FIC: WHITE HOUSES CHAPTER 4(SERENA/BLAIR)
TITLE: White Houses: Chapter IV
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Based on the song "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton, this story is totally AU and has nothing to do with the actual story. It just shares characters/personalities. Eventual Blair/Serena, but other pairings as well. Link to lyrics for "White Houses" are inside if you want a better summary.
DISCLAIMER: I own neither the song nor the characters, nor really the plot itself.
NOTE: Sorry it's been like 8 months since I updated this, but I was busy with my own novel and then school and stuff... but I'm back with this now, if anyone's still interested.
LINKS TO PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
LYRICS LINK: "WHITE HOUSES" BY VANESSA CARLTON
I can't resist the day
No, I can't resist the day
A few days after our bonding experience, everyone feels much better about themselves and each other. We no longer spend days secluded in our rooms and moping about. The good mood that Serena brought with her to begin with has started to spread through the house like an exceptionally dirty piece of gossip. Even the dreary corners and slightly used furniture are looking more and more inviting as the days wear on. But I think that the biggest indicator of our progress is that Dan's hair no longer stands on edge when Serena goes out to see Chuck or Nate by herself. The three of them do roam around a lot, being more of the adventurous types than Dan or I. So the two of us have formed a bond.
I've come to find that the step siblings are my favorite people in the house. Chuck is still rather skeazy, lurking anywhere and everywhere he sees fit. I've gotten into the habit of checking around our room for him before getting undressed in the mornings and at night. Nate, well, I have nothing against him, but he's just dull. Introspective. Brooding. The siblings, though, are full of passion for their loves: for Dan, nothing compares to the glory of writing. I like listening to him talk about it because of the way his voice moves in the tone of a glorious instrument. Serena just loves talking- anything you do with her will be entertaining and spontaneous and beautiful because that's her natural inclination. And she appears to have no interest in Nate, who has gradually begun to pick up on this. The war is over before it even starts, it seems. That war is, at any rate; Serena still possesses a certain power over the rest of the house that, while I'm pleasantly trapped under it, cannot be something the boys are allowed to feel. So I'll have to think of sneakier, more clever plan to win them over, if not by love and lust and all those types of things teenage boys are fond of.
“What's this?” Serena shuffles through the things on my bed to find a small stuffed, beaten fox on it.
I blush a little at the thing, for it's more than a little embarrassing to still sleep with stuffed animals. “Just this fox.”
“I see that.”
“It's mine from when I was tiny. I just- it's more of a habit than anything else now. Sleeping with it, I mean?”
Instead of laughing at me, she's smiling. In a way that says she thinks it's cute how I still do this. I don't mind it. “What its name?”
“Her name is Sparky.”
Serena looks like this is fascinating to her, almost an alien world. “And you never go anywhere without her?”
I shrug. “I don't really go anywhere, but when I do, yeah, she comes.”
She puts Sparky very carefully back down on the bed. “Listen, I was thinking that maybe we could all go to the beach today. It's nice and sunny and not too hot.”
“I don't know. I don't really like beaches.”
Serena rolls her eyes. “What kind of person doesn't like beaches?”
“The kind that can't swim and burn like toast,” I reply.
She puts her hands on her hips in a very stern tone. “You can't swim?”
“Not really. I can doggy paddle.”
“Then we are lathering you up with oodles of sunscreen and taking you out.”
I don't want to. I really don't want to. I hate water and sun and sand and everything that comes with the beach. But she's doing that thing again. That thing that makes me unable to say no. It almost seems like she's been my best friend for years and knows how to wrap me around her finger. “I don't want to.” There, I said it.
She looks at me seriously, adding in an extra waggle of the eyebrows for good measure. “Blair, though you're mostly a fascinating enigma to me at the moment, I get the impression that you live your life for appearances. Is that true?”
“The social circle of Manhattan is an important part of my life, yes,” I relent weakly.
A nod. “Don't you ever want to live for yourself, just once? I mean, I used to be exactly like that until I- until a bit ago. I'm so much happier now.” A little stutter in that sentence coupled with a downward glance; she's not telling me the real story, the whole truth. That shows good judgment on her part.
“I doubt I would be.”
Her eyes flash from her hand to mine, as if debating whether or not she should take it. I firmly clasp my hands together. She looks away. It's all a very strange situation and one I'm not entirely comfortable with. “Try?” The emotion that is posed behind her tiny question pushes against her boundaries, what she can say and what she can't. Judging by the sudden serious expression on her face, there's much more that she can't say. She wants to say it, but as she cautiously opens her mouth and decides to let it remain in her own private thoughts.
And it's because of that very emotion, that piques my curiosity, that I give in. “Alright. But don't expect much enthusiasm.”
