Chapter 8

86: Behind all their personal vanity women themselves always have their impersonal contempt for `woman'.

Oh, God help us all…

Hazel was shrieking like a banshee, throwing a complete tantrum. Her laptop, thrown to the floor, was sadistically still working, still glaring with the light of Gossip Girl's website. The blog it was open at was Saturday morning's latest: Blair and Kei spotted at Heist last night, a very classy and exclusive bar in Manhattan, being bought cocktails by a pair of young heirs to two of New York's wealthiest families. There were a number of photos, of the four seated on leather sofas talking amiably, of them at the bar, one of the suits paying for a Cosmo and a Sea Breeze. Another was of the two girls posing with becoming smiles, clearly taken by one of the men on one of the girls' phones. They were both content and comfortable, neither looking flirtatious. Indeed, the last photo boasted was of the two girls getting in a taxi unaccompanied, the ride being paid for.

The whole thing was dressed up to look like the two girls were respectfully making connections; it helped that the two men were both Yale graduates, and that both girls looked modestly stunning, Blair in a black dress and Kei in black dress pants and black sparkly shirt: all form fitting, beautifully tailored silk. In the photos they seemed to perfectly compliment the men in their Armani suits: all high flyers in the Upper East Side club.

The bitches.

Still fuming, Hazel stomped to her en-suite and glared at the mirror. She grabbed her brush, furiously ran it through her hair. She cleansed, toned and moisturized her face, brushed her teeth, went through the motions. By the time she'd finished applying her make-up, she'd calmed down. She picked up her cell phone and shifted through her contacts list. She could never remember the order of her speed-dial list. And she didn't bother for Penelope to answer properly.

"Barneys, ASAP."

"Wha-?"

She hung up.


Kei had been waiting at JFK for a little while now. Her Starbucks tall signature hot chocolate with whipped cream to go (the cream stirred in with added chocolate powder) was finished already. The British Airways flight from London Heathrow was delayed: due to weather, no surprise there. And of course Passport Control and security took an era to get through.

Despite the announcements, trolleys with suitcases piled high, short tempers of weary travellers and the armed security guards – unnerving sight – Kei felt quite content. She was out of her school uniform for the weekend, and in her own clothes, things she'd have worn back in England without batting an eyelid. Her favourite navy boot-leg jeans – the Jane Norman ones, hugging her curves – and a cream three-quarter length sleeve shirt under a beige jacket made her feel normal. Her hair fell in its natural waves, curling as always under her chin. And she wasn't wearing even a drop of make-up, not giving a damn about the slight shadows under her eyes or the lurking spot on her chin.

Then, finally, her ears picked up a British accent. Cornish, by the sound of it. Then… North London. Welsh, South Wales probably. Northern, couldn't place that one exactly, but definitely Northern. Then a Southern one, Kent maybe. Essex, ugh. Even those from Essex had to admit that the accent was easily the most irritating in all of the British Isles. But then, she was a Sussex girl, naturally she'd be biased.

She was tapped on the shoulder.

"Awful, isn't it? Had to listen to them whinge from take-off 'til landing."

She spun around and burst out laughing in delight and threw her arms around Drake's neck, stretching to reach. He laughed back at her reaction, grinning like the happiest fool on the planet.

Two happy fools in a bear hug.

"Hey sis."

Kei grinned. It was like she'd never left home. "Hey bro."

He hugged her tighter, swaying her from side-to-side as the best of friends do, and finally let go of her when she squeaked in protest.

"Argh, come on, let's get out of here, all the guns are creeping me out." Drake said, looking around him with theatrical paranoia. She smiled. Ah, she'd missed his old humour.

"Welcome to the United States of America."

He picked up the holdall he'd dropped at his side to greet Kei, hefted it on to his shoulder and followed Kei to the taxi rank. Drake Newman wouldn't see the airport for a week. Ever since he'd booked the return flight it was far too soon.


Penelope found Hazel, bizarrely, in the lingerie section, browsing nightwear. They'd barely exchanged air-kisses before Hazel got to the point.

