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The elevator shutters to a stop, the doors slowly open, and suddenly there they are: all of the classmates that he's spent the better part of his first year at St. Jude's trying to impress for some reason. For as hard as he's actually tried though, he's barely seem to have made it on their radar. Dan is a speck in the corner to them, barely noticeable. Until recently, apparently, when Nate Archibald himself clapped Dan on the back in the hallway and invited him to this party.
Dan doesn't even know whose house he's in.
He's not in - Dan has always known this. He will never be in with these people. Their life, their niche, it's not something that you can buy your way into. It's a birthright. One that Dan Humphrey certainly did not and will never have.
But see, the thing is that Dan had absolutely no idea how on the outside he actually is until Nate is looking at him with the most vacant expression ever and calling him Matt from lacrosse. He tried to correct him, but Nate doesn't seem to care much and just continues on his merry way through the throng of teenagers. It would have been a horrible idea anyway, to out himself when he's finally there and get kicked out of a party he just got into.
Because now that he's there, there's no way he's going to leave. Dan goes to St. Jude's, wears the tacky uniform and everything. Shouldn't he at least get a glimpse of the lifestyle he is missing out on simply because his last name is Humphrey instead of Archibald or Bass?
The party is in full swing, and Dan is so distracted by everything and trying to take it all in that he crashes into Chuck Bass. Well, more like Chuck Bass crashes into him. But Dan is the lesser of the two, both socially and financially, and Chuck had one of those if-looks-could-kill kind of faces. Ergo, he crashes into Chuck. Chuck spares a simple glance at Dan, as if he can't believe such a person beneath him would actually dare to touch him, if only for a moment, but he quickly moves on to one of the girls giving him the eye out of the sea of them.
With a roll of his own eyes, Dan moves over to stand at the base of the grand staircase, briefly wondering what might be hiding upstairs in this expensive and exquisite Manhattan home. It doesn't take long for his fleeting wonder to be answered. A blonde girl, obviously drunk off her ass, stumbles out of the hallway in her too tall heels and grips the railing, a bottle of wine clutched in one hand. Grinning down at the crowd wildly, makeup smudged, and her hair a disheveled mess. Despite that, Dan gets the impression that she is probably strikingly beautiful. When she's sober, anyway.
But he doesn't get enough time to even stop and consider the merits of this girl's beautiful when another girl quickly trails behind her. This girl though, she's definitely what Dan would have pictured when he thinks of the stereotypical rich Manhattan socialite. She - unlike her very drunk friend - is dressed to the nines with a flowing dress and a pearl necklace adjoining her neck. With makeup perfectly in place and dark hair coiffed, Dan can't help but think she's very beautiful, and somehow very familiar.
Dan is so distracted by her that he pays no attention to the third girl who follows behind, keeping his eyes trained on the brunette that looks like she would be able to crush him with her dainty little hands and not even think twice about it. The girl links arms with the giggling blonde and feebly attempts to pull her back into the hallway and away from the rowdy crowd. Her mouth - painted a very pretty glossy red - is pulled down into a scowl.
"Serena," she grumbles unhappily. "Usually I am all for your little drunken antics, however this is my home and I appreciate it if you were to keep yourself presentable. Perhaps this type of behavior might pass at another party, but not at one that's in my house."
Well, that answers Dan's question about whose house he happens to be intruding. Suddenly he finds a newfound appreciation for the black and white tile floor and the pristine white walls.
Serena snorts. "Calm down, B. It's a party."
B. Dan had heard Serena call her B. That was most likely a nickname. But what was her actual name?
"In my house," the girl repeats. "Like I said, this would be fine by me at anyone else's house that is not my own. Like Penelope's! Why didn't we throw this little shindig at her place instead, I wonder?"
The girl just behind her - Penelope apparently - lets out a scoff of disbelief and crosses her arms, chin jutting out defiantly. "I offered, and you said you'd rather die than have a party in a barn. We live in a condo. This is all on you."
"I still stand by my original statement," B mumbles, rolling her pretty eyes and ignoring the offended gasp that Penelope lets out. "Whatever, get over it, Penelope."
B tugs at Serena again, harder and with more force, and Serena actually allows herself to be pulled back this time, and she crashes into B's arms, and she quickly spins her around (Dan sincerely hopes that she doesn't vomit over the side of the stairs because that would be rather unfortunate for a multitude of people) and shoves her in Penelope's direction. "Here," she intrusts. "Just take her up to my bathroom and make sure she doesn't puke on the carpet."
Penelope huffs, but otherwise listens to B's instructions to the letter in such a manner that Dan gets the feeling that B is definitely the one in charge, or very high up on the social hierarchy. Penelope coaxes Serena back into the hallway and out of sight, and Dan half expects B to follow them and then that would be the end of his awkward voyeurism. But she doesn't. Instead, she pulls over her phone and starts to stomp down the stairs in a pair of black kitten heels while she frowns at the device in her hands.
