Disclaimer: I still don't own these characters and never will, but I'm
borrowing them. (I may never give them back *evil cackle*).
Pairing: R/T
Rating: G
Author's Note: This is totally experimental, and please treat it as such. There are three POV's, starting with Dean, then Rory and finally Tristan. And I know this probably would never happen, but what can I say? I have a vivid imagination. Also, in my altered universe, the finale never happened: no make-ups, no marriage proposals, no P.J. Harvey invites, etc.
Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. He parked in the pre-determined spot and jumped out of his truck, straightening his tie nervously. He hated ties, but he would have to grow accustomed to wearing one everyday now. Ever since the acceptance letter came through, he had dreaded this moment, when he would have to walk into the enormous building and meet these conceited rich kids.
Dean jogged up to a fountain, running slightly late, and consulted his notes. Ambrose Building, they said, although he couldn't find evidence of any signs differentiating buildings from one another. He turned in confused circles, and heard the bell ring, signifying, he guessed, class getting out. Indeed, in a matter of moments, he found himself surrounded by plaid skirts and blazers.
He felt a tap on the shoulder and was soon looking into two very startled blue eyes, belonging to, of course, Rory. One of the reasons he didn't want to go here; his parents forced him to.
"What are you doing here?" Rory asked, surveying his uniform.
"Getting ready for the circus," he replied sarcastically. Instantly, he wished he hadn't said it, seeing the taken aback expression on Rory's face. However, in typical Rory fashion, she didn't give up.
"What are you looking for?"
"Ambrose Building."
"Okay, it's the big, scary one right there," Rory said pointing, and instructed him how to get to the office.
"Thanks," Dean said, uncomfortably.
"Good luck," Rory offered, with a sympathetic face. She half-jogged to her class, book bag weighing her down, skirt swishing with her movements.
Dean could hardly look Rory in the eye anymore, after the humiliation at the junkyard. Still, he knew she was a wonderful girl, and definitely an ally at Chilton, which she had told him about in detail. Grimacing at the impending meeting, Dean swiveled to face the building and followed Rory's simple directions.
He entered the white door with little hesitation, knowing it would be better if he just got it over with. The Headmaster's secretary let him in, stoically holding the door and looking down her nose at his feet.
The Headmaster was exactly as Rory had colorfully described him: a little paunchy, with a thinning head of white hair and a well-groomed goatee. He was deathly serious, and spoke with much the same calm infliction for every phrase. He told Dean about the standards that Chilton held, the rigid rules, and the honor code, all of which Dean had known before coming.
Dean gave his information to a comically unemotional secretary and tried to find his locker. When he did, it was already the next class period, and people were bumping into him to get to lockers and friends. He stopped dead in his tracks when he smashed into a particular person: Tristan.
"What are you doing here?" Tristan demanded snidely.
"I go here." Dean started to move past him, but Tristan blocked his path.
"I thought they didn't let people with IQs ten percent of their age in."
"They probably don't," Dean agreed, trying again to sidestep him.
"How did you get in?"
"I beat up the administration." It was obvious Tristan was not going to let him by. "Look--" he started, but was cut off by the sound of a familiarly sweet voice.
"Class starts in four minutes," Rory said, inserting herself in between the two. "Have you found your locker?" she asked, turning to Dean.
"I was trying to," Dean said spitefully.
"Hey, just trying to get to know my classmate," Tristan retorted sardonically.
"Well, we can call the Welcome Wagon later," Rory told him, "but we should all get to class. Come on, Dean, I'll help you find your locker." Rory took Dean forcefully by the forearm and looked at his schedule. "326. That should be right next to mine." Rory continued a few feet down the hall. "Here you go," she said.
"Thanks."
"Anytime." There was an uncomfortable silence. "I have to get to class."
"Right. Bye."
"Yeah, bye." Rory spun to face the other way and disappeared through a door.
Dean looked at his schedule, wishing he had asked Rory where History with Ms. Atergaph was. He stopped a random student, although she seemed vaguely familiar. "Do you know where History with Ms. Atergaph is?" he asked the girl, who was studying him with a rather dour expression.
She pointed to the door Rory had disappeared through. "Aren't you Dean?" she inquired.
"Uh, yeah." How did she know his name?
"I remember you from the dance. I'm Paris," she added as an afterthought.
"Ah, " Dean said, recalling the many complaints about her from Rory. "Well, thanks."
"No problem," she said, walking away.
Dean walked through the door, not knowing exactly what to expect.
*
Rory glanced up when the door opened just before the bell. Of course, Dean would have this class with her. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw him out in the courtyard this morning, wearing the uniform, looking confused. Why was he going here? She didn't think he had a big interest in school. He was smart, yeah, but Rory hadn't realized he was really a studious person.
Well, he was here now, and she was in for an awkward year, what with her and Tristan friends, and now Dean here to witness it all.
When the bell rang, she immediately directed her thoughts to the subject at hand, banishing thoughts of Dean and Tristan until she could think, uninterrupted. Ms. Atergaph was known to talk constantly, and most people agreed that about a third of her babble was relevant to the class. Still, she was easily the most interesting teacher at Chilton, with an actual personality shining through.
She could feel Tristan's eyes on her from the back of the room. Rory knew how his eyes felt; she could tell when he was looking at her from a mile away. Choosing to stay focused, Rory didn't glance back and continued taking notes, fully fixated on the topic of Henry VIII's colorful life.
When, after fifty minutes of incessant noise from Ms. Atergaph, the bell rang, Rory slowly gathered up her books and stuffed them in her bag, standing unhurriedly, although all she wanted to do was run away. She decided to dump her history book in her locker before continuing on, relieving her of the extra weight.
Dean was also at his locker, throwing some of the papers from administration in and gluing pictures up.
"So, this is Chilton," he said.
"Yep, this is the fabulous hellhole," Rory replied, carefully adding her book to the perfectly engineered stack. She told Dean where his next two classes were before lunch, and kept going.
"So, are you and Dean back together?" Tristan began, hardly five seconds after her leaving Dean.
"No," she answered simply.
"Then why did you defend him?"
"Because you had no right to provoke him, and believe me, I know how being provoked by you on the first day feels."
"Did you know he was coming?"
"No." Once again, Rory sufficed to use the monosyllabic reply.
Tristan kept pace with her and used her path to their next class, though it wasn't the one he usually took. This Rory knew, and wondered why he followed her with a pensive expression. They entered the class without another word spoken, sat in their respective seats and didn't exchange the usual surreptitious glances.
*
Tristan was dumbstruck when he saw Dean in the hall, wearing the obligatory Chilton blazer and tie, apparently looking for something. Not knowing what to do, Tristan went up to him, knowing there was no way Dean could top him here, where this school worshipped him.
Think again. Rory walked up and helped him out, as was her caring nature, and Tristan was caught between jealousy that she helped him and admiration for her compassionate character. In any event, he was envious of Rory's offer of help and the fact that Dean followed her--but mostly the fact that they were polite, almost amicable toward one another.
When he talked to Rory between History and Trig, he was at a loss. All he could think was that he had this great friendship going with her, and now Dean was going to come through and ruin it for him, because Rory would be able to compare them on a regular basis, and Tristan knew he wasn't as good as Dean. Deep down, he knew Rory loved Dean and would choose Dean over him in a heartbeat, which depressed him.
His friends could tell he was down about something, but they weren't empathetic enough to relate, or even ask what was wrong. As was the case most times: he and his friends were carousing kind of guys, never really loving anything, never hurt by anything, and always admired because of looks and money and status.
Tristan's mind was clouded with these melancholy thoughts all through class and he couldn't find the strength to pick up a pencil and take notes. The threat of losing the one thing he actually, legitimately cared about was too much. He stared at her throughout their mutual periods, and he knew she could feel it, but she didn't turn. Why?
He and Rory had been getting along for several months now, meeting during the summer in the club by accident, chatting a little, even laughing and finding they had a few things in common. Almost all of his favorite memories were linked to Rory, like when he made her laugh so hard, she spewed soda. Or when he saw her cutting the grass up, golfing with her grandfather, both of them amused. Or she and her mother giggling about the waiter in the club restaurant, wearing identical smiles, their twin blue eyes lighting up.
And Dean was going to jeopardize this. Because Rory was too smart to get involved with someone else who she didn't think would respect her as much.
"Hey, Rory!" he called to her after class. Here, they split ways, but he needed to hear her voice. Unfortunately, he hadn't formulated something to say and was at a loss for words when her perfect face turned to his.
"Yeah?" she prompted.
"Do you...want to go somewhere for lunch?" he proposed, invoking the junior- senior privilege: off-campus lunches.
"Uh..." Rory looked around a little, stalling for time. "Sure."
Her answer surprised him, to say the least, but he grinned his confident grin and said, "Meet you by my car," as he turned away.
*
Dean now understood why Rory complained about homework in this place. The overviews of notes he had were mind-boggling. He could hardly ponder beginning these projects and essays.
When he left English, he saw Rory and Tristan talking in the hall, and Tristan was obviously pleased with the result. On the other hand, Rory didn't look so pained either. When did this happen?
Dean went into the classroom they had just come out of, considering that question. Were they friends? Dating? The latter was unlikely, judging by the earlier confrontation amongst the three of them, but he was ready to assume the worst.
To tell the truth, Dean missed Rory, and regretted his reaction to her hesitation in the junkyard. He should have realized how difficult it would be for Rory, who was rather delicate when it came to dating, and her wished he hadn't stormed off like that.
When he saw her at Lane's, her sad countenance had caused him days and nights of thinking, and he remembered every detail of her upset and slightly tired eyes. Ever since, he had been trying to conjure a plan to get them back together, though he could think of none that suited him. His only option was just to talk to her, he knew, but it would be hard, swallowing his extraordinary amount of pride.
Dean attempted to concentrate, but he was overloaded: Rory, Tristan the Headmaster, this school, these teachers, and all these complicated notes and lectures.
He expected to find refuge in lunch, but another problem arose: where to sit? He could find no empty spots next to friendly looking people. He scanned the gigantic room once more and found no evidence of Rory--or Tristan. This confirmed his suspicions: they were either good friends, or worse, dating.
Dean finally just sat at a table of affronted guys and looked at the meat on his tray. When the lunch lady had scooped the hamburger for the taco, it didn't collapse like normal hamburger: it stayed in a perfect scooped shape and it took several stabs to free it from the mold. When some rice slipped off his spoon, he noticed the fact the it bounced on his tray, probably not a good trait for a grain of rice.
*
Rory met Tristan at his black Porsche, which was in the first row of student parking, affirming his status: popular. All of the popular group had parents rich and influential enough to wrangle front-row parking spots for their kids.
That was something Rory never could figure out. Why would Tristan, the most sought-after guy in school--by both sexes--want to be friends with her, a rather outcast brainiac? For some reason, he sort of latched onto her, not caring that she wasn't rich or glamorous. Why?
"Hey," he greeted her cheerfully, the pensive look from earlier gone from his face. He stood up from his leaning position against the car. She climbed in on her side and he started the ignition. "Where to?"
"Somewhere that serves coffee?"
"What about food?"
"Secondary," she answered, grinning.
"Fine, we'll go to the Honda service station," Tristan joked.
"Only if their coffee's good. Otherwise, we'll have to try Toyota."
"I hear the BMW one had gourmet coffee."
"Even better." Now they were both laughing at the thought of going to a service station for lunch.
"So..." Tristan trailed off, not knowing where to go with this.
"Anything to enrich that intelligent comment?" Rory teased.
"I'll get back to you."
"That paper in History sounds killer," Rory initiated. Homework was always a safe topic for her, being as she knew most everything about it.
"Yeah, Atergaph can be tough when she wants to." Tristan looked at her briefly, then leaned over her and rummaged through the glove compartment.
"Look at the road, please," Rory pleaded.
"Okay, Grandma," he retorted, but ceased digging and turned his attention to the road. Rory noticed this fact with a small amount of triumph: she did have some power over him, no matter how minor.
"Any thoughts on eateries?" Rory asked.
"How's...Celia's?" he suggested.
"Expensive," Rory pointed out, without thinking.
"I'll pay."
"You don't have to do that!" Rory didn't want him taking her out; it felt like a date. And she was firm in her conviction not to date Tristan. Because she didn't like him that way. Right? Of course.
"I asked you first."
"Entailing?"
"That I can pay." Tristan turned smoothly into the parking lot. "Now, we only have forty minutes left." He resolutely shut off the car and got out, Rory following him.
