Here’s the thing. About Blair. Seems that once you know her secrets you end up snagged in them. He’s being unfair. It’s mostly just her gaze flitting to his whenever there’s a mention of mothers, or really even parents in general. Or Serena. Or bad haircuts.
In AP Lit she raises her hand and disagrees with his points about inaction in Hamlet, and they end up leading the class discussion in a way that feels less like squabbling and more like sharing.
“Sounds like somebody has mommy issues,” she takes in the classroom tittering like the negative attention towards him somehow charges her up.
He lets her have it, a responding “clearly” stuck in his throat.
The edges of her mouth turn down like she knows it’s there anyway, like she’s just waiting for it, her eyes flashing with something almost like disappointment before they flick away.
He thinks about how he’d feel at the end of the day. About how he’d lie in bed at night thinking about Blair Waldorf instead of once again continuing to be blissfully preoccupied with planning his Friday date with Serena. Just wishing he’d said it. Wishing that he’d opened his mouth and let it out.
“Clearly,” he finally voices pointedly, tilts his head slightly, “someone does.”
Blair smiles with only a hint of sharpness; he grins right back.