Destination of Choice
By Guinevere
Summary: This is a Rory-Tristan, as of now, but it may change later…depends on what I decide to do with Jess.
Author's Note: This is my first Gilmore fic…I've always written Dawson's Creek, so let me know how I've done so far. Please read and respond - tell me if you really like it or not!!
Spoilers: Anything and everything.
Disclaimer: I don't anyone or anything except where I do.
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~ Prologue ~
Rory Gilmore lumbered off the bus, adjusted the blue scarf under her collar and slung her backpack on her shoulder, all while reading the last paragraph of the last book on her ten book summer reading list. This was the first day of her senior year - she should be ecstatic that by this time next year she would be, God willing, standing amongst beatniks and geniuses in Harvard Yard. But that was the furthest thing from her mind. Frankly, if this was a sign of how the rest of the year would be, senior year was going to kick her ass.
First, she had spent six weeks with Paris in Washington, D.C. Sure, being able to step out of the dorm and jog to the Lincoln Memorial or the Smithsonian - her favorite was the Franklin Roosevelt - had been great, but Paris, well, hadn't. Rory listened to her night and day, blabbing on and on about her plans as Class President, when all she really wanted to do was get lost in the city. By their last day in D.C., Rory had heard the words "Chilton" and "my school now" come from Paris' mouth exactly 1,376 times. She knew because she started counting after the third time.
After her slow death by Paris-torture, Rory returned to Stars Hollow only to find one boyfriend and one, well, not boyfriend, waiting at opposite sides of the bus terminal scowling at each other. Only Dean had actually come to meet her; Jess claimed to have been sent by her mother who was "stuck at a wedding at the inn." At least that meant her mother was on speaking terms with the town insurgent. Needless to say, Rory went home with Dean to avoid any turmoil.
A week later, and exactly five weeks before her first day of school, Rory found a letter from Chilton stuffed into a pile of ads and magazines in the closet. It was the reading list, which she had to complete in the next five weeks. Ten books would have been a cinch, but ten books and a fifty-page journal of response for each was stretching it. So not only had her first half of the summer been Paris-infested, but the second half would be full of reading and writing and dealing with the two boys in her life.
Rory didn't bring up the kiss to Jess; in fact, she pretended it never happened, which didn't seem to bother Jess any - he was satisfied with the way things were, just as long as she was - direct quote. And she never told Dean, so she carried the immense burden of harboring a secret from one boy and her feelings from another with her like she would her backpack - heavy and hard to balance, but necessary nonetheless.
Until it all came to a head on August 21, at 2:41 pm to be precise. Rory was in the middle of town, sitting in the gazebo reading Siddhartha, only number three on the list, for the second time when the figurative lightning struck. She didn't have to deal with all the stress of two guys, seven more books, class vice-president, and getting in to Harvard. No, something had to give, and since one of these things was not like the others, in a sense, she had to rid herself of that one for the time being. She spent the next two days devising a plan, only to throw it out when Dean arrived on her front porch.
She told him that she had too much going on without having to worry about him getting jealous if she so much as glanced in Jess's general direction. She reminded Dean of their good times, and how much she loved him, but that it wouldn't be fair to expect him to be around when she came up for air. And that was that. All she had to do was make it clear to Jess that her new found singledom was not an open invitation for him to step in and fill the void. She told him the Beverly Hills, 90210 version of the truth, that she needed space and had chosen herself.
After a huge sigh of relief, Rory shoved her nose farther into a stack of books than she had ever thought possible. In one week she finished her list and all of her assignments, with the exception of the last, which she was just finishing up on the ride to school. And now she was done and ready to attack senior year with all the force she had in her.
Rory could tell she was on Chilton territory as soon as she stepped in. Plaid skirts and charcoal pants were running to and fro, hugging and yelling for their friends as though they had been lost at sea. Teachers stood in that all-too-familiar way, one arm across their chest holding the other firmly under the chin, and grimacing as various forms of PDA were exhibited. There was Mr. Medina, deep in conversation with Mr. Hewson; Rory waved as he glanced up. At least Paris hadn't spotted Rory on her radar yet - she didn't even see the blond one with her two shadows. Kids from her old classes waved and hollered hello, and Rory courteously replied, all while making a beeline for her locker section.
As she eyed her locker, not fifteen yards away, Rory noticed a pair of gray flannels attached to prep-school-staple loafers right next to her destination. The face and large amount of upper body was hidden by the open locker, but light brown hair stuck out above the door. Deciding the best course of action was none at all, Rory started turning the knob to open her locker. And then the one next to her slammed, causing her to jump at the force.
"Mary," the coy voice exclaimed, and Rory dreaded looking in its direction.
"Tristan." She stated simply. This was all she needed. Senior year was going to hit her like a mack truck.