Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

V can't wash d out of what's left of her hair

Dan. It wasn't the best name in the world. She would have preferred it if he insisted on going by Daniel. Dashiell would have been much more exciting. Then he would have been Dash for short, which was just plain sexy. Dan. Who would have ever thought she'd like a boy named Dan? Dan was so boring, like John or Bob or Brad. But here it was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning and she was wide awake, thinking about Dan.

He was so cute when he puked. His skinny body kind of writhed in disgust while he hacked away. She'd tried to warn him that smoking cigarettes was like sucking on a car's exhaust pipe and that his body was going to reject all that carbon monoxide, especially combined with the caffeine and whatever the fuck it was they put in Irish coffee—alcoholic Junior Mints? But Dan wouldn't listen to her. He was stubborn and seriously naïve, but so smart. Hello? Did anyone else she knew quote Goethe and Proust and Joyce without even trying? Clearly he was born in the wrong century. And so damned adorable with his pale skin, shaggy colorless hair, dumpy cords, and his soulful light brown eyes. She just wanted to carry him around in her bag so she could take him out and play with him whenever she wanted.

Woof, woof!

Vanessa pulled out the Ear Inn matchbook with the word Dan and his number written on it in her orderly, all-caps handwriting. Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed the phone from the windowsill behind her bed and dialed. Outside it was snowing and raining at the same time, and the smell of wet sugar from the sugar factory nearby permeated the air. The radiator behind Vanessa's head coughed and sputtered in its attempt to overheat the tiny apartment.

"Jesus Christ, hello?" a gruff voice answered.

Her heartbeat sped up. Dan's dad? What the fuck should she say? "Oh, hello. This is Vanessa Abrams calling for Dan. I know it's early—"

"Is it? I don't wear a watch," the voice boomed. She could hear the rustle of papers and the clinking of glasses. "I just sleep when I'm tired. Wait, who'd you say this was?"

"Vanessa," she told him again. "Dan and I met last night." She blushed as she said this, realizing it sounded like she and Dan had fooled around or something. She folded her legs over each other proprietarily, even though she was wearing gray long- john bottoms and was underneath her white down comforter all by herself.

"Finally!" the voice growled. "You have no idea how long this infatuation has gone on for. He's been impossible, mooning over you. But you sound like a wonderful girl. A little too girly for my taste, but I'm sure you've got a noggin underneath all those fancypants clothes."

iVanessa sat up, confused. "Is this Dan Humphrey's residence?"

"Yes, I'm his father, Rufus. So when can you come over for dinner? I have so many new recipes and I'm dying to try them out on someone who isn't completely biased!"

"She tried to picture what Dan's apartment might be like. His dad obviously liked to cook, so it probably smelled like garlic and marinara sauce and baking bread all the time. The whole place was probably wall-to-wall bookshelves, stocked with the classics. There were probably lots of big comfy sofas for reading and good natural light and a dog or two. And flowers—flowers and books all over the place. She glanced around at her own plain white room with its hard futon on the floor and nothing on the walls. "That sounds really nice."

"You know, Dan doesn't get out much, so it's lucky you two finally met. He's a good kid, but he's got confidence issues. Not to generalize, but with a charming, beautiful girl like you on his arm, maybe he'll come out of his shell a little."

Vanessa was blushing again. Would talking to Dan's father always be this embarrassing? She rubbed her free hand over her freshly shaven scalp. "Okay. Well, please tell Dan that his friend Vanessa called."

"Okay, Dan's friend Vanessa," Mr. Humphrey repeated mockingly. "Now go give yourself another egg yolk facial, or whatever it is you girls do."

Vanessa hung up and hugged her long-john-covered knees to her chest. So Dan had already talked about her at home! Had he spent the rest of the night thinking about her the way she had about him? Her digital camera lay on the floor next to the futon. She picked up the camera and scanned through some of last night's pictures. There was Serena dancing, traces of her bare, tattooed butt cheeks just grazing the edge of the frame. With that curtain of blond hair falling halfway down her back and her tan, endless legs, she was so perfect and stunning she looked almost fake. Then there was Dan, shivering in the cold beneath a Tribeca street lamp, his bony fingers wrapped miserably around an unfiltered Camel as he smiled shyly at the lens. She bent her head and carefully kissed the image, not embarrassed in the least.

And she claims she doesn't need a boyfriend.