"Lorelai, come on!"
"Patience, child!" the girl in question cried to her boyfriend of two years. "You can't just try an outfit on and make the decision instantly. You've got to really get a good look at it, take it in from every perspective, and then say yes or no."
Christopher rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair, which was situated just outside the ladies' dressing room at whatever store they were in. He'd stopped keeping track after the fifteenth one. As much as he loved Lorelai, she was incredibly annoying to go shopping with. She went into every store, tried on nearly every outfit, and put almost every one of them back, not buying a thing until she found exactly what she wanted. Which usually ended up being a bracelet or a pair of Converse. Yes, Lorelai was very picky with her clothes.
"Your mom's going to be home from that party in an hour," he reminded her.
"Which gives us at least half an hour more!"
"Unless there's traffic, then it's more like twenty minutes."
"Still quite a bit of time!"
The sixteen-year-old boy let out a groan, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands. They'd been at the mall for three hours already. Christopher found what he'd come here to buy: a pair of cuff links, a necessity for Raelynn Hethington's cotillion on Saturday. Once again, he'd been shanghaied into being an escort.
At any rate, he'd found said cuff links after only five minutes, and Lorelai proceeded to scour every remaining shop.
Christopher glanced at his watch again, sighing. "Fifty-five minutes!"
"For the love of God, Christopher, if you're so bored, why don't you go look around the store? Find something you like!"
He sighed again and rose from his seat, scrutinizing the aisles carefully.
Lorelai gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She inspected the denim mini, dark red crop-top and black leggings, trying to see if the outfit really worked. Overall, she was pleased with the outcome, but there seemed to be something missing. And then, it hit her: shoes! She remembered seeing a section devoted to shoes not far from the dressing rooms. Exiting her stall, she closed the curtain, and headed straight for the shoes. After a few minutes of careful perusal, she decided on a simple pair of black flats. Grabbing a box that was her size, she gave a barely audible squeal of delight, then whirled around to go back to the dressing room.
Unfortunately, something big and solid was standing in her way. The something—or rather, someone—barely lost his footing, whereas Lorelai was sent toppling over, the box and the shoes inside it flying through the air, landing barely a foot away from her head. She let out a growl, grimacing at the ugly, stained ceiling.
Suddenly, a head appeared before her, blocking her view. He had a very masculine face, though she doubted he was much older than herself, and long, dark hair that curled slightly around the tan baseball cap, which he wore backwards. A shadow of scruff covered his jaw and cheeks. His grayish-blue eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was turned down in a frown.
"What, you don't look when you walk?" he snapped very rudely.
Lorelai scowled. "I'm fine, thank you for your concern," she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she sat up.
"Why else would you just ram right into me like that?"
"I don't suppose you could help me up."
He rolled his eyes, then extended a hand. Lorelai slid her hand into his, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "You never answered my question," he pointed out.
"I didn't think you deserved an answer," she countered.
"Well, I'm pretty sure I do."
"I don't see how. I'm the one who fell. If anything, I should be asking you why you were standing right in my way!" She smirked, raising her head defiantly.
He laughed incredulously. "Oh, I was in your way? I was just standing here, minding my own business, then some psycho chick practically runs me over! And now you're accusing me of being in your way?"
"I'm not 'some psycho chick'!" she growled.
"Oh?" he said dubiously.
"No! I'm just . . . well, you . . . and then I . . ." She waved her hands around with each unfinished sentence. When she finally realized that she in fact wasn't finishing her sentences, she cast a menacing glare at the smirking boy. "Ooh!"
He snorted a laugh. "So, why did you hit me?"
"I didn't do it intentionally! I was just getting a pair of shoes, then I wanted to hurry back to my dressing room and try them on, but you were in my way!"
The boy stared at her. "Wait a second . . . you have to go to the dressing room to try on a pair of shoes?"
"Well, the shoes were kind of an afterthought. I was actually trying on these—" she gestured to her ensemble, "—but something wasn't quite right, so I came out here to find some shoes to complete it, and . . . why are you looking at me like that?"
His eyes were narrowed, his brow puckered, and his mouth hanging slightly open in an expression of bewilderment. "You . . . you were trying on . . ." After a pause, he stretched his features, eyebrows raised and lips slightly pursed. "Never mind, I'm gonna let that one go."
She gave a groan, rolling her eyes. "Boys. They just don't get shopping."
"Apparently not," he smirked.
Lorelai found herself gazing at him, falling into a bit of a trance. She'd always loved a good argument, but this particular spat had brought more enjoyment than even the most vicious of quarrels with Emily Gilmore could ever hope to do. It wasn't really all that intense, just a bit of bickering among strangers. And yet, somehow, she felt like she already knew him. Their argument seemed like one between old friends, rather than someone she'd never met before in her life. But he didn't look familiar.
Still, she had to ask, "Do I know you from somewhere?"
The boy gave her a once-over, lifting an eyebrow. "Doubt it. I live in a really small town, about half an hour from here. You're clearly from Hartford."
She frowned. "'Clearly'?"
"Well, yeah. You've got the style, and you've definitely got the snotty attitude."
"Hey!" she half-yelled. "I'm not snotty!"
"Oh, my mistake," he all but laughed. "Guess it's just aloofness."
"Well, what would you know about city behavior?" she snarled. "You're from a small town about half an hour from here."
"Touché," he allowed.
She was surprised at his speedy acceptance of defeat. "What's your name?"
"Luke," he replied. "You?"
"Lorelai." She considered briefly giving him her last name, but decided against it for two reasons. One, he hadn't given her his, and two, it would lower his opinion of her, should he happen to know who the Gilmores were. Then again, he probably had no idea. Lucky him. She wished she were so ignorant of her own heritage.
"Well, nice to be tackled by you," he quipped.
She let out the closest thing to a feminine snort she could manage. "Yeah, sure. Nice to be thrown to the floor and almost pelted with shoes."
He laughed—genuinely laughed—then left the shop. Lorelai stared at the entrance, almost wishing he'd come back for another round. Instead, she saw Christopher, who looked incredibly annoyed. "Okay, you've had your twenty minutes. Either you pick an outfit, or we go without buying."
Lorelai rolled her eyes. "I'm getting this," she said, returning to the dressing room to change into her own clothes. She looked into the mirror for one last look at her new ensemble, and was surprised to find it suddenly looked perfect. Without shoes. She tried it with the shoes; it still looked fabulous, but it somehow looked better without them. That's bizarre, she thought. Nevertheless, she smiled, and began changing.
She'd never tell Christopher this, but secretly, the reason for her decision was to have something to remember the strange, belligerent boy from the mall by. Luke, she remembered. From a small town, about half an hour out of Hartford. She'd have to do some research on that.
Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd find him one day, and they'd argue again.
One could only hope.
A/N: This popped into my head while watching the Pilot, the scene at the end where Luke is dressed up and Lorelai and Rory have just come from Friday night dinner. I said to myself, "I wonder what their first meeting was like." The first response was the scenario Luke describes when they're on their first date—Lorelai begging him for coffee and giving him the horoscope and such. But then I thought, "What if they met before that?" And bam! The story was born.
So what did you think? Good? Bad? Outrageously funny? Insipidly pointless? Let me know! I love hearing from people!