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Awakenings
AUTHOR:
The Corruptor
I love you, idiot… It had come out sounding impulsive and genuine. Much like the “I hate you” that had come just moments before. Except they weren’t. Not really. They were reactions to events I had no control over. Spoken to gain the attention I wanted and yearned for. I can’t be sure if I said them in truth or not. Everything is very simple, and yet, so complicated. Dean is simple. That part of my life I get. We’re back together and that’s all I really need to know. But Tristan… Tristan is complicated. His personality. His inconsistencies. Him. And when I think about it, everything becomes too complex. Even Dean.
It had been three months. Three months of bliss. Three months of uninterrupted fun: weekends at beaches; shopping sprees; trips to New York City; Stars Hollow festivals; book after book after book; and gallons upon gallons of Luke’s finest coffee. Three months of a highly-caffeinated Lorelai, an endlessly giggly Sookie, a sarcastic Michel, and a crabby Luke. Three months of giddy love: Lorelai and Max; Sookie and Jackson; Lane and Henry. Three months of Dean. But most importantly, three months away from Chilton. Away from Paris and her two sidekicks. Away from the angry looks and stares and insults and silent treatments. Three months away from Tristan… So perhaps defining the past few months as blissful was taking liberties with the truth, dwelling more on the highlights than anything else. It hadn’t exactly been an easy three months. Dean was more than attentive and caring, but his first meeting with Henry had not gone well. He was, for some reason, easily suspicious of anyone from Chilton. Especially someone who might have been friends with Tristan. Rory had to assure him that Henry’s only ulterior motives resided with Lane, and that he was not on a scouting mission for Tristan. Just trying to convince Dean made her stomach roll with seasickness. He seemed to need her assurances that she did indeed hate Tristan and would never see him again. But though her initial exclamation of hate towards the rich boy had come easily at the time, she just could not bring herself to do it again. Couldn’t repeat the words that would damn, over and over again, a budding friendship that had come to a skidding halt because of them, even if Tristan infuriated her so much. Couldn’t say the words that Dean craved. Couldn’t, because she never really did hate Tristan. Felt dislike, felt annoyed, felt exasperated. But never -- ever -- hate. So she avoided the topic to the best of her abilities, and Dean, too caught up in actually having heard her express words of love to him, did not notice. And though he worried every time she went into Hartford, his fears were alleviated. She never did run into Tristan in those three months. He was worried the boy with the limitless charm would eventually be able to woo her away. So he hid his own deficiencies behind the mask of an ideal boyfriend. And Rory, clueless, did not notice. They did everything to make it easier for themselves, secretly afraid that one small argument -- one minor conflict -- would send them back into the loneliness again. Rory had faith in the relationship, just not faith in herself, and she was fearful of being alone. So she asked, and he gave. He asked, and she gave. It never occurred to her that relationships were supposed to be based on compromise. Were supposed to be hard. Rory thrived on challenges, and though the relationship had stopped being challenging -- had become almost stale -- she preferred boredom over having to return to the demanding task of Chilton and the people who populated it. Especially one in particular. But for every blissful event, there had to be an end. And that end had come too quickly for Dean. The new school year was starting the next day for Rory. “How many notebooks do you need?” he asked, in awe, watching as she dropped notebook after notebook into the basket he was holding for her. Doose’s Market buzzed around them as students and parents stocked up on school supplies in preparation for the upcoming school year. “At least three for each class,” she piped up, half-seriously. “So I’m guessing you’re going to need the 24-pack of pens, huh?” He held up a pack of pens and waved it in front of her. “Hey, you’re pretty smart,” she teased, grabbing the pack and dropping it into the basket alongside the notebooks. “I may not be Chilton material, but I can hold my own,” he assured. She grinned and lifted herself on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “That’s sweet. Now could you reach over and get me a pack of the multi-colored post-its?”