There's a quirk on her mouth, something I haven't seen before. Though it's not one of her big, infectious smiles, I feel as though she's genuinely happier than she's been in the time that I've known her. “Great! We're leaving in about a half an hour, so suit up!” She laughs glitteringly and hurries out of the room, presumably to tell the boys that she's once again convinced me to come out of my hole. I spend a lot of time in holes- in reality, I'm an introvert, but I do enjoy the importance of being popular. Hopefully, one day I'll get to be so popular I can just sit at home and still feel the admiration and attention of all my loving friends. That's the ultimate goal, and I think I'm well on my way.
I'm self-conscious. Really self-conscious. So then why did I only pack skimpy little bikinis? Why? I can't figure it out; my own stupid mistake. I don't want any of them seeing me in just that; I don't want Serena seeing me in just that. Her own body, I'm sure if her legs are any indication, is toned and beautiful and looks like a body should be. Me- getting over a bout of bulimia and skinny as a rail with only a little bit of curvature left- that's not very attractive at all. And a Waldorf must always be the best looking person in the immediate area.
I sigh and think of the rules Eleanor has been teaching me since I was a small child: even if you aren't the best looking or the best dressed, have the confidence to make everyone think you are, and you will be. I have to try in this situation. That I got myself into in the first place. Outdoing Serena van der Woodsen will certainly be a challenge. And in celebration of the challenge, I choose not the slutty, revealing suits my friends got me as gag gifts, but a practical, practically modest white one with black polka-dots. It's classy, and expensive, and helps me feel a little less self-conscious as I stare myself down in the mirror. But not so much that I don't quickly through on cut-off shorts and a cover up. I fumble around in the room to find my bag, a book(Twilight this time), my sunglasses, an enormous bottle of sunscreen, a large hat, and a towel. I assume that beach queen van der Woodsen has an ample amount of umbrellas. I hope so, anyways.
Rushing down the stairs with this bag, I notice that Chuck is staring at me with curious and dirty eyes. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he mutters. I notice that he's wearing an oddly plain white shirt and his trademark plaid preppy shorts. “The beach, huh? It doesn't look like it would agree with your skin tone.”
“Chuck, I'm not the mood for this,” I tell him. He's wormed his way into my heart, that sketchy little bastard like the rest of them, but sometimes he doesn't quite know when to stop.
He holds up his hands in innocence. “Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to pry. Let's get going, though. Don't want to miss the blonde, eh?” I can't tell if directed that last question to me, or if it was a rhetorical statement for him.
I roll my eyes and shove him anyways. “No need to be vulgar.”
“It wasn't that vulgar. Especially not for me.”
“I think I'm glad you live with your mother.”
He smirks. “Me too.” Then he walks off. I follow him to the foyer, and, upon seeing it empty, we both walk out to the black SUV where the other three are busy fighting over music selection. Well, I should say that Dan and Serena are fighting over music selection, because Nate's sitting surly in the back with his iPod on.
“Serena, no. I'm sick of your 'Beach Mix' CD. Just put in some good old Tonic, and we'll be done with it,” Dan complains. I can only assume that Tonic is some sort of folk rock band with touching and poetic lyrics because that what Dan says he listens to. And Serena's “Beach Mix” CD? I'm not sure I want to know.
“More sibling bonding,” Chuck chuckles(I couldn't resist) as we jump in the car. “You two are a hoot.”
“Chuck, shut up!” they say in unison, look at each other, and then start giggling like daft children. They are siblings- real, blood, and all that. They have to be. No one else giggles like that. Not even best friends.
Chuck looks profoundly stumped and just shrugs. “Drive.”
Dan keeps laughing and waves his hands around. “Alright, alright. I'm going.”
It's hot. Much too hot for anything whose body wasn't made for the desert, and I'm saying that sitting the relative coolness of the umbrella's shade. The boys and Serena have been playing in the water for the last hour or so, with the siblings occasionally jumping out to talk with me. Even Nate seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling and romping in the waves with Chuck. The two of them had stolen Dan's football and began to play with it about ten minutes ago, but they've lost it in the waves now. Dan's talking to me now, so he doesn't notice their frantic search. Serena went off to get a cooler from the car and a stereo or something, and hasn't returned yet. This is the subject of Dan's ramblings.
“She's probably making out with some boy, you know?” he mutters angrily. I find it hard to take him seriously because he looks so funny with his big black sunglasses in his striped beach chair and Sprite can propped on the wooden arm.
“Mhmm,” I reply nonchalantly. Dan just likes to rant some days.
“She used to do that all the time. That was before our parents got married,” he explains. “I think that my dad really settled her down. She was really crazy- did lots of hard drugs and things like that.” He pauses. “I probably shouldn't be telling you all this.”