Not girls for small talk clearly.

"It's time to cement our positions in society." Hazel stated, returning her gaze to the Betsey Johnson Tricot Baby-doll nighty. It was pink with black lace, see through and utterly irresistible in bed. She should have worn this when she was dating her ex. Maybe they would have lasted longer. He did after all like her well enough without any clothes on at all. However, it wasn't entirely appropriate for what she currently had in mind. Maybe she'd get it later when it was needed.

"How?" Penelope asked, curious, pretending to admire Hazel's taste. Honestly, if Gossip Girl spotted them now…

Too late, Sweetie…

Back to the matter at hand: beneath the curiosity was the tone Hazel was pleased to hear: Penelope was game. She picked out a Cosabella Zara Chemise in zebra black. Nice enough, but wouldn't flatter her enough, nor its twin in pink.

"Party's on this Friday." She said simply.

"But -"

Preparations for the party that was meant to happen last night had fallen through. All the usual services required to host the most stylish party for the Upper East Side's teenage society were not available. Not because they were all fully booked – some had a few gaps for some of the weekdays – but because they were waiting, waiting for Blair Waldorf to make the sweet call requesting their every effort, efforts that were guaranteed to be directed so well that it would build the reputations of all involved. It was tradition for Blair Waldorf to throw the first major successful event of the school season, traditionally in the first few weeks of term, traditionally the talk of the year, and so all schedules were being kept clear in anticipation. Never mind that Hazel had snottily expressed her doubts that Blair would be planning any social events this year: what did this stuck-up brat know? Blair Waldorf was renown as the Queen of youthful society and Princess to the higher society. A meteor would have to take out New York State before that changed.

Or just an update from Gossip Girl…

"Not that kind of party." Hazel injected bitterly. Another reason for her little explosion this morning: she'd had no fun last night, whilst Blair and Kei were climbing with ease. She needed to assert herself above them, and quickly too. She picked up a Calvin Klein black lace chemise. Hmmm, maybe… "A sleepover party."

Penelope slowly smiled, picking up the plan as the corners of her mouth reached high. "Like Blair used to do?"

Hazel turned back to the brunette with a matching, calculating smile. "Exactly." She resumed her search, chemise in hand to be considered and tried. "It's not like Blair's got enough people to invite for one, so someone ought to fill the gap in everyone's social calendars. Daddy can help me with the organising: he can't say no to a girly night in, can he?" She briefly let her imagination go, visualising it. "We can do cocktails, facials, manicures, pedicures, truth or dare, the works. With, of course, an exclusive guest list." She wandered past a row of tank tops and pants: too tomboyish for what she had in mind. "We need to alert Gossip Girl."

Penelope followed Hazel's line of thinking quickly. "Of course. She always loves a good sleepover party. Who are we going to invite?"

"Everyone who was there last year. With some exceptions naturally."

Penelope nodded. Then frowned. "And Jenny?"

Hazel frowned too. Good question. Little J had made last year's sleepover entertaining with her stunts, and she knew that something Jenny did that night caused Blair to accept her and take her seriously… even though as merely an errand girl. Inviting her would cement them against Blair, make her exclusion more prominent, but at what cost to Hazel herself? She couldn't have Jenny do a one-up on her, steal Hazel's show.

"Let's see how she is at school this week, and then maybe invite her." Hazel decided. Her expression darkened with her next thought. "A lot can change in a week."


"'We want the finest wines available to humanity, and we want them here, and we want them now!'" Kei and Drake quoted in unison, accents make perfect by the Baileys, of which they took another gulp.

They were sitting on her bed, watching Withnail & I, drinking along with it. Obviously not drink for drink or indeed measure for measure, that would hospitalise someone with their alcohol tolerances combined. Two pizza boxes lay discarded on the bedside table containing leftover hickory steak, and barbequed chicken deep pan pizzas. They were drinking by quotes: if they thought a line was 'classic' then they took a good sip. So far they'd refilled their double-shot glasses twice. Or was it three times?

