You're the One That I Want Read Online Free Page B

French club. She was a ranked tennis player. Her entire high-school career--practically her whole life--she'd been working toward getting into Yale. Her father had gone there. His father had gone there. Her great-uncle had donated two buildings and a playing field. Serena had been kicked out of boarding school that fall. She took no APs at all, did hardly any extracurriculars, was pur-ported to have mediocre grades and even lower SAT scores than Nate. Serena's dad had gone to Princeton and Brown, two of Yale's biggest competitors. Still, Yale had accepted Serena and stuck Blair on their fucking wait list! Was there something Serena knew that she didn't even after twelve two-hour sessions with Ms. Glos, the uptight, wig-wearing Constance Billard School senior guidance counselor, and one hundred and fourteen weeks of SAT prep??

    "I probably won't even go," Serena faltered in an attempt to play things down. "I have to ... you know . . . visit all the schools before I decide." She gathered her luxurious blond hair on top of her head and frowned. "Maybe I won't even go to college right away. I could stay in the city and try to do some acting or something."

    Blair scooted off the bed, scattering her pile of rejection letters. So Serena got into Yale, but she didn't even really want to go there? "What the fuck?!" she cried, sloshing vodka all over the natural-sea-grass mat beneath her feet.

    Serena collected her letters and held them behind her back. "What about the other schools? You must have-All of a sudden Blair's stepbrother, Aaron Rose, poked his smug, dreadlocked Rasta, into-Harvard-early-admission head into the room. "I thought I heard shouting." He squinted at the letters in Serena's hand. "Accepted at Harvard!" He walked into the room and held his hand up to give her a high five. "Nice!" He grinned over at Blair. "Wuzzabout you, sis?"

    Blair wasn't sure whether to kill them both or kill herself. "I'm not your sister," she spat back. She slammed the half-empty vodka bottle down on the top of Aaron's organically grown beechwood dresser, nearly breaking the glass bottle. "But since you're both obviously so interested, I got fucking wait-listed at Yale. The only place that accepted me is Georgetown. Fucking stupid-ass Georgetown."

    Serena and Aaron stared at her for a moment, their eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and fear of the Mighty Wrath of Blair.

    "That's not so bad," Serena murmured finally. She didn't know much about Georgetown, but she'd met some cute boys who went there, and it might be kind of cool to live in the same city as the president. "I'm sure Yale is just playing hard to get. And if you don't wind up getting in, at least you have backup."

    It was easy for Serena to talk about backup when her backup schools were Harvard and Brown. Blair stuffed her feet back into her new dove gray Eugenia Kim flats and snatched her black DKNY zip-up cardigan off the bed.

    "Come on, Blair, don't be such sore loser. New Haven's a dump anyway. You'd probably hate it there." Aaron hooked his guitar-playing-callused thumbs into the pockets of his army green cargo pants. "At least they have a Prada in DC."

    Of course the only thing Blair had heard him say was the word loser.

    "Fuck off," she hissed to both of them as she stomped out the door on her way over to Nate's house. Chances were Nate had only been accepted at some lame stoner school like Hobart or UNH. At least he could sympathize.

    He'd probably even have sympathy sex. Not that she was even close to being in the mood.

    n's news is too good to share

    No one else was even home, but out of sheer habit, Nate stuffed a rolled-up navy blue Ralph Lauren bath towel into the space between the hardwood floor and his closed bedroom door before sitting down on his green-and-black-plaid bed-spread and lighting up. He took a big hit and then reached for the first envelope in the short stack on his bedside table. He tore it open.

    Congratulations, Mr. Archibald,

    Brown