“Well why not?” I ask him with a seductive smirk. I most certainly want to know all about Serena van der Woodsen and her dirty past. “It's not exactly a secret, right?”
“No, no, not a secret,” he reassures me. “It's just something she prefers to be buried. I don't have that much authority in discussing it-”
I give him a dubious look. “You were willing to discuss it the other night.”
“Are you referring to the bar? When I was drunk? Blair, I don't think that counts.” I've gotten him a little worked up now, and it's time to stop. After all, he won't be much use if he's mad at me.
“Sorry. I'll stop,” I tell him with a little hint of sadness- fake sadness, that is.
He rolls his eyes, seemingly more upset with himself than with me. “It's okay. I... it's just, Serena's not like that anymore. I feel weird talking about her like she's still that person. Because she's not. Not anymore.”
I nod. “It's alright.” I only give in because I know it will be easier to talk to him about this later when he's drunk. And I know he will be drunk later, because I will make him drunk. I am clever like that.
We come to a natural pause in the conversation, returning to our own solitary activities: I am reading, and Dan is watching. Watching the shore, watching the people, watching the sand, watching the sun. Dan is always watching, I've noticed. But I don't know whom or what he's watching for. I sense that there is more to him, more inside, more that he won't say. Because there is something out there making him watch, making him wonder and wait. If he can wait this long, then I can wait until tonight. I can get it out of him tonight.
Soon, the sun's bright light and sharp angle make it impossible for me to read the black words on the stark page, everything coming out in little black blotches. Dan has fallen asleep on the beach towel, his back luckily protected by a loose white T-shirt.
I take over Dan's position of watching. Serena and the other boys splash through the waves in this carefree sort of way, something that I have never been able to capture. A Waldorf is never quite as free as she pretends to be, and I hardly even pretend. The sun, the warmth, the sand, the friends make me feel like an outsider. I don't belong in this setting, nor do I belong with these people. That's why I am always on top, because when you're on top, you don't have to belong.
Letting my attention drift above the jerky movements of the waves, I scan the horizon. The ships and seagulls look so free, so different than everything near me. They are not bound by rules, real or imagined. I begin to understand why Dan watches; everything is more interesting than it seems, better than we can know if we just look. I manage to find a certain sense of peace as I watch the seagulls fly, but that peace is quickly shattered.
"What are you two doing? Get in the water!" Serena bounds up to us, drenched in the salty sea water, dried sand covering what her bathing suit didn't. She smiles brilliantly, the sun catching it like it caught the pages of my book.
Dan stirs groggily while not opening his eyes. They're not used to this brightness, this light. "I already went. Make Blair do it." I shoot him a look, but he can't see it. I resolve to get him extra drunk tonight, have him spill his secrets. And his sister's.
She turns her attention to me, eyelashes batting with a mock-flirtatious tone, and I know that it was me and only me she came here for. “Please, Blair? Come on, it's really fun.”
I blush slightly at this. It's not that her amazingly eloquent speech gets to me, but rather that I am not a very good swimmer and have always encountered a twinge fear whenever I step into an ocean. So I lie to keep this covered. It's just a tiny white lie; nothing, really. “I can't swim.”
This, however, does not deter Serena as I had hoped. She simply scoffs. “That's it? Come on.” It's almost whining now, but in the endearing sort of way that makes you want to give in to it. “I'll teach you- it's not hard. Really!” There's so much anticipation in her eyes, so much wonder and hope in her smile, that I can't bear to break it. Everything about Serena reminds me of a small child- innocent, fragile, trusting, simple. But Dan has told me otherwise. And the more I experience this version of Serena, the more intrigued I am to learn about the other one.
“I- well, I had some lessons when I was younger,” I relent.
She beams. She positively beams. “Great! It's not hard; you'll see.” She grabs me by the hand, pulling me into her back and allowing me to chase her to the shoreline. I take one last glance at my safe zone, with Dan still drowsily lying on the towel, and I give myself over to the tides.
Nate and Chuck instantly and eagerly swim over to us, wondering how Serena managed to get me to come in. Serena manages to make me do a lot of things.
“Welcome to the jungle, Waldorf,” Chuck says, his slinky smile making think he has something up his sleeve.
Serena ignores him and informs them, “I'm giving Blair a quick refresher course in swimming, so you two should back off until I finish.”
Chuck mock salutes her. “Ma'am, yes, ma'am.” He studies our reactions, laughs, and dives off into the surf, probably in search of large waves.
Nate gives an awkwardly apologetic grin. “Good luck with the swimming lessons. And remember, if you get stuck in a rip current, swim parallel to the shoreline.” He follows after Chuck, leaving us with this wisdom.
“OK. Are you ready to start?” Serena asks.