"So, this means that if I ask you first next time, I can pay?"
"No."
"What? There's a double standard," Rory pointed out.
"I'm the guy."
"That's your default excuse?"
"Yeah, that's it. Pretty hard to contradict it, though."
"And I'm not going to follow you on this one," Rory said, attempting to end the discussion, but to no avail.
"I mean, hey, if you wanna look, I have no problems with that," Tristan continued slyly.
"I should have known," Rory lamented.
"I was hoping--" Tristan cut himself off there, piquing Rory's curiosity. She knew that about twenty percent of what came from Tristan's mouth was nonsense, and this seemed to be heading that way, but when he stopped, she knew he was turning serious about something. But what?
"Two," he told the hostess, who pointed them to a table.
Rory knew better than to pursue the topic. "So, this whole Dean showing up think is weird."
"I can't believe you didn't know." There was a slight pause. "Not that it's your fault, it's just your town is so small," Tristan added hastily.
"I know," Rory assured him. "I'm surprised it wasn't all around town within half an hour of him getting the acceptance letter."
*
Tristan saw Rory coming from the doors, marveling at her electric blue eyes and alert face. He wanted to appear nonchalant, but the fact was, it was difficult for him to contain himself around her. He chided himself: he had been around plenty of girls--and closer than that--but still, it was difficult for him not to spill his soul, or kiss her, or touch her. But their friendship was the best thing he had going, and he was determined not to screw it up.
He liked making her laugh. His favorite part was right before she smiled, when her eyes lit up and her lips went soft in preparation to curve. He adored her coffee addiction, admired her intellect, loved her concentration when she read, her brow wrinkling slightly, face totally buried.
And he was dreading all of this being taken away by Dean. What would he do? Now that he had experienced a life with some purpose, met someone who made him tingle, there was no returning to the superficial existence he had led before.
He was making jokes about her checking him out, and, to his horror, nearly slipped and told her something he didn't want to. Tristan saw the look on her face, one of interest in what he was going to say, but she moved on, and he was grateful.
They chattered through coffee and good salad, ten times better than the mushy, slightly pungent school stuff. He liked it that she offered to pay for her share, but the truth was, there was nothing he'd rather do than buy Rory lunch. Well, there were some things, but lunch was good for now.
"Thanks," she said when they were enroute to the car.
"No problem," he replied, one of his most frequent answers to remarks.
Rory laughed a little. "You know, I hear there are other words in the English language that serve the same purpose.
"They don't have the same ring."
"Ha!" They got in their respective sides, and Rory resumed making her point. "Although, I don't think people would think of you as highly as when you use that response. They might not recognize you and assume that the real you was abducted or something."
"Proving that the phrase is essential to my livelihood."
"I think I just messed up. I was trying to stop you from using that phrase."
"And an admirable job you did, too. Have you taken debate?"
"Funny, funny boy."
"Thanks. I find it easy, especially around you."
Rory rolled her eyes. Tristan thought it was cute how she never took him seriously when he complimented her personality or looks, when he was being truthful. "Trying to butter me up?"
"No."
"Sure."
Tristan turned to her at the stoplight. "I think you're the most beautiful person in the history of the world," he gushed, "and I just don't know what I'd do without you. I mean, you give my life significance--"
"Okay, stop now please."
Tristan grinned. "All right."
"Thank you," she said, relieved.
"No problem."
*
Dean was wandering through the school, fruitlessly trying to find his classroom. In defeat, he slumped on a bench around the corner from the front door, letting his head bump against the wall. After he had been sitting there for a few seconds, he heard the doors swoosh open and in came, lo and behold, Rory and Tristan, laughing about something. The only think he could hear was Tristan's comment.
"...so expensive. Next time, it's the service station, missy."
What?!
Dean stood up, but accidentally turned the opposite corner and practically hit the two. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Dean!" Rory called. He turned, waiting rather impatiently. He looked briefly at Tristan, who seemed threatened by him. "Do you need any help finding anything?"
In truth, of course he did, but he would never admit that to her in front of Tristan. "I'm fine," he said coldly and kept walking. He only had five minutes to find the classroom in this confusing jumble of buildings. As he continued the search, he ran into Paris, who he stopped and asked. Dean was disgruntled when he found he had walked past it--twice.
He dashed in moments before the bell and found Rory and Tristan in there. Of course.
Dean introduced himself to the teacher, who looked at him condescendingly and directed him to a seat--behind Rory and Tristan, who were seated next to each other. Rory turned to smile encouragingly, but he glowered back, making her mouth turn down in frustration. She shifted her attention to Tristan, who was pointing to something out the window. Rory nodded fervently at the comment and returned to her notes, prepping herself as usual before class.
Dean kept looking between the two. He observed how Tristan was always gazing at her with a mix of awe and admiration. Dean knew it: he had a thing for her. And was easy to see why: Rory was smart and funny and beautiful, which meant that Tristan was perhaps not as insensitive as Dean had written him off to be.
This day had been one of the slowest, albeit one of the most interesting of Dean's school career. The people here were amazing in their own right: they were so materialistic, Dean was constantly struck by their trite conversations, and truly applauded Rory for being a non-conformist.
The teacher had an irritatingly nasal voice, but Dean took notes, knowing it would do him no good not to try and succeed. Besides his parents' wrath, he knew colleges would frown upon bad prep school grades, and Dean did want to get into a good college.
Blocking out the glances from Tristan to Rory, he focused on his notebook and pen, and tried to survive the flat inflection of the annoying voice.
*
Rory was baffled by the look on Dean's face when she had come in with Tristan. First, they were only friends, and secondly, Dean no longer had any claim on her. In fact, it made her a little angry that Dean felt the need to govern whom she made friends with.
Dean didn't have the right to know the state of her affairs with Tristan, and the state was that she was good friends with him--he being her only friend and all. Rory was still perplexed as to why he was here, of all places. She had been avoiding him for months, and now, she would have to see him, and possibly converse with him on a daily basis. Who up there hated her that much?
Rory began to wonder if Lane had known about this. She went to Stars Hollow, she had to have seen him packing his stuff. Lane never mentioned Dean, fearing it would hurt Rory--but Rory would have like to have known about this, instead of finding out the way she did, a freak encounter in the courtyard.
"Miss Gilmore?" the teacher asked, and Rory realized that the whole class was staring at her.
"Yes?" she replied, not able to think of another answer.
"The answer to number seven in the chapter review was…"
"Um." Rory dug her homework out of the side of her book, and said, "Lincoln?"
"Yes. Expand, please." The teacher was beginning to look impatient.
"The country was so divided in their opinion of him that it was one of the foremost causes of the Civil War."
"Very good. Hopefully, I won't have to coax the answer out again." She made a mark in her book and continued the lecture. Rory listened intently, took notes on everything and tried to endure Paris' demeaning glances.
*
What's wrong with her? Tristan sat in his seat and studied Rory's face. She was obviously deep in thought about something. Her homework hadn't come out yet, her book lay open to a random page and her pencil rested in the gutter.
Tristan noticed the way her eyes clouded a little as she thought about whatever it was she was thinking about, and the was her mouth moved downward some, signifying that she was contemplating something bothersome.
He felt Dean's eyes on him about half the time; the remainder of the time, he knew they were focused on Rory. Tristan resisted the urge to turn around and tell him to go back to Stars Hollow, but he could do that later when his grades weren't on the line.
Tristan was surprised when Rory failed to answer the question when the teacher asked it once, but astonished that the teacher had to resort to calling her name and writing in the book. What had gotten into her?
When class was over, Tristan was glad there were only two periods left in the day, but disappointed that he only had one of them with Rory. She seemed shaken by her own neglect to reply immediately to the question, but she was definitely distracted.
After class, Tristan was about to turn to his locker when he heard Paris' cutting voice.
"You know, I hear they make hearing aids for that kind of problem," she said coldly.
"Really? I hear they make duct tape to shut annoying people up," Rory shot back, and kept walking.
Paris followed. "Clever, Dorothy Parker."
Tristan watched them. Rory looked miserable and a little intimidated, but resolute. Tristan knew it was partially--okay, mostly--his fault that Paris hated Rory, and he needed to do something about that.
"Hey, Rory," he greeted, approaching them.
"Hey," she echoed tentatively.
Paris' eyes shifted from one to the other. "Do you have…the…history notes from last Wednesday?" Tristan finally formed. "I think I missed the part on the…Hapsburgs."
"There was a whole unit on the Hapsburgs," Paris pointed out chillingly.
"I know, I missed a certain person."
"Who?" she challenged.
"I don't know."
Pairs sneered. "That's probably why he needs the notes," Rory informed her. "I'll bring them
tomorrow."
"Great, thanks." Tristan stood by Paris until Rory was far enough away that Paris wouldn't waste her time, then ambled to his next class, dull without the promise of Rory.
*
Dean came out of the classroom to find Rory and Paris sniping at each other. He was about to go up and help, when Tristan swooped in and evidently solved the conflict. He shook his head and turned to go to his next class, if he could find it.
What was going on with Rory and Tristan? Dean was burning with interest, wondering if the boy she once hated was now her boyfriend. Dean shuddered at the thought of it-it was not right.
In class, Rory seemed troubled, and he assumed it was unusual for her to lack attention span. Even the teacher seemed riddled. Dean knew Rory well enough to know she was thinking about something, and that it wasn't pleasant. He had observed she and Tristan all through the period, and he wasn't too surprised that Tristan spent a good amount of time staring at her, but Rory--he knew she was a stellar student, not one to be distracted by trifling matters.
Why, why had his parents forced him to go to this school, with its scary gargoyles and even more outrageous student body? These people were precisely as Rory had told him, horrible, competitive, snobby kids with nothing but money inside.
Dean was lost. Why was this place so huge? As he wandered sort of aimlessly, he ran into Tristan-literally.
"Sorry," he said gruffly.
"Going somewhere?" Tristan challenged.
"No."
"You're lost."
"No."
Tristan looked at him. "Yeah, you are." Tristan snatched the schedule from him. "It's over there, down the second corridor on your left, turn right at the drinking fountain, door on your right."
"Uh, thanks." Tristan said nothing more, just left. Dean followed his instructions, amazed that Tristan had pointed him to the right place. He jumped inside a minute before the bell and caught his breath.
*
Rory was relieved: the last period of the day. Everyday at Chilton was stressful, but today topped them all. Not only did Dean show up, there was homework galore. All she wanted to do right now was curl up with a cup of coffee and talk to her mom. Tristan came in and sat in his assigned seat, one row behind and two chairs over from her. Not that she had memorized where they sat in proximity to each other.
This time, Rory paid attention, almost overzealously, writing down nearly every word that came out of her teacher's mouth. She could feel Tristan's stare, as always, boring into the side of her face. The gaze did her little good: it was another thing to have to ignore.
Finally, after fifty minutes of torture, the final bell rang, and Rory practically ran to her locker. As she was rushing to stuff books in her bag, Dean walked up to his locker. Deciding it was rude to ignore him, Rory turned and asked him: "How was your day?"
"Confusing," Dean answered, hardly turning to her.
"Did you fine everything all right?" Rory paused to let him reply, but there was none. "Cause if you didn't, I'd be happy to show you where-"
"I gotta go," Dean said roughly and, slamming his locker, marched away, around the corner and presumably out the front door.
Rory stood by her locker, befuddled. What had caused that? What had she done to him? Her books forgotten, Rory let her bag slide down to her feet and leaned against the locker.
"You know, I don't think lockers make the best pillows," Tristan theorized.
"Better than desks," Rory responded, happy to see him. At least he wasn't being too weird today--although, what was that defending thing in front of Paris? What was wrong with people today?! They were suddenly baffling enigmas.
"So, what books are going home tonight?" Tristan asked, probably after seeing the deflated bag at her feet.
"Oh, uh…" Rory stalled, digging in her locker for the answer. "Math, History and English," she finally told him.
"What about Science? The quiz is tomorrow."
"I already studied and wrote down the confusing stuff on note cards."
"Of course."
"I have to go…catch my bus," Rory added.
"Bye."
"See you." Rory shut her locker and walked slowly to the bus, hoping she didn't miss it. Her feet refused to move any faster. Her whole body felt the strain of the day and the weight of her backpack didn't help any. As she trekked to the bus, she saw Dean's green truck, in the middle of the lot. He was leaning against the back of the seat, his bag next to him, tie and blazer discarded.
