A/N: KRISTEN AND CLAIRE ARE RICH IN THIS STORY!

I think I spend half the year just waiting for New Year's to roll around. Am I the only one who ditches her resolutions two weeks after making them, or gets sick of kissing the same guy after a few months? I think nawt.

And if you are one of those people, New Year's is your time to shine. Think about it: you can make a brand-new list of goals that you're never going to achieve in your lifetime. Just kidding. The real excitement is ditching your boyfriend at Merri-Lee Marvil's internationally recognized New Year's Yves blowout for the hawt new transfer student from Sweden. All you have to do is get him alone in the corner at that fateful moment when 2012 becomes 2013 and you're set. As long as they have the same traditions in Europe as they do here.

In case you've been tanning in a tropical paradise all year long, M, A, D, K, and their on-again, off-again BFF C are the girls who play as hard as they shop, and now that they've torn up every last designer store in the tri-state area, it's time to get down to some serious business. You've heard of them, but you don't have to admit you wish you were part of that select group everyone calls the Pretty Commitee; they already know.

And now that we're out of school for two more weeks, we better take advantage of the little time we have left before we have to slip back into the monotony of tests and homework and early-morning alarms.

SIGHTINGS

M entering Radio City hand-in-hand with D. You think they're actually planning on watching the special, or are they more interested in smooching the night away? A bidding her parents farewell at JFK as they fly off to the Bahamas for their anniversary, then sneaking off to meet J at the mansion she has to herself for an entire month. D slipping into the bathroom at the luxurious Wild Fusion after clearing her entire plate. K practicing with the Soccer Sisters day in and day out. And you can't forget C, who might nawt be as innocent as she seems.

You know you love me,
Gossip Girl

Alicia Rivera watched as her parents' plane disappeared into the night sky. Without shedding a single tear at their departure, she pulled out her shiny new iPhone 5 and dialed Josh Hotz's number.

"Hey, babe." His sexy, lightly accented voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Hey," she replied, trying to make her voice sound sultry, but at the same time light and feminine. "I missed you."

"Me too."

She could just picture her boyfriend on the other end of the line. With shaggy brown hair and warm chocolate-colored eyes, he was all she'd ever wished for in a man. "Meet you at my place in two hours?"

"Perfect," he answered. "See you soon."

"Bye." She slid the phone into her burgundy Hermes pocketbook and headed toward the exit. After shooting a few flirtatious smiles at cute attendants, she left the airport through a sliding glass door and beelined toward the sleek silver Lamborghini that had been her Sweet Sixteen present. After lovingly patting the car's hood, she climbed into the driver's seat, locked the door behind her, and eased the car into gear. Then she exited the main terminal parking lot.

An hour-and-a-half later, Alicia arrived at the Rivera mansion. She pulled her keychain out of her purse and inserted it into the lock. After a quick twist, the door swung open, and she entered her home.

Quickly, she ran up to her room and stripped out of her True Religion dark wash jeans, flat strappy Prada sandals, and beaded Chanel tank top. Then she threw on her favorite Victoria's Secret tanga and matching bra. She twisted her hair into a messy-on-purpose bun, reglossed with Lust by MAC, Josh's favorite, and checked her arms and legs to ensure that not a strand of ugly, dark hair was poking out. Pleased, she flopped into bed, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

Meanwhile, Massie Block was soaking in a La Mer bubble math. She had to look absolutely perfect for Derrick, because she knew this was the night he'd want to go all the way. After ten more minutes of scrubbing every part of her body with her loofah, she shut off the water and stepped daintily out of the tub.

She slipped into the fuzziest bathrobe she owned: a white cashmere Ralph Lauren number, and sat on the floor to do her nails. Normally, she'd ask her personal stylist, Jakkob, to give her a pedicure, but what she wanted right now was perfection. And the only person she trusted to be perfect was herself.

Although she would never admit it, Massie Block was afraid. Attending Sex Ed classes for the past two years had put a damper on the actual event. Now that she thought about it, so many things could go wrong. She could get HIV, or AIDS, or some other terrible disease. Or she might even- gulp -get pregnant. And having a child in her senior year of high school was nawt how she envisioned her life, because she was so wild and free. Maybe if she was planning on staying with Derrick until college, and eventually marrying him, things would be different. But even though most people at her exclusive private school, Octavian Country Day, called her best friend Alicia a slut, Massie was the real whore. She only stayed with a guy long enough to get his hopes up, then moved onto the next one. She'd never even come close to sex.

The problem was, Derrick was the only boy she'd really fallen for. It had been love at first sight when she saw him, in all his wavy-haired, hazel eyes, shorts-wearing glory. And she wanted to be sure he felt the same way for her. Which was why she'd agreed that they should have sex.

Dylan Marvil smiled across the table at her boyfriend, Chris Plovert. With an identical expression, he leaned toward her. Dylan closed her eyes, thinking he was going in for a kiss, but instead a slimy fork hit her lips.

"Eww!" she whisper-shrieked, skidding her chair back across the marble floor.

"It's smoked salmon," he explained. "You don't like it?"

"Not particularly," she confirmed. Luxury cuisine had never been her thing. Most nights Dylan could be found chowing down on a PB&J in her room, watching Spanish telenovellas.

"Oh." He brought the fork to his own mouth, took a bite, and dropped it to his plate with a clatter. "You know what? I think we should go somewhere alone, just the two of us."

Dylan looked at him, then at her empty plate. She rubbed her stomach discreetly, then stood up. "Let me just go to the bathroom."

"Pass!" Kristen Gregory shouted, waving her arms wildly.

Her best soccer friend, Belle, skirted the group of girls who were playing defense and tapped the ball toward Kristen, who slammed it into the net.

"Goal!" the imaginary fans yelled.

"Take five!" the coach hollered.

Immediately, the girls bolted toward the benches, picking up water bottles and small Ziplocks full of snacks.

"Hey," Belle said, dropping down next to Kristen.

"Hi," she replied gloomily.

"What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking this kind of sucks," she answered. "This is the day we're supposed to be hanging out with best friends, or boyfriends, and here we are, spending five hours of our afternoon kicking a black-and-white ball at each other."

"Eat, breathe, sleep soccer," Belle recited, quoting one of Coach Kumrow's favorite lines.

"That's the problem," she admitted. "I don't think I'm that into it anymore."

Claire Lyons cuddled her head into Cam Fisher's chest. There was something solid but at the same time so comfortable about just being here with him. She reached for the remote and turned off the TV. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too." He pulled her face up to his and leaned down for a passionate kiss.

After a minute, Claire broke it. "Are we still on for Merri-Lee's party tonight?"

"Of course," he murmured back. "Now stay in the moment with me, will you?"

Mentally, Claire slapped herself. What was with her pathological inability to enjoy the present, instead of always thinking ahead to the future, or going back to the past? Closing her eyes, she scooted even closer to her boyfriend. She brushed a strand of soft, dark hair out of his green eye and put her lips on his.