Scrutiny

I know, I have to finish writing the epilogue to Don't Be, but...um...OK, I'll admit it, shamefully. I have Writer' Block. *cue horror music, complete with screeching violins*. So, yeah. This just came up like an unwanted baby. 2nd installment of Words.

skru-tini
n.
1. A close or minute examination.
2. A searching look.
3. Dan and Serena.

The Sheppard Wedding will take place on the last day of June, in the ballroom of The Pierre hotel, right across from Central Park. Eliza-Marie Reynolds, the granddaughter of shipping tycoon John Peters, will become Mrs. Carter Sheppard in a month. Here is the bride-to-be coming out of the Elizabeth Fillmore bridal shop on 110 East 55th Street.

Sighing gruffly, Dan turned a page on the New York Times magazine. In fact, he wasn't really quite sure why he was reading the styles section anyway. In the process of flipping to another page, he stopped in mid-action, his elbow bent at an awkward angle, his mouth opened, gapping at the image that procured in front of him.

Serena van der Woodsen.

Being gorgeous, as usual, her long skinny fingers delicately tucking her wispy, blonde hair behind her diamond studded ears. She plopped herself down on the table, her feet resting on the bench. Usually, on her pedestal, she would look kindly down on her annoyingly preppy minions, but on rare occasions like this, she would come alone, to St. Judes and waited for a certain emerald-eyed boy.

Dan, in all his 15 year old boyishness, busied himself with rustling his newspaper-which he disregarded, since Serena was here-and moving his satchel school bag noisily, trying not to seem even remotely interested in the beautiful site in front of him.

Slightly annoyed, but not at all unexpected, boys were slowing down; recognizing one half of the world's prettiest girls was here, the nice, blonde, available one. In a wild attempt at impressing her, they began acting cocky, or else imitating suave Golden Age actors, strutting in front of her and offering a covert smile.

Serena, meanwhile, didn't notice the procession carrying on in front of her, preoccupied with reading Anna Karenina, one of the books on the Grade 10 reading list.

Only then did Dan feel comfortable in studying Serena intently. Call it creepy, but if you saw her, admit it, you would do it too.

The dip in her lips that connected to the bridge of her nose cast a slight shadow, when she turned her perfectly round head towards the sunlight and the curving of her cardinal red lips mimicked a Cupid's bow. Her bottom lip was plump and full, and Dan could hear the sweat dripping off his palms when her teeth bit absently down on them. Her rose pink cheeks led to her high cheekbones, where on in Dan noticed her eyes.

How they sparkled, a thousand times more than the Sun which currently bathed her sweet, smooth face. Her strawberry blonde lashes fluttered open and closed, brushing her cheeks, surprisingly not coated with the usual mascara. The mixture of sea green and a hint of chestnut brown in her eyes made Dan look stupidly at Serena, mesmerized by the impossible beauty of it all. Probably channeling her Dutch ancestors.

Yes, indefinitely.

However, something inside Dan irked him, when met with those inquiring eyes. The way her perfectly plucked eyebrows joining together to form a line, her orbs shining harder and brighter than ever, somewhat desperate, a frantic sort of want, the same experience that poor Anna Karenina had, like a little child itchy and tired, but somehow unable to communicate to its parent. He so wanted to alleviate Serena's pain, but did not even know the source and reason behind it.

Perhaps he would never know, as right about then, Nate Fitzwilliam Archibald walked-no, glided- over to Serena in his size eleven Brooks Brothers sneakers, smiling his winning smile. Immediately jumping up, Serena squealed and flew her arms around his broad shoulders.

"Natie!" She seemed to cry.

Or maybe it was another voice Dan heard.

Yes, indeed. Blair Cornelia Waldorf pranced over in all her 5"4 glory, a trail of obedient minions behind her, rolling up their short skirts, cooing at passing boys. A radiant smile played around her lips and glinting eyes, more calculating than Serena's.

Serena stepped back casually and smiled warmly, although a flash of regret washed over her face, if only for a second.

"Blair. I thought you would be at choir practice." Serena offered, and received a generous smile from the queen, a lenient action for Serena's abandonment.

"Strange," Blair replied, all the while glancing coyly at Nate's frame. "I didn't see you there either. I didn't want to attend without my best friend."

Dan turned away, disappointed at the many people smothering Serena. The brief moment that he was given was taken away just as fast. Picking up his satchel, he slung it over his shoulder and walked slowly away from the drama unfolding. He wondered when he would get the chance to study her again. To prolong this happy and-he hated to admit it-fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach, he rushed home and proceeded to his old Toshiba laptop, opened a new document, and wrote about it.

There she was, wrapped in all of her glory. Reading Anna Karenina. I wonder which character she related most to. I just thank God that there isn't a railroad track anywhere near here. We all need a little bit more of Serena van der Woodsen. Even a quick accidental glance my way would suffice.

Don't worry, Lonely Boy. You'll get that glance soon enough.

N/A~E-yah. Review and stuvvs. I know it's short, OK?!?!?!?!