Oh well. Good times, good times.

"Mish this." Kei slurred contentedly, her head resting on his shoulder against the bed's headboard.

Drake burst out laugh. "Mish?"

Kei nodded assuredly. "Mish."

Drake nodded too. "Mish. Mish." He took another drink. Then he snuggled his own head on her shoulder. "Mished this 'oo."

She laughed and his head rolled off her shoulder into her lap, making her laugh harder as he giggled too.

They'd had just a little to drink after all.

Kei and Drake had been friends since their first days at school. They'd sat next to each other, played 'Stuck in the mud' in the playground and were always brother and sister in 'Families'. They walked home together with their mums, built pebble fortresses against the waves together on the beach, went round to each others houses for turkey dinosaurs and chips, and generally ran around like mad things together. In primary school they read together, learnt their timetables together, and in Year 5 starred as aliens from Pluto in the Christmas production (they'd been learning about Space that term, and so the production was about the Star of Bethlehem trying to find its place, and visited all the planets in the Solar System, the aliens of each planet doing an expressive dance for her. Pluto had robots pointing in different directions, dressed in black and grey with silver face paint). Secondary school: they survived cliques and puberty, generally leaping to each others defence against their bitchy classmates with equally bitchy retorts, and endured school trips to the World War I trenches and Blacklands farm where they got to run around playing War in the woods under the summer twilight. Sixth form college proved a more comfortable habitat, where they could debate in class and not look like nerds.

At four they'd competed on the swings to see who could swing the highest (with their mums' help). At six they shared their first kiss: a non-event that left them wondering what the fuss was about in Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. At ten they both agreed they should be friends forever and ever, because life would be too boring without each other. At fifteen in their last year of secondary school they nicked a bottle of sparkling wine from his mum's Christmas party, got drunk in the garden as it started to snow and discussed puberty with varying degrees of maturity.

"I'm bored, Kei."

Kei looked up from her dazed stare at 'I' trying to fight off Monty's approaches. "Of the film?" It was possible; they'd seen it so many times already.

"No."

Kei's eyes blinked with sudden attentiveness, gaining some clarity through the Baileys.

"Of home." Drake said. He was talking into thin air, staring at nothing. They both did that a lot: if they met each others eyes, they knew something was off. When they confided in each other, they were often confiding to themselves too, testing the truth of what they were expressing. "And of school." He shifted on her lap. "I never really noticed just how weird my parents are. I know they have their ups and downs, but I never thought they were… well, messed up, before." He took a sip. "Mum's still disappointed that you won't be popping out my babies in the next ten years, or any time in our lives at all."

It had always been a bit of a joke to them; the fact that Drake's mother thought they'd up falling in love and being soul mates, getting married, giving her grandchildren, the whole shebang. It seemed the humour had run out.

"It's weird being in class on my own. Everyone's alright, or at least, they were after I told them you weren't coming back. God, I hate pity," he added bitterly. "The only class that's still fun is Philosophy, arguing against Nigel's arguments for why he should be allowed to grind up babies' arms."

Kei chuckled. That was a fun class. No teacher was as odd or as brilliant as Nigel.

"I swear Mum is trying to find me a girlfriend. All summer she dragged me up and down the country for garden parties and she always pushed me in the nearest teenage girl's direction. One time," he laughed as the memory came to him, "one time, she sent me off to get punch and she asked the host – old guy everyone calls Batty, no idea why or what his real name is – she asked him if there was anyone my age to 'hang out with', yes her words." Kei laughed at the mental image. Drake's mum always sounded odd when she used modern phrases. "Anyway, Batty starts telling her about so-and-so's sons who are such-and-such ages, and she asks in her typical timid voice, 'any pretty girls?'" He mimicked his mum's high pitched voice perfectly. "Batty took one look at me, smiled as if in recognition though I'd never met him before in my life, put his arm round my shoulders and told my mum, very very seriously, that he'd take good care of me. He then introduced me to his boyfriend and they spent the rest of the party telling me about all their wild escapades during their long affair that spans the decades. And of course, they kept the wine flowing."

