|
Awakenings 2
AUTHOR: The Corruptor
Ten years down the line, no one is going to care that I wrote for the school newspaper. It’s just a means to an end. But ever since my mother placed pen and paper into my hands when I was just a toddler, it’s always been something I’ve wanted to do. Likewise, no one’s going to care whether or not I made friends with Paris or Tristan. I’m not even sure whether I care. And there’s no reason why I should even try to make friends with the kids at Chilton. But for some reason, I’m hit with the odd realization that perhaps – like writing for the paper -- it’s something I should do. Even if everything is against us. Even if the people I do care about right now, at this very moment, think I’m wasting my time. Would rather I didn’t make friends. And now I’m left to wonder whether it’s my interests they have in heart, or theirs.
Rory crossed her legs demurely in front of her, smoothing her plaid skirt. She barely listened to the excited chatter around her; she had no friends in this room, and no one else bothered to engage her in conversation. It was just as well. She wanted to get the meeting over with as soon as possible, and had no time for idle chit-chat. Especially with any of the people currently in the room. The door to the room opened, and she glanced up, expectantly. The eager look on her face was quickly replaced by a frown. It was only Paris. The expression on Paris’s face mirrored that of Rory’s. Giving her a haughty look, Paris placed the pile of folders and papers she held in her arms on top of the nearest desk, and turned to the group convened in the room. “For those of you who don’t know me,” she began, with an edge to her voice that implied that those who actually didn’t know her should leave the room quickly. “I’m Paris Gellar, and I will be the editor for The Franklin this year. Any questions?” Her eyes scanned the room, not bothering to linger on anyone’s face for more than a few seconds. However, she did let them stop on Rory with a not so subtle threat hidden in their depths. Rory tried not to squirm under the unfriendly gaze. Paris, satisfied that she had made an impression on her, turned her attention to the pile of papers before her. “I’ve already spoken to some of you about what columns you’ll be writing for the paper this year. For those of you who are unsure… you can see me later.” Again, she directed her cool gaze at Rory. This time, Rory stared back, undeterred. Paris broke away first, glancing at her watch in disdain. “Our advisor this year is Miss Hess, and she’s supposed to be here to make some more announcements…” Paris’s voice trailed off as the door opened once again to reveal their tardy advisor. All eyes were directed at the door. This time, Rory cringed in her seat as Mr. Medina, and not Miss Hess, entered, rather sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’m late.” Paris was speechless. And unable to say anything for a brief moment, she aimed an angry look at Rory. As if suggesting Rory was to blame for this unexpected wrinkle. “Mr. Medina… I don’t…” Paris began, confusion evident in her voice. Mr. Medina gave an embarrassed chuckle. “It’s okay, Miss Gellar. I just found out that Miss Hess is unable to take on the newspaper advisory position this year. So I’ll be doing it. I hope that’s not a problem.” He looked almost as uncomfortable as Rory felt. When no response was forthcoming, he clapped his hands together, rubbing them slowly. “Good. So I guess this is the entire staff of The Franklin this year…” Paris slumped into an empty chair, too paralyzed with what she now deemed as loss of a great deal of power and control over the paper with Mr. Medina’s presence. She and Louise exchanged looks before both turned hostile glances in Rory’s direction. Rory was just as unhappy with this turn of events, secretly upset that her mother could keep something like this from her, especially given the events that had occurred the past year. She slid further down into her seat, trying to stay inconspicuous. As soon as the meeting was over, Rory quickly gathered her things. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. But Paris had other plans. “So how’d you do it?” she demanded, cutting her off before Rory could reach the door. A glance behind Rory informed Paris that Mr. Medina was on the other side of the room talking to a few of the remaining students. Rory gave her an exasperated look. “What are you talking about?” Paris placed a hand on her hip and watched Rory’s reaction. “First you get Mr. Medina to write a letter of recommendation for you. And now he’s The Franklin’s advisor. How’d you manage to pull that off?” Her tone of voice implied that she was merely asking a rhetorical question, one that Rory should not try to answer, lest she was prepared to face Paris’s wrath. “I didn’t manage anything,” she shot back. She wasn’t about to be baited. “You don’t really think you deserve to write for this paper, do you? Everyone knows you’re getting all this preferential treatment because he’s sleeping with your mother.” Rory flinched, but tried not to show it. “First, that’s none of your business. And second, the fact that he’s dating my mother has no effect on my contribution to the paper,” she snapped. It was only the second day of classes and ever since she had stepped off the bus that first day, nothing had gone in her favor. If anything, this year was beginning to seem a lot worse than the last. “We’ll see,” Paris smirked. Rory sighed. She didn’t want to fight with Paris, even though the girl was convinced Rory had it in for her. “I just can’t win with you, can I?” “Doubtful.” But there was some hesitation and room for disagreement and compromise. Rory sighed again, this time trying to push past Paris. “Why do I even bother?” she muttered to herself. “Don’t you even want to know what your assignment is?” Paris asked, sidestepping back in front of Rory before she could make her escape into the sanctuary of the hallway. Rory titled her head in mock anticipation. