"Well, it's probably about half and half," I note, feeling no reason to lie to her as I shake her hand, managing the sort of charming smile my mother always taught me to wear at functions. Another loll of my hair in Blair's direction and I stare at her hopelessly. "Cheerleader? Skinny will laugh so much less if I'm at least a cheerleader. I didn't go to Harvard to wear kneesocks, short skirts and wield sticks, prinzessin."