I nod, suddenly aware of the gallons of water surrounding my body. My throat tenses up, and I feel like I'm going crazy. But I'm not going crazy; I'm simply reliving a memory.
I am seven years old, playing in the sand by the beach. My mother is chatting with someone important looking a couple of hundred yards away. It's a lovely day, and it's quite hot, and I want to get in the water. I've had a couple of swimming lessons, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for the ocean. I would ask my mother, but she's busy. She's always busy. So I decide to go. It's too hot to sit on the sand that burns my feet, my legs, my bottom as I sit on it.
The water is an instant relief: it is cool to the touch and utterly fascinating. I've never been in salt water before. I take a gulp of it just to try, but spit it out: it's disgusting. I put my head under the water with my eyes open, observing the amazing clarity of the Caribbean Sea. I can see the legs and arms of the people around me. I can see pure white sand on the bottom and bits and pieces of rocks scattered around. I venture out a little farther.
This world is wonderful: it's fresh and it's new and it's exciting. I can't help but fall in love with it, so different from the paved concrete and shining glass of home. I keep going out further and further. And then I look at the shore.
It's far away- too far away. I start to panic. I get scared. I don't know what to do. I can't make it back in this state, but I can't tread water forever. I can't ask anyone for help, either. So I sit. And wait. And wait for my mother to notice that I'm no longer playing with the sand. But she doesn't notice. She continues to talk. And when she's finished talking, she glances over to the sand, sees that I'm missing, shrugs, and walks back to her beach chair.
I start to cry. I feel the stitch in my chest. I feel the strength in my legs and arms start to give out. I feel my breathing increase as spots swirl around my head. And then, I feel nothing at all.
I was lucky enough that day to be rescued by a teenager swimming near me. But I never quite managed to forgive Eleanor for that day, and I don't think she ever managed to forgive me. And now... I don't want to be left to die in this ocean again. I can't. The emotions and physical feelings return as I imagine the waves clamping in on me and throwing me into the surf.
Then, Serena's hands come down on my shoulder and she whispers in my ear, “It's OK. I've got you.” And I truly believe it. Everything Serena says must be true. I can't help but believe her. “Just float, Blair, it's not hard. Lay like this.” She gets on her back, lays on top of the water, floating. I can't believe that she's just floating. It shouldn't be physically possible, but there she is. Her eyes are closed, covering them from the sun. She looks so peaceful there-
And then she jumps on top of me, throwing us both beneath the waves. Surprised, I don't catch my breath and swallow a mouthful of salt water. My head swirls under the water and we're all caught and tangled together, and my heart is racing. I'm panicking, I'm seven again, and I can't breathe anymore. I tug on Serena's arm, begging her to let go, hoping that she understands. She does.
She releases me, letting me out of the water. “Blair? Are you alright?”
I shake my head, and then I realize that I'm not really shaking it on purpose. I have this involuntary movement over my whole body, shaking everywhere. Serena instantly knows she's done wrong and pulls me out of the water, onto the towels. I drip onto Dan's white shirt, startling him from his peaceful nap. “What's goin' on?” he mumbles tiredly.
I shoot him a glare and Serena explains. “Blair's just... are you alright, Blair?” She turns her attention back to me, her gaze confused and concerned. I'm sitting on the towel, breathing hard. I feel like I'm having another panic attack; I haven't had one since I was 10. But then again, I haven't been in the ocean since I was 10, either. The doctor said they were normal. I have never thought so; I've always seen it as a weakness. Eleanor always has, too.
“I'll be fine,” I mutter, because I'm not alright now, but I don't want to worry Serena. Her face is already crinkling, twisting with her concern. Dan seems mildly amused, like he knows something we don't. I certainly do not doubt this; Dan knows much more than he should.
The other two boys rush over to us, looking exactly as I would expect: Nate with a terrified look of worry, Chuck with a disdainful, cheeky smirk. “What happened?” Nate asks.
“It's nothing,” I repeat and all three boys look hideously confused. “Really. I'm fine.”
Serena puts her arms around my shoulders and forces a smile. “Yeah. She just got the wind knocked out of her.”
“By what?” Chuck questions shrewdly.
“A wave,” Serena fires back quickly. Chuck knows that he'll be outplayed this round, that there's no way to prove Serena's story isn't true. He concedes a quiet defeat. Thank God that's over. “I'm gonna take her out of the sun, OK? You boys enjoy yourselves.”
Chuck plops himself down on the towel I have just vacated. “We sure will. Don't go too crazy now, will you?” It is meant as an innocently sleaze-ball comment, but it makes me blush and Serena scoff. She keeps walking towards a little gazebo set up along the edge of the beach, her arm around my shoulders. We leave the boys in the sand until they become nothing more than little dots.