Rory, not wanting to think about these people or this school any more, waked resolutely to the bus stop, just in time. On the bus, she pulled out her book and immersed herself in the vivid world that was so far away.
At home, her mother was not there, but had left a note at lunch telling her to come to Luke's at five. Rory decided to do some homework so it wouldn't consume her thoughts and make her feel guilty. Pulling out her textbook, she read about the people she usually found so interesting, but today, could not connect to.
The phone sounded loudly, making her jump and scream softly. "Hello?" she asked when she picked it up on the third ring after gathering herself.
"Rory?"
She knew it was Dean, after having heard him so many other times on the phone. "Dean?"
"Yeah."
There was an awkward lull. "Do you need something?"
"Well…I was just going to ask you a question. It's kind of personal," he warned.
"Shoot."
"What's going on with you and Tristan?"
"Me and Tristan? We're friends."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that's all," Rory said, irritated. He broke up with her a long time ago, and no longer should care about who she saw.
"Didn't look that way to me."
"Maybe you need glasses."
"Okay. Bye, then."
"Goodbye," Rory muttered. When she looked at her watch, she realized she was going to be late meeting her mom if she didn't leave. Had she been reading for that long?
*
Tristan was bewildered about his day, and glad it was, at long last, over. Dean was at Chilton. No matter how many times he told himself this, it always seemed preposterous. What could he possibly be doing there? And, more importantly, how did Rory feel?
When he had given him directions earlier, Tristan wasn't trying to be nice. On the contrary, all he was doing was acting--if he made even the most tenuous relationship with Dean, maybe Rory would see that he wasn't bitter.
Tristan allowed the butler to open the door in the vast house and let the chauffeur park his car. He veered slowly through the house, as was his habit, before ascending the staircase to his third-floor room. Once in his room, Tristan discarded the tie, blazer and shirt, sliding out of the pants, and changed into his favorite pair of faded jeans and a tee shirt. The mail was on his desk, nothing interesting, a few letters from acquaintances, and some pompous looking invitations to various fundraisers and dances held by the same shallow people he was forced to see every weekend at the club.
Tristan strode into his spacious bathroom, connected with a perfectly polished wooden door to his bedroom and sitting room. He poured water into his hands and let it stream down his face, and mussed up his hair with it. When he looked up, Tristan studied his face. What did Rory think about him? Did she obsess about him as he did about her?
That last statement wasn't true, or even possible, Tristan knew, because Rory was too level-headed to be obsessed by some guy. Still staring in the mirror, Tristan betrayed his confident nature by comparing himself to Dean. He wondered if he had Dean beat in the looks department by Rory's standards. His face certainly helped him with the girls, but he knew Rory wasn't deceived by looks.
What was he doing? Tristan shook his head at himself, standing in his bathroom, thinking about how he measured up to some guy. He walked out, downstairs, and through the kitchen, picking up a croissant as he went. As he swung the door open, his father came in the other side. "Son."
"Sir."
"Good day?" his father asked stiffly.
"Yes, sir." Tristan and his father had more or less the same conversation every time they met, never talking about how they felt but making perfunctory responses and asking trite questions.
"Good." His father nodded for emphasis. "Well, back to the stacks."
Tristan nodded, said his good-byes, and continued on his way through the house to the solarium, where he usually sat in a chair and did some homework. He almost laughed at the thought of his father seeing a stack of paper anywhere, much less having to do something with it.
*
Dean slumped on the couch when he got home, dropping his bag with a depressing thud on the hardwood floor of the living room. Clara ran to meet him, hounding him with questions about the fancy school, playing with his rejected tie.
"It was fine, Clara," he said, frustrated with his sister. He didn't want to talk to his parents, knowing it would be hard to maintain civility. He was regretting every second of his day. After calling Rory, he felt even more pathetic, hearing the slightly sharp edge her voice had when he accused her of being more than friends with Tristan, who had been surprisingly courteous about giving him directions. Dean was smart enough to know that there had to be an ulterior motive involved, one he didn't know about. But he could guess.
He dug out his heavy, cumbersome books, marveling at the fact that he actually had some of these ridiculously complicated books. How was he going to do this?
Dean disappeared into his room and foraged through the closet for his lap tray, which doubled as a desk when he didn't want to sit at the more formal version. As he rustled through the many things clogging his closet floor, he came across his pictures of Rory. He smiled fondly, remembering when he had to look at these everyday to make in through. Now, he glanced at them one and a while, but they ultimately mad him sad and nostalgic, so her generally stayed away from that box.
The bell on the front door rang, but Dean knew it was either one of Clara's friends or a salesman, but in any event, Clara liked opening the door. After a few seconds, he heard, "Dean!"
Slightly puzzled, Dean jogged to the door, and found Lane standing there. "Hi," she said.
"Hey."
There was a little pause. "Well, I had to come and see if you had some of my notes."
"From?"
"The project we worked on last weekend."
"I'll check. Hold on." Dean went to his room and found, indeed, a set of Lane's notes from his former school that he was now missing. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Lane turned and trotted down the porch steps, and Dean watched her go, envying her for going to Stars Hollow High.
The familiar sound of the garage door opening echoed throughout the house, and Dean knew his mother was home from work, and would expect to hear all the news from Chilton. He and his parents had a good relationship, but nothing like the one Rory and Lorelai had. They were still a little disconcerted about his decision to break up with Rory, whom they had loved, but were supportive nonetheless.
"Hey, honey," his mother said, greeting Clara, who always ambushed her the second she came through the door. Dean listened to the familiar sounds of his mother's daily routine--set down bags, drop keys in bowl, kick shoes into corner. She emerged through the kitchen door, where Dean was sitting at the table. She kissed the top of his head. "So?"
"It's hard," was all Dean said.
"That's to be expected." His mother hesitated. "Did you see Rory?"
"Yeah. She helped me find a couple of classes."
"She's a nice girl." She started pulling out ingredients for dinner, always something quick, not like she did on the weekends, where she made food mostly from scratch. "Did you like it?"
Dean didn't want to say that he was miserable at the thought of spending the rest of the school year there, instead opting for, "It'll take some getting used to, after Stars Hollow High."
*
Rory saw her mother through the window at Luke's arguing with him about her coffee intake that day. No matter how bad her day had been, the sight of her mother pestering Luke always cheered her up.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hey, kid. Luke here was just trying to--"
"Prevent you from killing yourself," Luke interjected.
"At least I'd die happy," Lorelai shot back.
"And short." Luke poured two cups and started on the burgers.
"So, how was your day?" Lorelai asked, sipping her coffee gratefully.
"You will not believe what happened."
"Let me guess: Paris walked up and pledged her undying devotion--"
"Dean showed up," Rory blurted out, unable to contain the news anymore.
"W--what?" Lorelai momentarily ceased drinking to discern if her daughter was serious or not. "Really? Showed up? Like--"
"He goes there now."
"No."
"Yeah."
"How did we not know about this?" Lorelai frowned. "How do you feel?" she asked sympathetically.
"I don't know. He was okay in the beginning, but then when Tristan and I got back from lunch he was all..."
"You and Tristan?"
"Yeah."
"Out to lunch?" Lorelai started smiling.
Rory knew where this was headed. "Mom--"
"First lunch, then dinner, then 'studying'--"
"Don't say 'studying' like that."
"--then marriage--"
"Mom!"
"--soon, you'll be comparing blenders--"
"Luke! No more coffee for her!"
"I tried to tell you, Rory."
"Really, so how did he look when you came back?" Lorelai asked, serious again.
"Angry."
"Maybe he wants to get back together with you."
"No." Rory shook her head.
"Honey, he told you he loved you. Things like that don't fade quickly."
"He just...doesn't. I know it."
"Fine." Lorelai put her arms up in the air, a sign of surrender. "I still wonder how we didn't know this."
"Lane could have known." Rory was verbalizing her thoughts from earlier. "Maybe she didn't tell me because she thought I'd go in a funk again."
"It's possible." Luke set the burgers down, and Lorelai smiled sweetly.
"Luke..."
"No."
"Puh-lease?"
"When your own daughter starts complaining, it's time to stop, Lorelai."
"It's not like she can't handle me."
"I'd rethink that statement if I were you," Rory interjected.
"There? See?" Luke saw customers come in and disappeared behind the counter.
"Traitor!" Lorelai cried in mock anger.
They looked up when the door swung open, admitting Lane, who came over to them. "Guess what? I--"
"Did you know about this?" Rory asked, cutting her off.
"Know about..."
"Dean!"
Lorelai stood up, giving her seat to Lane and went to the counter to get her cup filled--or attempt to. Lane sat down and looked at Rory's slightly agitated face. "Well..."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Rory set her cup down to face her friend without obstacles.
"I didn't think you'd want to know."
"You said the same thing about being science partners."
"Rory, I'm sorry. I thought you'd be all sad again, and then I thought, maybe you wouldn't run into him." Lane settled down into the seat and leaned her elbows on the table. "Sorry."
Rory sighed. "It's okay. I just didn't love the way I found out."
"Which was?"
"A freak encounter in the courtyard by the fountain."
Lane groaned. "Sorry--"
"Lane, it's okay. So, what were you going to tell me?"
*
Tristan drove fast. No matter where he was going, no matter the distance, no matter if he was in a hurry or not, he sped along, and though he wasn't reckless, he was more daring than his parents preferred. He screeched into his spot at Chilton, in the front row, displaying his status for everyone see.
As he climbed out of the car, he was still straightening his tie and arranging his hair in the patented Tristan Dugray sloppy style. Rory was half-jogging from the bus stop, and he waited for her by the front entrance, watching her juggle backpack, hair-tie and sweater.
"Need some help?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied breathlessly. She handed him the bag and he obligingly carried it, noticing her smell on it--her apple shampoo and clean soapy aroma. Rory tied her hair back into a remarkably neat ponytail and pulled her sweater over her blouse. "Thanks," she said, reclaiming the bag.
"No problem," he responded, knowing she would roll her eyes and smile slightly out of amusement. "So, interesting night?" he asked her.
"They never are. I don't know why you bother to ask."
"I'm interested."
"Do you have no life?"
"Not outside of you," he teased. "I wake up, wis--"
"Stop there. I don't think I want to hear this." Rory smiled and turned the appropriate corner to her locker. Tristan continued down the hall, grinning and slapping hands with his friends, who were just as conceited as he. He looked toward his locker and found the usual cache of girls, waiting for him. A few were underclassmen, but most were his age.
Truthfully, he now hated going through the hordes of girls just to get to his locker. He used to enjoy it, but it got old after a while. Besides, there was only one he wanted to be waiting for him. Tristan flirted with the obligatory charm and quickly left for class.
Several detours were taken along the way, where he paused to talk to his friends and finally found who he was looking for: Paris.
"Hey, Paris!" he called, catching up to her, Madeline and Louise.
"Hey, Tristan," Louise greeted him with her usual appraisal.
"Hi," Madeline said, perky as always.
"What?" Paris demanded.
"I need to talk to you," he said, dragging her into a nook between the drinking fountain and the lockers. "Why are you so hard on Rory?"
"She treated me like a--"
"Like a friend." Tristan looked into Paris' face, made less attractive with a flash of jealousy and bitterness. "She tried to help you, Paris."
"Like hell she did!" Paris turned to go, but Tristan constricted her.
"She doesn't deserve this," he whispered.
"What do you want?"
"I want you to be nice to her."
"She won't go out with you," Paris snapped.
"What?"
"You won't get her to go out with you by trying to help out her social life," Paris expanded.
"I don't care."
Paris stared at him. He could see the envy swimming in her eyes, and she saw the caring in his--but not caring for her. "She doesn't like you!" Paris was almost yelling now. "If she doesn't want you, move on!" Paris stormed down the hall, taking Madeline and Louise with her.
*
Dean found his class quickly, pleased he had remembered the way there. This school had twists and turns like no place he had ever been, and the numbering of the classrooms was illogical. But he was here.
Rory was already there when he came in, reviewing her notes from yesterday. She looked up momentarily when he entered but returned to her notes, looking a little disgruntled with him.
Now he had done two very regrettable things: broken up with her, first, then accused her of dating someone, like he didn't trust her, which wasn't true. But Rory thought it was, and that was what mattered. When did his life become a soap?
Tristan strode in with his usual self-assured gait and sat in his seat directly behind Rory. He looked...not disheveled, but vaguely upset. Dean saw the way he looked at Rory: with longing. Tristan stared at her hair, her ear, her shoulder--anything of her he could see.