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” “Let’s just say I keep my promises. Your first assignment is to write about the repaving of the parking lot from over the summer,” Paris smirked. “I’m dying to start on it,” Rory assured, wryly. Paris’s smirk widened in response, then flipping her skirt in Rory’s direction, she breezed past her and into the hall. Rory squinted, resisting the urge to throw a dirty look at Paris’s back. She fixed her backpack strap and proceeded towards the door. She was startled by a cough. “Miss Gilmore? Can I speak to you for a second?” Rory turned and saw Mr. Medina looking at her expectantly. “Yes, Mr. Medina?” He glanced around, and waited for the rest of the students to exit from the room. When the last one had left, he smiled at her. “I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything beforehand…” Rory shrugged. What else could she do? She certainly couldn’t yell at him or make a fuss about it. He was her mother’s boyfriend, and he was no longer her teacher. “That’s okay, “ she shrugged it off. “Rory, you do know that if you have a problem with my being the advisor…” Rory nodded her head quickly. This was a conversation she did not want to be involved in. She eyed the door anxiously. Paris had already pointed out the connections she had to Mr. Medina, and if she were caught talking to him in confidential tones, Paris would no doubt accuse of her plotting to take over her position as editor of the paper. “Really, it’s ok,” she assured, throwing another longing look at the door as she inched towards it. “Really?” He seemed unconvinced. “It sounded like you and Paris were having some sort of argument, and I don’t want to be the one who creates tension between you and the other students.” Rory squinted suspiciously at him. “What? Did my mother say something to you?” She couldn’t believe it. This was not happening to her. He shrugged, unaware that he had let a confidential exchange slip out. “Well, she said that…” Rory was at the door now. “Actually, I need to get going now,” she cut him off. “Thanks for the concern, but I think I can handle it.” She was out in the hallway the next second. And her feet stopped abruptly. Tristan was standing leisurely at the end of the hallway. He had his back against a row of lockers, one foot lifted up behind him in a casual stance. He was holding a textbook open in front of him, and he was busy skimming the contents of the page. Apparently, he was waiting -- for something or someone, she could not be certain. She willed her feet to continue moving before he caught her staring at him again. Only her feet betrayed her, refusing to budge. And during her moment of hesitation, he glanced up, sensing eyes on him. His expression was uninterpretable as his eyes coolly and unflinchingly returned her gaze. He closed his book, eyes never leaving her, as if expecting her to speak. Only a few yards separated them, and determined not to continue with the avoidance tactic that both had put into effect in regards to the other, she opened her mouth to greet him. A simple “hello” would have sufficed to break the tension caused by the silent treatment, but before she could get the word out, he heard his name being called and turned away from her. One of his friends was running towards them, and Tristan held up a hand in greeting. Then, with a quick nod of his head and a few cheerful exchanges, he fell into step with the other boy, leaving her standing there. Alone. Staring after him. Once again.
Lorelai leaned over Rory’s shoulder, trying to see why she was typing so furiously on her laptop. “Did it do something to you? Or are we killing computers today?” Rory made a face. “I’d like to kill someone else,” she muttered. Lorelai leaned closer to her. “Oh, oh. I’m guessing bad day, huh? Who was it this time? One of your teachers who caught you doodling ‘Rory loves Dean’ all over your notebook while not paying attention in class… Or maybe the lunch-lady who still refuses to serve you coffee…” “Paris. Tristan. Everyone.” She punctuated each name with angry jabs at the innocent keyboard. “So you’re taking your frustrations out on the laptop? That’s a little childish, isn’t it? I mean, it never did anything to you. Sure it crashes sometimes before you can save what you’ve been working on for the past two hours… and that minesweeper game gets freakingly addictive, but…” Lorelai quirked a brow. “No. I’m taking it out on everyone. You can ask around. Lane ran for cover as soon as she saw me; Dean cowered right after he asked me how my day went; and Luke threatened to stop serving coffee when I accidentally snapped at him. So you should probably watch out, too,” Rory advised. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keys. Lorelai made a horrified face. “If you snapped at Luke, he probably had it coming, but don’t even joke about the coffee, missy.” Rory only gave her a put-upon look. “I’m not in the mood, Mom. I’ve got a ton of things to do.” Lorelai remained quiet for a minute, watching as Rory furrowed her brow in concentration. “Whatcha doing now? Making a hit list?” Rory didn’t glance up. “Article for the paper.” “Ooh. What about?” Lorelai asked curiously, squinting to read the print in front of her. Rory titled her head to meet her mother’s curious eyes. “How the parking lot at Chilton was repaved over the summer.” Lorelai’s face dropped. “Oh. Well, that sounds… interesting.” She tried not to grin at the humor of the situation. “No, it doesn’t,” Rory corrected, incredulously, not amused. “Writing about the casserole surprise from lunch would be more interesting than this. This…” She racked her brain for an appropriate word, but failed. “This just sucks.” Lorelai slid into one of the kitchen chairs. “Well, don’t look at it that way. I mean, you have a huge responsibility here. You can get all the really important world news from TV. But no one else is going to be able to tell all those Chilton parents about the new parking lot surface, and no one else could write about the parking lot like you can. Dan Rather and Peter Jennings better watch out,” she teased. Rory’s eyes lifted up to meet her mother’s, their innocent sheen hiding the sudden attack she was about to inflict on her. “Why didn’t you tell me about Max?” she demanded, catching her off guard. Her mother’s face blanched, and her eyes darted around the kitchen looking for possible escape routes. “Max? What does Max have anything to…” Rory only tilted her head to one side, frowning, waiting expectantly. Her fingers ceased moving across the keyboard. “He’s the advisor for the school paper. And I know you knew that. So now I want to know why you didn’t tell me about it.” Lorelai tried to smile sympathetically. “You were so upset about Paris still hating you and Tristan ignoring you... And then you had all that homework to do… I just didn’t want to upset you anymore than you had to be.” Rory’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “You didn’t want to upset me? Don’t you think this was something I should have known about before I went to the newspaper meeting? I mean, it’s bad enough that I asked Max to write my letter of recommendation for me, but then to find out that he’s the new advisor… I swear Paris thinks that I’m doing all of this just to spite her or something. Like I’m getting him to help me take over the paper.” “Wow. World domination through control of the media. I think it’s been attempted before.” “That’s not funny,” Rory fumed. “I’m sorry, hon. It’s just that he didn’t tell me until the other day, and besides, there’s nothing he can do about it. That horrible man you call a headmaster assigned him the job