We make it to the gazebo, her arms around my shoulders as we sit down silently.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Based on the song "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton, this story is totally AU and has nothing to do with the actual story. It just shares characters/personalities. Eventual Blair/Serena, but other pairings as well. Link to lyrics for "White Houses" are inside if you want a better summary.
DISCLAIMER: I own neither the song nor the characters, nor really the plot itself.
NOTE: Sorry it's been like 8 months since I updated this, but I was busy with my own novel and then school and stuff... but I'm back with this now, if anyone's still interested.
LINKS TO PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
LYRICS LINK: "WHITE HOUSES" BY VANESSA CARLTON
I can't resist the day
No, I can't resist the day
A few days after our bonding experience, everyone feels much better about themselves and each other. We no longer spend days secluded in our rooms and moping about. The good mood that Serena brought with her to begin with has started to spread through the house like an exceptionally dirty piece of gossip. Even the dreary corners and slightly used furniture are looking more and more inviting as the days wear on. But I think that the biggest indicator of our progress is that Dan's hair no longer stands on edge when Serena goes out to see Chuck or Nate by herself. The three of them do roam around a lot, being more of the adventurous types than Dan or I. So the two of us have formed a bond.
I've come to find that the step siblings are my favorite people in the house. Chuck is still rather skeazy, lurking anywhere and everywhere he sees fit. I've gotten into the habit of checking around our room for him before getting undressed in the mornings and at night. Nate, well, I have nothing against him, but he's just dull. Introspective. Brooding. The siblings, though, are full of passion for their loves: for Dan, nothing compares to the glory of writing. I like listening to him talk about it because of the way his voice moves in the tone of a glorious instrument. Serena just loves talking- anything you do with her will be entertaining and spontaneous and beautiful because that's her natural inclination. And she appears to have no interest in Nate, who has gradually begun to pick up on this. The war is over before it even starts, it seems. That war is, at any rate; Serena still possesses a certain power over the rest of the house that, while I'm pleasantly trapped under it, cannot be something the boys are allowed to feel. So I'll have to think of sneakier, more clever plan to win them over, if not by love and lust and all those types of things teenage boys are fond of.
“What's this?” Serena shuffles through the things on my bed to find a small stuffed, beaten fox on it.
I blush a little at the thing, for it's more than a little embarrassing to still sleep with stuffed animals. “Just this fox.”
“I see that.”
“It's mine from when I was tiny. I just- it's more of a habit than anything else now. Sleeping with it, I mean?”
Instead of laughing at me, she's smiling. In a way that says she thinks it's cute how I still do this. I don't mind it. “What its name?”
“Her name is Sparky.”
Serena looks like this is fascinating to her, almost an alien world. “And you never go anywhere without her?”
I shrug. “I don't really go anywhere, but when I do, yeah, she comes.”
She puts Sparky very carefully back down on the bed. “Listen, I was thinking that maybe we could all go to the beach today. It's nice and sunny and not too hot.”
“I don't know. I don't really like beaches.”
Serena rolls her eyes. “What kind of person doesn't like beaches?”
“The kind that can't swim and burn like toast,” I reply.
She puts her hands on her hips in a very stern tone. “You can't swim?”
“Not really. I can doggy paddle.”
“Then we are lathering you up with oodles of sunscreen and taking you out.”
I don't want to. I really don't want to. I hate water and sun and sand and everything that comes with the beach. But she's doing that thing again. That thing that makes me unable to say no. It almost seems like she's been my best friend for years and knows how to wrap me around her finger. “I don't want to.” There, I said it.
She looks at me seriously, adding in an extra waggle of the eyebrows for good measure. “Blair, though you're mostly a fascinating enigma to me at the moment, I get the impression that you live your life for appearances. Is that true?”
“The social circle of Manhattan is an important part of my life, yes,” I relent weakly.
A nod. “Don't you ever want to live for yourself, just once? I mean, I used to be exactly like that until I- until a bit ago. I'm so much happier now.” A little stutter in that sentence coupled with a downward glance; she's not telling me the real story, the whole truth. That shows good judgment on her part.
“I doubt I would be.”
Her eyes flash from her hand to mine, as if debating whether or not she should take it. I firmly clasp my hands together. She looks away. It's all a very strange situation and one I'm not entirely comfortable with. “Try?” The emotion that is posed behind her tiny question pushes against her boundaries, what she can say and what she can't. Judging by the sudden serious expression on her face, there's much more that she can't say. She wants to say it, but as she cautiously opens her mouth and decides to let it remain in her own private thoughts.
And it's because of that very emotion, that piques my curiosity, that I give in. “Alright. But don't expect much enthusiasm.”
