Nate and Serena will always be beautiful little fools. Chuck and Blair come to realize that this is not necessarily a bad thing. A series of interconnected one-shots.
Notes: This chapter deals with the early years, because who can resist picturing the Non-Judging Breakfast Club as cute little kids? I know I can't. Reviews greatly appreciated.
All That Shimmers
chapter one: loving you is cherry pie
Faint and flickery September light pours into the small, exclusive kindergarten. Three pairs of footsteps echo throughout the marble-accented corridor: the click-clack of Balenciaga heels, purposeful and sharp; the dull pad of shiny leather Mary Janes, struggling to keep pace; and, lastly, falling slightly behind the other two, a servant's soft, unobtrusive tread.
"Am I late?" Blair asks her mother. No one else is in the hall. She envisions a bespectacled, stern-faced matron doling out punishment in a voice dry as reeds. A ruler to the wrist, maybe, or paddles? Will she have to clean chalkboards for a month? The older girls, the daughters of other society wives, have filled her head with all sorts of horror stories.
"Don't be ridiculous," says Eleanor, brisk and tight-lipped. "Waldorfs are never late." Glancing down, she gently slaps away Blair's frantic hand. "Waldorfs don't scratch themselves, either. Stop that."
"It's itchy," Blair whines. The puffed sleeves of her pale peach Dior frock are edged with lace that prickles the sensitive skin on her upper arms.
"Control yourself." Eleanor in her tailored red Chanel suit and sheer stockings is firmer than any teacher can ever hope to be. "Dorota has ointment in her bag. And don't sulk." She sighs at the child's mutinous expression and pushes open one of the many doors lining the hallway. "Honestly, Blair, when will you start acting like a lady?"
The classroom is chaos, a scene of windows and rubber play-mats and colorful posters and scattered toys. Elegantly-dressed women, pearls around their necks and hair swept into neat chignons, converse among themselves as their offspring mill about, running, shrieking, roughhousing, under the eagle eyes of silent, black-clad nannies. Blair catches her breath at the exhilarating newness of it all. In one corner, a girl turns cartwheels as her friends applaud in delight, dainty skirts tossed over her head, bare legs in the air. Blair wants to tug at her mother's sleeve and point out that that girl isn't acting like a lady, either, but Eleanor has already started fluttering in the direction of an acquaintance, leaving Blair no choice but to follow.
"Lily!"
"Oh, Eleanor!"
Blair observes through the thick veil of her lashes as the women embrace and bestow each other with cheek kisses, exchanging breezy declarations of "So good to see you" and "It's been such a long time." She memorizes this portrait of airy grace, this rush of expensive perfume, this dance of French-tipped fingernails and red lips and pleasant words, captures it in her mind as something to emulate and aspire to, the manner in which she will greet the friends she will have in the future.
Lily raises her blonde head and calls to a girl skipping rope. "Serena!" The girl stops, rolls her eyes and dutifully comes over. When she nears, Blair is struck by only one word: perfection. It is what Eleanor uses to describe an expertly-arranged bouquet of roses or a pretty wedding cake, it is this girl, with her fine-boned features and flawless skin and mass of long, heavy hair gleaming like burnished gold in the sunlight pooling in through the windows. She reminds Blair of Barbie dolls and glossy supermodels and summer breeze, all rolled into one tall, lanky package dressed in powder blue.
"This is your daughter?" The wonder in Eleanor's voice causes a hollow sensation to bloom in the pit of Blair's stomach. "Lily, she's gorgeous."
Lily smiles with quiet, tender pride. "Serena, this is Eleanor Waldorf, and…" She trails off inquiringly, looking at Blair, who fidgets under the perusal.
"Oh, where are my manners!" Eleanor bursts out, laughing softly. "This is Blair."
Blair sinks into her most charming curtsy, which she practices fervently and often, sneaking a glance at her mother in the hopes of catching a glimmer of approval. But Eleanor's attention is focused on Serena, entranced by this golden child, who doesn't curtsy, choosing instead to stick out a hand.
"How do you do," Serena says.
Eleanor barely raises an eyebrow at this social gaffe, and they shake. The beautiful are easily forgiven their mistakes. Serena's lovely, brilliant grin perfectly complements the sparkle in her porcelain blue eyes, and Blair is immediately conscious of her own shortness, the fat sprinkled on her cheeks and her itchy sleeves.
"Let's play!" Serena exclaims happily, grabbing Blair's hand, and Blair, usually wary of physical contact, is caught, entangled in a web of warmth and light. She allows Serena to lead her away, and never looks back.
Days later, and Blair thinks she should have gotten used to Serena's beauty by now, but it still manages to catch her off-guard; it's more alluring than annoying when Serena puts a hand on one bony hip and stamps her foot, lip curled in petulant disdain at the jigsaw puzzle pieces scattered on the table.
"I'm bored," she complains, and it is honey and air, a young voice, hinting at the jewel tones that would make men of all ages fall at her feet in the years to come.
"Shut up," Blair snaps. "This is fun."
"No, it's not, B."
Although she gives every impression of concentrating on the puzzle, Blair surreptitiously observes the way Serena's tilted her head, causing her glorious hair to spill over one shoulder in a golden waterfall. She's exquisite, and Blair wonders with a faint tinge of irritation if she's doing it on purpose.
"I'm playing something else," Serena declares firmly.
Blair smirks. "With who?"