They sat outside her house in the gathering dusk. Dean’s hand was tangled in hers. “I really wish you didn’t have to go back to Chilton.” “Well, I don’t… We could just run away to Montana and live like gypsies. But that might put a damper on my Harvard plans,” she suggested, facetiously. He raised a confused brow. “There are gypsies in Montana?” Rory smiled. “There will be when we get there.” He sighed. “You shouldn’t have to go to a school that makes you miserable.” She looked away before meeting his eyes, smiling sympathetically. “It’s not the school that makes me miserable.” And it wasn’t. “I love Chilton.” “Well, you shouldn’t have to see people who make you miserable. People you hate.” There was anger in his voice. Anger she could have done without. Could have remained ignorant about. Because the people he felt disdain for were the same people she had come so close to building friendships with -- wouldn’t mind forming friendships with. “I don’t really hate Paris. She’s just… misinformed.” She didn’t continue, even though he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say those three magical words. The ones that expressed just how much she hated “that other boy.” But she didn’t. For some reason, she needed to stay away from the topic of Tristan. “I wasn’t talking about Paris,” he reminded, almost sullenly. She had been doing this all summer. Whenever he tried to bring up the subject of Tristan and what a jerk he was, she deftly changed the subject, deterring Dean from maligning a boy who was not present to defend himself. “Hey! All inmates who are not currently incarcerated here must leave the premises now. Visiting hours are over.” Lorelai came out onto the porch, interrupting their conversation. And Rory let out a sigh of relief. Her mother had impeccable timing, even if she didn’t know it. “Mom, it’s only eight. And I’m not ten years old.” She rolled her eyes, putting up a weak fight. “I don’t care,” Lorelai pretended to seethe. “Tomorrow is the first day of school, and you need your beauty rest. Now come on. Up you go.” Rory stood up, groaning. She placed her hands on her hips and faced her mother. “There’s nothing good on TV right now, is there?” Lorelai gave her a shocked look as Dean scrambled slowly to his feet, dusting off his shorts. “What…? Why would you…? I can’t believe… Are you accusing me of…” Finally, her mouth snapped close, seeing the amused tilt of Rory’s head as she watched her mother’s inability to form a coherent sentence. Then giving the two teenagers a smirk, she grabbed Rory’s arm, pulling her daughter towards her side of the porch. “Ok. You got me. There’s nothing good on TV, and I want to hang out with you. Dean got you all summer, and I think we need to start a new tradition: the Gilmore Girls’ First Day of School Eve. We’ll scarf down junk food and ice cream, and discuss who we think will show up at school tomorrow pregnant, fat, anorexic, or sporting the nastiest sunburn.” She looked over Rory’s shoulder at Dean, pointedly. “And no boys allowed,” she cautioned, wagging a finger at him. Dean held up his hands, backing away slowly. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he remarked, contritely. He glanced at Rory. “I’ll meet you by the bus stop after school,” he informed her. She nodded, and he rushed forward again, placing a gentle kiss on her lips, mindful of Lorelai’s watchful gaze. “Hey, no making out in front of the mom,” Lorelai advised. “That is so gross.” Dean backed away again and Rory broke out into a humorous grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised. Then, watching him walk away, she turned to her mother. “What was that?” Lorelai pretended not to have heard. “What was what?” “Interrupting like that. Now that was uncalled for.” Lorelai only directed an innocent smile in her daughter’s direction. “You look like you needed a save.” “A what?” she asked, incredulously. “Rory,” her mother sighed. “You’ve been dancing around the topic of Chilton all summer with Dean. And you looked like you wanted an out. So I gave you one.” “You were eavesdropping?” she asked, incredulously. Lorelai struck an innocent pose. “Nooo,” she drawled, obviously lying. “I just used my telepathic powers. But don’t ever accuse me of never doing nothing for you, babe.” “That’s crazy. Why would you think I needed an…” “I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t like the way he looked at you. Or maybe you didn’t like the way he was holding your hand. Or maybe you didn’t like the way he asked the question. Honey, I don’t need to know why, okay. You just looked like you did. And if I was wrong -- which I hardly ever am…” She wiggled a brow at her. “Then I apologize. Okay, sweetie? You can thank me later.” Rory frowned, trying to remain upset at her mother. But after a minute, she sighed. “Thank you,” she said slowly, not pleased to admit that her mother was right. Lorelai didn’t say anything, grabbing her hand instead and pulling her into the cozy comfort of the house. “Come on. The ice cream is melting.”
