ould　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；　crumbly　corner　and　hopped　up　on　the

counter；　kicking　the　cupboards　below　with　her　size…eight…and…a…half　feet。　Pop…Tarts　at　Nate？s。

She？d　been　having　them　there　since　she　was　five　years　old。　And　now　。　。　。　and　now　。　。　。

Serena　sighed　heavily。　？Mom　and　Dad　want