Everyone's their own Gossip Girl *BOOK PREVIEW*

Gossip #11:

Kyle might had been only so close to getting that video from the jocks and demolishing the files, but he hadn’t. Or, in other terms, he wasn’t superman and he couldn’t exactly just force the bulkier guys to bow down under his honour. That was basically an eleven year old boy’s dream, not a seventeen year old boy’s reality.

“So, you finally talked to her?” Vanessa asked, her legs over the top of the chair, her hair curled between her fingers.

“Who?” Kyle asked.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. Kyle was being his quirky self. “Katrina, you dummy.”

Kyle blinked. Katrina… The name was so beautiful. Only if Kyle was as beautiful as Katrina…

“You’re going to answer my question?”

“Huh?” Kyle hummed. “Oh, Katrina, right. I haven’t exactly”-Vanessa groaned in exhaustion-“but, I do have a phone that I can use to call people.”

“You have her number?” Ester asked as she walked across the kitchen to the refrigerator. “Doesn’t the West Millers have something delicious to snack on?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Yes, I do. Saved on my phone.”

“Speed dial?” Ester and Vanessa suggested at the same time.

Two blinks flashed and both girls looked at each other, complaining. They could go on for ages about how unmanly Kyle was in nature. Kyle was too obvious. Too obvious for such a quirky character.

“Then call her,” Vanessa suggested. “She has to be on speed dial for a reason, right?”

Kyle blinked. He slowly pulled out his cell from his back-pocket as he flipped open the screen, staring down at the device as if it was some kind of murderous weapon. In the world of girls and gossip, it actually was a pretty genius equivalent. “Well, I guess.”

“Call her,” Vanessa ordered, her eyes fixed on Kyle. Sure, he was a dork, but really, he was a cute boy who every other girl would have wished to date but couldn’t because they never gave guys like Kyle a chance. That was going to change. Especially for Katrina.

“Do I-?”

“Yes,” Ester interrupted, chugging down the last of the milk left.

Kyle’s whole face scrunched up. “No, don’t do that. That’s unhygienic.”

“You’re disgust to my eyes,” Ester complained.

“Who’s a disgust?” Kyle’s father came walking in, a class of milk in one hand, and a pack of bandages in the other. He walked around the counter and placed his collection of lost items on top of the marble counter, taking elegant sips of his two percent, all-fat milk.

Ester bumped hips with him, making the poor fifty year old man tumble over slightly. “Your son. He doesn’t know how to speak with a girl.”

Mr. West Miller’s face scrunched up. Kyle knew that their bloodline of people weren’t good at flirting, they definitely weren’t good kissers, and were more shy and reserved than most. Kind of the “L” family: Losers, Loners, and Lawnmowers. The family were really good with lawn-mowing, that Kyle knew for sure (might as well be a part of the reason why they weren’t the most popular of the school, or never had much significant spouses or jobs because they were the West Millers!).

Except Mr. West Miller was an odd one. He, for some reason, was religious into believing that he would be the hopeless romantic out of the family and someday had the best wife, the best kids, and the best life a West Miller could have. If you put that into realistic terms, just get him a woman who is decent with kids that will obey and respect anytime, anywhere, and throw them all into a decent apartment with a few cockroach and ant invasions every now and then to entertain themselves with. Of course, if “best kids” meant a teenage girl who was obsessed with interior and product designing and wouldn’t leave her room unless it was an emergency, and a sixteen year old boy who could’ve made a million dollars with his compilation of shorter writes and poetry if they had better material inside of them.