It was too quiet. The house was too big. Too empty. Too depressing. Every sound was amplified a hundredfold. And his mind too restless -- thoughts too turbulent -- to allow him peaceful passage into blissful unconsciousness. Each time he drifted off, the smallest sound jerked him wide-awake again. And he was almost positive that he was getting an ulcer. Tomorrow was the first day of school. He had stopped being a nervous wreck on those days, ever since kindergarten. But here he was… high-strung, tense, fidgety, anxious. He was, for a lack of a better description, a nervous wreck. Because even though first days of school had ceased to register as anything of importance, this one was special. It would mark the end of a two and a half month – or exactly two months, two weeks, and a day -- sabbatical from her. Away from her. Physically, but never mentally or emotionally. Two and a half months where he could pretend to have never met her. Pretend she hadn’t become so important to him. Pretend he was more than nothing to her. Two and a half months where he attempted to convince himself that the girls he had met during the interim time were the kind of girls he really wanted. The ones that he had grown up with and had known for years. The ones who would eventually become trophy wives, ready to use and be used. The ones he had once thought he would have been more than satisfied with. Only now, he knew he would never be. Two and a half months where he constantly fooled himself into thinking everything was normal. Except nothing was normal. And nothing would ever be normal again. Everything had changed -- for better or worse. And he was both dreading and anticipating the next day, when he would finally be able to see her again. The end of two and a half months of insufferable eternity and utter hell. He rolled over in bed and saw the small Winnie the Pooh bear – the one his parents had given him as a baby, when affections were easily brought by warm and fuzzy material comforts – sitting on a shelf by his desk, basking in the cool moonlight filtering through his blinds. “What are you looking at?” he growled at it, softly. It didn’t answer back. Only continued to stare blankly at him. As if mocking him. Mocking his feelings. Mocking his hope that the past two and a half months may have, if not entirely erased, at least lessened the pain and the hate. Recognizing the now-familiar acidic tug in his stomach, he rolled over in bed again, squeezing his eyes shut and finally drifting off into an uneasy and unpleasant sleep.
Her mother had woken her up promptly at six in the morning, approximately a half-hour before her alarm, by pouncing on top of her bed. She had sat up, startled, and screaming. Then, seeing her mother’s pleased expression, had forcefully pushed her off the bed and returned to a restless slumber. The routine continued once again fifteen minutes later. Lorelai was too restless to sleep, too excited for her daughter’s “real” first day at Chilton. And Rory, having struggled with a bad bout of insomnia during the night, had contemplated locking her door in order to get at least a half-hour of uninterrupted sleep. And finally, just a few minutes before her alarm was set to wake her, her mother greeted her with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Grumbling, Rory had rolled out of bed, accepting the proffered elixir with a dirty look directed at its bearer. Lorelai knew nothing about the tumultuous and nagging thoughts that had eaten away at Rory during the night. And when she had seen Rory to the bus stop that morning, and asked if she were nervous, she had failed to notice the apprehensive look in her daughter’s normally vibrant blue eyes. Rory had answered in the negative with confidence she did not feel. She was nervous. And scared. And a wreck. She had hardly slept the night before, finding her thoughts wandering in directions she had avoided all summer. Thoughts that did not involve those closest to her, or people who normally gave her comfort and support. This time, all thoughts had led to Tristan. She hadn’t interacted with him since the concert debacle that occurred near the end of their sophomore year. And while he had been in most of her classes, she hadn’t actually seen him in any of them. She had been so swept away by the euphoria that came with restarting a relationship with Dean that she hadn’t had time to think about anyone else. Hadn’t had time to consider what it meant when he abruptly switched his seat and moved towards the back of all their classes, effectively distancing himself from her. And now, stepping off the bus and facing the school for the first time since the summer, she was more nervous than she had ever been. More nervous than the day she had started high school. More nervous than the day Dean had made it known that he liked her. More nervous than the day he had kissed her for the first time, turning her into a petty thief. More nervous than her first day at Chilton, barely a year ago. And the fact that she knew the reasons behind the apprehension did nothing to ease the doubting butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Because the only time she had ever felt this nervous was during Madeline’s party. Not because of events she couldn’t control, but because of events she had allowed to happen. Events that she had been too nervous to stop. So she prayed that this time, she would be able to temper her nervousness and coast through the day. Only she saw him. And her heart stopped. He was standing near the doors to the main building, surrounded by three other guys. They were laughing and joking, and she stopped absently in her tracks to watch him, eyes immediately drawn to