Disgusted, Dean prepared for note taking. He had taken notes before, but notes at Chilton could be a career. There was always something the teacher said that he needed to write down, and a vicious circle ensued: while he wrote down the necessary comment, the teacher said another essential snippet of information, and he had to write that down, resulting in his neck hurting from concentrating on the paper so intently.
Ms. Atergaph was introducing an assignment: pick one of Henry VIII's wives and do a personality study on them, and try to provide insight into their reasons for marrying Henry, possibly ulterior motive, why the marriage didn't work, etc. "This will be presented on Monday. A full presentation, folks, including a poster. Since this is a difficult assignment, there will be groups." Ms. Atergaph pulled a book into her arm. "I assigned you all numbers, then drew from a hat to see who was with whom. Totally random," she assured them. She rattled off names Dean didn't recognize until he came to his.
"Dean, Rory, and Tristan..."
*
Rory sat motionless. Did she just say that? Dean and Tristan--in a group-- with her. No, this could not be happening. It was too weird, like a cheesy movie making fun of Mystery Science Theater 3000 or something. Alternate universe weird. Other names faded into a boring mush as Rory nervously contemplated being in a group with those two. This had some definite awkward potential. She needed her mother.
The three of them gathered by Rory's and Dean's lockers and an unpleasant silence ensued. "We need to meet," Rory said, stating the obvious.
"Yeah," Tristan agreed.
"In Stars Hollow," Dean chimed in.
"The two of us live there," Rory commented.
"Thanks for the update," Tristan said dryly. "Whose house?"
"Mine's fine, if you don't mind my bi-polar, neurotic mother," Rory offered.
"Nice mix," Tristan interjected.
"Tonight?" Dean asked.
"Six," Rory suggested. The other two nodded in agreement and the group dispersed. Rory dazedly wandered to her next class, feeling sick. Paris came and walked next to her, not saying anything, until Rory bit off, "What?"
"It's really pathetic that you make Tristan do your begging for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know what I mean," Paris said.
"No, I don't," Rory told her.
"He came up to me today."
"Well, lucky him," Rory said sarcastically.
"And he said I should forgive you."
"Then he's right."
"You didn't ask him to do that?" Paris asked, incredulous.
"No. He's his own person."
"Oh." Paris stopped walking, and Rory copied her. "So, he just did that?"
"Of his own free will."
"Why would he do that?"
"Probably because he knows he's to blame."
"Meaning?"
"He told you that I set you up."
"It would have come out eventually."
"But it wasn't supposed to come out then!" Rory sighed. "I have to go."
*
Tristan found Rory's house after almost ten minutes of looking for the turn. It was right in front of him, and he couldn't believe he'd missed the rooster statue at first. Her house was old, beautiful and large, light blue with shutters. He found the house endearingly traditional. There wasn't another car parked in front, meaning there were two scenarios: Dean had walked, or he wasn't there yet.
The bell echoed through the house, which Tristan could hear on the porch. A few seconds later, there was a thundering down the stairs, and a pretty woman, somewhere in her thirties, opened the door, wearing tight jeans and an Old Navy shirt.
"I'm Lorelai," she said. "You have got to be Tristan--Mary Tristan."
"That's me," Tristan said cheerfully, knowing that a formal introduction would probably be lost on Rory's mother.
"They're in the living room, and if you can't find it on your own, I don't know how you made it to eleventh grade."
"Thanks." Tristan followed her out of the foyer, seeing the living room immediately on his left, and Rory and Dean seated at the coffee table, notes spread out, discussing something quietly.
They stopped when he came in the room, and Rory stood up. "Hey. Did you find it okay?"
"Yeah. Small town."
"It is," Rory agreed. "Anything I can get you? Water? Soda? Coffee?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
"All right then, let's get started. Any thoughts?" There was silence, so Rory went on. "I was thinking we could do his third wife, Jane Seymour, because there isn't that much really said about her. She's unusual, and not a lot of people will pick her, so it'll be original. Agreed?"
The boys nodded their appropriation of Jane Seymour as the project basis. "Okay," Rory continued when no one else offered input, "we need to start by gathering basic facts about her: birthdate, family situation, age at marriage, et cetra. Then, we need to analyze the marriage: how long did it last, did they get along, why was she the only one Henry loved, even from the beginning? And, why did he asked to be buried with her?"
Still, a quietus met her remarks. "I have looked up her birthdate, and it ranges from 1509 to 1515, so we should pick a year in the middle, which will give us an age. It is obvious why Henry loved her in retrospect, she being the only to give him a male heir, but why, even before, was he drawn to her?" Still, nothing. "Okay, someone else speak. I'm tired of my own voice."
"I think your foundation is stable," Tristan began rather uncertainly, "but I think you need to factor in some other things. Like, when did he meet her? How long had he known her in comparison to the others? Things like that."
"Good idea." Rory nodded emphatically. "So, we should think about poster layout. Where do we want the most important facts? The picture? The dates?" Rory reached behind the couch to grab some posterboard. "One of us will have to keep the poster until the project is due, and since it's already here, I'm volunteering."
"Fine," Dean said, the first thing so far. "We need to arrange the presentation. Who'll say what, in what order we'll say it, how to coordinate it with the poster, et cetra."
"Good. Well, hit the books I guess." They opened their thick textbooks and leafed through pages until they found the chapter. They designated people to search for specific things, and were silent for the next hour.
Lorelai trotted into the room. "So, what's going on?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Studying," Rory said.
"About?"
"Jane Seymour?"
"The actress?"
"Henry VIII's third wife."
"So, they're about the same age."
"Do you have a point?" Rory asked, not unkindly.
"I want pizza."
"Order some."
"Do you want pizza?"
Rory looked to Dean and Tristan, who nodded, and Rory nodded to her mother.
"Okay, coming right up. Oh, hey, can we get ice cream too?" Lorelai begged.
"I didn't know you could order ice cream," Rory said doubtfully.
"I was thinking you could go get some."
"I'm studying."
"But--"
"Mom, go and get ice cream. Or ask Sookie to come by and bring some."
"All right. Be all...Miss Smarty then."
"I enjoy it," Rory informed her, obviously a little frustrated.
Lorelai turned to go, and Rory bent her head again. "Oh, do you think they have the good bread, with the cinnamon and sugar and caramel?"
"Ask!"
"But what if they don't?"
"Lorelai, go play by yourself!"
"Ooh, someone's grouchy." Lorelai grinned and jogged off toward the kitchen, and they heard: "Joe? It's Lorelai. Do you have the good bread with the cinnamon and sugar and caramel still? Great! I want two large everything pizzas, and a bag of the good bread--charro? That's what it's called? Really? Like the crazy--twenty minutes? Thanks."
Rory shook her head. "So, that's your mom?" Tristan inquired.
"Yep, that's her."
"She's...hyper."
"Comes from the coffee addiction."
"I see."
"She grows on you."
"Literally?"
"Funny." Rory wrote a phrase on her note cards and studiously bent her head over the dense book, her hair falling across the page. Tristan could barely breathe for wanting to touch it, but when he looked up, Dean was glowering at him, so Tristan turned back to his books and kept writing.
*
Dean showed up at Rory's a few minutes early, nervous. What would this be like? Lorelai hated him, Rory was jumpy and awkward around him, and Tristan would be there--enough said.
Lorelai answered the door, but stepped out onto the porch, closing but not latching the door behind her. "I need to apologize for that day in the market--"
"Don't."
"No, no I mean it. Rory was really upset for five or six weeks after you broke up and it upset me, and I needed someone to yell at, and unfortunately, you seemed like a pretty good prospect. So, I'm sorry." Lorelai stepped backward into the house. "She's in the living room."
Dean smiled tentatively and found Rory on the floor by the coffee table, examining her notes. "Hey." She looked up and smiled, then didn't smile, and finally settled on smiling.
"Can I get you something?"
"No, thank you. Rory, we need to talk."
"Okay. How about next month?"
"Rory..."
"Yeah, okay."
"I am sorry about storming off, I was just hurt and upset."
"Dean, it's not your fault. I don't know what got into me."
"What are you trying to say, Rory?"
"I--" At that moment, Tristan came in, ending any further discussion of the breakup. Dean sat there, listening to Rory drone on about Jane Seymour and research and posters, all the while wondering what she had been about to say. Were there the two words he'd been longing to hear all summer in that sentence? Had she lost her nerve? Was she even thing about getting back together with him? Or was she into Tristan?
These questions boggled him, but, noticing it was taking him an inordinately long time to participate, said something about the poster and presentation correlating. They spent an hour researching, writing, noting important events, and thinking about how each fact related to the marriage of Henry to Jane. Who cared anymore? They died five hundred years ago, and there's no use trying to give them marriage counseling now. Henry was messed up and obsessive, and there's nothing can be done about it now.
Dean was watching Tristan intently, seeing how he looked yearningly at the strands of Rory's hair draped over her arm. When Tristan found him scowling, he quickly resumed studying. Dean had known it since the fateful dance: Tristan had a major thing for Rory. And now, Dean was wondering if it was a thing, or something more...meaningful.
*
Rory was dreading the whole encounter. She and Dean and Tristan--once, it had been she and Dean against Tristan, then it had turned to Rory and Tristan being tenuous allies, and now, it was about to the point of each man for himself. When Dean came, she heard her mother talking to him out on the porch, although she didn't know what they were saying, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.
Dean and she started to talk, and her sentence was cut off by Tristan. She was going to tell Dean that she regretted her speechlessness that night, and that she missed him, but she couldn't get back together with him--it would be too weird. Tristan had impeccable timing, since she wasn't sure about how to tell Dean--or if she was even set in her no-getting-back- together position.
After her mother interrupted them, Rory realized it was getting to be seven, and the study session should end at eight, eight-thirty by the latest, because Tristan had to drive home, and she wasn't sure if Dean had finished all his catch-up work yet.
Her mother was being especially bothersome tonight, and Rory knew why: studying made her antsy. The Shakespeare test had been a miracle, because Lorelai was so anti-studying--but look what had happened then. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, and was desperately trying to avoid looking into anyone's except her mother's.
Pizza arrived in exactly twenty minutes, and everyone dug in, even--to Lorelai's and Dean's obvious shock--Tristan. Rory knew he was a big pizza eater, so she could be amused by the looks of awe on the faces of Lorelai and Dean. She and Tristan shared a secret sly grin and continued to eat their way through one pizza and half of the other--Lorelai also ate most of the "good bread."
Rory was looking forward to this evening ending. Since the project was due Monday, it meant there were only a few more torture sessions to live through. Not that she minded her company--each was nice, on their own, but together, they were terrible. Like soda and toothpaste.
After they left, at eight-fifteen, Lorelai and Rory flopped on the couch. "So, that wasn't too bad," Lorelai said optimistically.
"I guess not. I just feel stupid, being stared at like I'm...Scarlett O'Hara or something."
"Scarlett O'Hara?"
"Oh, you know. She was always ogled."
"Okay." Lorelai sighed. "Honey, do you miss Dean still?"
Rory looked at her mother in askance. "You know me."
"So you do?"
"Of course."
"Do you love him?"
Rory swallowed. "I...don't know."
"What's keeping you from knowing?"
"Life."
"Be less specific." Lorelai traded her semi-reclined position for a sitting one. "Babe, you gotta know whether or not you want to get back together with him. Otherwise, you're gonna hurt both of you--and the third person I know you're not telling me about."
"Why is there a third person?" Rory asked, mimicking her mother's stance.
"Honey, I know you. You are so level-headed, you'd know if you loved Dean. And I can see that Tristan is coming in the way of that."
"Tristan?!"
"Yes, Tristan."
"That's ridiculous."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"No! He looks at you all the time. He has this great banter with you--I see it. And you have to choose: do you want security, because you know Dean is so stable, or do you want to try something new?"
Rory bit her lip and creased her forehead.
"Rory, dating is tough. I'll be the first one to tell you. But maybe you should try dating someone new, if you don't think you really, truly love Dean. If you date other people, maybe it'll help you find the qualities you want in a soulmate." Lorelai sighed and leaned back again, still looking into her daughter's face. "If you get back together with Dean, and you aren't really committed, you're going to hurt both of you even more than before."
Rory slumped back against the couch back. What was this? She, having guy dilemmas? Lorelai hugged her in understanding. "Goodnight, babe. Think about it."
Lorelai went upstairs, and Rory heard the rummaging of her mother getting ready for bed, almost two hours early. That was odd. Oh, well, she had other things to figure out.