since no one else wanted it. So if you must hold someone responsible, I think it should be him. You should seriously consider taking him hostage and then taking over Chilton. I mean, after that, it’s just a small skip and a hop to taking over the universe.” She let out an evil cackle as she watched Rory pack up her laptop and books. She pursed her lips seeing Rory’s exasperation with her. “So I’m thinking I’m on your hit list now, too, huh?” Rory gave her a smug look. “You’d be thinking right.” “Well… remember, if you’re planning on doing something to me, let it be quick and painless. I’ve already been through the long, painful torture giving birth to you. The least you could do is be considerate enough to take that into account.” Lorelai directed a pout at her. Rory only rolled her eyes. “I’ll be in my room making a list. You can pick your choice of torment when I’m done.” “Ooh, I like choices.” Lorelai grinned, watching Rory close her bedroom door behind her. She reached for the phone and dialed in a number that had long been memorized. When the other line was picked up on the third ring, she immediately greeted the recipient of her call. “That was three rings, buddy. It better have been because you were all soapy and wet and in the shower and had to run out naked to pick up the phone.” There was a pause before she broke out into a huge grin at the response.
The history book slid out of her grasp, falling with a loud thud against her left foot. Grimacing, she muttered to herself and crouched down to retrieve it. And as her hand reached for it, she noticed a pair of shiny black shoes come to a stop right in front of her. Her heart skipped a beat as her brain automatically registered who those shoes belonged to. Regaining control of her motor functions, she slowly stood up, intentionally ignoring him, as she casually placed the book back into her locker. Tristan leaned his shoulder against the row of lockers, his hands jammed nervously into his pants pockets. He watched as she frowned to herself and blatantly ignored his presence. The refusal to acknowledge him while he was standing this close to her upset him even though he had no right to feel that way. It was his fault really. While she had taken measures to avoid him on the first day of school, he was the one who had taken the evasion to new levels, dodging any and all attempts she might have had towards reinstating the fragile peace between them. He was the one who had turned away from her that very first day, steering his friend in an opposite direction from which they had originally been headed. And just the other day, when she had appeared to him after school while he waited for another friend, he had been the one to leave her standing there, gawking after him. He had cursed fate for continually throwing them together like that, having them run into each other over and over again. And even though his heart had jumped into his throat at the sight of her apparent attempt to end the silence, he was too scared to do anything more than walk away. And finally, after seeing her face fall one too many times from his inadvertent callousness, he had somehow found the courage he had been missing the past few days to finally go to her. To end the avoidance. To end the uncertainty and speculation. To discover exactly where they stood, and whether she still hated him the way he was certain she did. He thought, but only with guarded optimism, that all those hopeful glances she had directed at him meant she was open to his renewed advances. Only now, she was ignoring him. And even though he was fearful that her refusal to acknowledge him now may have been, in some part, due to the hatred she might still have felt towards him, another part of his brain reminded him that she could play his game as well as he could. That she was only punishing him for his avoidance tactics of the past few days. And this sassy maneuver brought a grin to his face. But only a small one. She had yet to forgive him for his aggressive flirtations or to apologize for saying those awful words that had cut him to the core. “Hey,” he began, trying to catch her attention in a voice that tried desperately not to sound too eager or too earnest. In one of his pockets, he crossed his fingers, hoping she would not remind him of her hateful words from before the summer, and banish him completely from her presence for the rest of this school year. There was nowhere for her to turn, and he was practically right on top of her. And her heart fluttered, trying not to jump to conclusions as to the purpose of their first conversation of the new school year -- whether he would try to start with one of his lewd comments or actually make himself available for friendship. Especially after the past few months and after the direction their last official conversation had gone. And unable to predict which tact he would take, she busied herself by rearranging the books in her locker, trying not to let it seem as if she were merely trying to avoid having to meet his eyes. “I’m not talking to you,” she informed, flatly, not bothering to face him. There was awkward silence on his end. He bit his lower lip, wondering why she declined to face him, especially after all those hopeful glances she had thrown in his direction the past few days. Or perhaps he had only been seeing things, frantically struggling to soften what may very well have been looks of revulsion into something more promising, more encouraging. After a few seconds, when she still refused to look at him, he let out an inaudible sigh. He had mistimed it again, having thought she might have been willing to restart their tenuous friendship. Only now, he was certain she didn’t, and he had screwed up once again. “Right,” he said, defeated. Shoulders sagging, he turned on his heels to walk away, back to the hole he had been hiding in the past few days. When his back was to her, she finally turned in his direction. The edges of her lips curved into an inquisitive frown. It wasn’t like him to give up so easily. And his easy acceptance of defeat, along with his humble attempt at finally initiating a conversation with her, piqued her curiosity. “Are you going to behave?” “What?” He looked over his shoulder at her, the confusion evident on his countenance. She had been prepared to see a conceited smirk gracing his lips. She had not been prepared to see what was actually written across his face. Hope. Caution. Amiability. Distrust. She swallowed. From afar, except for some minor physical characteristics, he hadn’t seemed like he had changed much over the past few months away from her. But now, when he was up close and actually speaking to her, she was baffled at his underwhelming boldness towards her. “You wanted to say something,” she prompted, neutrally, afraid to do anything that would give him the