e Belinda； and stalked down the hallway。
“Nate； wait！” Serena yelled； running behind him。
“Nate！” Blair called at the same time； racing after Serena。
The door slammed； leaving Blair and Serena alone。
Blair glared at Serena。 “We’re no longer friends；” she spat。 Then she turned on her heel and followed Nate down the hall and out the door to the stairs that led to the street。
“Good！” Serena retorted。 She knew she sounded like an angry four…year…old whose best friend has stolen her favorite toy。
Familiar story。
Serena collapsed on Nate’s bed and stared up at the ceiling。 The skylight window up above was covered with pure white snow。 She wanted to cry； but no tears fell。 Instead； she seethed。 Everything that had ever gone wrong in her life was Blair’s fault。
Happy fucking New Year！
II
hey people！
As we’ve all learned by now； the etymology of the word sophomore es from the Greek words sophos； meaning “wise；” and moros； meaning “foolish。” It’s a contradictory term for a contradictory year： We’ve learned that pizza and PBR don’t mix with our favorite skinny jeans； that a TA can be extremely hot if we look past his dorky collection of PBS tote bags； and that placing a kegerator in the mon area of your dorm does not constitute a design decision。 But we still have a lot to figure out。
Take； for example； N； who’s displaying a lot of sophomoric tendencies despite his official class year。 Last year； he may have toyed with the idea of attending Yale； but as a tussle between B and S became his own personal crash course in conflict； he realized that he might be better off with just boys—at least for now。 He’s now a first year at Deep Springs College； an all…male two…year academy on a working alfalfa farm in California。 To each his own…。
For many； the key to figuring out your future is determining whom you want to spend it with。 Case in point： B。 She and her boyfriend； P； patched things up quickly after their Tiffany fallout last year； and are now happily ensconced in their Chapel Street town house。 But what will happen to their cozy domesticity once P graduates in the spring？ Or consider V。 Her boyfriend； H； may have wowed the critics at Cannes； but Hollywood hasn’t gone to his head—he’s often spotted picking up V’s favorite Hummus Place order while she studies late in Bobst Library。 How sweet。 Or； um； salty。
On the other hand； you could do some soul…searching and find that the only person you want to spend time with is you。 Take S； who’s often curled up with a cappuccino and Kant at Doma Cafe around the corner from her Perry Street apartment。 Or our favorite shaggy…haired poet； D； surrounded by plenty of girls in his Columbia poetry seminars； but always leaving campus solo。 After all； the most important thing you learn about in college might just be yourself。
sightings
B； with her boyfriend； P； at LAX。 After a sunny West Coast holiday； is the happy couple headed back our way？ D shuffling from his apartment up to the Columbia campus； muttering to himself and chain…smoking Camels。 Still playing the tortured artist； or has he really lost it？ V and H at a Miramax holiday party； talking to a New York reporter about V’s decorating plans for H’s brand…new Williamsburg loft。 And the biggest transformation award goes to？ S at Doma （again！）； reading Civilization and Its Discontents and looking pretty discontent herself。 Research for a role； or is someone having a little slump of her own？ D’s little sister； J； at JFK； boarding a flight to Paris—Bonne Année！ N in flannel； hitching a ride to Eastern Sierra Regional Airport； his green eyes glinting with tears。 Why so sad； N？
your e…mail
q： Dear Gossip Girl；
I’m a sophomore womyn who’s always dated other womyn。 I had a sense my last girlfriend was more of a BUG—you know； a bisexual until graduation； which is one of those acronyms I hate； but it’s bee so accepted in popular society that at least people are talking about it。 Anyway； this BUG not only broke up with me； but she’s dating this dumb football player who I know for a fact always defaces our womyn’s center posters。 Should I stage an intervention？
—stilllove
a： Dear Still Love；
I’m sorry to hear about your romantic woes； but if your ex is just a bug to you； then maybe she wasn’t worth it to begin with。 Instead of postering for the womyn’s center； post a personal ad。 Who knows what will happen！
—GG
q： Dear Gossip Girl；
There’s a guy in my poetry class who’s that tortured； soulful type—the kind of guy who’s too busy being an artist to even think about things like food。 I’ve only seen him ingest instant coffee and cigarettes； which I think is cute； but my suitemates find creepy。 What do you think？
—hotforsoulful
a： Dear HFS；
Sounds like this particular soul may be in mourning for a muse。 My advice： Tortured artists rarely make stable partners。 Instead； find a happy…go…lucky munications major and read poetry to each other。
—GG
ready； set； go… again
