You Just Cant Get Enough | Chapter 22 of 43

Author: Cecily von Ziegesar | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 2340 Views | Add a Review

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looking for labels, looking for love

Baby sat on the concrete steps of Union Square on Tuesday after school, her face turned up to the sun. Surrounding her were the members of Underground Response, all dressed in Stella McCartney dresses, 3.1 by Phillip Lim skinny pants, and Rag & Bone waistcoats. They would have been the picture of Upper East Side sophistication, except for the fact that the guys were the ones dressed in the frilly frocks, and the girls were all decked out in slouchy hoodies and khakis.

Fashion police! We have a major emergency!

Baby smiled in satisfaction, pleased that so many people had turned up. She and Sydney had come up with the idea of shooting a back-to-school fashion spread for Rancor. A fashion issue, especially with well-known designers, would cause the bitchy girls of Constance to wet their pants in excited anticipation, then freak out when they saw the guys in girls’ clothing. They had discussed it over red wine and, when they’d begun using phrases like female-centered sexuality and rejecting binaries, realized they might actually accomplish something beyond making Rancor a little less lame. Luckily, Webber had been only too happy to help, volunteering Underground Responders to the cause. Constance girls would have no idea how to understand this type of mind-fuck.

The mostly-Columbia-undergrad group milled about the stone steps, happily chatting as if they were at a really weird party. Baby sighed with contentment as she watched the double takes of passersby. This was so much better than mingling with traditional couture-wearing attendees at the fancy parties Avery obsessed over.

Sydney stood next to the nearby Gandhi statue, frowning into a digital camera. Even from Baby’s perch, she could tell Sydney had no clue what she was doing. Baby knew she should go over and help her, but right now, she was content just to sit back and observe. These people, like Mateo, really got it: that life was supposed to be fun. It kind of reminded her of the best parts of a Bertolucci film, where characters realized their essential selves.

“Hey!” Mateo’s strong arms circled her from behind. She could smell his smoky breath.

“Hey!” Baby giggled nervously and gently pulled his hands off her. J.P. had said he might stop by later, and even though she and Mateo were just friends, she didn’t want J.P. to see them touching.

“I have to go help Webber and Sydney.” She brushed off the back of her enormous tan Paul Smith cords. They were the smallest size possible, but were still way too large on Baby’s skinny frame. She ambled over to the Gandhi statue, where Sydney was now animatedly arguing with Webber, his lanky body bedecked in a Thread sheath dress.

“Jesus, it’s a fucking nightmare here.” Sydney sighed dramatically, even though she was grinning. “Like, drag isn’t enough, now all these guys want to strip outside Forever 21 to protest consumerism. You can only do one thing at a time in a revolution, you know?” Sydney shrugged and turned her full attention to Webber. “I don’t care that they want to strip outside Forever 21. They can—I just need to get these shots first. Please?” She was wearing a pair of ridiculous-looking candy-cane seersucker shorts that Baby sincerely hoped no guy would ever buy, and a wifebeater, sans bra. Her nipple piercings were clearly visible, like little door-knockers.

Come in!

“It’s not so much consumerism as capitalism, man. It’s the trickle-down effect,” one of the URs explained in a voice Baby recognized, from years of dating Tom, as 100 percent stoner. He adjusted his ridiculous-looking fake boobs under a small white blouse that would have looked adorable on a girl but just looked obscene on a guy.

“They can do the protest in fifteen minutes!” Sydney conceded loudly. “Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to freaking direct people who are self-proclaimed anarchists?” She sighed ruefully. “Hey Baby, is that your boyfriend?”

Baby glanced over at Mateo, who was fake-wrestling his friend Fernando in their matching Catholic schoolgirl–style kilts. Around them, a small crowd had gathered.

“Your official boyfriend,” Sydney clarified. She rolled her eyes in the direction of University Place. J.P. was shuffling along, carrying his BlackBerry, a MacBook Air bulging from his leather Tumi bag. He looked out of place in the park, which was filled with skateboarders, overly pierced NYU kids, and middle-aged people wearing ’60s-inspired shapeless ground-length skirts and tie-dyed T-shirts.

“Is he coming from a Young Republican convention or a debate team meeting?” Sydney giggled.

“He’s not like that, really,” Baby whispered, grabbing Sydney’s digital camera and pretending to be particularly interested in the shots. They actually looked good, Baby realized, especially the faraway ones, where you really couldn’t tell who was a girl and who was a guy.

“Hey gorgeous!”

Baby quickly passed the camera over to Sydney and wheeled around, smiling sheepishly. She hadn’t told J.P. exactly what they were doing this afternoon, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t get it.

“You look… different,” he said skeptically.

At least he didn’t say pretty this time.

“Yeah, we’re sort of doing this fashion shoot thing that explores gender perceptions,” Baby explained. J.P. nodded, but he seemed unconvinced. Did it sound dumb? It hadn’t when she’d talked it through with Sydney. Sydney bent down and picked up a bullhorn. “Okay, people, let’s get the shot!” she bleated like a Girl Scout leader. Around them, hordes of skirt-wearing guys formed a crowd on the steps.

“Why are you doing this again?” J.P. glanced around, backing away from the group.

Baby chewed her lip thoughtfully. J.P. looked nothing like Mateo or Webber or any of the other guys, and not just because he was the only guy not wearing a skirt. “It’s just fun.” Baby gazed into J.P.’s warm brown eyes imploringly.

“It’s kind of getting cold,” J.P. responded noncommittally, as if they were strangers. Baby shivered involuntarily.

“Would it be better if I got you a skirt? My treat!” she teased, but she felt a little nervous. Everything was fine before J.P. had arrived but now all she could think about was what he’d think of all this.

“That’s okay,” J.P. said stiffly. “You know what, I should just go. I know you have to do this for school, so just call me when you’re done. Maybe we can grab dinner or something.” He shrugged.

“Sorry,” Baby said, then felt angry at herself for apologizing. It wasn’t her fault J.P. was uncomfortable. She personally was having a ball. “Is it because you don’t like women to wear the pants?” she joked lamely, gesturing to her cords.

J.P. chuckled, but his eyes darted away. “Call me when you’re done, doll,” he said, and practically sprinted out of the park. Baby walked back to the group. Doll? Since when was she anyone’s doll?

Maybe since she started playing dress-up?

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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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