There's a quirk on her mouth, something I haven't seen before. Though it's not one of her big, infectious smiles, I feel as though she's genuinely happier than she's been in the time that I've known her. “Great! We're leaving in about a half an hour, so suit up!” She laughs glitteringly and hurries out of the room, presumably to tell the boys that she's once again convinced me to come out of my hole. I spend a lot of time in holes- in reality, I'm an introvert, but I do enjoy the importance of being popular. Hopefully, one day I'll get to be so popular I can just sit at home and still feel the admiration and attention of all my loving friends. That's the ultimate goal, and I think I'm well on my way.
I'm self-conscious. Really self-conscious. So then why did I only pack skimpy little bikinis? Why? I can't figure it out; my own stupid mistake. I don't want any of them seeing me in just that; I don't want Serena seeing me in just that. Her own body, I'm sure if her legs are any indication, is toned and beautiful and looks like a body should be. Me- getting over a bout of bulimia and skinny as a rail with only a little bit of curvature left- that's not very attractive at all. And a Waldorf must always be the best looking person in the immediate area.
I sigh and think of the rules Eleanor has been teaching me since I was a small child: even if you aren't the best looking or the best dressed, have the confidence to make everyone think you are, and you will be. I have to try in this situation. That I got myself into in the first place. Outdoing Serena van der Woodsen will certainly be a challenge. And in celebration of the challenge, I choose not the slutty, revealing suits my friends got me as gag gifts, but a practical, practically modest white one with black polka-dots. It's classy, and expensive, and helps me feel a little less self-conscious as I stare myself down in the mirror. But not so much that I don't quickly through on cut-off shorts and a cover up. I fumble around in the room to find my bag, a book(Twilight this time), my sunglasses, an enormous bottle of sunscreen, a large hat, and a towel. I assume that beach queen van der Woodsen has an ample amount of umbrellas. I hope so, anyways.
Rushing down the stairs with this bag, I notice that Chuck is staring at me with curious and dirty eyes. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he mutters. I notice that he's wearing an oddly plain white shirt and his trademark plaid preppy shorts. “The beach, huh? It doesn't look like it would agree with your skin tone.”
“Chuck, I'm not the mood for this,” I tell him. He's wormed his way into my heart, that sketchy little bastard like the rest of them, but sometimes he doesn't quite know when to stop.
He holds up his hands in innocence. “Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to pry. Let's get going, though. Don't want to miss the blonde, eh?” I can't tell if directed that last question to me, or if it was a rhetorical statement for him.
I roll my eyes and shove him anyways. “No need to be vulgar.”
“It wasn't that vulgar. Especially not for me.”
“I think I'm glad you live with your mother.”
He smirks. “Me too.” Then he walks off. I follow him to the foyer, and, upon seeing it empty, we both walk out to the black SUV where the other three are busy fighting over music selection. Well, I should say that Dan and Serena are fighting over music selection, because Nate's sitting surly in the back with his iPod on.
“Serena, no. I'm sick of your 'Beach Mix' CD. Just put in some good old Tonic, and we'll be done with it,” Dan complains. I can only assume that Tonic is some sort of folk rock band with touching and poetic lyrics because that what Dan says he listens to. And Serena's “Beach Mix” CD? I'm not sure I want to know.
“More sibling bonding,” Chuck chuckles(I couldn't resist) as we jump in the car. “You two are a hoot.”
“Chuck, shut up!” they say in unison, look at each other, and then start giggling like daft children. They are siblings- real, blood, and all that. They have to be. No one else giggles like that. Not even best friends.
Chuck looks profoundly stumped and just shrugs. “Drive.”
Dan keeps laughing and waves his hands around. “Alright, alright. I'm going.”
It's hot. Much too hot for anything whose body wasn't made for the desert, and I'm saying that sitting the relative coolness of the umbrella's shade. The boys and Serena have been playing in the water for the last hour or so, with the siblings occasionally jumping out to talk with me. Even Nate seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling and romping in the waves with Chuck. The two of them had stolen Dan's football and began to play with it about ten minutes ago, but they've lost it in the waves now. Dan's talking to me now, so he doesn't notice their frantic search. Serena went off to get a cooler from the car and a stereo or something, and hasn't returned yet. This is the subject of Dan's ramblings.
“She's probably making out with some boy, you know?” he mutters angrily. I find it hard to take him seriously because he looks so funny with his big black sunglasses in his striped beach chair and Sprite can propped on the wooden arm.
“Mhmm,” I reply nonchalantly. Dan just likes to rant some days.
“She used to do that all the time. That was before our parents got married,” he explains. “I think that my dad really settled her down. She was really crazy- did lots of hard drugs and things like that.” He pauses. “I probably shouldn't be telling you all this.”