Kei grinned. Must have been a great party. The grin faded; she wished she'd been there. Such serious thoughts sobered her, and life gloated over her.

"Drake?"

"Hmmm?" He was staring at the ceiling, still half in summer memories. When he registered the sadness in her voice he turned his head to her, and was shocked to find her eyes brimming with tears. Tears that had been waiting a long time to be shed.

"I didn't want to go…"

Hearing her voice break sobered Drake instantly. He sat up and pulled her into a hug as her tears started to stream down her face. "I wanted to stay in Brighty, I didn't want to lose you… but Dad was so… he was so unhappy at home, he wanted to move away so much… I…"

"I know," Drake murmured into her hair as he held her. "I know. Really. You couldn't refuse."

Kei hiccupped quietly into his shoulder and nodded. He rocked her gently to soothe her. "But all the same," he said quietly, "I'm a selfish bastard, and I wish you hadn't." He felt her sigh, all the tension leaving her body. She sniffed and pulled back, nodding. The nod was for many things: acknowledgement, understanding, agreement, even an apology. He cleaned up her face with his thumbs, his movements uncoordinated; the still-strong affect of the alcohol.

"So." Drake started. Kei sniffed one last time, tears drying, red face blotchy. "What's it like in the Big Apple that never sleeps?"

Kei smiled. She needed a good change of topic. "It's alright. Weird, but alright. I wish it wasn't so polluted, you can really tell the difference. And I kinda feel like I have to walk differently here too. You can't just stroll around here, you have to… strut." Drake nodded, intrigued. "And dear lord, some of the girls at my school!"

Drake laughed. "Bitches?"

"Oh yeah." The colour in Kei's face started to return to its normal tone. "They're the damn richest kids in this city and spoilt brats, every last one of them. Snobbery is an Olympic sport here." He laughed again. "It's almost completely ridiculous: they all wear thousands of dollars of designer ware, they know it, they're proud of it, and they act like it gives them the infallible right to treat everyone else like sub-humans."

Drake grimaced. And he though the cliques from secondary school were bad. "What about the boys at the brother school?"

Kei shrugged. "They're boys: mixture of hormones, cologne and Armani. Oh, and dope."

"Ah, so about half an operating brain cell amongst them?"

Kei nodded. She suddenly giggled. "Gotta love being bitchy."

Drake laughed out loud. Good point.

You have no idea…

Kei's face lit up. "Ooh and you haven't seen the best bit!" She grabbed her laptop and turned it on, waiting for it to boot up. "I haven't told you about Gossip Girl."

"Who?" Drake wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

"Gossip Girl. 'Your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan's elite'." Kei quoted, smirking. Drake raised an eyebrow. What…? She signed on, her fingers like lightening over the keys, and her laptop quickly responded. "It's this anonymous blogger. She – or indeed maybe he, no one knows – sends updates to every student at Constance Billiard and St Judes, updates on the whereabouts and activities of the most popular kids at school."

She quickly got Gossip Girl's home page up and showed it to Drake. Along with some short sightings of Serena and Dan feeding the ducks in Central Park and Nate smoking on his favourite bench, the main update was of last nights events.

Good morning Upper East Siders, how are the hangovers? I hear traffic control are missing a few traffic cones this morning, perhaps someone should let them know they've been relocated to Park Avenue, scene of a certain Unity senior's party. Best make sure the Ivies don't see some of these photos; they wouldn't be too impressed with the effects of several kegs of beer.

If you were looking for true class last night, you should have been in Heist with B and K. Do I spy Masters Hertzog and Trent, recent Yale graduates and the latest hot shots for their families' businesses? Kerr-ching! And do I spy them picking up the tab for our two girls' cocktails? Definitely no traffic cones in sight there, or anything else unseemly either: good girls B and K got a free cab ride home alone.

Think you two could send me their numbers?