confidence he needed to revert back to his obnoxious and lewdly flirtatious behavior. Silently, she prayed that he would not bring up the contents of their last conversation, when she had turned down his concert tickets and then proceeded to express her hatred towards him. He warily took the few steps back to her, trying not to smile at the encouraging turn of events. She was being just as cautious as he was, which was understandable. Shrugging, he informed her of his intentions. “I wanted to say ‘hi’ and ask how your summer was,” he said simply, as if they were this pleasant with each other all the time. She cocked her head to one side, taking this supposedly new Tristan into consideration. He sounded genuine, and he looked sincere. But still, there were some things she would not let him forget, even if he seemed to be trying anxiously to make it up to her. “You should’ve said ‘hi’ to me on the first day of school. Like any normal human would have. Instead of waiting this long,” she pointed out, accusingly, hands on her hips, scolding him lightly. She was amazed at how three months away from him – three months of inexplicably missing his arrogant banter -- would bring about such an incredible change in their temperaments towards one another. “What were you waiting for? Permission, or an invitation?” she admonished lightly. He let his head hang sheepishly at her reproach, feeling suddenly light at her amiable disposition towards him and slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, although he allowed his voice to waver between real regret and a playful tease. Here was a Tristan she could handle. While there were some remnants of the presumptuous young man who had originally approached her on her very first day at Chilton nearly a year ago, there was also a hint of the affable one who had made himself known to her when they initially began their tentative friendship. And seeing this, she couldn’t help but smile genially. “And you don’t really care how my summer was, do you?” She gave him a look that dared him to contradict her. He shrugged, cavalierly. “Not really, but I’m oddly aware that it’s something I should be asking.” The smirk that was now etched on his lips declared that this time, he really was only playing with her. She rolled her eyes, feeling comfort in the familiarity of the banter that was the forte of their somewhat contentious relationship. From their postures and careful wordings, they were both aware that they had unconsciously agreed to gloss over the details of their last meeting. And putting off the inevitable discussion over what had transpired that last time, they forged ahead, both relishing what they deemed to be a second chance in making a tenuous but potentially promising friendship work. “Well, it was fine,” she told him, chin jutting out, her voice edged in the equivalent of a verbal “tongue.” “I’d ask about yours, but I don’t really care to hear you regale me with stories about all the insipid girls you went out with over the summer.” With her simple sarcastic tease, he suddenly wondered why he had been so troubled by her statement of hatred towards him three months ago. It was obvious she hadn’t meant it, had only uttered those words in a moment of heated anger. Or at least, he hoped that was the case. Either way, he would not be rehashing the barbs that had passed between the two of them. The banter that they were currently embroiled in was enough to light the passion and fire in him that had been missing the past three months. “Jealous?” he asked, quirking an amused brow, the arrogant self-confidence thick in his voice. She rolled her eyes. “In your dreams,” she retorted, annoyed at the smirk he was now giving her. She couldn’t believe his nerve. He had eluded her the past few days, and suddenly, he was behaving as if they had never stopped talking to each other. Had never caused each other so much unintended pain and misery. And yet, despite the fact that the overconfident attitude irked her, she was oddly reassured by its presence. Much like how she was at a loss as how to interact with the vulnerable Tristan she had encountered during Madeline’s party, she didn’t think she would have been able to survive a year with him consciously shunning her. And in the end, she’d take the swaggering charm over the despondency every time. “You have no idea,” he returned easily, feeling the effortlessness of their repartee take over. He had missed this the past few months. And from the way her eyes flashed with vivacity as she returned playful taunt for playful taunt, he could tell that she had missed it, too. It was encouraging, and he was desperate not to mess it up this time. She frowned, pretending to be irritated by his response. They still could not be considered friends, though the current pleasant conversation suggested that they were well on their way back towards becoming so. Still, she was afraid that pushing it, moving too fast, and giving him too much encouragement would propel him to skip steps once again, and send them back into arguments that included unintentionally stinging slanders. Heated squabbles that would involve the use of words like “hate” and “loathing,” especially when they were not meant. “Go away,” she groaned, exasperated. But the twinkle in her eyes assured him that she was only temporarily pushing him away. He employed one of his oft-used tactics that made her nervous around him, giving her a once-over, and making her blush. She averted her eyes quickly, feeling the warmth spread across her cheeks. In the past, whenever he attempted to undress her with his eyes, she always managed to feel righteous indignation towards him. Now, she wasn’t sure why the same action had elicited just the opposite response. And this made her feel a wave of guilt, knowing that Dean, while still her boyfriend, had either stopped looking at her in that way, or his looks had ceased to make her jittery in the way Tristan’s look was currently doing. “You look good, Rory Gilmore,” he said, dipping his head towards her, but still keeping a respectable distance. He lowered his voice. “Better than in my dreams,” he revealed, softly, unable to keep the beginnings of a leering grin off his face. She cleared her throat, unable to decide whether he was joking about seeing her in his dreams. She didn’t know how to -- or even if she wanted to -- interpret the emotions coursing through her from this revelation. “Go away, or I’ll just ignore you again,” she ordered him, though her voice was considerably shaky and lacking in confidence. He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll be back,” he promised, lowering his voice intimately. She tried for a look of annoyance, but managed to exude only an air of bored amusement, highlighted by a mocking scowl. “I don’t doubt that,” she assured, trying not to be