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第3部分（第1页）

his　hands　shaking　crazily。　If　only　he　could　have　pulled　off　some　heist　like　sabotaging　theThe　New

Yorker　？s　printing　presses　so　they　couldn？t　print　vowels　anymore。　Then　all　the　Valentine？s　Day

issues　would　have　been　recalled　from　the　newsstands　late　last　night。

As　if　he　could　ever　have　pulledthat　off。

？Yo；　dude；？　Dan　heard　the　familiar；　conceited　voice　of　his　least…favorite　Riverside　Prep　classmate

behind　him。　Dan　stopped　walking　and　turned　around　to　see　Chuck　Bass　flipping　his　signature　navy

blue　monogrammed　cashmere　scarf　over　one　shoulder　and　running　his　manicured　fingers　through

his　brown…and…blond　highlighted　hair。　？Nice　poem　inThe　New　Yorker　；　man。？　He　gave　Dan　a

congratulatory　clap　on　the　shoulder；　his　monogrammed　pinky　ring　glittering　in　the　winter

sunlight。　？Who　knew　you　were　such　a　stud？？

Was　there　something　distinctlygay　about　Chuck　Bass　these　days？　Or　perhaps　not。　Just　because

he？d　gotten　blond　highlights　and　was　wearing　a　slim；　cream…colored　wool　coat　by　Ralph

Laurenand　orange　leather　Prada　sneakers　didn？t　mean　he？d　given　up　molesting　defenseless；

drunken　girls　at　parties。　Perhaps　he　was　simply　expressing　himself。

There？s　certainly　nothing　wrong　with　that。

？Thanks；？　Dan　mumbled　as　he　fiddled　with　the　plastic　top　on　his　coffee　cup。　He　wondered　if

Chuck　was　planning　on　walking　all　the　way　to　school　with　him　so　they　could　discuss　his　poem。

But　then　Dan？s　cell　phone　rang；　saving　him　from　having　to　answer　Chuck？s　inane　questions　about

how　many　chicks　he？d　bagged　before　writing　the　poem；　or　whatever　Chuck　Bass　liked　to　talk

about　on　his　way　to　school　in　the　mornings。

Dan　put　the　phone　to　his　ear　and　Chuck　clapped　him　on　the　shoulder　again　and　kept　walking。

？Hello？？

？Congratulations；　Danielson！？　Rufus　shouted　into　the　phone。　His　father　never　got　out　of　bed

before　eight　o？clock；　so　this　was　the　first　time　Dan　had　spoken　to　him　all　morning。　？You？re　the

real　banana；　the　genuine　article！The　New　Yorker　；　the　goddamnedNew　Yorker　！？

Dan　chuckled；　feeling　slightly　ashamed。　Countless　notebooks　filled　with　his　father？s　odd；

disjointed　poems　were　stashed　in　a　dusty　box　in　the　broom　closet。　Even　though　he　was　an　editor　of

lesser…known　Beat　poets；　the　truth　was；　Rufus　had　never　actually　been　published。

？And　you？ll　never　believe？；？　Rufus　continued；　but　then　his　voice　broke　off。　Dan　heard　the　toilet

flush　in　the　background。　Typical。　His　dad　had　been　talking　to　him　while　he　was　in　the　can。

Dan　gulped　his　coffee　and　picked　up　his　pace；　crossing　Broadway　and　heading　down

Seventy…seventh　Street。　He　was　going　to　be　late　for　first…period　chemistry　if　he　didn？t　hurry　up。

Not　that　that　would　be　such　a　bad　thing。　？Dad？　You　still　there？？　he　asked。

？Hold　on；　kid；？　Rufus　replied　distractedly。　？I　got　my　hands　full　here。？

Dan　could　picture　his　dad　drying　his　hands　on　the　frayed　red　towel　hanging　on　the　back　of　the

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