A/N: I came across a post on Tumblr that said Logan was like the college version of Jess, and asked what Jess would've been like if he had been raised in Logan's situation. Or something similar to that. Anyway, I was intrigued. To be honest I have no idea where this is going to go but a friend told me I should try it out, so I'm trying it out. I hope that if you read it you're at least interested enough to stick around for a couple of chapters! The fic title and chapter titles are from Schuyler Fisk's "Tell Your Heart".

Despite many people on the internet claiming that college was nothing like you saw in the movies, Rory's freshman year was panning out almost exactly like she had expected it to. Okay, so she hadn't expected a palatial dorm room completely decked out in Emily Gilmore-approved furniture, but other than that she felt like the quintessential college kid. She had spent the first month of classes guzzling coffee and trying to keep up on all her homework while still having a little bit of fun, but if everything went well her school year was about to get a lot busier. It was the day that the editor of the Yale Daily News announced which freshmen had made the staff.

Rory had been busting her ass for the last couple of weeks writing tryout pieces for the paper and in general, she thought they had been pretty good. Sure, her review of the first football game of the year was probably a little too vague for anyone who actually cared about football, but she knew she was a good writer. Unfortunately, so was everyone else that was trying to get on staff. She was up against high school newspaper editors and people who'd already had summer internships (in some cases, more than one) at hometown papers. When she compared herself to those kids, she got the urge to cross her fingers.

As Rory stood with the nineteen other hopeful journalists, she gave Paris a sideways glance. Paris was her good friend now, but she was also still her biggest competition when it came to the paper. If she was to be believed (and Paris wasn't one to lie), she had been working her tail off all summer as an assistant at the Hartford Courant and had picked up a lot of tricks of the trade. She was the person who worried Rory the most, because there was no winning when it came to Paris. If Rory made the paper and Paris didn't, Paris would be a nightmare to live with all year. If Paris made the paper and Rory didn't, Paris would be a nightmare to live with all year. And if they both made the paper things could very quickly get contentious, and then they would both be nightmares to live with all year.

Doyle, the editor of the Daily News, was nice enough but could get incredibly self-important when it came to his duties as editor. After calling all of the freshmen over, he spent ten minutes talking about how he was going to be the best editor the Daily News had ever seen and how a handful of them would be lucky enough to work under him. Since he seemed light years away from actually telling them who would be on staff, Rory allowed herself to get a little distracted. Sitting at a desk at the back of the room was someone she had never noticed before. Since he was typing away and wasn't standing around like cattle she guessed he was a staff member already. Whatever he was doing, he looked incredibly determined. He was kind of cute, Rory decided, in a dark and mysterious sort of way. She wondered what he was working on.

"Rory Gilmore," Doyle said, looking at her expectantly. She tore her eyes away from the guy and looked at Doyle. He always looked serious, even when he was angry, so it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. "I want to see what you can do. Consider yourself part of the Daily News."

She felt herself blush, even though she was turning cartwheels inside. Though she liked to think she was optimistic, she was actually more of a realist when it came to the things she wanted. Rory knew that she was a good candidate for the paper, but a little voice in the back of her head kept telling her that it probably wouldn't happen. But here she was a writer for the Daily News. She didn't dare look at anyone else in the group for fear that she would be met with hostile looks from those who hadn't made the staff. She didn't even look at Paris, since she hadn't been paying attention to whether or not her name had been called.

Rory wasn't left wondering for long. As soon as Doyle told them all they could go, Paris turned to her and grabbed her arm. "I knew we'd do it," she said fervently. "We're going to crush those other kids."

"Paris, I don't think we need to crush them," Rory said. "We're all working together."

"Oh, you think that now," Paris said, scoffing. "Just wait and tell me how you feel when Doyle announces what beats we'll be on."

Rory hadn't even thought about that. She had always liked writing features best in high school and was hoping she'd get the features beat, but hadn't considered that several other people might want it too. "You're not going for features, are you?" she asked Paris.

Paris rolled her eyes. "No, Rory, I don't want the puff pieces. I want religion, you know that." Truth be told, Rory had no idea Paris had a particular interest in religion, but it made sense. If anyone could put the fear of God into someone, it was Paris Geller.

As the two of them chatted, the guy working at his desk had begun to pack up his stuff. He hesitated as he walked toward them, probably debating whether or not he should actually talk to the new kids. "Welcome to the paper," he said, nodding at them. "See you guys Monday."

"What do you do here?" Paris demanded before he could make his escape.

"I'm the features editor," he said, shifting the leather laptop bag on his shoulder.

Paris shot Rory a meaningful look. "Well, I'm Paris and this is Rory. She's interested in features, too."

"Paris," Rory said under her breath, as the guy looked her over. She didn't need her friend trying to talk her up to the editor, especially when he probably had nothing to do with who would be on his beat anyway. "Hi," she said to the guy, hoping she wouldn't seem like a pathetic suck-up now that she knew what he did. "Well, we should get going. See you next week…"

"Jess," he supplied. "I'm Jess."