You know you love me,

XOXO Gossip Girl

Drake blinked a couple of times when he finished reading. He looked up at Kei, silently asking whether this was a joke or not. She nodded: this was real. He turned back to the blog.

"Huh."

Kei chuckled. Good response.

"I honestly have no idea what to say to that." Drake said, vaguely bemused. Then a light bulb went on. "Did you get their numbers?"

Kei laughed. "Yeah, why? Want their numbers too?"

Drake glanced back at the photos of the two twenty-something year olds. He smirked back at her. "Wouldn't say no."

She laughed again. "They were alright. Mostly they talked about Yale, Blair wants to go there."

To put it mildly.

"Blair?"

Kei nodded at the screen. "'B'."

Drake studied the photos of the brunette. "Beautiful girl. She nice?"

Kei raised an eyebrow with amusement. "I definitely wouldn't use 'nice' to describe Blair." She chuckled. "I like her. She's got character. An original girl, a rarity at Constance." Kei smiled in thought, at the same time giving Drake a signalling look.

Originality was a concept that Kei and Drake had discussed once when they were at their most thoughtful on a walk on the windy South Downs near their hometown. For them, originality had little to do with being unique, or of being new and never seen before. For them, it was about self-determination. Both of them considered themselves to be, more or less, original in themselves: they were who they were because of who they were. The world in general and in its particulars could try to influence them all it liked, but it was ultimately up to them whether they were affected by such influences. In the case of Kei, she was very much her parents' daughter because she chose to be so: she saw the traits of her parents that she liked and thus adopted them, and cast off what she felt did not fit in with her. In Drake's case, there was little of his parents: he was neither distant like his father nor meddlesome like his mother, but he had his mother's faith in principles and his father's liberality. They had their flaws, of which they were not ignorant: Drake was almost painfully shy sometimes, and Kei was aggressively defensive, but they were comfortable in their skins because their skins were tailored to fit.

From Kei's observation, Blair, in her ways, shared that same trait. Blair was a girl bursting with ambition, ambitions she'd chosen for herself. She was clearly quite content to be the next successful Waldorf: partly because that was what was expected of her, but mostly because that was what she wanted too, for herself. She wanted to go to Yale because she wanted to go to Yale, not just because her father had done the same. She had once wanted Nate because she wanted Nate, she'd loved Nate. Everything in her life that she had attained herself was for herself, seasoned with defiance, and the desire for approval and affection. Even under the shadow of fabulous Serena, she'd never actually wanted to be Serena; she'd just wanted to be out of the shadow.

Sadly, Kei could see that this spirit was bubbling somewhere deep, grown weak but not dying. And yet still, Blair was still very much herself, affected by what she chose to be affected by, even when she chose to deny it. She hadn't become anyone else after her fall from grace, and for that Kei absolutely believed that Blair was like her: none of them changed for anyone.

"She intrigues me," Kei continued. "I think she's been lonely for a very long time, much longer than she'd like to admit, I reckon. And she's good company, she makes me laugh: we both have bitchy humour. Rest of the girls are either too conceited, too far up their own arses – or asses as they'd say – or just not my cup of tea."

Kei suddenly smiled, an idea popping up in her head. "You should meet her; see what you think for yourself."

Drake nodded, smiling with honest enthusiasm. "When?"

"Tomorrow? I promised I'd help Dad in the afternoon, you could meet her for lunch if you like, if she's free."

Drake gave it a moment of consideration. "Ok, sounds good."

Kei reached for her phone, and then raised an eyebrow. "Behave."

Drake grinned and raised his hands in acknowledgement. "Ok, ok." He then gave a salute: half teasing and half respectful. The unspoken rule of their friendship: no sabotage.