Like, why would he mother say Tristan liked her--in that way?
Pairing: R/T
Rating: G
Author's Note: This is totally experimental, and please treat it as such. There are three POV's, starting with Dean, then Rory and finally Tristan. And I know this probably would never happen, but what can I say? I have a vivid imagination. Also, in my altered universe, the finale never happened: no make-ups, no marriage proposals, no P.J. Harvey invites, etc.
Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. He parked in the pre-determined spot and jumped out of his truck, straightening his tie nervously. He hated ties, but he would have to grow accustomed to wearing one everyday now. Ever since the acceptance letter came through, he had dreaded this moment, when he would have to walk into the enormous building and meet these conceited rich kids.
Dean jogged up to a fountain, running slightly late, and consulted his notes. Ambrose Building, they said, although he couldn't find evidence of any signs differentiating buildings from one another. He turned in confused circles, and heard the bell ring, signifying, he guessed, class getting out. Indeed, in a matter of moments, he found himself surrounded by plaid skirts and blazers.
He felt a tap on the shoulder and was soon looking into two very startled blue eyes, belonging to, of course, Rory. One of the reasons he didn't want to go here; his parents forced him to.
"What are you doing here?" Rory asked, surveying his uniform.
"Getting ready for the circus," he replied sarcastically. Instantly, he wished he hadn't said it, seeing the taken aback expression on Rory's face. However, in typical Rory fashion, she didn't give up.
"What are you looking for?"
"Ambrose Building."
"Okay, it's the big, scary one right there," Rory said pointing, and instructed him how to get to the office.
"Thanks," Dean said, uncomfortably.
"Good luck," Rory offered, with a sympathetic face. She half-jogged to her class, book bag weighing her down, skirt swishing with her movements.
Dean could hardly look Rory in the eye anymore, after the humiliation at the junkyard. Still, he knew she was a wonderful girl, and definitely an ally at Chilton, which she had told him about in detail. Grimacing at the impending meeting, Dean swiveled to face the building and followed Rory's simple directions.
He entered the white door with little hesitation, knowing it would be better if he just got it over with. The Headmaster's secretary let him in, stoically holding the door and looking down her nose at his feet.
The Headmaster was exactly as Rory had colorfully described him: a little paunchy, with a thinning head of white hair and a well-groomed goatee. He was deathly serious, and spoke with much the same calm infliction for every phrase. He told Dean about the standards that Chilton held, the rigid rules, and the honor code, all of which Dean had known before coming.
Dean gave his information to a comically unemotional secretary and tried to find his locker. When he did, it was already the next class period, and people were bumping into him to get to lockers and friends. He stopped dead in his tracks when he smashed into a particular person: Tristan.
"What are you doing here?" Tristan demanded snidely.
"I go here." Dean started to move past him, but Tristan blocked his path.
"I thought they didn't let people with IQs ten percent of their age in."
"They probably don't," Dean agreed, trying again to sidestep him.
"How did you get in?"
"I beat up the administration." It was obvious Tristan was not going to let him by. "Look--" he started, but was cut off by the sound of a familiarly sweet voice.
"Class starts in four minutes," Rory said, inserting herself in between the two. "Have you found your locker?" she asked, turning to Dean.
"I was trying to," Dean said spitefully.
"Hey, just trying to get to know my classmate," Tristan retorted sardonically.
"Well, we can call the Welcome Wagon later," Rory told him, "but we should all get to class. Come on, Dean, I'll help you find your locker." Rory took Dean forcefully by the forearm and looked at his schedule. "326. That should be right next to mine." Rory continued a few feet down the hall. "Here you go," she said.
"Thanks."
"Anytime." There was an uncomfortable silence. "I have to get to class."
"Right. Bye."
"Yeah, bye." Rory spun to face the other way and disappeared through a door.
Dean looked at his schedule, wishing he had asked Rory where History with Ms. Atergaph was. He stopped a random student, although she seemed vaguely familiar. "Do you know where History with Ms. Atergaph is?" he asked the girl, who was studying him with a rather dour expression.
She pointed to the door Rory had disappeared through. "Aren't you Dean?" she inquired.
"Uh, yeah." How did she know his name?
"I remember you from the dance. I'm Paris," she added as an afterthought.
"Ah, " Dean said, recalling the many complaints about her from Rory. "Well, thanks."
"No problem," she said, walking away.
Dean walked through the door, not knowing exactly what to expect.
*
Rory glanced up when the door opened just before the bell. Of course, Dean would have this class with her. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw him out in the courtyard this morning, wearing the uniform, looking confused. Why was he going here? She didn't think he had a big interest in school. He was smart, yeah, but Rory hadn't realized he was really a studious person.
Well, he was here now, and she was in for an awkward year, what with her and Tristan friends, and now Dean here to witness it all.
When the bell rang, she immediately directed her thoughts to the subject at hand, banishing thoughts of Dean and Tristan until she could think, uninterrupted. Ms. Atergaph was known to talk constantly, and most people agreed that about a third of her babble was relevant to the class. Still, she was easily the most interesting teacher at Chilton, with an actual personality shining through.
She could feel Tristan's eyes on her from the back of the room. Rory knew how his eyes felt; she could tell when he was looking at her from a mile away. Choosing to stay focused, Rory didn't glance back and continued taking notes, fully fixated on the topic of Henry VIII's colorful life.
When, after fifty minutes of incessant noise from Ms. Atergaph, the bell rang, Rory slowly gathered up her books and stuffed them in her bag, standing unhurriedly, although all she wanted to do was run away. She decided to dump her history book in her locker before continuing on, relieving her of the extra weight.
Dean was also at his locker, throwing some of the papers from administration in and gluing pictures up.
"So, this is Chilton," he said.
"Yep, this is the fabulous hellhole," Rory replied, carefully adding her book to the perfectly engineered stack. She told Dean where his next two classes were before lunch, and kept going.
"So, are you and Dean back together?" Tristan began, hardly five seconds after her leaving Dean.
"No," she answered simply.
"Then why did you defend him?"
"Because you had no right to provoke him, and believe me, I know how being provoked by you on the first day feels."
"Did you know he was coming?"
"No." Once again, Rory sufficed to use the monosyllabic reply.
Tristan kept pace with her and used her path to their next class, though it wasn't the one he usually took. This Rory knew, and wondered why he followed her with a pensive expression. They entered the class without another word spoken, sat in their respective seats and didn't exchange the usual surreptitious glances.
*
Tristan was dumbstruck when he saw Dean in the hall, wearing the obligatory Chilton blazer and tie, apparently looking for something. Not knowing what to do, Tristan went up to him, knowing there was no way Dean could top him here, where this school worshipped him.
Think again. Rory walked up and helped him out, as was her caring nature, and Tristan was caught between jealousy that she helped him and admiration for her compassionate character. In any event, he was envious of Rory's offer of help and the fact that Dean followed her--but mostly the fact that they were polite, almost amicable toward one another.
When he talked to Rory between History and Trig, he was at a loss. All he could think was that he had this great friendship going with her, and now Dean was going to come through and ruin it for him, because Rory would be able to compare them on a regular basis, and Tristan knew he wasn't as good as Dean. Deep down, he knew Rory loved Dean and would choose Dean over him in a heartbeat, which depressed him.
His friends could tell he was down about something, but they weren't empathetic enough to relate, or even ask what was wrong. As was the case most times: he and his friends were carousing kind of guys, never really loving anything, never hurt by anything, and always admired because of looks and money and status.
Tristan's mind was clouded with these melancholy thoughts all through class and he couldn't find the strength to pick up a pencil and take notes. The threat of losing the one thing he actually, legitimately cared about was too much. He stared at her throughout their mutual periods, and he knew she could feel it, but she didn't turn. Why?
He and Rory had been getting along for several months now, meeting during the summer in the club by accident, chatting a little, even laughing and finding they had a few things in common. Almost all of his favorite memories were linked to Rory, like when he made her laugh so hard, she spewed soda. Or when he saw her cutting the grass up, golfing with her grandfather, both of them amused. Or she and her mother giggling about the waiter in the club restaurant, wearing identical smiles, their twin blue eyes lighting up.
And Dean was going to jeopardize this. Because Rory was too smart to get involved with someone else who she didn't think would respect her as much.
"Hey, Rory!" he called to her after class. Here, they split ways, but he needed to hear her voice. Unfortunately, he hadn't formulated something to say and was at a loss for words when her perfect face turned to his.
"Yeah?" she prompted.
"Do you...want to go somewhere for lunch?" he proposed, invoking the junior- senior privilege: off-campus lunches.
"Uh..." Rory looked around a little, stalling for time. "Sure."
Her answer surprised him, to say the least, but he grinned his confident grin and said, "Meet you by my car," as he turned away.
*
Dean now understood why Rory complained about homework in this place. The overviews of notes he had were mind-boggling. He could hardly ponder beginning these projects and essays.
When he left English, he saw Rory and Tristan talking in the hall, and Tristan was obviously pleased with the result. On the other hand, Rory didn't look so pained either. When did this happen?
Dean went into the classroom they had just come out of, considering that question. Were they friends? Dating? The latter was unlikely, judging by the earlier confrontation amongst the three of them, but he was ready to assume the worst.
To tell the truth, Dean missed Rory, and regretted his reaction to her hesitation in the junkyard. He should have realized how difficult it would be for Rory, who was rather delicate when it came to dating, and her wished he hadn't stormed off like that.
When he saw her at Lane's, her sad countenance had caused him days and nights of thinking, and he remembered every detail of her upset and slightly tired eyes. Ever since, he had been trying to conjure a plan to get them back together, though he could think of none that suited him. His only option was just to talk to her, he knew, but it would be hard, swallowing his extraordinary amount of pride.
Dean attempted to concentrate, but he was overloaded: Rory, Tristan the Headmaster, this school, these teachers, and all these complicated notes and lectures.
He expected to find refuge in lunch, but another problem arose: where to sit? He could find no empty spots next to friendly looking people. He scanned the gigantic room once more and found no evidence of Rory--or Tristan. This confirmed his suspicions: they were either good friends, or worse, dating.
Dean finally just sat at a table of affronted guys and looked at the meat on his tray. When the lunch lady had scooped the hamburger for the taco, it didn't collapse like normal hamburger: it stayed in a perfect scooped shape and it took several stabs to free it from the mold. When some rice slipped off his spoon, he noticed the fact the it bounced on his tray, probably not a good trait for a grain of rice.
*
Rory met Tristan at his black Porsche, which was in the first row of student parking, affirming his status: popular. All of the popular group had parents rich and influential enough to wrangle front-row parking spots for their kids.
That was something Rory never could figure out. Why would Tristan, the most sought-after guy in school--by both sexes--want to be friends with her, a rather outcast brainiac? For some reason, he sort of latched onto her, not caring that she wasn't rich or glamorous. Why?
"Hey," he greeted her cheerfully, the pensive look from earlier gone from his face. He stood up from his leaning position against the car. She climbed in on her side and he started the ignition. "Where to?"
"Somewhere that serves coffee?"
"What about food?"
"Secondary," she answered, grinning.
"Fine, we'll go to the Honda service station," Tristan joked.
"Only if their coffee's good. Otherwise, we'll have to try Toyota."
"I hear the BMW one had gourmet coffee."
"Even better." Now they were both laughing at the thought of going to a service station for lunch.
"So..." Tristan trailed off, not knowing where to go with this.
"Anything to enrich that intelligent comment?" Rory teased.
"I'll get back to you."
"That paper in History sounds killer," Rory initiated. Homework was always a safe topic for her, being as she knew most everything about it.
"Yeah, Atergaph can be tough when she wants to." Tristan looked at her briefly, then leaned over her and rummaged through the glove compartment.
"Look at the road, please," Rory pleaded.
"Okay, Grandma," he retorted, but ceased digging and turned his attention to the road. Rory noticed this fact with a small amount of triumph: she did have some power over him, no matter how minor.
"Any thoughts on eateries?" Rory asked.
"How's...Celia's?" he suggested.
"Expensive," Rory pointed out, without thinking.
"I'll pay."
"You don't have to do that!" Rory didn't want him taking her out; it felt like a date. And she was firm in her conviction not to date Tristan. Because she didn't like him that way. Right? Of course.
"I asked you first."
"Entailing?"
"That I can pay." Tristan turned smoothly into the parking lot. "Now, we only have forty minutes left." He resolutely shut off the car and got out, Rory following him.
"So, this means that if I ask you first next time, I can pay?"