“Well why not?” I ask him with a seductive smirk. I most certainly want to know all about Serena van der Woodsen and her dirty past. “It's not exactly a secret, right?”
“No, no, not a secret,” he reassures me. “It's just something she prefers to be buried. I don't have that much authority in discussing it-”
I give him a dubious look. “You were willing to discuss it the other night.”
“Are you referring to the bar? When I was drunk? Blair, I don't think that counts.” I've gotten him a little worked up now, and it's time to stop. After all, he won't be much use if he's mad at me.
“Sorry. I'll stop,” I tell him with a little hint of sadness- fake sadness, that is.
He rolls his eyes, seemingly more upset with himself than with me. “It's okay. I... it's just, Serena's not like that anymore. I feel weird talking about her like she's still that person. Because she's not. Not anymore.”
I nod. “It's alright.” I only give in because I know it will be easier to talk to him about this later when he's drunk. And I know he will be drunk later, because I will make him drunk. I am clever like that.
We come to a natural pause in the conversation, returning to our own solitary activities: I am reading, and Dan is watching. Watching the shore, watching the people, watching the sand, watching the sun. Dan is always watching, I've noticed. But I don't know whom or what he's watching for. I sense that there is more to him, more inside, more that he won't say. Because there is something out there making him watch, making him wonder and wait. If he can wait this long, then I can wait until tonight. I can get it out of him tonight.
Soon, the sun's bright light and sharp angle make it impossible for me to read the black words on the stark page, everything coming out in little black blotches. Dan has fallen asleep on the beach towel, his back luckily protected by a loose white T-shirt.
I take over Dan's position of watching. Serena and the other boys splash through the waves in this carefree sort of way, something that I have never been able to capture. A Waldorf is never quite as free as she pretends to be, and I hardly even pretend. The sun, the warmth, the sand, the friends make me feel like an outsider. I don't belong in this setting, nor do I belong with these people. That's why I am always on top, because when you're on top, you don't have to belong.
Letting my attention drift above the jerky movements of the waves, I scan the horizon. The ships and seagulls look so free, so different than everything near me. They are not bound by rules, real or imagined. I begin to understand why Dan watches; everything is more interesting than it seems, better than we can know if we just look. I manage to find a certain sense of peace as I watch the seagulls fly, but that peace is quickly shattered.
"What are you two doing? Get in the water!" Serena bounds up to us, drenched in the salty sea water, dried sand covering what her bathing suit didn't. She smiles brilliantly, the sun catching it like it caught the pages of my book.
Dan stirs groggily while not opening his eyes. They're not used to this brightness, this light. "I already went. Make Blair do it." I shoot him a look, but he can't see it. I resolve to get him extra drunk tonight, have him spill his secrets. And his sister's.
She turns her attention to me, eyelashes batting with a mock-flirtatious tone, and I know that it was me and only me she came here for. “Please, Blair? Come on, it's really fun.”
I blush slightly at this. It's not that her amazingly eloquent speech gets to me, but rather that I am not a very good swimmer and have always encountered a twinge fear whenever I step into an ocean. So I lie to keep this covered. It's just a tiny white lie; nothing, really. “I can't swim.”
This, however, does not deter Serena as I had hoped. She simply scoffs. “That's it? Come on.” It's almost whining now, but in the endearing sort of way that makes you want to give in to it. “I'll teach you- it's not hard. Really!” There's so much anticipation in her eyes, so much wonder and hope in her smile, that I can't bear to break it. Everything about Serena reminds me of a small child- innocent, fragile, trusting, simple. But Dan has told me otherwise. And the more I experience this version of Serena, the more intrigued I am to learn about the other one.
“I- well, I had some lessons when I was younger,” I relent.
She beams. She positively beams. “Great! It's not hard; you'll see.” She grabs me by the hand, pulling me into her back and allowing me to chase her to the shoreline. I take one last glance at my safe zone, with Dan still drowsily lying on the towel, and I give myself over to the tides.
Nate and Chuck instantly and eagerly swim over to us, wondering how Serena managed to get me to come in. Serena manages to make me do a lot of things.
“Welcome to the jungle, Waldorf,” Chuck says, his slinky smile making think he has something up his sleeve.
Serena ignores him and informs them, “I'm giving Blair a quick refresher course in swimming, so you two should back off until I finish.”
Chuck mock salutes her. “Ma'am, yes, ma'am.” He studies our reactions, laughs, and dives off into the surf, probably in search of large waves.
Nate gives an awkwardly apologetic grin. “Good luck with the swimming lessons. And remember, if you get stuck in a rip current, swim parallel to the shoreline.” He follows after Chuck, leaving us with this wisdom.
“OK. Are you ready to start?” Serena asks.