entertained by the overbrimming confidence in his ability to exasperate her. “You can count on it,” he threatened facetiously. “In fact, I’ll be expecting it,” she guaranteed, flippantly. “Just don’t keep me waiting. I don’t know how I’ll live with the suspense.” This unexpected statement, though filled with sarcasm, surprised him, and she was secretly pleased by his sudden speechlessness from it. He only smiled to himself, amazed by her powers to both scare and divert him. He chuckled, letting his head hang slightly. Giving his head an amused shake, he offered her a genuine smile. “I’ll see you, Rory.” He didn’t move. Seeing how easily they had fallen back into their effortless and lively banter, he didn’t want to leave, afraid that when he did return, she would remember that she had once expressed outright hatred towards him. And that if she had not entirely meant it at the time of utterance, she would also recall that there were many reasons why she had a right to hate him. “Go. Already.” She emphasized each word, but was surprisingly not upset with him. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m leaving… don’t get your panties in a bunch.” He smirked as soon as the words left his lips, the visual immediately entering his head. And from the flushed look on her face, the same thought had also entered her mind. But controlling herself from lashing out at him and entertaining him any further, she merely resigned herself to groaning and brushing past him in exasperation. He turned to watch her go, eyes never leaving her pert figure until she had rounded the corner. The familiar grin played on his lips as he let out a huge sigh of relief.
Rory strolled lightheartedly into the kitchen, surprised to see her mother home early from work. Lorelai was busy rummaging through the bare cupboards as she whistled to herself. She practically skipped to the refrigerator. Amused, Rory dropped her knapsack to the floor. “Did you just romp?” she asked, skeptically, playfully. Startled, Lorelai grabbed her chest, twirling around to greet her daughter and almost dropping her mug in the process. “What?” she shrieked. “You just romped.” “When?” Lorelai shot back, suspiciously. Rory pointed to her mother, a teasing smile on her lips. “Just now.” “I did not,” she assured, affronted. “Yes. You did,” Rory mocked. “Romp? I don’t think so,” Lorelai frowned. “Well, you did. You were thinking about Max, and you romped,” Rory accused, gleefully. Lorelai narrowed her eyes. “Well, at least I don’t prance.” Rory returned the squint. “Who prances?” she demanded to know. “You.” “I do not,” Rory protested, haughtily. “You just pranced into the kitchen, missy.” “You didn’t even see me come in.” Rory rolled her eyes. But Lorelai did not let up. “You prance every time you’ve just been with Dean. You prance when you think of him. You, my dear, are a prancer.” Somehow, Lorelai was able to make the accusation sound dirty. Rory rolled her eyes again. “I am not a prancer, and I was not thinking about Dean,” she assured, resolutely. Lorelai raised an interested brow. “You were thinking of someone else? Someone other than Dean?” It was only meant as a facetiously rhetorical question, but Rory unconsciously took pause to mull it over. And she hated that she could be so weak as to think that the answer to the question could have been anything other than a firm “no.” But in fact, she really didn’t know if she could honestly say that she had not been thinking about someone else… or anything else, for that matter. After a short silence, she finally huffed, irked. “I don’t prance.” There was no way she was about to be baited into answering her mother’s question. Lorelai grinned devilishly, misunderstanding the origin of the troubled frown on Rory’s face. “You prance, you skip, you yodel, you sing… whenever he’s on your mind. And let’s not even get into any of the other pagan rituals you take part in when you worship him.” Rory flushed. “I do not worship… Why are you home early?” “Ooh. Non-sequitor and blatant change of topic,” Lorelai called out, impressed, wagging an accusatory finger at her. Rory crossed her arms in front of her. “I can go back to the romping,” she threatened, lightly. She stuck her chin out in defiance. “Okay. I’ll play along. I’m home early because Max and I have a date tonight,” Lorelai informed, chirpily. “Like practically every other day the past couple of months,” Rory mocked, teasing her. “I’m going to ignore the sarcasm because you’ve obviously not had your obligatory ten cups of coffee today.” She poured a mug of coffee and handed it to Rory. “So how was your day?” Rory shrugged as if it had not been a big deal, accepting the coffee gratefully. The steam tickled her nose. “Tristan finally spoke to me,” she revealed, keeping her voice neutral. Lorelai’s mouth dropped in good-natured shock. “Break out the good scotch. We need to celebrate,” she teased, ruthlessly. “So, sweetie, what’s it like to be miserable again?” She pretended to hold a nonexistent microphone to Rory’s lips. “He was infuriating, exasperating, incorrigible, arrogant, and unabashedly shameless.” But as she listed all his qualities, a smile played on her lips. “So everything is back to normal,” Lorelai piped up. “Just about,” Rory quipped, equally good-humored. Lorelai gave her a quick hug. “I’m happy for you. It’s good to keep the status quo.” “I’ll drink to that.” Rory raised her mug up in the air before taking a deep sip. Lorelai took a step back from her. “Okay. Quick. How do I look?” She twirled around for Rory’s benefit. “Gorgeous,” she assured without hesitation. Lorelai beamed. “See… I knew I raised you right. Okay. There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge… some money if you need it… What am I forgetting? Oh, right! No wild parties or boys in the house while I’m gone. Except for Dean, because he doesn’t count, but he better not be here when I get back,” she ran through the mental checklist. “Wow. When did you become a Mom?” Rory taunted lightly. “I’ve always been a Mom, hon. It’s just that you’ve been far too blinded by my youthful beauty to have noticed.” She smirked as Rory rolled her eyes. “Humble, too. You and the kids at Chilton share many of the same qualities. Must be something in the Hartford water system. One percent fluoride… ninety-nine percent ego.” Rory smirked back. “And it goes down like a fine Merlot,” Lorelai agreed breezily. “Not coffee?” Rory asked, dubiously. “Well, unlike coffee… water and Merlot are not essential to sustaining life,” she reminded, dryly. Rory groaned. “Biology 101 according to Lorelai Gilmore.” Lorelai beamed. “Now, hush. Okay.” She twirled around, trying to find all her things. “I’m off.” She grabbed her purse and keys, then placed a quick kiss on Rory’s forehead. “Have fun,” Rory called after her, watching her dash out the door.