Sunday mid-day: Blair cast her eyes over the intricate lettering carved into the dark wood doors of the restaurant: The Silver Sakura. Japanese lettering – she guessed the name of the restaurant – was carved vertically next to the metal handle, whilst a cherry blossom tree was carved reaching over the left door, its flowers raining into the right. It was beautiful: all in silver into the mahogany. To the right spanned floor to ceiling glass windows to display the interior: classy, well-lit, and above all welcoming. It was modern, stylish and oozed quality: a restaurant that wouldn't mind tourists provided they came with credit cards and good manners. Blair had already visited the place with her mother when she returned from France, but she'd been too tired to notice her surroundings; her mind was still across the Atlantic, it felt. The only thing she could remember was that she'd had no complaints about anything, and she had been in a mood where if there was something to complain about she would have done, just so she could feel like she was in New York again.

Now, Blair could see why Kei had asked her to come: somehow it was very Kei.

She entered, and quickly realised how true that statement was.

Firstly, the restaurant: it was a conveyer belt style establishment, with tall dark wood stools – most of which were taken – lined up along the belt passing in front, with tables for four still in reach at the back. The belt circled round about half a dozen chefs hard at work in black Japanese uniforms emblazoned with the restaurant's logo: the silver blossom tree leaning over the name. Blair couldn't help noticing that under their black silver-lined hats, all the chefs were smiling, clearly enjoying their work, communicating with each other with only the stress of timing. Under the noise of the extractor fans for all the steam there was friendly order without losing the pace of the typical chaotic kitchen. It was a big place, tastefully decorated with contrasting bright walls with dark wood, very little colour. Blair counted four waiters in the room, two serving around the room, one relaying orders to the chefs and the fourth talking to the manager; a white middle-aged man in a smart kimono, all in black and silver. The girl talking to the manager had her hair twisted up with a lacquer chopstick, and Blair recognised her even before she turned to attend her.

"Waldorf, glad you could make it."

Blair was thrown back to the waiting room for Ms. Queller's office, listening to the Foo Fighters on the morning of the first day, wondering why the new girl looked familiar… and then she was thrown back even further, to the night before that, slowly eating sushi whilst her mother talked on and on to some agent in Paris… and a waitress her age with faint Japanese features serving them Pellegrino, her darting glance at Eleanor making a quiet, easily missed comment: talk to your daughter instead.

"Oh my god…"

Kei tried to suppress a grin, a smirk, a mixture of the two. Then, as Blair's astonished expression remained, her head tilted in thought as she slowly read Blair's mind. She chuckled silently and then, with the manners of a very-well trained waitress, she gestured Blair to follow her. "Let me show you to your seat, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

With that Blair's surprise was replaced with curiosity and she quickly followed Kei down the long line of mostly filled seats. As Kei slowed halfway down, near the seats in front of the ramen chef, Blair spotted who she was being led to and her curiosity was replaced with a single thought: whoa.

"Drake, meet Blair Waldorf," Kei began, "Blair, this is my best friend from England, Drake Newman."

Blair could think of only one word to sum up a description of Drake: hot. This was surprising for a conservative girl from a conservative world. The boy – if 'boy' was the right word – was all blue. His hair was dyed navy blue, its natural brown showing for about an inch from the roots, and styled in random spikes. His angular, chiselled features gave way to a softer cheeky smile, his sapphire blue eyes sparkling with teenage glee. His skin was lightly tanned but fading – much like Kei, like he'd gone somewhere hot during the summer, and he had shadows under his eyes, like he needed a little more sleep – jetlag, Blair guessed – or was a little hung-over. He had a lanky build, like someone who was healthy and took care of himself but wasn't interested in toning, and when he stood up to shake Blair's hand he stood a head taller than the two girls. He was wearing dark jeans, sneakers, and a dark blue t-shirt with 'Hug Therapy' across the chest in big bold letters, and beneath were two cartoon polar bears, the one on the left bowing to the other asking 'may I have this hug?'.

He looked a bit like Robert Pattinson, that British actor who played Edward Cullen in Twilight. Except blue, peachy-skinned and with shorter, less messy hair.

"Kei's Christmas present last year," Drake explained, noting Blair's bemused expression at the t-shirt. His accent was identical to Kei's, though his voice was softer. "I'm afraid you'll have to ask her why she bought it."

