Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

The only thing assholes are good for

"You better grab a copy while I still have some, man," Chuck Bass whispered loudly across the space between his desk and Dan's. He shoved a large, glossy black-and-white photograph of his own head and bare upper torso in Dan's direction. "I just got back from Berlin last night where I did this cologne ad? German chicks are fucking awesome." Charles Bartholomew Bass, the only child of Bartholomew and Misty Bass, and heir to the Bass leather and luxury goods fortune, was tall and handsome in a cheesy men's underwear or aftershave ad type of way. His carefully coiffed dark hair was thick and shiny, he sported a fake-looking tan, his cheeks were overmoisturized, and his glassy blue eyes gleamed lewdly. Chuck wore a gold monogrammed pinky ring and, in winter, a navy blue cashmere scarf with a gold monogram, as if to demonstrate to everyone that he was in love with every aspect of himself, including his own initials.

Dan was generally a very nice boy, but when this particular Riverside Prep classmate spoke to him, his automatic physical, response was to wrinkle his nose in absolute disgust. He pretended to be lost in thought, dreaming up the next stanza of the new poem he was writing for Serena, even though they were in geometry, but his eyes couldn't help but wander to Chuck's annoying head shot.

"I'm serious, man, take it while it's still fresh."

Dan flashed a disparaging half-smile and tucked the photograph inside his grubby black messenger bag. "Thanks." He went back to musing on Serena's unbelievable beauty, his gnawed-on blue Bic pen poised over a fresh page in his black leather-bound notebook.

Chuck didn't get the hint. "You think if I give these out at that party tomorrow night Serena van der Woodsen will finally give in and let me see her naked? After all, tomorrow is Valentine's Day."

Dan blinked. Suddenly he didn't mind Chuck's ridiculous stench of man perfume. "What party?"

Chuck leaned his elbows on Dan's desk. "While I'm here, do you have the answers to the worksheet Miss Porkbutt handed out yesterday? I was gonna do it at lunch, but then my agent called to ask if I could shoot an ad for Axe in Reykjavik this Sunday. As if I need to work so badly I'm willing to lose my dick to frostbite."

Their geometry teacher, Miss Pohrbet, was forever leaving the room for five minutes and then coming back, either to test them or because she had some sort of bladder problem and had to go to the bathroom a lot. Presently she was out of the room. Dan handed over his completed worksheet. Saying no and then arguing with Chuck would require too much energy—and besides, it was only math. "What party?" he repeated insistently.

Chuck grabbed the worksheet. "Just some senior from St. Jude's," he explained vaguely as he hastily copied down the answers. "But everyone will be there."

Everyone. Translation: Serena.

Dan nodded. "Do you think it would be weird if I went?"

Chuck shoved the worksheet back at him. "What the fuck do I care? You could go or not go," he growled dismissively, indicating that he was no longer interested in talking to Dan. "But if you do go, maybe you could try not wearing pants from the giveaway bin at the Salvation Army."

Dan glanced down at his faded black corduroys. They were from Old Navy and had been new once—sometime last year. Other than his brown cords and the green track pants he wore sometimes to play basketball in the park, they were the only pants he had. Rufus wasn't into shopping, and although Dan had to follow Riverside Prep's tan, black, gray, or navy blue slacks and plain collared shirts dress code, he liked that he looked a little retro and a little scruffier than his khaki-clad classmates. But would Serena be revolted by his faded clothes and generally unkempt appearance? Maybe he was just beginning the descent down a slippery slope. Before he knew it he'd be tying his hair up with twist ties or pieces of garbage bags, just like his father.

Best get himself to a department store tout de suite!

Dan pulled his cell phone out of his bag and discreetly texted his only friend in the world besides his little sister.

GOING 2 THE GAP AFTER SCHOOL WANT 2 COME? he typed hurriedly. Cell phone use was strictly forbidden in school—not that everyone and his kindergarten-age little brother didn't break that rule on a daily basis.

YES UR GAYNESS, Zeke Freedman texted back from across the room, WHAT'S THE OKSION?

Dan was about to invite Zeke to the party with him, but the fact was the other boys in their class called the big-hipped, acneprone physics and basketball whiz Zeke the Geek. It was probably best not to advertise their friendship when his ultimate goal was to talk to Serena.

MY ASS GREW, Dan typed back, feeling guilty—but not that guilty—for neglecting to mention the party or his reason forgoing. He preferred to avoid being berated by Zeke for getting a haircut, shaving, and wearing new jeans for a girl who had no clue he even existed. If Serena took a chance and smiled at him, or even better, said something, Zeke would be forgotten so fast it would be as if he'd never existed anyway.

So much for loyalty.

Dan flipped open his notebook as a rush of words flooded his mind.

It's not the idea of me. It's me. Whether you know me or don't,

We're the same sameness.

So pretend. It's just pretend. Pretend that you know me.

That we're in love. Just pretend. That's the idea.

That's it.

Blushing as his pen flew across the page, Dan felt his palms grow more and more damp and he bit his lower lip. He was the next e. e. cummings! The next Robert Frost! The next Wallace Stevens. Of course he'd never let Serena read this one. Pretend that we're in love? He'd rather be thrown into a pit full of vipers first. But he could pretend that she'd read it when he saw her at the party. It would be his own little Valentine to himself.

Which is slightly sad, but also extremely cute.