The next few days passed quickly. And even though they were no longer explicitly avoiding each other, she and Tristan barely had time to exchange anything more than brief pleasantries. Paris, on the other hand, had wavered between moments of complete silence, and directing a few choice words to her when Rory handed in her article for the paper. Despite the trivial subject matter – and despite the fact that she was trying to hold onto some modicum of a grudge against Rory – Paris had to admit that she was duly impressed. Even Rory had taken considerable pride in seeing her name as the byline for her article. Surprisingly enough, Paris had left practically every one of her words intact. And Rory, flushed with excitement, couldn’t wait to rush home to show her mother, as she clutched her copy of The Franklin. Tristan, his own copy of the newspaper rolled up in his grasp, came around the corner quickly, hoping to catch her before she raced for the bus. Due to their unfamiliar and hectic schedules, he had hardly spoken to her since they had essentially made up with each other. And now, though he was running late for an after-school appointment, he had vowed to make time for her that afternoon. If only to have a brief conversation so he could assure her that he was indeed intent on being friends with her, and to remind her that he had not forgotten her. Seeing her walking towards the main doors, he quickened his pace. By the time he fell in step beside her, he was grinning, eyes bright. He gave her a tap on the arm with the rolled up paper. And when her head turned to him, and she gave him the eye roll that had become her routine greeting for him, he lowered his head towards her. “Nice article in the paper,” he commended, teasingly. She nodded sarcastically, but secretly rejoiced in hearing his awe in her. Though his delivery may have suggested sentiments other than what he intended it to be, she did not question his pleasantness or his sincerity. “That sounds surprisingly like a compliment, Mr. DuGrey.” “It was very well-written. Nobel Prize-worthy.” The grin widened. “Yes,” she nodded enthusiastically, just as playfully. “It taxed my considerable journalistic skills.” He unfurled his copy of the paper and immediately opened it to the correct page, pretending to peruse its contents, which he had already memorized earlier in the day. He held it up for her to see, making her blush self-consciously. He quirked an amused brow. “I was literally on the edge of my seat the entire time. I never knew asphalt could be such an enthralling read,” he murmured, meeting her embarrassed eye. She smirked, not sure why she was suddenly uncomfortable with the attention he was paying her with regards to such a seemingly insignificant thing. And the beaming pride he exhibited towards her had also surprised her in that she found she enjoyed it. Actually appreciated it. “You need to hang out with me more often,” she quipped. His grin grew wider, as his heart did a strange skip. A quick search of her countenance assured him that she was neither tormenting him nor being sarcastic. Her offer seemed genuinely sincere, if tinged in a playfulness that had been sorely lacking in their initial, unexpected acquaintance. She was watching him expectantly, lips curled into a faint smile, ready to tease him if he should turn down her offer. “I’d like…” But he never got to finish. Her eyes had snapped away from him and towards the main doors, where an angered figure threw an unwelcome shadow over their easy banter. “Dean,” she whispered, unable to keep the disappointment and shock out of her voice. He was baffled, eyes still glued to her. “Well, actually…” But then his eyes were drawn in the same direction as hers, and the bewildered expression was replaced by one of equal parts vexation, anger, jealousy, and anguish. His mouth snapped close, heart momentarily leaping as he watched Dean swivel on his heels, storming back towards the front doors, but instantly breaking upon seeing Rory follow quickly, taking a few hurried steps towards the other boy. And he was helpless to stop it. The déjà vu scenario tore at him, mocking him for his eagerness to prove to her that he was worth her time. In the span of a few seconds, his world had suddenly begun to crumble once again. “Dean,” she called louder, more urgent. Her face was contorted in pain. And fear. Aware that after months of gingerly evading all conflicts with him, that a simple gesture of friendship, misunderstood, would threaten the very fiber of her relationship with Dean. It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. And yet, there was nothing she could do. She recognized the rapid pattering of her heart, signaling an impending panic attack. She had felt it twice before. Once when Dean first broke up with her, and once again when he had first shown up unannounced at Chilton. And while the severity of this attack was nowhere near as great as those past times, she could not ignore it. Dean was her boyfriend -- not Tristan -- and she was obligated to honor that relationship. Even when her heart plummeted to her feet seeing him there. This was where she had power to make her own decisions regarding what would be beneficial to her high school career and future. This was where she and Tristan were friends. This was where Dean’s insecurities played no role in determining which friends she made. And yet, there he was. An influence on all her choices, whether he was conscious of it or not. Dean raised a hand in protest, unable to hear whatever excuses she was ready to throw at him. He had seen with his own eyes the close camaraderie between his girlfriend and the guy who wanted to take his place. There was nothing she could say that would reasonably explain the scene he had walked in on. He shook his