his familiar figure. He looked almost taller, his shoulders broader, his face tanner, the glow in his eyes brighter, his attitude even more confident than usual as he related something humorous, replete with animated hand gestures, to his friends. And she watched, feeling comfort in how much he hadn’t changed, in manners or in haughty tone of voice. How her impulsive admission of hatred towards him, uttered two weeks before the end of the school year, had not affected him. There was relief in knowing that. In knowing that he could be counted on as being a constant, albeit an annoying presence, in her life. In knowing that maybe she didn’t have as much power over him as others wanted her to believe. As she herself refused to believe. Tristan was only half-listening to his friend retell a sordid tale about his summer. His eyes were busy flickering across the campus, in a misguided attempt to find her. Even though he wasn’t ready to face her. The lack of sleep, the heaviness in his chest, and his agitated state of mind were evidence of that. But for his friends, he had been able to put on a show. To them, the Tristan DuGrey who had ruled the hallowed halls of Chilton his freshman and beginning of sophomore years, had returned. Everything was almost back to normal. Almost. In an attempt to shield himself from her, he had left her alone those last few weeks of the past school year, unable to wipe that annoyingly sweet grin off her face. The dazed and enraptured look she had carried around with her had tormented him until the very last day of classes. Every moment had been burned into his memory -- the way she would often look past him, without acknowledging him, her thoughts of people and things that were not him. And in a moment of sheer petty weakness, he would have liked nothing more than to watch that grin fade from her face, replaced by an exasperated flash of anger from something he had directed at her. He would have liked to have been the one to make that happen, reminding her of how inferior she was to him, knowing the origin of that smile, but he couldn’t. She was Rory. And even if she kept maligning him, kept spiting him, there was no way he could purposely hurt her anymore. Especially not in the way that she had so harshly and reflexively hurt him. Kept hurting him. And this year, he was determined not to let her presence affect him. All he wanted was to see her, if only from a distance. Tristan DuGrey never paid more attention to a girl than what she was worth, and Rory Gilmore, no different than any of the other girls, had outlasted her due. Or at least that was what he had tried to convince himself. So on one hand, he wanted to see how unhappy she was, a signal for him that not all was lost. That he still had a chance. And on the other, he wanted to see just how happy she was, to remind himself that he wasn’t worthy of her after all. The straw that finally broke the camel’s back and forced him to move on. Even if every fiber in his body refused to follow suit. Having scanned the surrounding campus twice already, his eyes finally settled on her. His head tipped to the side, curiously, wondering why she was standing there. As if unconsciously frozen. Watching him. Meditatively. With something that might have been the beginnings of a wistful smile, had she felt any sort of repressed affection towards him. And as this realization hit, his heart skipped a beat. He immediately shifted on his feet, eyes never leaving her, traveling across her face in a gentle contemplation, before finally locking onto her bright blue eyes. And even across the few yards that separated them, he shivered from the electricity that she refused to acknowledge. Caught, Rory practically jumped where she stood. Hastily, she gave her knapsack a tug and started towards the building. He started to open his mouth, feeling the need to say something – a greeting, maybe – as his hand automatically reached out towards her. She lowered her head to evade detection of the blush that had begun to creep across her cheeks, determined to pass by him without inciting him to some obnoxious remark or leer at her expense. As she neared his position, she pulled her arms in close to her body. Everything about her screamed at him to stay away, to keep his distance. Tristan’s own face fell, mouth snapping shut, seeing that she would be avoiding him. And it didn’t even matter that he had already decided to avoid her first. He had been hoping against hope that she would have mustered up the courage he did not have to approach him. She was nearly past him, on her way to the safety of the main building, when she was accosted. “Rory! Hey, wait up.” Thank goodness for Henry. And even while her brain registered the familiar voice, associating it with the correct person, Rory still stopped, startled, just a few feet from where the group of boys stood. And the first place her eyes went were to Tristan’s face. She didn’t know why she had initially thought that he had been the one to call her. And she definitely didn’t know why her heart had managed to stop for a brief moment when she had entertained those thoughts. Seeing an amused look on Tristan’s face, she frowned. Leave it to him to think that he still affected her in ways only he assumed he could. She turned her head and saw Henry racing towards her. A huge smile of relief graced her lips as he approached. “Hi, Henry,” she greeted, brightly, cheerfully, for Tristan’s benefit. She wanted to prove that she wasn’t dependent on him for friendship. She could make her own friends. Henry fell into step beside her, and the two of them entered the main building. Unknowingly, he had shielded her from Tristan’s hurt look and sad gaze.
