formed a messy trail from the kitchen to the winding staircase that led to Nate’s room。 This was what happened when he was left to his own devices。 His parents had gone on their annual vacation to St。 Barts a few days ago—they’d postponed their trip because of Chips’s funeral—and their maid； Regina； was on vacation until tomorrow。
“What are you doing here？” Nate asked lamely as he kicked one of the T…shirts out of the way。
“Inviting myself over for a cocktail？” Chuck said sarcastically。 He shook his head in annoyed frustration； as if he were disappointed in Nate。 Join the club。 Nate was disappointed in himself。
Chuck walked to the stainless steel Sub…Zero refrigerator； pulled out a Corona； and pried the cap off with his teeth； a trick all Deep Springs students learned their first week on campus。 “This will do；” he said； taking a small sip and holding it out to Nate in a mock toast。
“Can I offer you something？” he asked politely； as if Nate had just randomly shown up in Chuck’s kitchen。
“No。” Nate shook his head。 “Listen； Chuck； I’m kind of busy。 Why are you here？”
Chuck raised an eyebrow。 “You know； Nathaniel； I’ve been thinking a lot about you；” he began； as if he were ready to barrel into a speech on philosophy； like he usually did after a few ginger beers back at Deep Springs。 “You won’t answer my calls。 I saw you partying pretty hard on New Year’s。 And you look like you haven’t stopped；” Chuck said； taking note of the empty cans on the granite counter。 “What the fuck is up？” He perched on one of the stools and raised a dark eyebrow。
Nate sighed。 Chuck obviously wasn’t going to leave until he’d heard his life story。 “I hooked up with Serena the other night；” he finally admitted。
Chuck raised a hand up for a high five； impressed。 Nate kept his arms firmly at his sides。 Chuck shrugged； lowering his hand。 “I fail to see why that’s a bad thing。 After all； you’ve known her forever； you lost your virginity to her； she’s always been there for you…。 I mean； what’s the problem？”
“I know。” Nate sighed heavily and sat at the table； his forehead cradled in his hands。 He was just so fucking confused。 Serena was great。 Blair was great。 Blair had a boyfriend。 Both of them hated him。
“Technical difficulties？” Chuck asked。
Nate shook his head。 “The next morning； I brought up Blair； and Serena just totally closed off and kicked me out。 She probably thinks I still have feelings for Blair。” Nate paused。 “And I guess I do； even though Blair has a boyfriend。”
“You have a hard life； Nathaniel；” Chuck scoffed。
“I know I’m being a pussy。 But every time I e home； I make a mess。 Maybe I’m better off not ing home。 Just leaving New York totally；” Nate said bluntly。 Only a year ago； it would have felt extremely gay to talk about his emotions with another guy。 But now； after all his time at Deep Springs； he was okay with it。 Maybe he needed to get back there—and never leave。
“What would El Capitan say？” Chuck prodded。
Nate sat up； suddenly remembering the letter Chips’s sister had given him。 He hadn’t felt ready to open it before。 He’d needed more time to process things。
And by “process” he means smoke and drink himself into oblivion。
“The letter；” Nate said simply。 Maybe Chips did have something to say。 For the first time since the funeral； he felt optimistic。
“Good idea。 I’ll let you be alone；” Chuck said； finishing off his beer and sliding off the stool。 “Look； I’m heading to Aspen tomorrow。 You should e。 Or at least promise you’re not going to freak out again。 Okay？” Chuck locked eyes with Nate。
“Thanks； man。” Nate walked him to the door。 “I’ll think about Aspen；” he lied to Chuck’s retreating back。 Then he ran upstairs and yanked open the top drawer of his Chippendale desk。 He pulled out the wrinkled cream envelope。 It felt weighted and heavy。 Instantly； Nate knew what it was。
He slid his index finger under the envelope flap； ripped it open； and allowed Chips’s antique silver pass to drop into his palm。 It looked tarnished and worn and felt reassuringly heavy。 Chips only trusted his pass； believing puter navigational systems made people lazy and made them forget what it was like to trust their own minds。 Nate had been freaked out at first to head out onto the ocean with no puter system； but soon realized that Chips was right： When you had nothing else to trust； you had to trust yourself。
He pulled out the ivory card stock that acpanied the pass； written in Chips’s spiky…scrawly handwriting。
Nathaniel—
Thanks for ing on the journey； and I’m glad you learned something from this old man。 Remember： Read the pass； and stay the course。
Nate sighed； disappointed。 All of Chips’s lessons were summed up in two sentences。 He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting。
A self…help manual？
He knew what Chips meant： that the pass only gave you directions—it was up to you to interpret the directions。 He wished charting his life was as easy as following a map。 He glanced down at the pass； which had led Chips in the right direction for years。 Maybe it did have some sort of power。 Maybe he could use it to help him figure things out。
He held the pass in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut。 If it pointed to W； it would mean Waldorf。 If it pointed toward S； it would mean Serena。
And if it points to N； would that mean Not a Good Idea？
The thin red needle swung back and forth； first wavering on N； then slowly falling down。 It wavered uncertainly before settling right on the letter W。
Nate smiled。 Everything seemed absurdly simple for the first time in a while。 He needed to find Blair。
Let’s hope he finds the shower first。
you’ve got mail
From： svw@vanderWoodsen。
To： dhumphrey3@columbia。edu
Subject： Your Poem
Hi Dan；
I’m hoping this is the same Dan Humphrey who went to Riverside Prep； and who wrote Serena in The New Yorker？ It’s Serena van der Woodsen； from high school。 How are you？ I just read your poem and loved it。 Would you want to meet me for coffee sometime？
SvD
From： dhumphrey3@columbia。edu
To： svw@vanderWoodsen。
Subject： Re： Your Poem
Serena；
Hey！ It’s really great to hear from you。 How’ve you been？ I’d love to meet up for coffee； where and whenever。
—Dan
P。S。 Glad you liked the poem。 Sorry for stealing your name for the title。
From： svw@vanderWoodsen。
To： dhumphrey3@columbia。edu
Subject： Re： re： Your Poem
Great！ Four o’clock at Doma on Perry Street on Fri？ I remember you love coffee。 Hope that hasn’t changed！
Xx S
the curse of the creative power couple
“This is it？” Vanessa asked Hollis dubiously on Friday morning。 They were standing outside one of the tall； glass…box； personality…less skyscrapers near Grand Central for their meeting with the executives of Streetscape； a small indie studio。 …Hollis was taken by the idea of making a movie out of Vanessa’s life； and had immediately set up a meeting with some people he knew。 Vanessa was excited； but suddenly a little nervous。 She’d imagined the Streetscape offices would be in Dumbo or SoHo or some other artsy neighborhood； not a random Midtown office building。
Hollis nodded