Read Online Don't You Forget About Me by Cecily von Ziegesar - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cecily von Ziegesar
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to invite you all to a momentous occasion, the coming-out party for your dear classmate and my dear son, Daniel Jonah Humphrey. After four years of going to school with Dan, I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for this big day!
Please be our guests in apartment #9D, 815 West End Ave., this Saturday (tomorrow!) at 2 p.m. Food and drink will be served, and it’s sure to be a merry time. But hush-hush—it’s a
surprise
! Whatever you do, don’t tell Daniel!
Hope to see you all on Saturday! Please dress your colorful best for the occasion.
Love and rainbows,
Jeanette (Daniel’s mom)
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Subject: Get ready for your close-up . . .
. . . because it’s showtime!
Due to the fact that even the fuckhead critics love my film, the release date for
BAF
has been moved up to September. Sweetheart, you are about to be a
star
, thanks to me.
That freakworm Bailey Winter is probably peeing himself trying to sew you a choice of couture gowns for the NYC premier next month, lucky girl. You’ll have to wear your own clothes to the press conference, though. You and that queen Thad are scheduled to do press this Tuesday at 5 p.m. in one of those tacky penthouses at SoHo House. Don’t worry, I’ll handle all the questions—I just want you two to sit there look and pretty. Think you can handle it?
See you Tuesday.
KM
honesty is totally overrated
“So,
why
can’t you come over?” Blair couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. She was annoyed. Actually, she was more than just annoyed—she was totally fucking pissed. At Nate, and at pretty much everyone else—
especially
her stupid, traitorous, moving-to-L.A., dysfunctional
mess
of a family.
No, please, tell us how you really feel.
She sprawled out on her stepbrother Aaron’s old bed, rubbing her legs against the all-natural, organic, puke green hemp comforter cover he’d bought at some hippie supply store last winter. Even though Aaron had moved out of the room ages ago—he’d been on a road trip all summer doing God knows what, leaving his bedroom to Blair, since hers had been turned into Yale’s nursery—it still smelled of boy sweat and Mookie, Aaron’s disgusting boxer dog. Then, to make matters worse, Blair’s cat, Kitty Minky, had decided to move in and mark her territory—spraying everything until the whole room reeked of cat pee, wet dog, and the herbal cigarettes Aaron was always smoking. Blair loved her baby sister, but really, did she have to get displaced from her own beautiful bedroom and into this shithole?
“There’s um, some
stuff
I have to get done. It, like, can’t really wait,” Nate mumbled. Blair could always tell when he was lying—he sounded even more incomprehensible than usual. She picked at the rough cloth of the comforter with her French-manicured fingernails. Blair loved surprises, but somehow she didn’t think Nate was hiding anything fun.
“Well, I’ll just come over there then.” She rolled over onto her back and held a strand of shining chestnut-colored hair in front of her face, mentally reminding herself to book an appointment at Warren Tricomi—she desperately needed a trim. The tips were bleached and parched from all the sun and salt water from when she was at sea.
Poor thing.
“No,” Nate answered quickly, “I mean, uh, you can’t come over here.”
Excusez-moi?
They just spent a month together on a boat, totally in love, and now they’d been home for twenty-four hours and he didn’t want to see her? She sat up and impatiently switched the phone from one ear to another. She was probably going to get brain cancer from talking on her cell so much. Then Nate would be sorry.
He’s probably sorry
now.
“I mean,” he stammered, “my bedroom’s being repainted and the fumes are killer.” Blair narrowed her eyes and remained silent. That was about the lamest excuse she’d ever heard.
“I didn’t even know it was scheduled to be done
Please be our guests in apartment #9D, 815 West End Ave., this Saturday (tomorrow!) at 2 p.m. Food and drink will be served, and it’s sure to be a merry time. But hush-hush—it’s a
surprise
! Whatever you do, don’t tell Daniel!
Hope to see you all on Saturday! Please dress your colorful best for the occasion.
Love and rainbows,
Jeanette (Daniel’s mom)
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Subject: Get ready for your close-up . . .
. . . because it’s showtime!
Due to the fact that even the fuckhead critics love my film, the release date for
BAF
has been moved up to September. Sweetheart, you are about to be a
star
, thanks to me.
That freakworm Bailey Winter is probably peeing himself trying to sew you a choice of couture gowns for the NYC premier next month, lucky girl. You’ll have to wear your own clothes to the press conference, though. You and that queen Thad are scheduled to do press this Tuesday at 5 p.m. in one of those tacky penthouses at SoHo House. Don’t worry, I’ll handle all the questions—I just want you two to sit there look and pretty. Think you can handle it?
See you Tuesday.
KM
honesty is totally overrated
“So,
why
can’t you come over?” Blair couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. She was annoyed. Actually, she was more than just annoyed—she was totally fucking pissed. At Nate, and at pretty much everyone else—
especially
her stupid, traitorous, moving-to-L.A., dysfunctional
mess
of a family.
No, please, tell us how you really feel.
She sprawled out on her stepbrother Aaron’s old bed, rubbing her legs against the all-natural, organic, puke green hemp comforter cover he’d bought at some hippie supply store last winter. Even though Aaron had moved out of the room ages ago—he’d been on a road trip all summer doing God knows what, leaving his bedroom to Blair, since hers had been turned into Yale’s nursery—it still smelled of boy sweat and Mookie, Aaron’s disgusting boxer dog. Then, to make matters worse, Blair’s cat, Kitty Minky, had decided to move in and mark her territory—spraying everything until the whole room reeked of cat pee, wet dog, and the herbal cigarettes Aaron was always smoking. Blair loved her baby sister, but really, did she have to get displaced from her own beautiful bedroom and into this shithole?
“There’s um, some
stuff
I have to get done. It, like, can’t really wait,” Nate mumbled. Blair could always tell when he was lying—he sounded even more incomprehensible than usual. She picked at the rough cloth of the comforter with her French-manicured fingernails. Blair loved surprises, but somehow she didn’t think Nate was hiding anything fun.
“Well, I’ll just come over there then.” She rolled over onto her back and held a strand of shining chestnut-colored hair in front of her face, mentally reminding herself to book an appointment at Warren Tricomi—she desperately needed a trim. The tips were bleached and parched from all the sun and salt water from when she was at sea.
Poor thing.
“No,” Nate answered quickly, “I mean, uh, you can’t come over here.”
Excusez-moi?
They just spent a month together on a boat, totally in love, and now they’d been home for twenty-four hours and he didn’t want to see her? She sat up and impatiently switched the phone from one ear to another. She was probably going to get brain cancer from talking on her cell so much. Then Nate would be sorry.
He’s probably sorry
now.
“I mean,” he stammered, “my bedroom’s being repainted and the fumes are killer.” Blair narrowed her eyes and remained silent. That was about the lamest excuse she’d ever heard.
“I didn’t even know it was scheduled to be done
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