==================================
it had to be you
the gossip girl prequel
and find out how it all began。
by the #1New York Times bestselling author
Cecily von Ziegesar
twisted minds think alike
？Ouch； shit；？ muttered Dan Humphrey； burning his tongue on his tap…water…and…Folgers…crystals
excuse for a cup of coffee。
Ever heard of Starbucks； dude？
Dan stuck a slightly bent Camel in his mouth and tried to simultaneously take a drag from it
while blowing to cool his coffee； which was totally impossible。 Coffee splashed out of the lumpy；
eggplant…colored ceramic mug his mother had made years ago； before she？d moved to Hungary or
the Czech Republic or wherever the hell she lived； and onto the dusty yellow linoleum floor。 He
was definitely not a morning person。
Dan deposited the sad cup on a semicluttered part of the old Formica kitchen counter and padded
over to the beige ？70s refrigerator； hoping against hope that he could scrounge up something
edible to eat on his way downtown in the sub…way。 He only had twenty minutes to get to his job？a
dream gig at the Strand； the storied； sprawling used bookstore in Greenwich Village？and if he
didn？t eat now； by the time his lunch break rolled around； he？d be half…dead from
malnourishment。
Holding his breath to avoid exposure to any unfortunate smells； he wedged his head inside the
large； rumbling appliance and surveyed the scene： an ancient CorningWare coffee pot filled with
some concoction covered with fuzzy green mold； a white ceramic bowl overflowing with
unidentifiable vegetable remains； a clear plastic case containing hard…boiled eggs that his sister；
Jenny； had drawn little faces on before she left for Europe more than a month ago。 It wasn？t pretty。
？Don？t bother；？ muttered a voice behind him。 ？I looked last night。 There？s nothing even
remotely close to edible in there。？
He closed the refrigerator and smiled weakly at Vanessa Abrams； whose status had evolved from
best friend to girl…friend to roommate。 After many ups and downs？all of which involved Dan？s
horny； wandering eye？they？d decided they were better off as friends who slept in separate beds； in
separate rooms。 It just so happened that those rooms were in the same apartment； because Vanessa
had been rendered homeless by her newly Czechoslovak…boyfriended totally selfish bitchface of a
sister。
？Yeah； this sucks。？ Dan dropped his cigarette into the sink； where it went out with a hiss。 ？I？m so
hungry。？
？Mmmm；？ Vanessa grunted； microwaving some water in a Pyrex measuring cup； the only clean
vessel she could find。 She spilled Folgers on the floor while trying to spoon it into the cup。 She
wasn？t much of a morning person either。
A match made in heaven。
She hoisted herself onto the cluttered kitchen counter； her pale； prickly legs sticking out from a
pair of Dan？s tattered navy blue boxer shorts。 It was bizarre to see her still wearing something of
his； something sointimately his； when they weren？t together anymore。 It made him 。 。 。 sad。
Every night for the last week； Dan had lain awake in bed； wondering what Vanessa was doing in
the next room。 He？d hear her get up to go to the bathroom； and think about accidentally bumping
into her in the dark； familiar hall of the apartment。 They？d fall into each other？s arms； furiously
kissing all the way back to Dan？s bed。 He？d rub her shaven head； loving the feel of the familiar
soft stubble on his chest； the way her ears were always so hot when she got excited？
Dan suddenly started shaking his head as if his fantasy was water stuck in his ears。
？You okay？？ Vanessa asked； eyeing him suspiciously。 She shifted from side to side on the
countertop； settling beside the microwave。
？Um； yeah；？ Dan practically yelled； his pinkies now lodged in his ears。 ？I guess I better hit the
road。 Gotta get to work。 Make the donuts。You know how it is！？
？Why are you screaming？？ she asked quietly； her eye…brows knitted in question。
？Oh； sorry。？ Dan laughed。 He downed his coffee in one quick gulp； ignoring the burning
sensation in his throat； and reached past Vanessa to grab his folded…up copy of theNew York
Review of Books to read on the subway。 ？So。 ？Bye。 Have a good day；？ he added； resisting the urge
to kiss her。
？？Bye；？ she called after him。
But hello； awkward？！
The rolled…upReview tucked safely in his damp armpit； Dan bounded down the musty granite
stairs toward the legendarily filthy employee lounge at the Strand。 The dark stairwell smelled like
moldy books； which should have been nasty but was actually one of Dan？s favorite smells。