Dan should leave. Or, at the very least, walk away before she catches a glimpse of him. After all, this is her party and she should certainly know who was invited. Matt from lacrosse was invited. Dan Humphrey from Brooklyn was not. So he should leave and never see her or entertain the thought of speaking to her. He should do back home and tell Jenny that the party was terribly boring and down himself in a book for the rest of the evening. He should go to school the next morning and completely forget about the entire night before. He should. He should.
He doesn't.
"Not looking where you're going is a health hazard, you know," Dan says, because he can't really help himself.
The girl glances up at him, face closed off and shoulders stiff the moment her eyes grace his face. Not a moment later, her lips are curling in disdain. "So is giving an unwanted opinion," she shoots back without missing a beat.
Dan smiles, despite how displeased she seems to see him. "I was just saying that you might want to watch where you're going, Holly."
The name sort of slips out of him. He certainly doesn't mean for it to, but it does. The pearl necklace and shoes sort of do it for him, strikingly reminding him of the iconic Holly Golightly outfit in the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany's. Dan almost expects her to get offended, to perhaps think that he got her name wrong and he actually thinks it's Holly. She'd seem like the type to be miffed by being called by the wrong name. It makes him want to apologize immediately, despite the fact that he doesn't actually know her name. All he knows is that it starts with a B.
But she surprises him by glancing down at her shoes, shuffling a bit in place, and then, almost ruefully, saying, "Yes, I suppose so, Paul."
Paul. She made him Paul. Hepburn's love interest. Wow. That may speak volumes about how this girl perceives him in this moment, seeing him as someone who might have some sort of potential.
Or perhaps she's just naming the first character that popped into her mind. Paul is, after all, quite a prominent character in the film, level of relevance ranking immediately under Holly.
Dan blushes, sputtering out words he knows he'll later regret when he's laying in bed and reliving this moment over and over again. "My name is Dan, actually. And I mean, obviously your name isn't Holly and you caught on to my reference otherwise you wouldn't have called me Paul. Or maybe you think my name is actually Paul, I mean-"
B's perfectly plucked eyebrows rise up in amusement and disbelief, and oh God she's just standing there letting him ramble like a total idiot.
"Uh, I'm Dan," Dan finishes, blinking rapidly and hoping the blush on his cheeks isn't as noticeable as he thinks it to be.
She gives off an aura of thinly veiled amusement, those lips just barely twitching into the semblance of a smile. "So I gathered. I don't recall sending you an invitation to this party, Dan."
"Nate invited me," Dan answers quickly, hoping she knows who Nate even is. She should. Nate is one of the most popular boys at St. Jude's with supposedly with one of the most beautiful girlfriend at Constance.
"Seems like something my boyfriend would do," B says with a good natured roll of her eyes. "Invite a total stranger to my party."
Boyfriend. Dan gets stuck on that.
(The claim that Nate has a very beautiful girlfriend isn't off the mark at all.)
He isn't sure what he expected. Sweeping this girl he just met - a rich Manhattan socialite - off her feet is only a vague daydream he can't even afford to have. Of course she has a boyfriend. Of course it's Nate Archibald.
"If it makes you feel any better," Dan says after a pause. "He thought I was Matt from lacrosse."
"And you are actually Dan from..." B trails off, waiting for him to finish.
Dan hesitates, knowing that the moment she finds out that he's beneath her, the spell will be broken and she'll crush him under her shoes. But still, he squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw, and answers honestly. "I'm Dan from Brooklyn."
She closes off a bit after that, and seems a bit miffed to be speaking to him. "So you're Brooklyn, then? Huh, Chuck told me about you."
Okay, so that comes as a bit of news to him. The fact that these people had actually spoken about him, even if it had been in passing, is practically unbelievable.
"You aren't what I expected," B continues, and Dan isn't sure if he should be offended or preen in her presence.
"What did you expect?" Dan prompts.
"I'm not sure," B admits. "Certainly not this."
"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Dan asks, leaning against the railing of the staircase.
She opens her mouth to speak, but she never gets the chance.
"Blair, Serena may or may not have thrown up in your satin sheets when I tried to put her to bed," Penelope's shrill voice comes from up the stairs, and the moment is ruined. Both of them tear their eyes away from each other, glancing up the staircase. Penelope looks like a hot mess, eyes wide and shirt slightly unbuttoned. Serena must have done a number on her, the poor girl.
When he glances back down at B - Blair - she's not even looking at him anymore, just glaring up at Penelope. Their moment is over, and now the only thing that matters to Blair is the state of her satin sheets.
"I told you to make sure that she didn't puke anywhere!" Blair screeches, and then she's stomping back up the stairs in those Hepburn-esque kitten heels of hers.
Blair doesn't look back at him, but Dan still finds himself grateful to have garnered her attention for fleeting moment that he'd been able to. She was a whirlwind, a storm, and Dan can't take his eyes off her retreating feature until she's gone, and even after he finds his eyes trained to the very spot she stood just moments ago. A part of him - a larger part than he would like to admit - wants to follow, wants to get to know her, wants to stay as close to this girl as he can.
But she has a boyfriend and he's Dan Humphrey.
At the very least, now he has a name. Blair. Blair. Blair.
(He doesn't realize it at the time, but Dan is in far more trouble than he thought.)