She had missed out on the annual, beginning of the school year, rite of passage that she usually shared with Lane. She had no one to call in order to giggle over each new class, no classmates to discuss the foibles of each teacher, and no friends to guess who would end up in their classes. She had Henry, but that wasn’t the same. He knew most of the kids that went to Chilton, having grown up with the majority of them. And even though the two had become friends through their association with Lane, their differing places in the Chilton social hierarchy was still grossly evident. So as soon as she received her class schedule for that fall, she had taken care to memorize it, before mentally mapping out all the short cuts, long cuts, and any other convoluted escape paths to get from class to class. And with no one to talk to, she had no way to know who would and wouldn’t be in each of her classes, and which method of getting to class she would need to employ come the first day of school. But now, sitting in her first period class, she felt ridiculously optimistic that she would survive the day unscathed. Until Tristan strolled into the room. He glanced around, seemingly unaffected, but visibly balked as soon as he saw Rory sitting in the front row. Trying not to stare at her, he walked all the way to the other side of the room and took a seat as far from her as possible. Had it been any other time -- had it been before she had uttered those hateful words -- he might have boldly taken the empty seat closest to her and made his presence known to her. But he didn’t. And the expression on his face was that of a man desperately trying not to be affected by circumstances he could not control. Rory had seen him enter, and she sighed, wondering whether he would be in every one of her classes that year. She was already getting cold vibes from him. And the blank expressions he was throwing in her way did nothing to sate the growing trepidation that maybe she had hurt him more than she thought possible. But before she could further contemplate the absurd notion, the teacher entered, and she turned her attention to her notes, conscious of the cool gaze he had directed in her direction. Though it was lacking in some warmth, at least his attentions were a familiar part of her life. And she had no doubt that things would return to normal in due time.
Rory frowned, staring into her locker. She’d had three classes already, and Tristan had been in every one of them. So had Paris. And from both students, she had gotten either detached looks or angry stares. Both were avoiding her, and she didn’t know why she even bothered to care. “Well, if it isn’t our intrepid lunchroom reporter.” Rory turned her head sharply, meeting the eyes of Paris, who had stopped at her locker, located beside Rory’s. Tilting her head forward, Rory could see Louise and Madeline standing beyond Paris. She sighed and turned her attention back to the contents of her locker. “Well, if it isn’t our implacable editor,” she shot back, voice suspiciously devoid of any anger. Only defeat and resignation. Paris’s lips twitched. “So what’s for lunch today?” she sneered. A main entrée of sitting duck and a side of sarcastic remarks. “Apparently, my head on a silver platter,” Rory retorted, calling attention to Paris’s haughty and vicious tone of voice that was directed at her. That seemed to placate Paris to a degree. The girl bit her lip, pausing, as if weighing in on exactly how she had made Rory’s first day at school miserable within a few minutes of their first conversation ever that year. “How was your summer? Good?” There was no interest there. Only diluted mocking tones. As if the fun of torturing her had slowly dissipated when Rory fought back, not with a spark, but resignation. “Why do you care?” Rory asked, sighing. “How was the concert?” Paris asked suddenly. “What concert?” she asked, upset and confused. “The PJ Harvey concert… the magical night of ecstasy with Tristan…” Paris answered, sarcasm coming off thickly. Rory made a face. “You waited this long to ask me about it?” she asked incredulously. The concert had occurred two weeks before the end of the school year. Granted, both Paris and Tristan had been upset with her and hadn’t even bothered to speak to her before school let out. And even if she had actually tried to ask her about it, Rory probably wouldn’t even have heard the girl ask the question. She had been too caught up in her own daydreams and the exhilaration of being a couple with Dean once again. Even so, she didn’t know how Paris could have possibly missed the fact that Tristan had also been upset with her, to the point that he had avoided her ever since the day of the concert. “There was no concert. There was no magic. There was no ecstasy. There was no Tristan,” she informed, flatly. This seemed to catch Paris off-guard. “That’s too bad. You could have hung out with us at the country club over the summer,” Paris let slip, flippantly. This startled Rory. “You and Tristan hung out over the summer?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. The last time she had checked, Tristan was also cautiously avoiding Paris after she had blown up about the motivation behind their “date.” “We’re friends, remember?” The “friends” part came out harshly, a reminder to Rory about the conversation Paris had had with Tristan so many months ago. “Good for you. I’m sure the two of you had lots of fun.” The snide remark was not lost on Paris. “Well… not exactly…” When faced with the truth, Paris found she could not lie. “But we…” Rory shook her head, too tired to play any more mind games. “I’m going to class now,” she informed, cutting Paris off. “Don’t forget. If you're still convinced you're qualified to work on the paper, there’s a meeting this week,” Paris called out, snickering, as Louise and Madeline rejoined their friend at her locker. They both stared at Rory as she walked away, not turning around. “Maybe they’re faking it. You know… hiding their passionate, illicit, summer love affair behind a façade of hatred and indifference,” Louise thought out loud. Madeline nodded. “Well, they’re avoiding each other enough for there to be something going on.” Paris threw both her friends angry looks. “You watch way too many soaps.” “Yup. I’ll say that is the countenance of a woman deeply in love.” There was thick sarcasm to Louise’s voice. She was teasing Paris’s insecurities regarding Tristan. And it was not appreciated by her friend. “Shut up, Louise.” Paris frowned, throwing her a dirty look, which Louise promptly ignored. Madeline shrugged. “Well, she looks really good.” Paris sighed. Madeline was right. Rory did look good. Refreshed. Pretty. And tanned. All without the aids of expensive overseas vacations to Europe and the likes. And she knew that if Tristan had gotten over her in any way, shape, or form over the summer, he was in danger of falling for her all over again. “Let’s go,” she groused, ticked off. Her two friends exchanged looks and malicious grins with each other and followed Paris down the hall without saying another word.
