fucked…up constellation。 She felt like a girl in a Clearasil mercial； panicking because she'd
gotten a zit right before going out on a date。 Zits were temporary； though。 The moles were there to
stay。 Who in her right mind would keep her head shaved with moles like that on her neck？
She yanked open a drawer beneath the bathroom sink； looking for some of that skin…colored
cover…up crap her sister Ruby put under her eyes when she'd been up all night。 She found a stick of
something called Peekaboo that was a little pinker than her natural skin tone but good enough。 She
dabbed some over the moles； rubbed it in； and examined the results。 Now she looked like she had
poison ivy； or poison neck。 She considered pasting a Band…Aid across the whole area； but she
didn't have one big enough to cover all four of the moles； and a Band…Aid would only draw
attention to the problem。 She washed off the cover…up and then dug around in the drawer； looking
for something that might distract Beverly from the hideous deformities on her neck。
As if the still…healing lip piercing on her upper lip wasn't distracting enough。 Beverly had been
polite enough not to mention it before； but now that they were getting to know each other； he
might ask if the crusty sore beneath that silver D…ring actually hurt。
And why would Beverly even want to check out her neck？ They were only going to the Raves gig
together… just hanging out to see if they'd mind cohabitating； as in roommates； not lovers who
looked at each other's necks。 Besides； Beverly was an artist。 He might think her moles were cool。
A sample vial of perfume called Certainty was rolling around in the bottom of the messy vanity
drawer。 It sounded like a name of a tampon or a pregnancy test； but Vanessa eased the little black
cap off the vial and dabbed some perfume on her wrists and temples anyway。 Certainty smelled
musky and powerful and might be so distracting to Beverly that he wouldn't even notice her
disgusting configuration of neck moles。 Maybe it would even work some sort of magic。 She would
walk into the club where Dan and the Raves were playing； Dan would turn purple with a mixture
of desire； regret； and mad jealousy； and Beverly would feel immediately certain about wanting to
live with her。 As a friend； of course。
Of course。
IT SUCKS WHEN YOUR MOOD AND YOUR OUTFIT DON'T MATCH
〃Sure you're all right； man？〃 Damian asked for the second time through the locked bathroom stall
door。
〃Yep；〃 Dan called back from the other side of the door； praying that Damian and the rest of the
band would think this was just his usual pre…gig behavior and go back to playing poker and
knocking back Stoli shots or whatever they were doing backstage。
〃All right； then。 See you in a few；〃 Damian replied。 〃Nice shoelaces；〃 he added before leaving the
bathroom。
Perched on top of the toilet seat lid； Dan stared woefully down at his new sneakers and the
absurdly wide pant legs that nearly covered them。 Yesterday he'd wandered into 555 Soul on
Broadway in SoHo and let a sales guy talk him into a pletely new performance wardrobe。 Big
yellow…and…black two…tone T…shirt； insanely huge and baggy gray rip…stop pants with drawstrings
and toggles and pockets all over them； black canvas Converse sneakers with yellow laces； and a
khaki…colored truckers' hat with a picture of yellow YEILD sign on it。 That hat kept his wild；
shaggy hair under control and revealed his shaved neck； making him look more menacing than
he'd ever thought possible。 In fact； with his new outfit； he kinda looked like a shorter； skinnier
Eminem。 Which was not really the look he wanted at all。
None of the guys in his band had mented on his outfit when he showed up； but then again he
hadn't really given them time。 One look at the huge line forming outside the club and the
instruments and microphones set up on the stage inside had sent him rushing to the bathroom to
puke his guts out。 He'd been locked in a stall ever since。
If only he had a lucky talisman like a handmade silver belt buckle or a shark tooth necklace the
way most legendary rock singers probably did。 He could don his lucky whatever…it…was； his
nervousness would disappear； and he'd perform with plete abandon； driving the crowd insane。
Instead； he just sat on the toilet in the club's garish pea…green…painted men's room and smoked his
lucky Camels… about forty of them… feeling progressively sicker and sicker。
All of a sudden the men's room door creaked open and the scuffed toes of Damian's black work
boots appeared under the stall door once more。 〃have a taste and you'll be all right；〃 he advised；
shoving an upopened bottle of Stoli under the door。
Dan took the bottle。 If he was going top perform tonight he'd need to feel as fly as his outfit。 He
opened it and took a swig。 His stomach felt so bottomless and endless； it was like pouring a
teaspoon of vodka into an empty well。 He took another swig and wiped his mouth on the back of
his hand。
〃See you in a few then； yeah？〃 Damian said again。 〃You might want to lose the hat； though；〃 he
added gently before leaving the men's room。
The Raves were all about not having a look and not trying too hard。 Most of them still wore
clothes their moms had bought them in prep school… Lacoste polo shirts； Brooks Brothers khakis…
paired with something cool and absurdly expensive； like a custom…made kidskin trench coat from
Dolce & Gabbana。 But Dan's mom had fled to the Czech Republic with some balding； horny count
before he'd even started high school； so he didn't even own any polo shirts or khakis； only the
clothes he picked out for himself and paid for with the barely adequate clothing allowance Rufus
gave him。 He could feel his panic mounting。 Who was going to want to listen to a sick； skinny
high…school kid with a shaved neck wearing fashion…disaster yellow…and…black shoes？
You'd be surprised。
YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL AND YOUR MOTHER DRESSES YOU FUNNY
Skirt； shirt； bra； underwear； shoes； watch； pearl choker； pearl earrings… Serena stared at the clothes
her mom had laid out neatly on the end of her canopy bed。 Everything her mom had chosen was
gray or navy blue； which just happened to be Yale University's colors。
Hello； dorkdom！ Did she really need her mom to pick out her clothes？ How old was she； anyway…
five？
Her parents were in their suite of rooms； getting ready for Yale's University Yale Loves New York
party for ining freshmen from New York City at Stanford Parris III's apartment on Park
Avenue and Eighty…Fourth Street。 For them it was just another cocktail party… a chance to mingle
with the parents of the children their own children had gone to school and tennis lessons and SAT
prep with for most of their lives。 No one would know each other intimately； but everyone would
know everyone。 People like the van der Woodsens thought of everyone in their circle as their
dearest friends； but how intimate did you really want to be with someone like Stanford Parris III？
〃Are you almost ready； dear？〃 Serena heard her mother call out to her。
〃Yeah；〃 she called back； feeling s