head, refusing to listen to her. “I can’t believe… Rory…” He struggled with the words, too upset to think clearly. “Let me explain,” she pleaded, trying to calm him down, even though she herself was still reeling from his unexpected appearance, and she had no ready explanations. At least, there was nothing she could truthfully say that would appease him. Or Tristan. “Rory, I saw the two of you…” he spat, unable to finish, throwing a dark look in Tristan’s direction. And Tristan wanted nothing more than to go over there and shut him up. It pained him to see Rory beg forgiveness for what Dean had deemed the abominable act of befriending him. And yet, he couldn’t go over there. He didn’t want to make it worse. Rory could take care of herself, and he was afraid attacking her boyfriend would destroy whatever precious thing had been blossoming between the two of them the past few days. “It’s not what you think,” she sputtered, using the age-old cliché. She frowned, knowing she sounded small and pathetic. She was vaguely thankful that Tristan had stayed in his corner and allowed her to fix whatever unthinkable sin Dean thought she had committed. Dean raised a brow in angered and mocking disbelief. “Really? The two of you seemed pretty cozy.” He waited for Rory to deny it. When she didn’t, he shook his head pitifully at her. “I’m leaving,” he informed, harshly. Rory grabbed his arm, suddenly afraid to let go. Afraid to have him mad at her. Dean glanced down, almost disdainfully, at her hand, but she did not move it. “He just wanted to talk about my article in the paper.” This stopped him in his tracks. “So what? Now you’re friends?” he sneered. “Dean…” She faltered, unable to answer the question. Saying “no” would hurt Tristan, a boy who did not deserve to be lied to or played with, especially not by her and especially not now. But saying “yes” would send Dean away, hating her. And as routine and boring as their relationship had gotten, she did not think she could cope with his hate. Dean faced her, insisting for the truth, or something he could learn to accept. “I thought you said you hated him.” Rory stared, paralyzed. And a few yards behind her, Tristan stood rooted to the ground, tense, waiting. Her answer was not fast enough. For either of the boys. To Tristan, her hesitation did not bode in his favor, suggesting that perhaps the past few days had been only a fantasy for him; and to Dean, her indecision only meant what he feared – that she did not hate the rich boy at all. And observing the inner conflict of her emotions duel it out across her features, Dean had enough and abruptly turned away. “I do…” she uttered, helplessly, unable to come up with any other solution. It came out barely a whisper, but Tristan had caught her answer. The words rang clearly and derisively in his ears. And hearing those magic words, he turned on his heels and stalked away, feeling the twinge of acid in the pit of his stomach once again. He didn’t even pause as he furiously threw his newspaper into a wastebasket located around the corner. Dean stopped, significantly calmed, and staring at her in awe at how she could miraculously and so easily pacify his worries with a simple declaration. Tristan ceased to exist in his world. “It doesn’t look like it,” he remarked, dubiously, but self-assured that she would have never said such words if she hadn’t meant them. “He was just saying hi.” She threw a quick glance behind her, but Tristan was gone. And her heart sped up as she wondered, panicking, whether he had been present to hear her fresh admittance of hatred towards him. She was too tired to fight now. Too tired of trying to keep the peace. Too tired of playing mediator in a game she now realized she was unable to win. Dean hesitated once again, unable to shake the image of Rory and Tristan engaged in friendly, animated banter. Her cheeks had been flushed with excitement that suggested something more than just platonic indifference; her eyes too bright for his liking. And they had both appeared too interested -- too intimate -- to be merely friends, or less. He couldn’t help the stinging uncertainty from weighing on his mind. Even after her assurances. “Rory, if you really do…” She cut him off before he could say the “hate” word again. Before he could extract another assurance of loathing towards the now-absent -- and for once, innocent – boy. She hesitated only for a second, knowing exactly what she had to do to make everything all better. “I love you.” There. Rushed. Hurried. Strangely clipped. But out there once again. She had uttered those words she had struggled to repeat all through the summer. And as expected, they garnered the desired effect. But while Dean reveled in the blissfulness her words evoked, the very same words resonated emptily, hollowly, in her head. She didn’t have much experience where love was concerned, but she was certain that the words weren’t supposed to make her feel that way – defeated – when she uttered them. And it was too late for her to take them back. “What are you doing here?” She managed to keep the accusation out of her voice, instead injecting delighted surprise into the question. “I have school tomorrow, and I thought I’d pick you up so we could spend as much time together as possible,” he informed, eyes darting around the now-empty hallway, making sure Tristan had undeniably left the scene. Rory steered him towards the front door. She needed to get him away from Chilton. If not for Tristan’s sake, then for hers. “How sweet of you. Why don’t I treat you to coffee?” she asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible, and trying to forget that just moments before, they had been learning precariously towards another breakup. Dean nodded tentatively in agreement, and allowed her to lead the way.