One of the best things about being in school is the opportunity to have two fresh starts a year。 There’s September； with the new housing assignments； new books； and new professors； it’s the start of the academic year。 But January 1 is a golden do…over opportunity。 And some of us just might need a do…over。 Here’s to second chances。
You know you love me；
gossip girl
you never can say goodbye
“You okay； son？” Captain Archibald placed a firm hand on Nate’s shoulder outside All Souls Church on Lexington Avenue。 Around them； patrons were spilling out of the church onto the cold stone steps。 White lilies were set up around the entrance of the church as if for a celebration； not a funeral。
“I’m fine；” Nate muttered； though he was anything but fine。 His Brooks Brothers blazer was too tight across his shoulders； and his sky…blue Hermès tie felt like it was choking him。 It didn’t feel right to be dressed like this； it didn’t feel right to be back in New York； and it definitely didn’t feel right to be at Chips’s funeral。 He couldn’t believe Chips was dead。 He’d had cancer and hadn’t even bothered to tell Nate he’d been sick。 He’d been slowly dying for months now in Lenox Hill Hospital and hadn’t bothered to call； or e…mail； or even send a letter。
Nate hadn’t planned to e back to New York for the holidays。 He’d been at Deep Springs College for the past eight months； trying to sort his mind out。 He’d thought he’d done that with Chips on the Belinda。 That he had a handle on who he was and what he wanted from life。 That Serena and Blair wouldn’t confuse him as much as they had before。
But nothing could have been further than the truth。 After he saw them fighting； it was all too apparent that he could never be around them anymore。 There were too many feelings； too much history； too many swirling emotions。 It practically killed him that he was the one who’d caused all the problems in their friendship。
He’d immediately run to his parents’ vacation home on Mt。 Desert Island； Maine； and it was there； sitting on the beach and watching the waves roll in； that he thought of Chuck and his transformation from a monkey…toting metrosexual to a decent…seeming dude。 Immediately； he’d called Deep Springs and interviewed for a spot for spring semester。 Because all the students of Deep Springs sat on the admissions mittee； and all had a tremendous amount of respect for Chuck—and because Nate was consistently lucky—he’d gotten in。
Since then； he’d done a total one…eighty。 Deep Springs was intense and unlike anything he’d ever experienced。 Thirty guys living in one house； studying and working the farm together。 No girls。 No pot。 No drinking。 No drama。
Sounds； um； fun！
Maybe it was because the schedule sort of reminded him of his life aboard the Belinda with Chips； but he liked waking up at 5 a。m。 to milk the cows； then heading to the old…fashioned one…room schoolhouse to discuss Plato。 He’d always half…assed it in high school； so this was the first time he’d ever really tried to study and learn。 It was surprisingly satisfying。 It was sort of like what Chips had taught him： that you have to own the work before you can own yourself。 Chips had given him a ton of good advice。 And now he was gone。
Nate sighed in frustration。 It turned out he’d known he had cancer the whole time they were aboard the Belinda。 Nate thought of the days they spent exploring the world； docking on islands that seemed almost untouched by man。 Days spent at sea so far out you couldn’t see land； methodically fishing。 Of their quiet dinners on board； where they ate their daily catch and contemplated the multicolored sunset。 He’d had all the time； all the opportunities in the world—why hadn’t Chips said anything？ His father squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity。 Chips had been the Captain’s mentor as well。
“Thanks for ing；” Captain Archibald said； shaking hands with Chuck； who had been standing at a respectful distance。 Nate and Chuck had bee close this year； and when he heard the news about Chips； Chuck had insisted that he e with Nate； for moral support。
“Well…” The Captain trailed off unfortably； shifting from one tan leather Gucci loafer to another。 “I’ll be off now。 You’ll be all right？” he asked； as if unsure whether it was okay to leave。
“I’ll be fine；” Nate said stiffly。 He looked down and realized his knuckles were white from gripping the iron railing。 He loosened his grip and held out his hand。 The Archibald men weren’t huggers。 His dad took his hand； but instead of shaking it； gave it a gentle squeeze before turning crisply on his heel； heading down the stairs and up the avenue。 There was hardly any traffic today； as if out of respect for the dead。
“You okay； man？” Chuck asked； clasping Nate’s shoulder。 Nate nodded； glad that Chuck had insisted on ing with him。 In a crisp charcoal Turnbull and Asser suit with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket； Chuck looked like he had back in high school； but he still acted like the guy Nate had e to think of as his best friend at Deep Springs。
Nate squeezed his green eyes shut； hoping when he opened them he’d discover he’d been dreaming during one of his daily naps in th