Gossip Girl

Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

hey people!

Ever wonder how a star is made? Well, if you had listened to your strict, tweed-wearing, secretly über horny teacher last year, maybe you would know the answer. But I won't waste your time chattering on about scientific breakthroughs.

On the Upper East Side, a star is made a bit differently:

All it takes is one, blindingly stunning moment and POOF!

That's how it went down for our S, anyway.

Remember that white-dress incident a few months ago?

Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you do. Everyone does. After all, she's SVDW, the one and only.

But enough about our shining star, and more about me.

I was out partying last night 'til the wee hours of the A.M. with my deliciously well-toned boyfriend, when I had, like, an epiphany:

My life, is fantastic.

I'm sure you already knew that, but sometimes, it takes awhile for one to recognize her own beauty. I've been able to recognize my own beauty since the day I was born, but it really took me all this while to realize how bountiful my life is.

And I intend to makes yours just as fabulous as mine.

More on me playing your marvelous fairy god-sister later, let's get down to business.

SIGHTINGS

S and B giggling on the steps of the Met, yogurts in hand. C window-shopping on Madison. N hanging with A and J, sharing a before-school joint in the park. Hello, cooties!

JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS...

It's that time of year again. When the trees are barren and the lakes frozen, it can only mean one thing: winter. But winter on the Upper East Side means a little more than building snowmen and drinking hot chocolates.

Most people bundle up and stay inside, but we like to do things a little differently around here.

When it's too cold to leave your luxuriously furnished penthouse, instead of pulling on that repellent wool sweater, put on that gorgeous Kiki de Montparnasse lace-trimmed lingerie set you just bought and call that scrumptious guy you've been hiding from me all this time. I thought we were friends?

Don't feel bad, I would have done the same. Guys can never resist me.

Meanwhile, I'll be inviting my own dessert over to spend the day with me in bed. Wonder what he'll say...

Keep warm, kiddies, it's going to be a long winter!

You know you love me,

gossip girl

I sighed contentedly and hit 'publish'. I had decided to skip the Q/A section, as nothing anyone had sent to me so far was post-worthy, but, I responded to their silly emails anyway.

Q: Hey Gossip Girl,

I was reading through all your old posts, and had a great idea: we should meet. I'm a journalist at The Spectator, and I would love a word from you.

I would have no problem keeping your identity a secret—journalists like me understand the grave importance of anonymity. Maybe we could meet up for coffee, brainstorm a bit. You seem like an intelligent girl, maybe you could help me with my story?

Let me know what you think.

—Journalist At The Spectator

A: Dear J at TS

Although your compliments are flattering—you obviously haven't read many of my posts, or you would know this:

Who am I? That's one secret I'll never tell.

—GG

Q: Dear GG,

Help! I'm in desperate need of some advice from an expert! My boyfriend, is coming back home this evening (he's been vacationing in Europe with his family for the past few weeks) and I think he wants to do it. I mean, I love him and all, but I'm not sure I'm ready. I don't want to disappoint him, but I also don't want to do anything I'm not ready to do. What do I do?

—Desperately Seeking Your Advice

A: Dear DSYA,

Ah, the ancient question. The one girls have been asking themselves for hundreds of years. Am I ready? I'll tell you what any nice girl will: wait 'til you're absolutely positive you're ready. Don't let anyone pressure you into doing something you're not ready to do.

But I'd say you have other things to worry about. In Europe, for weeks, you said? No matter how sweet and seemingly-faithful they are, all guys have to satiate their needs one way or another. Plus, I've heard that European girls have some very dirty tricks up their sleeves...

—GG

There were dozens of other emails—mostly desperate freshmen asking for sex or fashion advice—but one email stood out from the rest.

A: To Gossip Girl,

My name is Blair Waldorf, and I want to talk to you. What I want to talk about does not regard the things you've been posting about me. Serena van der Woodsen has finally done the unthinkable. I'm not ready to tell you what this aforementioned unthinkable is quite yet, but rest assured, you'll be the first one to find out. That is, if you can help me take her down. I'm tired of her always winning—everything, from boys to shoes, to old, stuffy college deans! What do you say we partner up and take down the golden girl once and for all?

—BW

A: Dear BW,

I'm honored that you would trust me to help you bring S down—and am unimaginably tempted at the offer. I'm sorry to tell you that you'll have to find another scheming partner, for I prefer to stay neutral between the wars of my peers. I'm trying to play fair. As you can see I haven't made a lot of progress yet.

—GG

That was the first email Blair Waldorf, Serena van der Woodsen or Nate Archibald had ever sent in—and I had a feeling it wasn't going to be the last.

"Did you read Gossip Girl last night?" "I can't believe Serena really..." Whispers floated through the hallways.

"Who knew Nate was such a stoner?" "Um, everyone?" her friend responded.

I smiled. Everyone was reading it, everyone was talking about it—it was a monster. It was my monster. I had only created Gossip Girl a few months ago, and there were already nearly hundreds of tips and emails being sent to my account (Gossip Girl's, that is) every day.

I approached Kati Farkas and Isabel Coates, my stride as confident as ever. "Anyone seen Serena?"

Kati looked down at her, her glare slightly demeaning and very disgusted. "Check Gossip Girl. She and Blair were last seen on the steps."

"Of the Met," Kati's other (and prettier) half, Isabel, clarified, her glare almost as humbling as Kati's.

"I meant, has anyone seen her today, at school?" I enunciated clearly and mockingly, then pursed my lips and smiled confidently. No one understood that confidence was the key. It didn't really matter how pretty you were, as long you were confident—and born into one of the well-bred Upper East Side families, like mine, of course.

"Oh." Kati glanced at Isabel. "We were about to go find Blair." She turned on her heel, Isabel following closely.

"Are you coming?" Isabel said, still glaring at me.

"I suppose." I sighed, attempting a look of boredom. These girls were so manipulable.

Hey, don't blame me. The problem is not that I'm manipulative—which I totally am—it's that they're everyone else is manipulable.

Kati and Isabel stalked past the small crowds of Constance Billard students, shooting them all icy glares. I followed them, like a lost puppy—which I hated doing, but I had to befriend Blair and Serena as quickly as possible.

"Kati, Is, who is that?!" Blair's shrill voice rang through the courtyard. Serena sat next to her, quietly spooning zero-cal yogurt into her mouth, and by the looks of it, counting her splits ends.

"13..." she murmured.

"Blair," Kati bit her over-glossed lip, "This is Victoria."

"Victoria Grace Harrington." I extended my manicured hand. I had gotten a French manicure last weekend—it had been included in the 'Great Escape' weekend getaway package.

Blair stared at the hand for awhile, before politely shaking it. "And what is she doing here?"

I squared my shoulders and put on my confident face (as if I wasn't always wearing it). "Kati and Is invited me." I had never called Isabel 'Is' before. 'Is' seemed like something a friend would call her, and I was far from being in an amicable relationship with either of Blair's evil monkeys.

Isabel shrugged. "She's new here. She just transferred here from some boarding school in upstate Connecticut."

Suddenly, Serena came to life. "Boarding school? Connecticut?" Or at least, momentarily pulled her shimmering blonde head out of the clouds.

"Hmm..." Blair gave me the once over for the second time, and this time, she seemed to see something different. "You can sit with us. But only for today. Tomorrow I'll decide if you can stay."

I smiled again, and nodded confidently. I really should write I self-help book. How to befriend over-privileged teenagers for dummies.