He was beginning to hate the first day of school very much. And it wasn’t so much the fact that the classes were tedious, that the kids were still the same, and that a set routine threatened to break up the leisurely monotony of summer. It was because of her. She made it so he couldn’t even stand to be at Chilton anymore. He was fidgety. He was irritable. And even his friends’ tales of summer hi-jinks couldn’t keep him entertained. Because even though he wanted nothing more than to confront her and end the speculation in his head, he could not work up the courage to bridge the gap that had formed between them. Avoidance had become so much easier than anything else. And he was too scared of being hurt again. Too scared of discovering that the hate she had expressed towards him before the end of the school year was said in truth and not brought on by extenuating circumstances. But that fright was continually moderated by Rory’s appearance of goodwill towards him. The sly looks. The hopeful glances. The way she had stopped in the middle of the quad to stare at him with that expression of… of what… before first period. Even so, he didn’t want to get too excited. Too hopeful. Too relieved. There was danger in allowing himself to be lulled into a false sense of security where she was concerned. If there was one thing he had come to realize, it was that knowing and befriending Rory Gilmore was anything but safe to his reputation, to his sanity, and to him. The PJ Harvey tickets he kept wedged into the corner of his bedroom mirror had served as a mocking reminder throughout the summer of what he didn’t have. What he couldn’t have. What he probably would never have. They were his support, his foundation, the crux of what made him the “new” Tristan. The one who had almost convinced himself that he would move on, and that she no longer affected him in that tingling, foreign way. The one who had promised himself that he would not fall for her all over again. Except it was moments like this that threw all that inner conviction out the window. Seeing her turn those innocent blue eyes on him. As if they could start all over again. Amicable. Platonic. Friends. More. Like the way she was looking at him now as he made his way down the crowded hall with his friend by his side. She had glanced up from her locker, where she had been busy stuffing the books she would need for homework into her backpack. And she had seen him. From the look on her face, she appeared to expect him to go to her, amidst the gathering end-of-school-day crowd, and end her day with a smirk or lewd remark. Returning everything back to normal again. Only he didn’t. He couldn’t. It wasn’t enough for things to be just normal again. So instead of following through with what she expected of him, he turned to his friend, exchanged a few brief words, and the two of them turned on their heels, changing their direction. Rory’s lip twitched, seeing Tristan suddenly steer his friend back down the hall. Without even giving her another glance. As if he hadn’t even seen her standing there, expecting him to renew his pursuit. The action caused her some consternation. She had admittedly avoided him the first time she had seen him that day. Granted, she had reasons to, having been caught staring at him, with goodness knows what kind of expression on her face. But he had proceeded to avoid her afterwards, taking evasion to a new level, forestalling the inevitable. She hadn’t expected them to behave as good friends when she had arrived at school that day. Likewise, she hadn’t counted on him to completely ignore her either. She fully assumed that he would renew their acquaintance in some obnoxious manner, given their three-month hiatus from each other. She missed his banter. She missed his overconfident wit. And even while she grudgingly admitted all those things to herself, she was desperately trying to convince herself that she didn’t miss his attentions. That it wasn’t the type of attention she was seeking from a boy. From Tristan. And now, she didn’t know what to do. There was no precedence for this kind of behavior from him. He had blatantly ignored her in the past, walking by as if he didn’t even see her, flirting with other girls right in front of her. But he had never deliberately shunned her like he did just moments before. As if she carried some sort of plague. Sighing, Rory finished collecting her things and headed towards the bus stop.