"No."
"What? There's a double standard," Rory pointed out.
"I'm the guy."
"That's your default excuse?"
"Yeah, that's it. Pretty hard to contradict it, though."
"And I'm not going to follow you on this one," Rory said, attempting to end the discussion, but to no avail.
"I mean, hey, if you wanna look, I have no problems with that," Tristan continued slyly.
"I should have known," Rory lamented.
"I was hoping--" Tristan cut himself off there, piquing Rory's curiosity. She knew that about twenty percent of what came from Tristan's mouth was nonsense, and this seemed to be heading that way, but when he stopped, she knew he was turning serious about something. But what?
"Two," he told the hostess, who pointed them to a table.
Rory knew better than to pursue the topic. "So, this whole Dean showing up think is weird."
"I can't believe you didn't know." There was a slight pause. "Not that it's your fault, it's just your town is so small," Tristan added hastily.
"I know," Rory assured him. "I'm surprised it wasn't all around town within half an hour of him getting the acceptance letter."
*
Tristan saw Rory coming from the doors, marveling at her electric blue eyes and alert face. He wanted to appear nonchalant, but the fact was, it was difficult for him to contain himself around her. He chided himself: he had been around plenty of girls--and closer than that--but still, it was difficult for him not to spill his soul, or kiss her, or touch her. But their friendship was the best thing he had going, and he was determined not to screw it up.
He liked making her laugh. His favorite part was right before she smiled, when her eyes lit up and her lips went soft in preparation to curve. He adored her coffee addiction, admired her intellect, loved her concentration when she read, her brow wrinkling slightly, face totally buried.
And he was dreading all of this being taken away by Dean. What would he do? Now that he had experienced a life with some purpose, met someone who made him tingle, there was no returning to the superficial existence he had led before.
He was making jokes about her checking him out, and, to his horror, nearly slipped and told her something he didn't want to. Tristan saw the look on her face, one of interest in what he was going to say, but she moved on, and he was grateful.
They chattered through coffee and good salad, ten times better than the mushy, slightly pungent school stuff. He liked it that she offered to pay for her share, but the truth was, there was nothing he'd rather do than buy Rory lunch. Well, there were some things, but lunch was good for now.
"Thanks," she said when they were enroute to the car.
"No problem," he replied, one of his most frequent answers to remarks.
Rory laughed a little. "You know, I hear there are other words in the English language that serve the same purpose.
"They don't have the same ring."
"Ha!" They got in their respective sides, and Rory resumed making her point. "Although, I don't think people would think of you as highly as when you use that response. They might not recognize you and assume that the real you was abducted or something."
"Proving that the phrase is essential to my livelihood."
"I think I just messed up. I was trying to stop you from using that phrase."
"And an admirable job you did, too. Have you taken debate?"
"Funny, funny boy."
"Thanks. I find it easy, especially around you."
Rory rolled her eyes. Tristan thought it was cute how she never took him seriously when he complimented her personality or looks, when he was being truthful. "Trying to butter me up?"
"No."
"Sure."
Tristan turned to her at the stoplight. "I think you're the most beautiful person in the history of the world," he gushed, "and I just don't know what I'd do without you. I mean, you give my life significance--"
"Okay, stop now please."
Tristan grinned. "All right."
"Thank you," she said, relieved.
"No problem."
*
Dean was wandering through the school, fruitlessly trying to find his classroom. In defeat, he slumped on a bench around the corner from the front door, letting his head bump against the wall. After he had been sitting there for a few seconds, he heard the doors swoosh open and in came, lo and behold, Rory and Tristan, laughing about something. The only think he could hear was Tristan's comment.
"...so expensive. Next time, it's the service station, missy."
What?!
Dean stood up, but accidentally turned the opposite corner and practically hit the two. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Dean!" Rory called. He turned, waiting rather impatiently. He looked briefly at Tristan, who seemed threatened by him. "Do you need any help finding anything?"
In truth, of course he did, but he would never admit that to her in front of Tristan. "I'm fine," he said coldly and kept walking. He only had five minutes to find the classroom in this confusing jumble of buildings. As he continued the search, he ran into Paris, who he stopped and asked. Dean was disgruntled when he found he had walked past it--twice.
He dashed in moments before the bell and found Rory and Tristan in there. Of course.
Dean introduced himself to the teacher, who looked at him condescendingly and directed him to a seat--behind Rory and Tristan, who were seated next to each other. Rory turned to smile encouragingly, but he glowered back, making her mouth turn down in frustration. She shifted her attention to Tristan, who was pointing to something out the window. Rory nodded fervently at the comment and returned to her notes, prepping herself as usual before class.
Dean kept looking between the two. He observed how Tristan was always gazing at her with a mix of awe and admiration. Dean knew it: he had a thing for her. And was easy to see why: Rory was smart and funny and beautiful, which meant that Tristan was perhaps not as insensitive as Dean had written him off to be.
This day had been one of the slowest, albeit one of the most interesting of Dean's school career. The people here were amazing in their own right: they were so materialistic, Dean was constantly struck by their trite conversations, and truly applauded Rory for being a non-conformist.
The teacher had an irritatingly nasal voice, but Dean took notes, knowing it would do him no good not to try and succeed. Besides his parents' wrath, he knew colleges would frown upon bad prep school grades, and Dean did want to get into a good college.
Blocking out the glances from Tristan to Rory, he focused on his notebook and pen, and tried to survive the flat inflection of the annoying voice.
*
Rory was baffled by the look on Dean's face when she had come in with Tristan. First, they were only friends, and secondly, Dean no longer had any claim on her. In fact, it made her a little angry that Dean felt the need to govern whom she made friends with.
Dean didn't have the right to know the state of her affairs with Tristan, and the state was that she was good friends with him--he being her only friend and all. Rory was still perplexed as to why he was here, of all places. She had been avoiding him for months, and now, she would have to see him, and possibly converse with him on a daily basis. Who up there hated her that much?
Rory began to wonder if Lane had known about this. She went to Stars Hollow, she had to have seen him packing his stuff. Lane never mentioned Dean, fearing it would hurt Rory--but Rory would have like to have known about this, instead of finding out the way she did, a freak encounter in the courtyard.
"Miss Gilmore?" the teacher asked, and Rory realized that the whole class was staring at her.
"Yes?" she replied, not able to think of another answer.
"The answer to number seven in the chapter review was…"
"Um." Rory dug her homework out of the side of her book, and said, "Lincoln?"
"Yes. Expand, please." The teacher was beginning to look impatient.
"The country was so divided in their opinion of him that it was one of the foremost causes of the Civil War."
"Very good. Hopefully, I won't have to coax the answer out again." She made a mark in her book and continued the lecture. Rory listened intently, took notes on everything and tried to endure Paris' demeaning glances.
*
What's wrong with her? Tristan sat in his seat and studied Rory's face. She was obviously deep in thought about something. Her homework hadn't come out yet, her book lay open to a random page and her pencil rested in the gutter.
Tristan noticed the way her eyes clouded a little as she thought about whatever it was she was thinking about, and the was her mouth moved downward some, signifying that she was contemplating something bothersome.
He felt Dean's eyes on him about half the time; the remainder of the time, he knew they were focused on Rory. Tristan resisted the urge to turn around and tell him to go back to Stars Hollow, but he could do that later when his grades weren't on the line.
Tristan was surprised when Rory failed to answer the question when the teacher asked it once, but astonished that the teacher had to resort to calling her name and writing in the book. What had gotten into her?
When class was over, Tristan was glad there were only two periods left in the day, but disappointed that he only had one of them with Rory. She seemed shaken by her own neglect to reply immediately to the question, but she was definitely distracted.
After class, Tristan was about to turn to his locker when he heard Paris' cutting voice.
"You know, I hear they make hearing aids for that kind of problem," she said coldly.
"Really? I hear they make duct tape to shut annoying people up," Rory shot back, and kept walking.
Paris followed. "Clever, Dorothy Parker."
Tristan watched them. Rory looked miserable and a little intimidated, but resolute. Tristan knew it was partially--okay, mostly--his fault that Paris hated Rory, and he needed to do something about that.
"Hey, Rory," he greeted, approaching them.
"Hey," she echoed tentatively.
Paris' eyes shifted from one to the other. "Do you have…the…history notes from last Wednesday?" Tristan finally formed. "I think I missed the part on the…Hapsburgs."
"There was a whole unit on the Hapsburgs," Paris pointed out chillingly.
"I know, I missed a certain person."
"Who?" she challenged.
"I don't know."
Pairs sneered. "That's probably why he needs the notes," Rory informed her. "I'll bring them
tomorrow."
"Great, thanks." Tristan stood by Paris until Rory was far enough away that Paris wouldn't waste her time, then ambled to his next class, dull without the promise of Rory.
*
Dean came out of the classroom to find Rory and Paris sniping at each other. He was about to go up and help, when Tristan swooped in and evidently solved the conflict. He shook his head and turned to go to his next class, if he could find it.
What was going on with Rory and Tristan? Dean was burning with interest, wondering if the boy she once hated was now her boyfriend. Dean shuddered at the thought of it-it was not right.
In class, Rory seemed troubled, and he assumed it was unusual for her to lack attention span. Even the teacher seemed riddled. Dean knew Rory well enough to know she was thinking about something, and that it wasn't pleasant. He had observed she and Tristan all through the period, and he wasn't too surprised that Tristan spent a good amount of time staring at her, but Rory--he knew she was a stellar student, not one to be distracted by trifling matters.
Why, why had his parents forced him to go to this school, with its scary gargoyles and even more outrageous student body? These people were precisely as Rory had told him, horrible, competitive, snobby kids with nothing but money inside.
Dean was lost. Why was this place so huge? As he wandered sort of aimlessly, he ran into Tristan-literally.
"Sorry," he said gruffly.
"Going somewhere?" Tristan challenged.
"No."
"You're lost."
"No."
Tristan looked at him. "Yeah, you are." Tristan snatched the schedule from him. "It's over there, down the second corridor on your left, turn right at the drinking fountain, door on your right."
"Uh, thanks." Tristan said nothing more, just left. Dean followed his instructions, amazed that Tristan had pointed him to the right place. He jumped inside a minute before the bell and caught his breath.
*
Rory was relieved: the last period of the day. Everyday at Chilton was stressful, but today topped them all. Not only did Dean show up, there was homework galore. All she wanted to do right now was curl up with a cup of coffee and talk to her mom. Tristan came in and sat in his assigned seat, one row behind and two chairs over from her. Not that she had memorized where they sat in proximity to each other.
This time, Rory paid attention, almost overzealously, writing down nearly every word that came out of her teacher's mouth. She could feel Tristan's stare, as always, boring into the side of her face. The gaze did her little good: it was another thing to have to ignore.
Finally, after fifty minutes of torture, the final bell rang, and Rory practically ran to her locker. As she was rushing to stuff books in her bag, Dean walked up to his locker. Deciding it was rude to ignore him, Rory turned and asked him: "How was your day?"
"Confusing," Dean answered, hardly turning to her.
"Did you fine everything all right?" Rory paused to let him reply, but there was none. "Cause if you didn't, I'd be happy to show you where-"
"I gotta go," Dean said roughly and, slamming his locker, marched away, around the corner and presumably out the front door.
Rory stood by her locker, befuddled. What had caused that? What had she done to him? Her books forgotten, Rory let her bag slide down to her feet and leaned against the locker.
"You know, I don't think lockers make the best pillows," Tristan theorized.
"Better than desks," Rory responded, happy to see him. At least he wasn't being too weird today--although, what was that defending thing in front of Paris? What was wrong with people today?! They were suddenly baffling enigmas.
"So, what books are going home tonight?" Tristan asked, probably after seeing the deflated bag at her feet.
"Oh, uh…" Rory stalled, digging in her locker for the answer. "Math, History and English," she finally told him.
"What about Science? The quiz is tomorrow."
"I already studied and wrote down the confusing stuff on note cards."
"Of course."
"I have to go…catch my bus," Rory added.
"Bye."
"See you." Rory shut her locker and walked slowly to the bus, hoping she didn't miss it. Her feet refused to move any faster. Her whole body felt the strain of the day and the weight of her backpack didn't help any. As she trekked to the bus, she saw Dean's green truck, in the middle of the lot. He was leaning against the back of the seat, his bag next to him, tie and blazer discarded.
Rory, not wanting to think about these people or this school any more, waked resolutely to the bus stop, just in time. On the bus, she pulled out her book and immersed herself in the vivid world that was so far away.
