Read Online Nobody Does It Better by Cecily von Ziegesar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cecily von Ziegesar
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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 commented 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 complete 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.
Gossip Girl 07 - Nobody Does It Better
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 incoming 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
None of the guys in his band had commented 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 complete 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.
Gossip Girl 07 - Nobody Does It Better
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 incoming 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
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