chapter FIVE.

Jenny's blonde head of hair hung low as she sat precariously on one of the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, her head throbbing and her throat dry. She'd woken up at nine in the morning with almost no recollection of the night prior, whatsoever. Which is why she'd called Hazel and Penny over this morning so they could fill her in.

They were no doubt suffering from their own painful hangovers, but being juniors at Constance probably made them gurus at handling this type of thing. . . Jenny, however, had no such luck.

The young blonde couldn't bring herself to raise her head completely and face the glaringly bright sun and the equally vibrant hues of the taxi cabs that flooded the streets of Manhattan, so she kept her head low as she sipped from the warm paper cup she'd been holding. She'd stopped by Starbucks right before coming here and she'd gotten her favorite: a white chocolate mocha with extra whip. . . Sadly, though, even that had failed to cure the feeling that her head would implode at any moment.

And just when she was about to give up, rush over to the nearest clothing shop, and purchase the biggest, darkest pair of sunglasses she'd ever seen to help hide her still-half-drunken eyes from the world, two long shadows were suddenly cast above her slumped figure. Slowly, she tipped her head back and took in the sight of her two new best friends, Penny and Hazel, both girls looking as gorgeous as ever.

They each held their cell phones in their hands as if they were so important that they could get a text message from someone famous at any given time, so Jenny decided to yank her own cell out of Blair's hand-me-down Balenciaga bag and keep it in her grasp at all times as well. Just in case.

"Hey, little J," greeted Penny, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and joining Jenny on the steps which she sat. "You look like hell. What's up?"

Hazel joined both girls on the ground and flipped open her Sidekick, typing something hastily into it and then shutting it once more. Before Jenny could open her mouth to explain the reason she'd summoned them - that she was desperately worried she'd done something drunkenly wretched last night that would get her into a scandal as big as Blair's and that she'd regret for the rest of her teenage life - Hazel cut her off: "After this we're gonna stop by the Three Guys Cafe for some croissants. Then we're getting our hair done at Arden's. Wanna come?"

Jenny slid her eyes over to Hazel but as soon as she did so, she wished she hadn't - they felt like they needed to be plucked out of their sockets and rubbed with some kind of special ointment or something. Instead of mentioning the fact that she'd never be able to afford doing both of those activites in the same day, she simply shook her head and said: "No, thanks. I've got some things to take care of."

Penny and Hazel both nodded enthusiastically as if envying Jenny for having so much places to go and people to see - as if she'd even been telling the truth.

"Okay, well we'd better get a move on. Tomorrow's monday and we'll need to look totally gorg if we want to impress everyone with the tans and trims we got over the weekend," Penny explained, standing up and smoothing out the black-and-red Burberry coat she'd been wearing since she woke up. "BTW, can you believe how fast the weekends blur by these days?" Before Jenny could respond with an awkward chuckle or an agreeing sigh, both girls just waved at her and walked away in those expensive shoes of theirs.

"TTYL!"

"Wait!" Jenny stood up and once again wished she hadn't behaved so suddenly. "How do you guys get rid of these nasty hangovers? I've been racking my brain all morning."

Penny and Hazel turned to eachother and laughed as if Jenny was such an amature and they learned that bit of information in the fourth grade. They turned around and kept walking, but as they did so, Hazel shouted over her shoulder: "Take two Tylenol and have the chef whip up some scrambled eggs and a mimosa. You'll be cured in no time!"

Jenny frowned and plopped back down on the cement steps, brandishing the paper cup so tightly it just might have popped. Luckily, it didn't, but she was still feeling pretty miffed: 'The Chef'? Right, like she had one. . . And what the hell was a mimosa?


All of a sudden feeling a bit left out, Little J? Figured as much. Haven't you heard? It takes a lot more to run Constance Billard than just pretty hair and shiny nailpolish. . .

you know you love me.
xoxo; gossip girl