At home, her mother was not there, but had left a note at lunch telling her to come to Luke's at five. Rory decided to do some homework so it wouldn't consume her thoughts and make her feel guilty. Pulling out her textbook, she read about the people she usually found so interesting, but today, could not connect to.
The phone sounded loudly, making her jump and scream softly. "Hello?" she asked when she picked it up on the third ring after gathering herself.
"Rory?"
She knew it was Dean, after having heard him so many other times on the phone. "Dean?"
"Yeah."
There was an awkward lull. "Do you need something?"
"Well…I was just going to ask you a question. It's kind of personal," he warned.
"Shoot."
"What's going on with you and Tristan?"
"Me and Tristan? We're friends."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that's all," Rory said, irritated. He broke up with her a long time ago, and no longer should care about who she saw.
"Didn't look that way to me."
"Maybe you need glasses."
"Okay. Bye, then."
"Goodbye," Rory muttered. When she looked at her watch, she realized she was going to be late meeting her mom if she didn't leave. Had she been reading for that long?
*
Tristan was bewildered about his day, and glad it was, at long last, over. Dean was at Chilton. No matter how many times he told himself this, it always seemed preposterous. What could he possibly be doing there? And, more importantly, how did Rory feel?
When he had given him directions earlier, Tristan wasn't trying to be nice. On the contrary, all he was doing was acting--if he made even the most tenuous relationship with Dean, maybe Rory would see that he wasn't bitter.
Tristan allowed the butler to open the door in the vast house and let the chauffeur park his car. He veered slowly through the house, as was his habit, before ascending the staircase to his third-floor room. Once in his room, Tristan discarded the tie, blazer and shirt, sliding out of the pants, and changed into his favorite pair of faded jeans and a tee shirt. The mail was on his desk, nothing interesting, a few letters from acquaintances, and some pompous looking invitations to various fundraisers and dances held by the same shallow people he was forced to see every weekend at the club.
Tristan strode into his spacious bathroom, connected with a perfectly polished wooden door to his bedroom and sitting room. He poured water into his hands and let it stream down his face, and mussed up his hair with it. When he looked up, Tristan studied his face. What did Rory think about him? Did she obsess about him as he did about her?
That last statement wasn't true, or even possible, Tristan knew, because Rory was too level-headed to be obsessed by some guy. Still staring in the mirror, Tristan betrayed his confident nature by comparing himself to Dean. He wondered if he had Dean beat in the looks department by Rory's standards. His face certainly helped him with the girls, but he knew Rory wasn't deceived by looks.
What was he doing? Tristan shook his head at himself, standing in his bathroom, thinking about how he measured up to some guy. He walked out, downstairs, and through the kitchen, picking up a croissant as he went. As he swung the door open, his father came in the other side. "Son."
"Sir."
"Good day?" his father asked stiffly.
"Yes, sir." Tristan and his father had more or less the same conversation every time they met, never talking about how they felt but making perfunctory responses and asking trite questions.
"Good." His father nodded for emphasis. "Well, back to the stacks."
Tristan nodded, said his good-byes, and continued on his way through the house to the solarium, where he usually sat in a chair and did some homework. He almost laughed at the thought of his father seeing a stack of paper anywhere, much less having to do something with it.
*
Dean slumped on the couch when he got home, dropping his bag with a depressing thud on the hardwood floor of the living room. Clara ran to meet him, hounding him with questions about the fancy school, playing with his rejected tie.
"It was fine, Clara," he said, frustrated with his sister. He didn't want to talk to his parents, knowing it would be hard to maintain civility. He was regretting every second of his day. After calling Rory, he felt even more pathetic, hearing the slightly sharp edge her voice had when he accused her of being more than friends with Tristan, who had been surprisingly courteous about giving him directions. Dean was smart enough to know that there had to be an ulterior motive involved, one he didn't know about. But he could guess.
He dug out his heavy, cumbersome books, marveling at the fact that he actually had some of these ridiculously complicated books. How was he going to do this?
Dean disappeared into his room and foraged through the closet for his lap tray, which doubled as a desk when he didn't want to sit at the more formal version. As he rustled through the many things clogging his closet floor, he came across his pictures of Rory. He smiled fondly, remembering when he had to look at these everyday to make in through. Now, he glanced at them one and a while, but they ultimately mad him sad and nostalgic, so her generally stayed away from that box.
The bell on the front door rang, but Dean knew it was either one of Clara's friends or a salesman, but in any event, Clara liked opening the door. After a few seconds, he heard, "Dean!"
Slightly puzzled, Dean jogged to the door, and found Lane standing there. "Hi," she said.
"Hey."
There was a little pause. "Well, I had to come and see if you had some of my notes."
"From?"
"The project we worked on last weekend."
"I'll check. Hold on." Dean went to his room and found, indeed, a set of Lane's notes from his former school that he was now missing. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Lane turned and trotted down the porch steps, and Dean watched her go, envying her for going to Stars Hollow High.
The familiar sound of the garage door opening echoed throughout the house, and Dean knew his mother was home from work, and would expect to hear all the news from Chilton. He and his parents had a good relationship, but nothing like the one Rory and Lorelai had. They were still a little disconcerted about his decision to break up with Rory, whom they had loved, but were supportive nonetheless.
"Hey, honey," his mother said, greeting Clara, who always ambushed her the second she came through the door. Dean listened to the familiar sounds of his mother's daily routine--set down bags, drop keys in bowl, kick shoes into corner. She emerged through the kitchen door, where Dean was sitting at the table. She kissed the top of his head. "So?"
"It's hard," was all Dean said.
"That's to be expected." His mother hesitated. "Did you see Rory?"
"Yeah. She helped me find a couple of classes."
"She's a nice girl." She started pulling out ingredients for dinner, always something quick, not like she did on the weekends, where she made food mostly from scratch. "Did you like it?"
Dean didn't want to say that he was miserable at the thought of spending the rest of the school year there, instead opting for, "It'll take some getting used to, after Stars Hollow High."
*
Rory saw her mother through the window at Luke's arguing with him about her coffee intake that day. No matter how bad her day had been, the sight of her mother pestering Luke always cheered her up.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hey, kid. Luke here was just trying to--"
"Prevent you from killing yourself," Luke interjected.
"At least I'd die happy," Lorelai shot back.
"And short." Luke poured two cups and started on the burgers.
"So, how was your day?" Lorelai asked, sipping her coffee gratefully.
"You will not believe what happened."
"Let me guess: Paris walked up and pledged her undying devotion--"
"Dean showed up," Rory blurted out, unable to contain the news anymore.
"W--what?" Lorelai momentarily ceased drinking to discern if her daughter was serious or not. "Really? Showed up? Like--"
"He goes there now."
"No."
"Yeah."
"How did we not know about this?" Lorelai frowned. "How do you feel?" she asked sympathetically.
"I don't know. He was okay in the beginning, but then when Tristan and I got back from lunch he was all..."
"You and Tristan?"
"Yeah."
"Out to lunch?" Lorelai started smiling.
Rory knew where this was headed. "Mom--"
"First lunch, then dinner, then 'studying'--"
"Don't say 'studying' like that."
"--then marriage--"
"Mom!"
"--soon, you'll be comparing blenders--"
"Luke! No more coffee for her!"
"I tried to tell you, Rory."
"Really, so how did he look when you came back?" Lorelai asked, serious again.
"Angry."
"Maybe he wants to get back together with you."
"No." Rory shook her head.
"Honey, he told you he loved you. Things like that don't fade quickly."
"He just...doesn't. I know it."
"Fine." Lorelai put her arms up in the air, a sign of surrender. "I still wonder how we didn't know this."
"Lane could have known." Rory was verbalizing her thoughts from earlier. "Maybe she didn't tell me because she thought I'd go in a funk again."
"It's possible." Luke set the burgers down, and Lorelai smiled sweetly.
"Luke..."
"No."
"Puh-lease?"
"When your own daughter starts complaining, it's time to stop, Lorelai."
"It's not like she can't handle me."
"I'd rethink that statement if I were you," Rory interjected.
"There? See?" Luke saw customers come in and disappeared behind the counter.
"Traitor!" Lorelai cried in mock anger.
They looked up when the door swung open, admitting Lane, who came over to them. "Guess what? I--"
"Did you know about this?" Rory asked, cutting her off.
"Know about..."
"Dean!"
Lorelai stood up, giving her seat to Lane and went to the counter to get her cup filled--or attempt to. Lane sat down and looked at Rory's slightly agitated face. "Well..."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Rory set her cup down to face her friend without obstacles.
"I didn't think you'd want to know."
"You said the same thing about being science partners."
"Rory, I'm sorry. I thought you'd be all sad again, and then I thought, maybe you wouldn't run into him." Lane settled down into the seat and leaned her elbows on the table. "Sorry."
Rory sighed. "It's okay. I just didn't love the way I found out."
"Which was?"
"A freak encounter in the courtyard by the fountain."
Lane groaned. "Sorry--"
"Lane, it's okay. So, what were you going to tell me?"
*
Tristan drove fast. No matter where he was going, no matter the distance, no matter if he was in a hurry or not, he sped along, and though he wasn't reckless, he was more daring than his parents preferred. He screeched into his spot at Chilton, in the front row, displaying his status for everyone see.
As he climbed out of the car, he was still straightening his tie and arranging his hair in the patented Tristan Dugray sloppy style. Rory was half-jogging from the bus stop, and he waited for her by the front entrance, watching her juggle backpack, hair-tie and sweater.
"Need some help?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied breathlessly. She handed him the bag and he obligingly carried it, noticing her smell on it--her apple shampoo and clean soapy aroma. Rory tied her hair back into a remarkably neat ponytail and pulled her sweater over her blouse. "Thanks," she said, reclaiming the bag.
"No problem," he responded, knowing she would roll her eyes and smile slightly out of amusement. "So, interesting night?" he asked her.
"They never are. I don't know why you bother to ask."
"I'm interested."
"Do you have no life?"
"Not outside of you," he teased. "I wake up, wis--"
"Stop there. I don't think I want to hear this." Rory smiled and turned the appropriate corner to her locker. Tristan continued down the hall, grinning and slapping hands with his friends, who were just as conceited as he. He looked toward his locker and found the usual cache of girls, waiting for him. A few were underclassmen, but most were his age.
Truthfully, he now hated going through the hordes of girls just to get to his locker. He used to enjoy it, but it got old after a while. Besides, there was only one he wanted to be waiting for him. Tristan flirted with the obligatory charm and quickly left for class.
Several detours were taken along the way, where he paused to talk to his friends and finally found who he was looking for: Paris.
"Hey, Paris!" he called, catching up to her, Madeline and Louise.
"Hey, Tristan," Louise greeted him with her usual appraisal.
"Hi," Madeline said, perky as always.
"What?" Paris demanded.
"I need to talk to you," he said, dragging her into a nook between the drinking fountain and the lockers. "Why are you so hard on Rory?"
"She treated me like a--"
"Like a friend." Tristan looked into Paris' face, made less attractive with a flash of jealousy and bitterness. "She tried to help you, Paris."
"Like hell she did!" Paris turned to go, but Tristan constricted her.
"She doesn't deserve this," he whispered.
"What do you want?"
"I want you to be nice to her."
"She won't go out with you," Paris snapped.
"What?"
"You won't get her to go out with you by trying to help out her social life," Paris expanded.
"I don't care."
Paris stared at him. He could see the envy swimming in her eyes, and she saw the caring in his--but not caring for her. "She doesn't like you!" Paris was almost yelling now. "If she doesn't want you, move on!" Paris stormed down the hall, taking Madeline and Louise with her.
*
Dean found his class quickly, pleased he had remembered the way there. This school had twists and turns like no place he had ever been, and the numbering of the classrooms was illogical. But he was here.
Rory was already there when he came in, reviewing her notes from yesterday. She looked up momentarily when he entered but returned to her notes, looking a little disgruntled with him.
Now he had done two very regrettable things: broken up with her, first, then accused her of dating someone, like he didn't trust her, which wasn't true. But Rory thought it was, and that was what mattered. When did his life become a soap?
Tristan strode in with his usual self-assured gait and sat in his seat directly behind Rory. He looked...not disheveled, but vaguely upset. Dean saw the way he looked at Rory: with longing. Tristan stared at her hair, her ear, her shoulder--anything of her he could see.
