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to keep their scenes alive with dialogue and action； and Vanessa
was deliberately doing just the opposite。
“So there’s no dialogue？” Mr。 Beckham said from where he was
standing in the back of the classroom。 He was painfully aware that
no one else in the class was listening to a word Vanessa was saying。
“You’re going to hear the silence of the buildings and the bench and
the sidewalk； and see the streetlights on their bodies。 Then you’ll
see their hands move and their eyes talking。 Then you’ll hear them
speak； but not much。 It’s a mood piece；” Vanessa explained。
She reached for the slide projector’s remote control and began
clicking through slides of the black…and…white pictures she’d taken
to demonstrate the look she was going for in her short film。 A
wooden park bench。 A slab of pavement。 A manhole cover。 A pigeon
pecking at a used condom。 A wad of gum perched on the edge of a
garbage can。
“Ha！” someone exclaimed from the back of the room。 It was Blair
Waldorf； laughing out loud as she read the note Rain Hoffstetter had
just passed her。
For a good time call Serena v。d。 Woodsen Get it —VD？？
Vanessa glared at Blair。 Film was Vanessa’s favorite class； the only
reason she came to school at all。 She took it very seriously； while
most of the other girls； like Blair； were only taking Film as a break
from Advanced Placement hell—AP Calculus； AP Bio； AP History； AP
English Literature； AP French。 They were on the straight and narrow
path to Yale or Harvard or Brown； where their families had all gone
for generations。 Vanessa wasn’t like them。 Her parents hadn’t even
gone to college。 They were artists； and Vanessa wanted only one
thing in life： to go to NYU and major in film。
Actually； she wanted something else。 Or someone else； to be
precise； but we’ll get to that in a minute。
Vanessa was an anomaly at Constance； the only girl in the school
who had a nearly shaved head； wore black turtlenecks every day；
read Tolstoy’s War and Peace over and over like it was the Bible；
listened to Belle and Sebastian； and drank unsweetened black tea。
She had no friends at all at Constance； and lived in Williamsburg；
Brooklyn； with her twenty…two…year…old sister； Ruby。 So what was
she doing at a tiny； exclusive private girls’ school on the Upper East
Side with princesses like Blair Waldorf？ It was a question Vanessa
asked herself every day。
Vanessa’s parents were older； revolutionary artists who lived in a
house made out of recycled car tires in Vermont。 When she turned
fifteen； they had allowed the perpetually unhappy Vanessa to move
in with her bass guitarist older sister in Brooklyn。 But they wanted
to be sure she got a good； safe； high…school education； so they
made her go to Constance。
Vanessa hated it； but she never said anything to her parents。 There
were only eight months left until graduation。 Eight more months
and she would finally escape downtown to NYU。
Eight more months of bitchy Blair Waldorf； and even worse； Serena
van der Woodsen； who was back in all her splendor。 Blair Waldorf
looked like she was absolutely orgasmic over the return of her best
friend。 In fact； the whole back row of Film Studies was atwitter；
passing notes tucked into the sleeves of their annoying cashmere
sweaters。
Well； fuck them。 Vanessa lifted her chin and went on with her
presentation。 She was above their petty bullshit。 Only eight more
months。
Perhaps if Vanessa had seen the note Kati Farkas had just passed to
Blair； she might have had a tad more sympathy for Serena。
Dear Blair；
Can I borrow fifty thousand dollars？ Sniff； sniff； sniff。 If I don’t pay
my coke dealer the money I owe him； I’m in big trouble。
Shit； my crotch itches。
Let me know about the money。
Love；
Serena v。d。 Woodsen
Blair； Rain； and Kati giggled noisily。
“Shhssh；” Mr。 Beckham whispered； glancing at Vanessa
sympathetically。
Blair turned the note over and scrawled a reply。
Sure； Serena。 Whatever you want。 Call me from jail。 I hear the food
is really good there。 Nate and I will visit you whenever we’re free；
which might be 。 。 。 I don’t know 。 。 。 NEVER？！
I hope the VD gets better soon。
Love；
Blair
Blair handed the note back to Kati； feeling only the tiniest speck of
remorse for being so mean。 There were so many stories about
Serena flying around； she honestly didn’t know what to believe
anymore。 Plus； Serena still hadn’t actually told anyone what she
was doing back； so why should Blair say anything in her defense？
Maybe some of it was true。 Maybe some of this stuff had really
happened。
Besides； passing notes is so much more fun than taking them。
“So I’m going to be writing； directing； and filming this。 And I’ve
already cast my friend； Daniel Humphrey； from Riverside Prep； as
Prince Andrei；” Vanessa explained。 Her cheeks heated up when she
uttered Dan’s name。 “But I still need a Natasha for the scene。 I’m
casting her tomorrow after school； in Madison Square Park at dusk。
Anyone interested？” she asked。
The question was a private little joke with herself。 Vanessa knew no
one in the room was even listening to her； they were too busy
passing notes。
Blair’s arm shot up。 “I’ll be the director！” she announced。 Obviously
she hadn’t heard the question； but Blair was so desperate to
impress the admissions office at Yale； she was always the first to
volunteer for anything。
Vanessa opened her mouth to speak。 Direct this； she wanted to say；
giving Blair the finger。
“Put your hand down； Blair；” Mr。 Beckham sighed tiredly。 “Vanessa
just got through telling us she is directing and writing and filming。
Unless you’d like to try out for the part of Natasha； I suggest you
focus on your own project。”
Blair glared sourly at him。 She hated teachers like Mr。 Beckham。 He
had such a chip on his shoulder because he was from Nebraska and
had finally attained his sad dream of living in New York City only to
find himself teaching a useless class instead of directing cutting
edge films and being famous。
“Whatever；” Blair said； tucking her dark hair behind her ears。 “I
guess I really don’t have time。”
And she didn’t。
Blair was chair of the Social Services Board and ran the French Club；
she tutored third graders in reading； she worked in a soup kitchen
one night a week； had SAT prep on Tuesdays； and on Thursday
afternoons she took a fashion design course with Oscar de la Renta。
On weekends she played tennis so she could keep up her national
ranking。 Besides all that； she was on the planning mittee of
every social function anyone would be bothered to go to； and the
fall/winter calendar was busy； busy； busy。 Her PalmPilot was always
running out of memory。
Vanessa flicked on the lights and walked back to her seat at the
front of the room。
“It’s okay； Blair； I wanted a blond girl for Natasha anyway；” she
said。 Vanessa smoothed her uniform around her thighs and sat
down daintily； in an almost perfect imitation of Blair。
Blair smirked at Vanessa’s prickly shaved head and glanced at Mr。
Beckham； who cleared his throat and stood up。 He was hungry； and
the bell was going to ring in five minutes。
“Well； that’s it； girls。 You can leave a little early today。 Vanessa； why
don’t you put up a sign…up sheet in the hall for your casting
tomorrow？”
The girls began to pack up their bags and file out of the room。
Vanessa ripped a blank sheet of paper out of her notebook and
wrote the necessary details at the top of it。 War and Peace。 Short
film。 Try out for Natasha。 Wednesday P。M。； sunset。 Madison SquarePark。 Park bench； Northeast corner。 She resisted writing an exact
description of the girl she was looking for； because she didn’t want
to scare anyone away。 But she had a clear picture in her mind； and
it wasn’t going to be easy to find the right girl。
Her perfect Natasha would be pale and blond； a natural dirty blond。
She wouldn’t be too obviously pretty； but she’d have the kind of
face that made you want to look at it。 She would be the kind of girl
to make Dan glow—full of movement and laughte