"I didn't buy it; I made it, ungrateful sod." She responded teasingly. She turned to Blair, her manners switching immediately to professional. "Blair, can I get you something to drink? Green tea, miso soup, sparkling water, saké…?"

Blair gave her order and watched with faint alarm as Kei turned on her heels and headed towards the drinks cabinet at the far end of the room. Drake smiled shyly and gestured to the stool next to him. Once she was seated, her Burberry coat taken to be hung up in the cloakroom after Kei brought a pot of tea, a bowl of hot, fragrant miso soup and a bottle of mineral water, the awkwardness sunk in. She wondered who was meant to be company to whom.

"Now, Blair," Drake said suddenly, interrupting the short silence. "You must try the ramen, it's absolutely superb."

And they were off.


Drake Newman, Blair was discovering, was an odd guy. He had all the vibes of someone who was shy, yet had eagerly contributed to their conversation. He'd talked a lot about home and how different it was to New York City: it was mind-boggling how big the city was to him. Back in Brighton, Drake and Kei's home town, it took only a quarter of an hour or so to drive out of the city into the countryside: for Blair it would take closer to a matter of hours to leave the skyscrapers behind. He also talked a lot about Kei, with pride and deep affection. Blair kept looking for signs that they were a couple; whenever Kei came over to them when there was a brief lull in restaurant activity it was like the two were joined at the hip; there were no boundaries between them. Yet there was no possessiveness, no claiming of each other that one saw in boyfriends and girlfriends, and they didn't look at each other the right way. At one point they had a staring competition, forehead-to-forehead, which Kei won with ease, earning a promised piggy-back ride next time she needed one. They were so close, so comfortable together; Blair had never seen nor felt anything like it: her closest friend was Serena, and she'd spent most of their friendship feeling jealous of her. With Kei and Drake there was no sign of such jealousy, probably because what one of them had they shared with the other.

After small bowls of chicken ramen, teriyaki salmon, fresh tuna sashimi, duck temaki, octopus nigiri, king prawn tempura, tofu, lychees and all numbers of fish, sushi, noodles and rice, Blair finally asked Kei after ducking into the ladies' room.

Kei had just chuckled. "Drake's my best friend, he's like my brother. Besides, I'm not his type."

Oh… that made a lot of sense somehow. The way Drake looked at Kei, the way he talked to Blair with his attention on her face for her expressions, the way he'd quietly admired the ramen chef – a half-Korean twenty-something year old guy with a comedian's face – at work, the way his eyes didn't flicker back and forth over her body in a Theory navy shirtdress or over Kei's low buttoned black silver-lined shirt, and the fact that she had a feeling that she'd look like an idiot if she flirted with him.

Thank God for self-preservation.

"By the way, I wanted to ask," Kei began, a calculating grin spreading across her face. "Feel like throwing a party on Friday?"

31: The trodden worm curls up. This testifies to its caution. It thus reduces its chances of being trodden on again. In the language of morality: Humility.


I can't believe it's taken me so long to update... I'm so sorry guys :-S

I hope you all liked Drake. Blue, by the way, is my favourite colour; I wanted him to look different from everyone else.

Now, disclaimers: obviously Gossip Girl doesn't belong to me, nor does the top Friedrich Nietzsche quote from 'Beyond Good and Evil', nor the bottom one, which is from Twilight of the Idols. They both didn't come from the usual tranlations I use, but I couldn't find out who to credit for that. Either way, you get the gist of it: not mine. Also, the names Hertzog and Trent came from Meg Cabot's books 'Boy Meets Girl' and 'The Guy Next Door' respectively. The bar Heist is actually a bar in Brighton on West Street: the entrance is kind if gothiky, while the inside is more modern; quite expensive place. And of course the 'best wines available to humanity' quote came from 'Withnail & I', brilliant film. I think that's it, hope I haven't forgotten anything...

Please read and review! Hope you're all well xx