constellation。　She　felt　like　a　girl　in　a　Clearasil　mercial；　panicking　because　she'd　
gotten　a　zit　right　before　going　out　on　a　date。　Zits　were　temporary；　though。　The　moles　were　there　to　
stay。　Who　in　her　right　mind　would　keep　her　head　shaved　with　moles　like　that　on　her　neck？　


She　yanked　open　a　drawer　beneath　the　bathroom　sink；　looking　for　some　of　that　skin…colored　
cover…up　crap　her　sister　Ruby　put　under　her　eyes　when　she'd　been　up　all　night。　She　found　a　stick　of　
something　called　Peekaboo　that　was　a　little　pinker　than　her　natural　skin　tone　but　good　enough。　She　
dabbed　some　over　the　moles；　rubbed　it　in；　and　examined　the　results。　Now　she　looked　like　she　had　
poison　ivy；　or　poison　neck。　She　considered　pasting　a　Band…Aid　across　the　whole　area；　but　she　
didn't　have　one　big　enough　to　cover　all　four　of　the　moles；　and　a　Band…Aid　would　only　draw　
attention　to　the　problem。　She　washed　off　the　cover…up　and　then　dug　around　in　the　drawer；　looking　
for　something　that　might　distract　Beverly　from　the　hideous　deformities　on　her　neck。　

As　if　the　still…healing　lip　piercing　on　her　upper　lip　wasn't　distracting　enough。　Beverly　had　been　
polite　enough　not　to　mention　it　before；　but　now　that　they　were　getting　to　know　each　other；　he　
might　ask　if　the　crusty　sore　beneath　that　silver　D…ring　actually　hurt。　

And　why　would　Beverly　even　want　to　check　out　her　neck？　They　were　only　going　to　the　Raves　gig　
together…　just　hanging　out　to　see　if　they'd　mind　cohabitating；　as　in　roommates；　not　lovers　who　
looked　at　each　other's　necks。　Besides；　Beverly　was　an　artist。　He　might　think　her　moles　were　cool。　

A　sample　vial　of　perfume　called　Certainty　was　rolling　around　in　the　bottom　of　the　messy　vanity　
drawer。　It　sounded　like　a　name　of　a　tampon　or　a　pregnancy　test；　but　Vanessa　eased　the　little　black　
cap　off　the　vial　and　dabbed　some　perfume　on　her　wrists　and　temples　anyway。　Certainty　smelled　
musky　and　powerful　and　might　be　so　distracting　to　Beverly　that　he　wouldn't　even　notice　her　
disgusting　configuration　of　neck　moles。　Maybe　it　would　even　work　some　sort　of　magic。　She　would　
walk　into　the　club　where　Dan　and　the　Raves　were　playing；　Dan　would　turn　purple　with　a　mixture　
of　desire；　regret；　and　mad　jealousy；　and　Beverly　would　feel　immediately　certain　about　wanting　to　
live　with　her。　As　a　friend；　of　course。　

Of　course。　

IT　SUCKS　WHEN　YOUR　MOOD　AND　YOUR　OUTFIT　DON'T　MATCH　

〃Sure　you're　all　right；　man？〃　Damian　asked　for　the　second　time　through　the　locked　bathroom　stall　
door。　


〃Yep；〃　Dan　called　back　from　the　other　side　of　the　door；　praying　that　Damian　and　the　rest　of　the　
band　would　think　this　was　just　his　usual　pre…gig　behavior　and　go　back　to　playing　poker　and　
knocking　back　Stoli　shots　or　whatever　they　were　doing　backstage。　

〃All　right；　then。　See　you　in　a　few；〃　Damian　replied。　〃Nice　shoelaces；〃　he　added　before　leaving　the　
bathroom。　

Perched　on　top　of　the　toilet　seat　lid；　Dan　stared　woefully　down　at　his　new　sneakers　and　the　
absurdly　wide　pant　legs　that　nearly　covered　them。　Yesterday　he'd　wandered　into　555　Soul　on　
Broadway　in　SoHo　and　let　a　sales　guy　talk　him　into　a　pletely　new　performance　wardrobe。　Big　
yellow…and…black　two…tone　T…shirt；　insanely　huge　and　baggy　gray　rip…stop　pants　with　drawstrings　
and　toggles　and　pockets　all　over　them；　black　canvas　Converse　sneakers　with　yellow　laces；　and　a　
khaki…colored　truckers'　hat　with　a　picture　of　yellow　YEILD　sign　on　it。　That　hat　kept　his　wild；　
shaggy　hair　under　control　and　revealed　his　shaved　neck；　making　him　look　more　menacing　than　
he'd　ever　thought　possible。　In　fact；　with　his　new　outfit；　he　kinda　looked　like　a　shorter；　skinnier　
Eminem。　Which　was　not　really　the　look　he　wanted　at　all。　

None　of　the　guys　in　his　band　had　mented　on　his　outfit　when　he　showed　up；　but　then　again　he　
hadn't　really　given　them　time。　One　look　at　the　huge　line　forming　outside　the　club　and　the　
instruments　and　microphones　set　up　on　the　stage　inside　had　sent　him　rushing　to　the　bathroom　to　
puke　his　guts　out。　He'd　been　locked　in　a　stall　ever　since。　