Serena looks around, taking in the other children, all absorbed in their own little cliques. Scattered around the room, heads bowed close together over picture books or other puzzles. There, three girls playing with a dollhouse, closed off from the outside world. Here, two boys in deep conversation over a Rubik's cube. Serena opens her mouth, and then snaps it shut.
Blair smiles sweetly. "Help me finish this puzzle, S."
"You're mean," Serena sighs. Instead of sitting down, she moves to peer over Blair's shoulder, frowning at the incomplete picture of a castle. "You know I can't figure this stuff out."
"All it takes is practice," Blair replies serenely, fitting a corner piece into place. "I like these games. They make me think."
"Why would you like games that make you think?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
Serena leans in closer. "My daddy told me I'm beautiful enough to never have to think," she confides in a stage whisper, blue eyes wide.
"That's not true," Blair retorts with perhaps more vehemence than is warranted. "Even beautiful girls have to use their brains." But the afternoon sun illuminates Serena in its waxy rays, she's all pale skin and cheekbones, and who needs to be smart when you can look like that? Blair swallows the unexpected lump in her throat.
Eventually, one of the boys playing with the Rubik's cube walks over to Blair and Serena's table, dragging his friend behind him. He looks exasperated, while the friend appears to be sulking, head bowed. Blair raises an eyebrow at them. It's a trick she picked up from her mother and rehearses in front of mirrors whenever she has the chance. She's gotten quite good at it, but the boy doesn't appear to be intimidated at all.
"I'm Chuck Bass," he says without preamble, "and this is Nate Archibald. He doesn't want to do the Rubik's cube anymore, so can we join you instead?"
Blair wants to tell him off for being so forward, but, behind Chuck's shoulder, the other boy--- Nate--- raises his head, and she momentarily loses focus. With spiky sandy hair and aristocratic features, he looks like he just stepped out of a Neiman Marcus kids' catalog. She's about to speak, when she notices that his piercing blue eyes are fixed entirely on Serena, who's gazing back at him with unconcealed interest.
"You have pretty hair," Nate blurts out.
Serena smiles. Dimples and cotton-candy lips. "You have nice eyes."
"Oh, please," Blair mutters under her breath at the exact moment Chuck groans the same thing. They glance at each other in surprise.
Summer in the Hamptons is languid and airy, and Nate and Serena both lose their front teeth at the same time. Of course, Blair thinks, perhaps a tad unkindly. When her and Chuck's teeth fell out (not at the same time), they refused to smile for weeks, ever conscious of the gaps. Nate and Serena have no such inhibitions; theirs is a world of open-mouthed laughter and unrestrained grins; side by side, they are almost identical, the imperfection of missing teeth lost, rendered unnoticeable, dissolved in the elegance of their features and the brilliance of their hair.
All four of them are in the backyard of the van der Woodsen's summerhouse. Blair and Chuck play Monopoly while Serena coaxes bubbles from a small wand clutched in her fist and Nate leans against the porch wall, content to watch.
"Have you ever noticed how hard it is to blow bubbles with your front teeth missing?" Serena asks.
Chuck's eyes never leave the game board. "What are you talking about?"
"Look!" Serena puts the wand to her lips and blows. The film inside the hoop flickers, then pops; a spray of saliva lands on Nate's cheek.
"Serena, you are so gross!" Blair shrieks, but Nate, far from being angry, merely chuckles, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"You just don't know how to blow bubbles," he teases Serena.
"Do, too!" She sticks out a pink tongue. "But it's hard without my front teeth."
"I don't have mine, either, but I betcha I can still do it." Nate grabs the wand and the small bottle of bubble mixture. He is is unsuccessful, as well. Serena recoils, blinking.
"You got spit in my eye!" she cries as if it's the most delightful thing that's ever happened. "Give me that!" Soon enough, the attempt to blow bubbles devolves into a flimsy excuse to spit at each other, between giggles and playful shoves. It's not long before Blair is caught in the crossfire, Nate's saliva coating the tips of her hair. She screams, backing away.
Chuck emits a long-suffering sigh as he hands Blair a handkerchief. "You two are disgusting," he says shortly. "Why don't you play over there?"
Nate shrugs. "All right. C'mon, S." They run to the garden, under the full sun, and continue their game.
When she's done cleaning up, Blair gingerly holds out the handkerchief to Chuck. He grimaces. "That's got Nate's spit all over it. Better throw it away."
Blair shrugs and tosses the piece of cloth aside. "I think it was my turn," she says, directing her attention back to the Monopoly board. She studiously ignores the sight before her--- two tall, fair children, darting among the emerald-green bushes and flowerbeds blazing with riotous bursts of fiery colors, under a clear blue sky. The sunlight blurs their hair into haloes and glints off the rainbow-edged bubbles that they finally manage to produce, floating dreamily in the air. Nate and Serena laugh and touch and spit and wrestle, and eventually they both end up rolling on the grass, tickling each other, getting dirt and grass stains all over their clothes. They don't even look repulsive doing it; they're too beautiful for that, too golden and blue-eyed and summer-skinned.
"I don't like this season, you know," Chuck says quietly.
Blair looks up at him across the board. "Really."
"Yeah. I think it's the heat. I hate it." Something shifts in the usually impassive expression on his face, lightens and softens. "I prefer autumn."
Blair smirks. Just a little, but enough. "Me, too."