d wipe it on the seat of her snow…soaked dark denim
Earl jeans； then grabbed his hand with her faux…snotty one。 ？Thanks； pal。？ She staggered to her
feet。 ？You？re a real chum。？
Nate led the way inside。 The backs of his pant legs were damp and she could see the outline of
his tighty…whiteys。 Really； how gay of him！ He held the glass…paned French doors open and stood
aside to let her pass。 Serena kicked off her baby blue Uggs and scuffed her bare； Urban Decay
Piggy Bank pink？toenailed feet down the long hall to the stately town house？s enormous； barely
used all…white Italian Modern kitchen。 Nate？s father was a former sea captain…turned…banker； and
his mother was a French society hostess。 They were basically never home； and when theywere
home； they were at the opera。
？Are you hungry？？ Nate asked； following her。 ？I？m so sick of takeout。 My parents have been in
Venezuela or Santa Domingo or wherever they go in February for like two weeks； and I？ve been
eating burritos； pizza； or sushi every freaking night。 I asked Regina to buy ham； Swiss； Pepperidge
Farm white bread； Grammy Smith apples； and peanut butter。 All I want is the food I ate in
kindergarten。？ He tugged anxiously on his wavy； golden brown hair。 ？Maybe I？m going through
some sort of midlife crisis or something。？
Like his life is so stressful？
？It？s GrannySmith； silly；？ Serena informed him fondly。 She opened a glossy white cupboard and
found an unopened box of cinnamon…and…brown…sugar Pop…Tarts。 Ripping open the box； she
removed one of the packets from inside； tore it open with her neat； white teeth； and pulled out a
thickly frosted pastry。 She sucked on the Pop…Tart？s sweet； crum