She trudged off the bus, arms laden with books and an overflowing knapsack. Seeing Dean sitting on the bench waiting for her, she was able to offer him a weary smile. “You came,” she squeaked, too tired to do anything but drop all her books to the ground as soon as she was in front of him. “I promised,” he reminded, settling himself into her open arms, mindful of the full cup of coffee he was grasping in his right hand. “Here. I brought you a present. Extra large and freshly brewed.” He loosened one of his arms around her and handed her the coffee. She instantly disengaged herself from his hug and wrapped her hands around the hot cup. “And it’s not even my birthday,” she teased, appreciatively. He shrugged. “Just thought you might need it.” “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she murmured, taking a long sip of steaming rich liquid. “Well, many, many things, but we can go through the list later. So how was school?” he asked, nonchalantly. She shrugged. “Oh, your basic story: outcast girl attends rich snobby school, and people ignore her for the second year in a row. At least they’re consistent.” Well, everyone but Tristan, who had done an about-face in his attitude towards her. She sighed. There was no reason for her to think about him now. He was still in Hartford, and she was here with her boyfriend. “I’m sorry,” he soothed, not sounding entirely contrite. She shrugged again. “It’s ok. Who needs them, anyway, right? We’ve still got Montana.” She glanced down at her books. The attitudes she encountered weren’t the only things that had remained the same. It was only the first day of school and she already had a good six hours of homework to do for the next day. She sighed. “I have to get all this stuff home. Can you believe it? It’s like we never left, and they’re punishing us for taking three months off.” He bent down and grabbed some of her books. “I’ll help… at least until school starts for me,” he offered. She grinned, quirking an amused brow. “Really?” There was some playful doubt in her voice. He nodded. “Sure. I may not be able to help with the actual homework, but I can make runs to Luke to keep you supplied in coffee.” He grinned, proudly. Rory rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, bag boy. We don’t have much time to waste if you want to hang out tonight. And you missed a book.” She started walking in the direction of her house, turning her head back long enough to gesture towards one of her books, which had fallen about a foot and a half from where they stood. Obeying, Dean retrieved the lost book and rushed to catch up to her.
Her head snapped up as soon as she heard the jiggling of the front door. Two seconds later, she was greeted with the struggling groans of a harried Lorelai, followed by one or two explicit words of aggravation. Finally, her mother appeared in the entryway, carrying a large white cake box. “Ta da!” she announced, striking an awkward pose, arms still bogged down by bags and the box. Rory smiled warily. “What’s that?” Lorelai glanced around. “What’s what?” she asked, frowning. Then eyeing her shoes, she smiled triumphantly. “Oh, these? My new pumps. Like them? I was having a horrible day today. Drella decided to invoke an impromptu harpist’s strike because of something Michel said to her. And I couldn’t get him to apologize. Plus Sookie may have broken the stove again. Not to mention all I could think about was you back in that awful school with all those awful kids. So I decided to make it all better by going shopping. Anyway, long story about what happened at the mall involving a sale, an old lady with a cane, and two security guards… I won’t bore you with the details. But you like, right?” Rory took a deep breath, her face scrunched in confusion. “So you thought you’d make me feel better by buying yourself new shoes?” Lorelai’s mouth dropped. “Not just for me, hon. You know you can borrow them anytime.” Rory rolled her eyes and gave her mother a look. “What’s that?” she repeated, not getting up from where she sat at the coffee table, immersed in her textbooks. Lorelai struggled out of her coat, still clutching all peripheral boxes and bags. “Were you not listening five seconds ago when I started on my short, but long, story?” “I meant the box.” “Oh.” Lorelai glanced at the large cake box she was holding in front of her. “Sookie made you a ‘Congratulations, you survived the first day back at Chilton’ present.” “Sookie made me a cake?” Rory immediately perked up. If there was anything that could make her feel better, it was coffee and one of Sookie’s culinary creations. “Even better.” Lorelai grinned mischievously. She settled onto the couch and Rory sat down beside her. “Chocolate. And not just any chocolate, mind you.” She opened the box, displaying the array of tiny cakes lined in neat rows. “We’ve got your Death