If　only　he　had　a　lucky　talisman　like　a　handmade　silver　belt　buckle　or　a　shark　tooth　necklace　the　
way　most　legendary　rock　singers　probably　did。　He　could　don　his　lucky　whatever…it…was；　his　
nervousness　would　disappear；　and　he'd　perform　with　plete　abandon；　driving　the　crowd　insane。　
Instead；　he　just　sat　on　the　toilet　in　the　club's　garish　pea…green…painted　men's　room　and　smoked　his　
lucky　Camels…　about　forty　of　them…　feeling　progressively　sicker　and　sicker。　

All　of　a　sudden　the　men's　room　door　creaked　open　and　the　scuffed　toes　of　Damian's　black　work　
boots　appeared　under　the　stall　door　once　more。　〃have　a　taste　and　you'll　be　all　right；〃　he　advised；　
shoving　an　upopened　bottle　of　Stoli　under　the　door。　

Dan　took　the　bottle。　If　he　was　going　top　perform　tonight　he'd　need　to　feel　as　fly　as　his　outfit。　He　
opened　it　and　took　a　swig。　His　stomach　felt　so　bottomless　and　endless；　it　was　like　pouring　a　
teaspoon　of　vodka　into　an　empty　well。　He　took　another　swig　and　wiped　his　mouth　on　the　back　of　
his　hand。　

〃See　you　in　a　few　then；　yeah？〃　Damian　said　again。　〃You　might　want　to　lose　the　hat；　though；〃　he　
added　gently　before　leaving　the　men's　room。　

The　Raves　were　all　about　not　having　a　look　and　not　trying　too　hard。　Most　of　them　still　wore　
clothes　their　moms　had　bought　them　in　prep　school…　Lacoste　polo　shirts；　Brooks　Brothers　khakis…　
paired　with　something　cool　and　absurdly　expensive；　like　a　custom…made　kidskin　trench　coat　from　


Dolce　&　Gabbana。　But　Dan's　mom　had　fled　to　the　Czech　Republic　with　some　balding；　horny　count　
before　he'd　even　started　high　school；　so　he　didn't　even　own　any　polo　shirts　or　khakis；　only　the　
clothes　he　picked　out　for　himself　and　paid　for　with　the　barely　adequate　clothing　allowance　Rufus　
gave　him。　He　could　feel　his　panic　mounting。　Who　was　going　to　want　to　listen　to　a　sick；　skinny　
high…school　kid　with　a　shaved　neck　wearing　fashion…disaster　yellow…and…black　shoes？　

You'd　be　surprised。　

YOU'RE　BEAUTIFUL　AND　YOUR　MOTHER　DRESSES　YOU　FUNNY　

Skirt；　shirt；　bra；　underwear；　shoes；　watch；　pearl　choker；　pearl　earrings…　Serena　stared　at　the　clothes　
her　mom　had　laid　out　neatly　on　the　end　of　her　canopy　bed。　Everything　her　mom　had　chosen　was　
gray　or　navy　blue；　which　just　happened　to　be　Yale　University's　colors。　

Hello；　dorkdom！　Did　she　really　need　her　mom　to　pick　out　her　clothes？　How　old　was　she；　anyway…　
five？　

Her　parents　were　in　their　suite　of　rooms；　getting　ready　for　Yale's　University　Yale　Loves　New　York　
party　for　ining　freshmen　from　New　York　City　at　Stanford　Parris　III's　apartment　on　Park　
Avenue　and　Eighty…Fourth　Street。　For　them　it　was　just　another　cocktail　party…　a　chance　to　mingle　
with　the　parents　of　the　children　their　own　children　had　gone　to　school　and　tennis　lessons　and　SAT　
prep　with　for　most　of　their　lives。　No　one　would　know　each　other　intimately；　but　everyone　would　
know　everyone。　People　like　the　van　der　Woodsens　thought　of　everyone　in　their　circle　as　their　
dearest　friends；　but　how　intimate　did　you　really　want　to　be　with　someone　like　Stanford　Parris　III？　

〃Are　you　almost　ready；　dear？〃　Serena　heard　her　mother　call　out　to　her。　

〃Yeah；〃　she　called　back；　feeling　stubborn　and　grumpy　and　annoyed。　After　all；　she　could　have　been　
on　her　way　to　the　Raves　gig　right　now　instead　of　to　another　totally　boring　and　useless　party　with　
her　parents。　Ignoring　the　outfit　her　mother　had　selected　for　her；　she　sat　down　in　front　of　her　IMac　
and　logged　on。　Most　of　the　e…mails　were　from　fashion　houses　like　launch　a　signature　fragrance　or　
shoe；　but　a　new　message　from　someone　at　Brown　topped　the　list；　followed　by　a　message　from　


Harvard；　and　one　from　Princeton。　


To：　SvW@vanderWoodsen。　
From：　apainter@brown。edu　
Carina　Serena；　
I　used　to　paint　faceless　angels　and　hands　without　bodies。　I　used　to　be　dead。　Now　my　art　has　a　face；　


and　to　have　you　here　at　Brown　next　year…oh　living；　breathing　muse！　…would　be　my　resurrection。　
I　kneel　at　your　feet。　
Christian　


P。S　There　is　a　rumor　you　are　engaged　to　that　madman　lead　guitarist　in　the　Raves。　My　love；　I　pray　
this　is　only　a　rumor。　
To：　SvW@vanderWoodsen。　
From：　bboy@harvarduniversity。edu　

Dear　S