Read Online Nobody Does It Better by Cecily von Ziegesar - Free Book Online
Authors: Cecily von Ziegesar
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doesn't even have to try stuff on, except for maybe shoes.”
Elise put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”
“Wearing in the knees on my jeans,” Jenny replied, still crawling. “Did you hear about Serena and Damian from the Raves?”
Elise nodded. Everyone had heard.
Jenny crawled across the matted pink carpet to her closet to select a pair of shoes. Of course, Serena never had to crawl around like a dog in an attempt to make her jeans look normal. “I don't know how she does it.” She pulled her new Michael Kors gold toe-ring sandals and slid them on. Her dad said the sandals looked like something a belly dancer would wear, but she'd gotten them for free at the W photo shoot, and they were the nicest pair of shoes she owned.
How strange that she'd had that little moment of superstardom- that photo shoot with Serena- and now she was back to being plain old her, a fourteen-going-on fifteen-year-old girl with big ambitions and an even bigger chest. It wasn't like her life's ambition was to quit school at the age of fourteen and become a super model, but it would have been kind of nice if someone asked her to.
Jenny stood up and brushed off the knees of her jeans. They were completely, disappointedly unfaded and, except for the wonky placement of the distressed part of the denim, completely 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 completely 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
Elise put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”
“Wearing in the knees on my jeans,” Jenny replied, still crawling. “Did you hear about Serena and Damian from the Raves?”
Elise nodded. Everyone had heard.
Jenny crawled across the matted pink carpet to her closet to select a pair of shoes. Of course, Serena never had to crawl around like a dog in an attempt to make her jeans look normal. “I don't know how she does it.” She pulled her new Michael Kors gold toe-ring sandals and slid them on. Her dad said the sandals looked like something a belly dancer would wear, but she'd gotten them for free at the W photo shoot, and they were the nicest pair of shoes she owned.
How strange that she'd had that little moment of superstardom- that photo shoot with Serena- and now she was back to being plain old her, a fourteen-going-on fifteen-year-old girl with big ambitions and an even bigger chest. It wasn't like her life's ambition was to quit school at the age of fourteen and become a super model, but it would have been kind of nice if someone asked her to.
Jenny stood up and brushed off the knees of her jeans. They were completely, disappointedly unfaded and, except for the wonky placement of the distressed part of the denim, completely 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 completely 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
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