by Chocolate, your triple fudge chocolate brownie, your mocha chocolate, your mocha mocha chocolate, your white chocolate, your choco-choco-fudge chocolate, your tiramisu, and your average ho-hum chocolate. Of course, there’s always the prerequisite coffee cake. And for the crazy gal in you, just in case you’re having that ‘I can’t take it anymore, chocolate blues’… your boring vanilla. With chocolate icing, of course. I mean, don’t kid yourself. What’s cake without chocolate? I mean, let’s not get that crazy.” Rory’s hand dipped into the box, coming back out with one of the cakes, dripping with a thick layer of icing. She picked at it, unenthusiastically. Lorelai gave her a strange look, then carefully moved the box from her lap to the coffee table. “Is everything okay, hon?” She nodded eagerly. “Oh, yeah. No problem at all.” Lorelai’s face broke out into a sympathetic expression. “Were the kids mean to you again?” Rory gave a half-shrug, not entirely agreeing or disagreeing with the assessment. “Not exactly mean,” she revealed, matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me. Paris still doesn’t want to play nice or share any of her toys with you. And Tristan pulled your hair and ran away.” Rory took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, Tristan pretty much saw me and turned the other way… I don’t have anything hanging from my nose, right?” Lorelai chuckled. “No, sweetie. And from what you’ve told me, I don’t think a little thing like extra long nose hair is going to deter Tristan.” Rory rolled her eyes, unhappily. She continued, “And Paris thinks that…” She stopped, biting her lower lip. “I don’t know what Paris thinks.” Lorelai reached out and gathered her into her arms. “Oh, honey. It’ll be better. You and Paris will work on the newspaper together, and before you know it, you’ll be friends. And Tristan… he can ignore you if he wants. He just doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, being friends with you.” Somehow, Rory doubted that. While Lorelai knew that she and Tristan had begun planting the seeds towards a friendship, she had never told her mother about what happened afterwards. She didn’t know about the concert tickets. She didn’t know about those words of hate she had blurted out the day Dean came back to her. She didn’t know a lot of things. And Rory didn’t feel comfortable sharing. “I highly doubt that. And I don’t think the fact that Max was the one who wrote my letter of recommendation for the newspaper is going to help matters. Paris will probably just use that against me.” “Hey. No talking like that. Max wrote you that letter because you’re a good kid, with good grades, and great writing skills. You deserve to write for the paper. And he’s not your teacher anymore, so what can Paris say about that? I mean, it could have been worse. Max could be your daddy by now.” Lorelai smirked, eliciting an eye roll from Rory. The engagement had lasted approximately three weeks. And after the initial shock of the proposal and novelty of the engagement had worn off, Lorelai, levelheadedly, had insisted that he retract his proposal and allow them to take it slow. After some consideration, Max had agreed. Rory made a face. “Okay. That didn’t help at all,” she groused, lifting her head off her mother’s shoulder. Lorelai only smiled. “See… now making friends with Paris and Tristan doesn’t seem so bad, does it?” She only shot her mother a dirty look. “I’m going to finish my homework in my room now. Call me when dinner’s ready.” She gathered up her books and gave her mother a pointed look. “Hey, I brought cake. You want me to get dinner, too?” Lorelai whined. She sighed, giving her daughter a push towards her room. “Fine. We’ll have celebratory pizza. Everything?” “Yes, please!” Rory’s voice filtered back out into the living room from her bedroom. Grumbling, Lorelai searched through the pile of magazines on the couch for the telephone. She was assisted by the shrill ring of an incoming call. “Wow. You guys are really good. I’ll take a large pizza with everything,” she snickered into the phone. Suddenly, she beamed. “Well, hello to you, too,” she purred. After a brief pause, she frowned. “Well, that doesn’t sound too good,” she murmured, eyes flickering over in the direction of Rory’s bedroom. She ran her hand through her hair, thoughtfully. “No, don’t worry about it. She likes nothing but adversity.” Another brief pause. “No… tonight’s not a good night. She had a rough day so we’re just going to stay in and console each other… Okay. Love you. Bye.” Lorelai stared at the cordless phone in her hand. Frowning, she threw it onto the couch. The next few days were going to get inexplicably harder for Rory at school. “Hey, Ror? What do you say we go to Luke’s for some grub instead? My treat!”
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