Oy, with the poodles already. That quote, these characters, and the show Gilmore Girls are part of a depressingly extensive list of things that do not belong to me. Honestly, what's the point of even putting together a wish list every year? I still don't have anything TV-show-related that's on it every time!

Hi all, SpringSnow here. Wow, I know I'm going quite a way back to the Trory focus, but I stumbled across this chapter I'd written a few years ago the other day. I'm not a writer, by any stretch, and thought I'd re-read it and mock myself, but then I decided, what the h#ll, why not put it online and let others join the taunting. If that's what you're here for, have fun!

Having expressed my supreme lack of confidence in my 'writing' abilities, if you came here because you'd like a bit of Trory-oriented fluffiness, then you might as well have a look, too. I don't think you'll come to any actual harm by giving it a go. Perhaps it'll surprise you, and me. I haven't ever been tortured, but I have had a toothache before, so at the very least I can assure you that reading this fanfic does not hurt anywhere near as much as a dull, constant ache in your lower left jaw. I bet that's comforting.

You know, I really need to get over him.

It'd help if I could just stop thinking about him. Yeah, go on Rory. Just stop. Easy, right?

But if it was that easy I'd have gotten over it ages ago. Whatever it is. It's never that simple. It was hard enough before.

It's not like anything really even happened. He didn't even like me. Definitely not like that.

I didn't even like him! He was always teasing me, and I always got that feeling when I saw him – you know, when you know he was just talking about you. I've always hated that feeling. You get it all the time at this school. Everyone seems to be looking at you. What was worse, whenever he actually talked to me I knew they really were looking at me, and it wasn't just my paranoia.

But I'm missing the point. It didn't start until after he left. It's complicated. There's a cliché, if I ever heard one. Go, Rory. I was upset, not for me, but for him. I know he didn't want to go. He always tried to act so untouchable, but it was only an act. You could see through if you knew how to look.

And I was a little upset for me, too. No one knew; certainly not him. I don't want anyone to know that I felt sad that day. I never let on that I liked talking to him. But really, who can resist a little verbal sparring match? With my upbringing, certainly not me. At first, he was just so annoying. You know – that little-brother type of annoying. The 'Am-I-annoying-am-I-am-I-huh-huh-huh-huh?' endless antagonism.

But then I'd look at him, and when you really looked into his eyes you'd see this intense loneliness that almost compelled you to put up with him for just a minute more before he had to go back to being alone again. I always fell for that look - 'puppy-dog eyes'. He was certainly no innocent puppy, but those eyes made me think twice every time I started to turn away.

It was that paradox that caught me. The fact that he was always surrounded by people, but his eyes still held loneliness. The way he was able to make some crude remark at the same time as looking into you. He would never just look at you. No, when he looked, it was straight in – straight through all your walls, to see the heart of you with one glance of ice-blue eyes. And, the fact that he changed.

When I first met him, he was just the obligatory school kid who had to have something to say about the new girl, not to mention who got first dibs on trying to score with her. Sexy, no? No. But gradually – very gradually – he apparently figured out how unattractive that was, and seemed to make an effort to actually relate to me in a way I wouldn't find instantly repulsive. Hiding it as best he could all the while, of course, so no one else would guess he might actually care about something in any serious capacity. It almost made him likeable. That may have been part of the beginning.

I wonder if he knew the effect he had on me. He didn't attract me in the traditional sense, not in the 'I want you' hormonal teenage way. Once he shook off his overly antagonistic, way too cocky nature and settled for mildly arrogant, he ended up mesmerising me. I found myself unable to look away. Captivated. That was the sort of person he was. Anyone at school would tell you that. Captivating.

So there I was. Troubled, you could best describe it, when he was sent away. I'll admit it, I was still relieved. Relieved that I didn't have to have a quick comeback at the ready whenever he was around, and relieved that he would stop looking at me. Looking at me like he knew what I was thinking, what I didn't even know for sure I was thinking myself, as he made some shallow quip about my bookworm tendencies or my being a Mary. Relieved that he wouldn't find out how close I came to laughing at his jokes while trying to keep a straight face so he would leave and I could stop thinking about him for a while. If he knew he was getting to me, then…

After he left, I continued. It didn't really sink in until more than a month after he went. But every time I went into school I'd catch myself automatically looking towards the spot where he always used to hang out with his friends. Whenever I got to my locker I tensed up in anticipation of his coming up and tapping me on the shoulder, or calling out to me. And every time I went to one of the classes we had shared, I would instinctively check his old seat. I even sat next to it a couple of times without even registering what I was doing.

The day all this hit me was just another day. Just another typical morning of getting to school with my coffee, looking over at his old friends, juggling my coffee and books at my locker with a neck aching from being held so stiffly, just waiting, and another day of getting that funny feeling, like you've just taken an extra step at the top of a staircase, when he wasn't in class. Finally, and unexpectedly, it clicked. It was all because of him!

I shouldn't have been so surprised. But denial is almost as powerful as ignorance, and so even the part of me that had already realised I missed him was still playing dumb. I sat at the back of the classroom, mouth slightly agape, just taking it all in at last. The teacher didn't seem to mind. I just couldn't help it. All this time and it was because of him.

So I was still thinking about him almost every day, but now I realised what I was doing. Whether on the bus, or in the hall, or at Luke's, my brain would occasionally dredge up a random memory, that always made me want to laugh. I missed him.

I'd get so annoyed at myself, too. It was just so ridiculous. He'd been gone for months. By the time the school term ended and I found myself sitting in the assembly wondering what he was doing and if he missed being at school, I wanted to scream. He wasn't even there and he was driving me mad! I noticed him more now than I ever had when he'd been around! Ironic? Well, fantastic. All it would take was one memory, triggered by a word or a pose or even a smell, and his voice could fill my head, gently mocking. It was maddening.

But this new obsession was to prove bearable, compared to what happened next.

Nothing could compare to that.

He came back.

I had avoided thoughts of him almost all holidays. Every time my mind wandered even vaguely in his direction, I firmly told myself to think about something else. Birds, pineapples, Kirk, the Cold War, anything. It sometimes even worked.

Even doing that was counterproductive, though – because by forcing myself not to think about him I was thinking about him by not thinking about him, and then I'd have to stop myself thinking about not thinking about him, all the while still thinking about him. No wonder my head hurt all summer.

None of it ended up mattering, anyway.

The next term, as I walked into Chilton for the first day of my senior year, after having taken pains to avoid looking at his old spot like a fool, a voice lanced into my consciousness. No, not a voice – a ghost.

"Mary! My lovely Mary quite contrary. Miss me?"

Unbelievable. Tristan DuGrey.

Hey, if you're still here, and your jaw has remained ache-free, and you want to review, I'm not going to say no. In fact, I'm going to say puh-lease review? For me? What if no-one else does? How bad will it make you feel to know you've made me feel bad by not reviewing?

Oh.

Never mind, then. Sniff