It had been eighteen months, six days, and three hours since he had seen
her last. Not that he was counting. It was obvious that he missed her, but
did she even remember him? The old him, the cocky prep school boy that
called her names. Well, one name – Mary. A wave of nostalgia washed over
him. What he would give to turn back the clock. It was all for the better
though. Come September he'd be off to start the next chapter of his life.
Without the burden of past memories, Yale would be a change. Close to home,
but not to her. She'd be at Harvard where she belonged. Without him.
Picking up his sandwich, he took a bite and thought to himself. Nothing
takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Boys from the upper crust usually did that. He was Tristan DuGrey, born into the second most wealthy "old money" family in the United States. Fourth if you counted those who made their fortune with the burst of new technology after the Industrial Revolution. He had attended Chilton Preparatory School until the ripe old age of seventeen, when he was sent off to military school in North Carolina. The details weren't important – he was only there for a few months before transferring once again to one of the most prestigious prep schools in the southeast.
Now he was a man. Well, he had been a man since his freshman year, but now, he was...older, wiser, and ready for life. In less than three weeks he'd head back north to face the ivy covered walls of Yale, just like his father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather before him. In fact, the men in the family probably went to Yale for longer than that, but he wasn't ready to look it up at the moment. He was too focused on that sticky feeling in his mouth that his sandwich left over.
What was the point of the sandwich? Oh yes, Mary. He had sat next to a girl on a previous flight; she was in his window seat. She had long brown hair and a book in her hand. He almost asked her to move, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. He remembers this day well – Slightly leaning over her shoulder, he whispers into her ear. Mary. Frightened, she jumps at least a foot in her – his seat. She asks, terrified, how he knew her name. Not Mary. Not his Mary. He quickly gets up and asks the stewardess to find him another window seat.
That had been months ago.
Rory Gilmore had made it to Yale in record time. A mistake in reading the freshman information packet had put the last twenty-four hours in chaos. Now, she was in her dorm, with Lorelai on the old mattress on the floor and Paris in the bed less than fifteen feet away. Harvard had been her dream, and now she was thirty minutes from her childhood home, with her mommy next to her to her.
Summer had been a break from reality. Europe was an experience that she'd never forget. It had also kept her from remembering the heartbreak of graduation and the weeks prior. Screw time – it had made her forget Jess. Jess – not her first love. Not her first kiss. Hell, not even her first jackass turned friend. That title belonged to one Bible Boy. She shakes her head quickly. Why is she thinking of him? It'd been two years. She'd forgotten about him. Smiling to herself, she slides off the bed and walks over to Paris' things. She lifts the top off a cardboard box labeled "Chilton." Four years of memories, slightly anal and truly insane memories belonging to another girl, but memories nevertheless. She carefully runs her fingers over the spines of the books reading the gold leaf print by the light of the moon. The numbers she is looking for glisten and she pulls out the book.
He doesn't look as he remembered him – a cocky teenage boy. He looks almost innocent, with perfectly tousled hair and a smile worthy of a Colgate billboard. She wonders what he looks like now. Paris mumbles something about tornados and munchkins in her sleep. She puts the book back in the box just as she found it and crawls back in bed – not being able to stop the smirk forming on her face.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Boys from the upper crust usually did that. He was Tristan DuGrey, born into the second most wealthy "old money" family in the United States. Fourth if you counted those who made their fortune with the burst of new technology after the Industrial Revolution. He had attended Chilton Preparatory School until the ripe old age of seventeen, when he was sent off to military school in North Carolina. The details weren't important – he was only there for a few months before transferring once again to one of the most prestigious prep schools in the southeast.
Now he was a man. Well, he had been a man since his freshman year, but now, he was...older, wiser, and ready for life. In less than three weeks he'd head back north to face the ivy covered walls of Yale, just like his father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather before him. In fact, the men in the family probably went to Yale for longer than that, but he wasn't ready to look it up at the moment. He was too focused on that sticky feeling in his mouth that his sandwich left over.
What was the point of the sandwich? Oh yes, Mary. He had sat next to a girl on a previous flight; she was in his window seat. She had long brown hair and a book in her hand. He almost asked her to move, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. He remembers this day well – Slightly leaning over her shoulder, he whispers into her ear. Mary. Frightened, she jumps at least a foot in her – his seat. She asks, terrified, how he knew her name. Not Mary. Not his Mary. He quickly gets up and asks the stewardess to find him another window seat.
That had been months ago.
Rory Gilmore had made it to Yale in record time. A mistake in reading the freshman information packet had put the last twenty-four hours in chaos. Now, she was in her dorm, with Lorelai on the old mattress on the floor and Paris in the bed less than fifteen feet away. Harvard had been her dream, and now she was thirty minutes from her childhood home, with her mommy next to her to her.
Summer had been a break from reality. Europe was an experience that she'd never forget. It had also kept her from remembering the heartbreak of graduation and the weeks prior. Screw time – it had made her forget Jess. Jess – not her first love. Not her first kiss. Hell, not even her first jackass turned friend. That title belonged to one Bible Boy. She shakes her head quickly. Why is she thinking of him? It'd been two years. She'd forgotten about him. Smiling to herself, she slides off the bed and walks over to Paris' things. She lifts the top off a cardboard box labeled "Chilton." Four years of memories, slightly anal and truly insane memories belonging to another girl, but memories nevertheless. She carefully runs her fingers over the spines of the books reading the gold leaf print by the light of the moon. The numbers she is looking for glisten and she pulls out the book.
He doesn't look as he remembered him – a cocky teenage boy. He looks almost innocent, with perfectly tousled hair and a smile worthy of a Colgate billboard. She wonders what he looks like now. Paris mumbles something about tornados and munchkins in her sleep. She puts the book back in the box just as she found it and crawls back in bed – not being able to stop the smirk forming on her face.