Disgusted, Dean prepared for note taking. He had taken notes before, but notes at Chilton could be a career. There was always something the teacher said that he needed to write down, and a vicious circle ensued: while he wrote down the necessary comment, the teacher said another essential snippet of information, and he had to write that down, resulting in his neck hurting from concentrating on the paper so intently.
Ms. Atergaph was introducing an assignment: pick one of Henry VIII's wives and do a personality study on them, and try to provide insight into their reasons for marrying Henry, possibly ulterior motive, why the marriage didn't work, etc. "This will be presented on Monday. A full presentation, folks, including a poster. Since this is a difficult assignment, there will be groups." Ms. Atergaph pulled a book into her arm. "I assigned you all numbers, then drew from a hat to see who was with whom. Totally random," she assured them. She rattled off names Dean didn't recognize until he came to his.
"Dean, Rory, and Tristan..."
*
Rory sat motionless. Did she just say that? Dean and Tristan--in a group-- with her. No, this could not be happening. It was too weird, like a cheesy movie making fun of Mystery Science Theater 3000 or something. Alternate universe weird. Other names faded into a boring mush as Rory nervously contemplated being in a group with those two. This had some definite awkward potential. She needed her mother.
The three of them gathered by Rory's and Dean's lockers and an unpleasant silence ensued. "We need to meet," Rory said, stating the obvious.
"Yeah," Tristan agreed.
"In Stars Hollow," Dean chimed in.
"The two of us live there," Rory commented.
"Thanks for the update," Tristan said dryly. "Whose house?"
"Mine's fine, if you don't mind my bi-polar, neurotic mother," Rory offered.
"Nice mix," Tristan interjected.
"Tonight?" Dean asked.
"Six," Rory suggested. The other two nodded in agreement and the group dispersed. Rory dazedly wandered to her next class, feeling sick. Paris came and walked next to her, not saying anything, until Rory bit off, "What?"
"It's really pathetic that you make Tristan do your begging for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know what I mean," Paris said.
"No, I don't," Rory told her.
"He came up to me today."
"Well, lucky him," Rory said sarcastically.
"And he said I should forgive you."
"Then he's right."
"You didn't ask him to do that?" Paris asked, incredulous.
"No. He's his own person."
"Oh." Paris stopped walking, and Rory copied her. "So, he just did that?"
"Of his own free will."
"Why would he do that?"
"Probably because he knows he's to blame."
"Meaning?"
"He told you that I set you up."
"It would have come out eventually."
"But it wasn't supposed to come out then!" Rory sighed. "I have to go."
*
Tristan found Rory's house after almost ten minutes of looking for the turn. It was right in front of him, and he couldn't believe he'd missed the rooster statue at first. Her house was old, beautiful and large, light blue with shutters. He found the house endearingly traditional. There wasn't another car parked in front, meaning there were two scenarios: Dean had walked, or he wasn't there yet.
The bell echoed through the house, which Tristan could hear on the porch. A few seconds later, there was a thundering down the stairs, and a pretty woman, somewhere in her thirties, opened the door, wearing tight jeans and an Old Navy shirt.
"I'm Lorelai," she said. "You have got to be Tristan--Mary Tristan."
"That's me," Tristan said cheerfully, knowing that a formal introduction would probably be lost on Rory's mother.
"They're in the living room, and if you can't find it on your own, I don't know how you made it to eleventh grade."
"Thanks." Tristan followed her out of the foyer, seeing the living room immediately on his left, and Rory and Dean seated at the coffee table, notes spread out, discussing something quietly.
They stopped when he came in the room, and Rory stood up. "Hey. Did you find it okay?"
"Yeah. Small town."
"It is," Rory agreed. "Anything I can get you? Water? Soda? Coffee?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
"All right then, let's get started. Any thoughts?" There was silence, so Rory went on. "I was thinking we could do his third wife, Jane Seymour, because there isn't that much really said about her. She's unusual, and not a lot of people will pick her, so it'll be original. Agreed?"
The boys nodded their appropriation of Jane Seymour as the project basis. "Okay," Rory continued when no one else offered input, "we need to start by gathering basic facts about her: birthdate, family situation, age at marriage, et cetra. Then, we need to analyze the marriage: how long did it last, did they get along, why was she the only one Henry loved, even from the beginning? And, why did he asked to be buried with her?"
Still, a quietus met her remarks. "I have looked up her birthdate, and it ranges from 1509 to 1515, so we should pick a year in the middle, which will give us an age. It is obvious why Henry loved her in retrospect, she being the only to give him a male heir, but why, even before, was he drawn to her?" Still, nothing. "Okay, someone else speak. I'm tired of my own voice."
"I think your foundation is stable," Tristan began rather uncertainly, "but I think you need to factor in some other things. Like, when did he meet her? How long had he known her in comparison to the others? Things like that."
"Good idea." Rory nodded emphatically. "So, we should think about poster layout. Where do we want the most important facts? The picture? The dates?" Rory reached behind the couch to grab some posterboard. "One of us will have to keep the poster until the project is due, and since it's already here, I'm volunteering."
"Fine," Dean said, the first thing so far. "We need to arrange the presentation. Who'll say what, in what order we'll say it, how to coordinate it with the poster, et cetra."
"Good. Well, hit the books I guess." They opened their thick textbooks and leafed through pages until they found the chapter. They designated people to search for specific things, and were silent for the next hour.
Lorelai trotted into the room. "So, what's going on?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Studying," Rory said.
"About?"
"Jane Seymour?"
"The actress?"
"Henry VIII's third wife."
"So, they're about the same age."
"Do you have a point?" Rory asked, not unkindly.
"I want pizza."
"Order some."
"Do you want pizza?"
Rory looked to Dean and Tristan, who nodded, and Rory nodded to her mother.
"Okay, coming right up. Oh, hey, can we get ice cream too?" Lorelai begged.
"I didn't know you could order ice cream," Rory said doubtfully.
"I was thinking you could go get some."
"I'm studying."
"But--"
"Mom, go and get ice cream. Or ask Sookie to come by and bring some."
"All right. Be all...Miss Smarty then."
"I enjoy it," Rory informed her, obviously a little frustrated.
Lorelai turned to go, and Rory bent her head again. "Oh, do you think they have the good bread, with the cinnamon and sugar and caramel?"
"Ask!"
"But what if they don't?"
"Lorelai, go play by yourself!"
"Ooh, someone's grouchy." Lorelai grinned and jogged off toward the kitchen, and they heard: "Joe? It's Lorelai. Do you have the good bread with the cinnamon and sugar and caramel still? Great! I want two large everything pizzas, and a bag of the good bread--charro? That's what it's called? Really? Like the crazy--twenty minutes? Thanks."
Rory shook her head. "So, that's your mom?" Tristan inquired.
"Yep, that's her."
"She's...hyper."
"Comes from the coffee addiction."
"I see."
"She grows on you."
"Literally?"
"Funny." Rory wrote a phrase on her note cards and studiously bent her head over the dense book, her hair falling across the page. Tristan could barely breathe for wanting to touch it, but when he looked up, Dean was glowering at him, so Tristan turned back to his books and kept writing.
*
Dean showed up at Rory's a few minutes early, nervous. What would this be like? Lorelai hated him, Rory was jumpy and awkward around him, and Tristan would be there--enough said.
Lorelai answered the door, but stepped out onto the porch, closing but not latching the door behind her. "I need to apologize for that day in the market--"
"Don't."
"No, no I mean it. Rory was really upset for five or six weeks after you broke up and it upset me, and I needed someone to yell at, and unfortunately, you seemed like a pretty good prospect. So, I'm sorry." Lorelai stepped backward into the house. "She's in the living room."
Dean smiled tentatively and found Rory on the floor by the coffee table, examining her notes. "Hey." She looked up and smiled, then didn't smile, and finally settled on smiling.
"Can I get you something?"
"No, thank you. Rory, we need to talk."
"Okay. How about next month?"
"Rory..."
"Yeah, okay."
"I am sorry about storming off, I was just hurt and upset."
"Dean, it's not your fault. I don't know what got into me."
"What are you trying to say, Rory?"
"I--" At that moment, Tristan came in, ending any further discussion of the breakup. Dean sat there, listening to Rory drone on about Jane Seymour and research and posters, all the while wondering what she had been about to say. Were there the two words he'd been longing to hear all summer in that sentence? Had she lost her nerve? Was she even thing about getting back together with him? Or was she into Tristan?
These questions boggled him, but, noticing it was taking him an inordinately long time to participate, said something about the poster and presentation correlating. They spent an hour researching, writing, noting important events, and thinking about how each fact related to the marriage of Henry to Jane. Who cared anymore? They died five hundred years ago, and there's no use trying to give them marriage counseling now. Henry was messed up and obsessive, and there's nothing can be done about it now.
Dean was watching Tristan intently, seeing how he looked yearningly at the strands of Rory's hair draped over her arm. When Tristan found him scowling, he quickly resumed studying. Dean had known it since the fateful dance: Tristan had a major thing for Rory. And now, Dean was wondering if it was a thing, or something more...meaningful.
*
Rory was dreading the whole encounter. She and Dean and Tristan--once, it had been she and Dean against Tristan, then it had turned to Rory and Tristan being tenuous allies, and now, it was about to the point of each man for himself. When Dean came, she heard her mother talking to him out on the porch, although she didn't know what they were saying, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.
Dean and she started to talk, and her sentence was cut off by Tristan. She was going to tell Dean that she regretted her speechlessness that night, and that she missed him, but she couldn't get back together with him--it would be too weird. Tristan had impeccable timing, since she wasn't sure about how to tell Dean--or if she was even set in her no-getting-back- together position.
After her mother interrupted them, Rory realized it was getting to be seven, and the study session should end at eight, eight-thirty by the latest, because Tristan had to drive home, and she wasn't sure if Dean had finished all his catch-up work yet.
Her mother was being especially bothersome tonight, and Rory knew why: studying made her antsy. The Shakespeare test had been a miracle, because Lorelai was so anti-studying--but look what had happened then. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, and was desperately trying to avoid looking into anyone's except her mother's.
Pizza arrived in exactly twenty minutes, and everyone dug in, even--to Lorelai's and Dean's obvious shock--Tristan. Rory knew he was a big pizza eater, so she could be amused by the looks of awe on the faces of Lorelai and Dean. She and Tristan shared a secret sly grin and continued to eat their way through one pizza and half of the other--Lorelai also ate most of the "good bread."
Rory was looking forward to this evening ending. Since the project was due Monday, it meant there were only a few more torture sessions to live through. Not that she minded her company--each was nice, on their own, but together, they were terrible. Like soda and toothpaste.
After they left, at eight-fifteen, Lorelai and Rory flopped on the couch. "So, that wasn't too bad," Lorelai said optimistically.
"I guess not. I just feel stupid, being stared at like I'm...Scarlett O'Hara or something."
"Scarlett O'Hara?"
"Oh, you know. She was always ogled."
"Okay." Lorelai sighed. "Honey, do you miss Dean still?"
Rory looked at her mother in askance. "You know me."
"So you do?"
"Of course."
"Do you love him?"
Rory swallowed. "I...don't know."
"What's keeping you from knowing?"
"Life."
"Be less specific." Lorelai traded her semi-reclined position for a sitting one. "Babe, you gotta know whether or not you want to get back together with him. Otherwise, you're gonna hurt both of you--and the third person I know you're not telling me about."
"Why is there a third person?" Rory asked, mimicking her mother's stance.
"Honey, I know you. You are so level-headed, you'd know if you loved Dean. And I can see that Tristan is coming in the way of that."
"Tristan?!"
"Yes, Tristan."
"That's ridiculous."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"No! He looks at you all the time. He has this great banter with you--I see it. And you have to choose: do you want security, because you know Dean is so stable, or do you want to try something new?"
Rory bit her lip and creased her forehead.
"Rory, dating is tough. I'll be the first one to tell you. But maybe you should try dating someone new, if you don't think you really, truly love Dean. If you date other people, maybe it'll help you find the qualities you want in a soulmate." Lorelai sighed and leaned back again, still looking into her daughter's face. "If you get back together with Dean, and you aren't really committed, you're going to hurt both of you even more than before."
Rory slumped back against the couch back. What was this? She, having guy dilemmas? Lorelai hugged her in understanding. "Goodnight, babe. Think about it."
Lorelai went upstairs, and Rory heard the rummaging of her mother getting ready for bed, almost two hours early. That was odd. Oh, well, she had other things to figure out.
Like, why would he mother say Tristan liked her--in that way?