The interior of The Thirsty Scholar was dim except for the tiny candles functioning as centerpieces on the black tables. Dan Humphrey was sitting at one of these tables trying to make conversation with a leggy blonde who was much more interested in her nails than the Stefan Zweig novella that he was reading.

"How do you distinguish yourself in a population where everyone has a genius IQ?" he asked out of frustration.

"You have a genius IQ?" the blonde suddenly lit up.

"Doesn't everybody?" Dan asked.

"No. Not everybody, but it is cool if you do."

"I do," Dan reiterated. "And, to be perfectly honest, it is extremely frustrating when you come to a place like Harvard and everyone is on the same page that you are. See, that's the problem of going to a school like this. When you go to a school where everybody stands out, you have to make yourself stand out ten times more."

"I don't really understand," the blonde scratched her head. "Why would you want to distinguish yourself if you're already at Harvard? Isn't that enough of an achievement?"

"I don't think you understand," Dan continued. "Yes, making it into Harvard is an achievement, but…"

"But what?"

"It isn't enough. I have to do something in order to get the attention of students around here."

"Like what?"

"Join a final club."

"What's a final club?"

Dan rolled his eyes. Was she really that stupid or was she pretending ?

"Well," he began with an audible sigh. "It's like a secret society. We do a lot of things that most people don't get to do."

"Like what?"

"Like inviting girls over to meet the next Fed chairman."

"That sounds like a lot of fun," the blonde teased. "Really. It does. Maybe if those clubs actually invited people like Anna Wintour. I would be interested."

"I'm sorry," Dan apologized. "But Anna Wintour is not a man and she's also not a Harvard graduate. Your point is invalid."

"Okay," the blonde sighed. "Aside from a finals club…"

"It's not a finals club. It's a final club. Singular."

"Sorry," the girl stammered slightly. "I didn't know that Harvard men could be so intimidating."

"I'm not intimidating," Dan apologized. "I'm just very goal oriented. There is a difference."

"I didn't mean it that way. It's just that the way you look and the way you sound are two completely different things."

"Oh? What do I look like then?"

"In all honesty," the blonde began and chomped down on her lip. "You look like…"

"A muppet," a stern voice echoed behind the blonde. It belonged to a brunette with fierce brown eyes.

"Excuse me?" Dan asked he swerved in the voice's direction.

"I couldn't help overhearing your pathetic conversation," the brunette continued as she brought her chair so that she and the blonde were seated shoulder to shoulder. "And, by the way, Stefan Zweig's Chess Novel was not his best work. Read Beware of Pity."

"I have read Beware of Pity," Dan replied. "I've watched the movie version. Twice."

"Oh really?" the brunette mocked him. "Which version was that? The one where Edith actually lives at the end or the other where she throws herself off the tower like Zweig intended."

"The latter," Dan replied.

"Excuse me," the blonde turned towards the brunette, "but I really have to go study."

"You don't have to go," Dan said. "Just hang out here with us."

"I really don't want to," the blonde grabbed her purse and dropped a ten on the table. "Like I said, you're intimidating."

She didn't bother saying goodbye. She stomped out of the bar and allowed the door slam behind her.

"Thanks for rescuing me," Dan said as he pushed the menu towards the brunette who was now seated alone opposite him.

"No problem," the brunette replied. I tend to have sixth sense when it comes to disasters."

"Well, I'm glad that it came in handy. I'm Dan Humphrey," he extended his hand.

"Blair Waldorf."

For a while, Dan didn't say anything. He merely examined her in the same way that an artist examines a model before painting her likeness on a canvas. Her face was a perfect circle, her eyes the color of a morning coffee, and the translucent skin of a peach. It was a beautiful face, but it contained a mysterious sadness that he didn't quite understand.

Unlike the blonde, she wasn't gazing at her nails or spinning her straw in a glass of water. She was gazing at him, examining him, and trying to dig into his soul.

"Are you from around here?" Dan finally asked.

"Is anyone?" Blair replied.

"I actually meant…"

"I know what you meant, Humphrey. No. I'm not from around here at all. I'm from New York."

"New York," Dan repeated.

"Yes," Blair gave an audible sigh of annoyance. "Are you retarded or something?"

"No. It's just that I'm also from New York."

"Oh?" Blair slouched on the table, leaned her head on her fist, and tried to feign curiosity.

"Yes. I'm from…"

"Let me guess," Blair sat up again. "Williamsburg?"

"How did you know?"

"It's easy," Blair smiled. "The hideous plaid shirt, the jeans, the fact that you want to distinguish yourself in a population where everyone has a genius IQ."

"Do you get a kick out of making people feel bad?" Dan teased.

"If you think that I'm making you feel bad, you should call Nelly Yuki," Blair snapped.

"Nelly who?"

"It doesn't matter," Blair brushed his question away with a flick of her hand. "She was just someone who got in my way."

"Then I'll make sure that I don't get in your way," Dan smirked.

"Oh please," Blair rolled her eyes. "You're not in my way. If I was in my natural habitat, I wouldn't be this close to you without a tetanus shot."

"You have a natural habitat? I didn't know that you were a tigress."

"I'm not. I just from a place where I don't have to suffer fools."

"Then why are you suffering me?"

"Because I think that you deserve better than that BU hooker that just walked out the door."

"BU hooker? How did you…?"

"I know a lot of things, Humphrey," Blair replied. "And if you become my friend, you might learn a few more."

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