He had thirty seconds to stash his paper； grab his name tag out of his locker； and report to the
floor for duty。 None of the bookstore？s managers had any sense of humor about things like
tardiness。 They were crusty； liberal pseudoacade…mics who resented young summer job kids like
Dan； who they all just called ？the new kid？ or ？hey； you；？ despite the fact that he？d been working
there full time for almost a month and wore a name tag everyday； just like they did。
How glamorous。
Dan burst into the tiny lounge； accidentally banging the door against the wall； startling a skinny
kid with short； mussed…up blond hair and horn…rimmed glasses too big for his square； wide…eyed
face。
？Sorry；？ Dan muttered； dashing over to his designated locker？a tiny； one…foot…square cubby just
inches above the dust…bunny…and…decades…old…cigarette…butt…littered concrete floor。 He entered his
nerdy bination？8/28/49； the birth…day of Goethe； the author of his all…time favorite book；The
Sorrows of Young Werther ？tossed his paper inside； and grabbed his plastic name tag。
？New York Review of Books；huh？？ asked the blond guy。
？What？ Yeah。？ Dan pinned the cheap red tag to his faded black T…shirt； eyeing the stranger
suspiciously。 Dan hadn？t noticed him around before。 Was it his first day？ Was it possible that Dan
was no longer technically ？the new kid？？
？I？m Greg。？ The stranger smiled。 ？It？s my first day。？
Fresh meat in moldy…book land。 Sounds like a freaking party。
？Cool。 Wele to hell；？ Dan barked； secretly thrilled that he now had seniority over someone。
？Actually； I can？t believe I？m here；？ Greg continued eagerly； glancing around the room as if it
were the Sistine Chapel instead of a dirty； windowless room in a rat…infested basement。 He was
wearing a short…sleeved cowboyish but…ton…down shirt and cutoff khaki pants that reminded Dan
of Vanessa。 The other afternoon when the A/C had blown out in the living room； she？d
spontaneously cut the legs off her favorite black cargos to make shorts。 God； he missed her。
？I？ve always wanted to work here； you know？？ Greg went on。
？Job？s a job；？ replied Dan； disinterestedly。 Of course he knew exactly what Greg was talking
about； but he was kind of enjoying mimicking the attitude copped by the rest of the senior Strand
employees。 It made him feel tough； like he might put out his next cigarette on the back of Greg？s
hand。 ？I saw a whole cart of old literary journals upstairs by the elevator。 Guess that？s what you？ll
be dealing with till lunchtime。？
？Sounds great to me！？ gushed Greg。 ？Am I supposed to just wait down here； though？ This guy
Clark told me to e down here and that he？d be with me soon； but that was； like； fifteen
minutes？？
？Well； Clark knows what he？s doing；？ Dan interrupted。 ？I？ve got to get upstairs； but I？m sure I？ll
see you around； Jeff。？
？It？s Greg；？ the guy corrected him。 ？Did anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like that guy
from the Raves； Dan Something？？
Dan froze in midstep。 ？Humphrey。 His name？s Dan Humphrey；？ Dan informed him。 ？Well；
actually my name？s Dan Humphrey。？ Dan？s career with downtown rockers the Raves had lasted
for exactly one gig at Funktion on the Lower East Side。 He couldn？t believe anyone remembered
that night。 He certainly didn？t。
An entire bottle of Stoli can do that to you。
？Oh man； are you serious？？ Greg crossed the small room and extended his hand。 ？You？re Dan
Humphrey？ You？rethe Dan Humphrey； the poet？ I can？t believe I？m meeting you！ Of course； it
makes total sense？youwould work at the Strand。？ He pushed his geeky horn…rims up on his
nose。 ？It？s perfect。 I can？t believe it。 I loved your poetry； man。 Got any new stuff I can read？？
Dan felt himself blushing。 Before his unlikely stint as a rock star； he？d published a poem
called ？Sluts？ inThe New Yorker。 He？d been the buzz of the literary world for exactly five minutes；
and though his memories of that time were warm and fuzzy； he couldn？t believe there was
someone besides his dad who remembered his brush with poetic fame。
？Well； poets have to keep working；？ Dan lied energetically。 ？I？m putting together some ideas for
a novella。 That？s why I？ve been laying kind of low lately。？
？Dude； this is such an honor； I almost can？t believe it。 I？m meeting aNew Yorker poet。 This is
incredible。？
？It？s really not such a big deal。？ Dan waved his hand like he was batting away the praise。
Mister Modesty。
？This is perfect；？ Greg continued； shoving his hands in the pockets of