I nod, suddenly aware of the gallons of water surrounding my body. My throat tenses up, and I feel like I'm going crazy. But I'm not going crazy; I'm simply reliving a memory.
I am seven years old, playing in the sand by the beach. My mother is chatting with someone important looking a couple of hundred yards away. It's a lovely day, and it's quite hot, and I want to get in the water. I've had a couple of swimming lessons, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for the ocean. I would ask my mother, but she's busy. She's always busy. So I decide to go. It's too hot to sit on the sand that burns my feet, my legs, my bottom as I sit on it.
The water is an instant relief: it is cool to the touch and utterly fascinating. I've never been in salt water before. I take a gulp of it just to try, but spit it out: it's disgusting. I put my head under the water with my eyes open, observing the amazing clarity of the Caribbean Sea. I can see the legs and arms of the people around me. I can see pure white sand on the bottom and bits and pieces of rocks scattered around. I venture out a little farther.
This world is wonderful: it's fresh and it's new and it's exciting. I can't help but fall in love with it, so different from the paved concrete and shining glass of home. I keep going out further and further. And then I look at the shore.
It's far away- too far away. I start to panic. I get scared. I don't know what to do. I can't make it back in this state, but I can't tread water forever. I can't ask anyone for help, either. So I sit. And wait. And wait for my mother to notice that I'm no longer playing with the sand. But she doesn't notice. She continues to talk. And when she's finished talking, she glances over to the sand, sees that I'm missing, shrugs, and walks back to her beach chair.
I start to cry. I feel the stitch in my chest. I feel the strength in my legs and arms start to give out. I feel my breathing increase as spots swirl around my head. And then, I feel nothing at all.
I was lucky enough that day to be rescued by a teenager swimming near me. But I never quite managed to forgive Eleanor for that day, and I don't think she ever managed to forgive me. And now... I don't want to be left to die in this ocean again. I can't. The emotions and physical feelings return as I imagine the waves clamping in on me and throwing me into the surf.
Then, Serena's hands come down on my shoulder and she whispers in my ear, “It's OK. I've got you.” And I truly believe it. Everything Serena says must be true. I can't help but believe her. “Just float, Blair, it's not hard. Lay like this.” She gets on her back, lays on top of the water, floating. I can't believe that she's just floating. It shouldn't be physically possible, but there she is. Her eyes are closed, covering them from the sun. She looks so peaceful there-
And then she jumps on top of me, throwing us both beneath the waves. Surprised, I don't catch my breath and swallow a mouthful of salt water. My head swirls under the water and we're all caught and tangled together, and my heart is racing. I'm panicking, I'm seven again, and I can't breathe anymore. I tug on Serena's arm, begging her to let go, hoping that she understands. She does.
She releases me, letting me out of the water. “Blair? Are you alright?”
I shake my head, and then I realize that I'm not really shaking it on purpose. I have this involuntary movement over my whole body, shaking everywhere. Serena instantly knows she's done wrong and pulls me out of the water, onto the towels. I drip onto Dan's white shirt, startling him from his peaceful nap. “What's goin' on?” he mumbles tiredly.
I shoot him a glare and Serena explains. “Blair's just... are you alright, Blair?” She turns her attention back to me, her gaze confused and concerned. I'm sitting on the towel, breathing hard. I feel like I'm having another panic attack; I haven't had one since I was 10. But then again, I haven't been in the ocean since I was 10, either. The doctor said they were normal. I have never thought so; I've always seen it as a weakness. Eleanor always has, too.
“I'll be fine,” I mutter, because I'm not alright now, but I don't want to worry Serena. Her face is already crinkling, twisting with her concern. Dan seems mildly amused, like he knows something we don't. I certainly do not doubt this; Dan knows much more than he should.
The other two boys rush over to us, looking exactly as I would expect: Nate with a terrified look of worry, Chuck with a disdainful, cheeky smirk. “What happened?” Nate asks.
“It's nothing,” I repeat and all three boys look hideously confused. “Really. I'm fine.”
Serena puts her arms around my shoulders and forces a smile. “Yeah. She just got the wind knocked out of her.”
“By what?” Chuck questions shrewdly.
“A wave,” Serena fires back quickly. Chuck knows that he'll be outplayed this round, that there's no way to prove Serena's story isn't true. He concedes a quiet defeat. Thank God that's over. “I'm gonna take her out of the sun, OK? You boys enjoy yourselves.”
Chuck plops himself down on the towel I have just vacated. “We sure will. Don't go too crazy now, will you?” It is meant as an innocently sleaze-ball comment, but it makes me blush and Serena scoff. She keeps walking towards a little gazebo set up along the edge of the beach, her arm around my shoulders. We leave the boys in the sand until they become nothing more than little dots.
We make it to the gazebo, her arms around my shoulders as we sit down silently.