Tristan banged a fist against a random gray locker in frustration. The loud metallic crackle echoed noisily in the deserted hallway. Groaning, and muttering a few explicit words under his breath, he leaned against the locker for support before sliding to the floor. He placed his hands over his face, taking deep breaths and willing himself to calm down. To regain precious control. Why did he even bother? He had only been fooling himself, delaying the inevitable. He had obviously been mistaken when he thought the past few days had been anything but a ruse. She still had too much power, too much control, over him. And he had been too trusting, too anxious to make amends, too eager to gain some kind – any kind – of acquaintance with her, that he failed to realize that she had never stopped hating him. The words had passed her lips with too much ease for the sentiment to be anything other than the truth. And just when he had resolved to never play with her in that fashion, she had shown him it was the only game she was willing to play with him. Her about-faces were driving him insane, not to mention causing a flare-up in his ulcer. With a sinking comprehension, he realized that while he should have given up when he had the opportunity to do so on his own terms, it was never too late to correct a foolish mistake.
He had evaded her all morning, too distraught to notice her failed attempts to apologize for what she feared he might have heard her say. To renew their acquaintance as if nothing had happened. As if Dean had never shown up at Chilton that second time. And while she didn’t think his avoidance of her was anything less than an absence of mind, she was eager to pick up where they had left off the other day. But he had been too fast for her, never staying in any one place long enough for her to reach him. Except now. For some reason, he was sitting at a lunch table by himself. His tray of food remained untouched, and he was staring straight ahead, lost in thought. And even when she entered his line of sight, he barely blinked, staring beyond her instead of actually at her. She stopped right in front of him. The absurdity and unusualness of her seeking him out and initiating the first move was not lost on her. “You left yesterday before I could say goodbye.” His eyes, darkened and dazed, flickered up to meet hers for an inconsequential second before returning to their original position. “You were busy…” he stated flatly, in a not entirely pleasant tone of voice. He didn’t finish his thought, allowing her to come to her own conclusions. She swallowed weakly. “You could have waited…” He frowned but did not say anything. “Tristan, I’m…” “I’m kind of busy here, Rory,” he informed abruptly, effectively cutting her off. He didn’t want to know whether the next words out of her mouth would be an apology – one that would seem almost humorous had he not known what had come before – or a reluctant rejection of their newfound friendship because her boyfriend had deemed it impossible for her to continue to view him with anything other than spiteful bitterness. She was bewildered. He only continued to stare off into the distance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at his perplexed expression. Increasingly annoyed, she turned her head to follow his gaze. While she could not tell with absolute certainty what he was focusing on, a group of girls across the room caught her attention. Four girls were standing around a table of seated guys, only a few of whom she recognized. And in the middle of all the commotion was an irritatingly familiar figure. Summer. She was shamelessly flirting with all the boys at the table. And even from this distance, Rory could catch faint snippets of the ongoing conversation. Rory frowned, confused. And for reasons she was yet unable to explain, she was disheartened by this turn of events, preferring to be the recipient of his full attentions, and not have to share his thoughts with whichever girl he was currently pining for. She assumed Tristan had gotten over Summer, especially over the past few months, but every time Summer’s laughter filtered through the chatter of the cafeteria, she saw Tristan flinch, absently. Realization dawned on her. Perhaps his avoidance of her had nothing to do with Dean, and everything to do with the girl he had once put his heart on the line for. Turning slowly back to him, she offered a sympathetic smile. “Still pining for Summer, huh?” Tristan’s head whipped towards her, confusion evident. “What?” he asked sharply. Rory nodded towards the loud group. “You know, you could do better than Summer.” “Yeah. So you’ve told me. Paris, right?” This time there was no masking the sarcasm in his voice. Rory did a double take, too stunned to disagree. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” he muttered, looking away. His heart skipped erratically. She still didn’t know. Still didn’t understand. And he didn’t think he could sit there, awash in her obliviousness, for much longer. “It’s obviously not nothing,” she remarked, haughtily. “It’s been months, and I’m the one who should be angry with you about that. I mean, if you weren’t over Summer yet… if you’re still not over her…” A look of annoyance fluttered across his features. “Forget Summer, Rory,” he snapped. The statement had come out harsher than he had intended. And exasperated by her obliviousness, he stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without giving her another look, he brushed past her. She blinked, feeling as if she had been slapped, and unsure of what had just occurred. She couldn’t remember having a fight with him. In fact, they had both worked hard to keep their newfound friendship on the right track. And she knew she hadn’t said anything that would have… She froze. She had assumed that he had left early during her fight with Dean the other day. And when she had seen him absentmindedly watching Summer, she had forgotten all about Dean’s recent appearance at Chilton. And yet, it didn’t seem fair that something she had blurted out in obvious desperation should have affected him so. Pained, she closed her eyes, the reasons behind his anger with her simultaneously berating and mocking her for thinking she could have that much power over his emotions. She turned quickly, intent on remedying the situation, but he was already lost in the sea of Chilton students.
|