A/N: Second chapter, whoo! So, this one begins to set up relationships and such for future chapters. I had a review asking me if I am tackling the Tristan and Dean dynamics. The Tristan one begins to develop in this one, Dean will come in later. And then there is Logan, of course :D Hope you enjoy!
New York Calling
Mr. Medina's class was always a favorite of Rory's until one fateful Tuesday afternoon when he returned their first papers. In front of her she saw Louise and Paris nod appreciatively at their grades, exchanging a few remarks. Mr. Medina stepped past them toward Rory and she smiled expectantly. Rory always smiled expectantly when receiving grades because in her sixteen years of existence she had never received a grade that did not warrant a smile. The worst she had gotten was an A-, which she promptly remedied with volunteer extra credit and a winning attitude.
Mr. Medina offered a few inspiring words while her eyes glazed over from the monstrosity marked on the top of her paper.
D.
There it was in alarmingly red ink, seemingly mocking her with the cheery hue. How in the world had she become a D student? Sure, she had been a bit behind in her readings but she knew her prose had been exceptional. How could this happen. And more importantly, how could Louise manage an A and not her? She was pretty sure the blonde didn't know how to spell.
She felt as if her skin was crawling, no doubt a precursor for a panic attack. She had never had one before but if there were ever a time to start, this would be it. Paris looked back at her and caught sight of the traitorous letter before Rory could cover it with her arm. Paris turned without one single word, which was almost worse than whatever snide remark she could have conjured. It was as if Rory was deemed no longer worthy of the time it took to bully her.
Mr. Medina returned to the front of the room and began his closing remarks. "Now that the dreadful paper part is over, I have something fun to share with you. Usually we don't do things like this at Chilton, but I went to bat for the class and after many pleas from myself to Headmaster Charleston, he approved a trip to New York City to see one of the plays we are studying." There was a general buzz of excitement in the classroom as Mr. Medina explained further. "We are going to the matinee performance of Richard III this Saturday. Transportation will be provided. Just be here at 10 AM. Any questions?"
Rory raised her hand timidly, thinking that she might be the only person in the room not ecstatic at the prospect of having their own New York minute. If she were being completely honest, the notion of spending an entire day with these people on a non-sanctioned school day sounded like hell. "Is it mandatory?" Rory asked.
"Yes, Rory, I'm afraid it is. Do you have a conflict?"
Her cheeks colored. No, she did not have a conflict, only a deep-seated desire to spend as little time with these people as possible. "No, I was just, uh, curious."
"Yes, it is mandatory," Mr. Medina said, addressing the entire class. "But I think it will be a great night of theater and Shakespeare. You all get to see each other in something other than your uniforms."
"I like that," Tristan remarked slyly from the back.
"Alright, that's all I have for today. I will see you all tomorrow!"
Rory gathered her books, wishing that instead of having another three classes she could just go back to Stars Hollow and stick her head in an oven. As she stood from her seat, Paris cornered her and said, "You'll like the play, Gilmore. It's usually abridged."
Rory's shoulders slumped. She should have known better than to think Paris Gellar would resist a parting remark. Hoisting her book bag over her shoulder, Rory set out to finish the rest of her day. She only prayed nothing else was returned.
Rory had a short shift at the Inn after school and she set herself up at the desk beside Michel, pulling a pile of envelopes that she had to address toward her. She glanced up toward Michel and politely asked, "How are you, Michel?"
He looked down at her with barely veiled annoyance and answered, "Just fine."
"Busy day?"
"Busy enough," he answered tartly. "Are wee done with zee inane questioning or should I prepare more baynal answers for you?"
Rory grinned slightly. "Nope, I think I'm done."
"Ah, gooood," Michel purred, returning his attention the calendar in front of him. Despite his cold attitude, Rory rather liked working with Michel. His dealings with customers were like watching really bad British sitcoms and he always did help with her French homework when she asked.
Lorelai flitted over to the desk and asked, "How is my darling daughter doing? You're not giving her too hard of a time, are you Michel? He hasn't tried to feed you a protein bar?"
"No protein bars," Rory assured her. "And I'm fine."
"How about school?" Lorelai asked, shuffling over beside her daughter and giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Come on, Mommy has been showing tablescapes to a barmitzvah for over an hour. Give me something. Anything."
"School was good," Rory said. She tried to think of anything moderately interesting to tell her mother and while one part of her Shakespeare class came to mind, she revealed something different. "I'm going to New York with one of my classes to see a play."
"Well, listen to that. That is why you go to a fancy school. Stars Hollow High only sees Ms. Patty's productions. And it's usually always Pippin."
"It should be fun."
"Yeah, sure sounds like it."
Someone called out for Lorelai and Rory saw her mother frown. "The barmitzvah is back. They must want to ask me about the difference between snow white and ivory again. Well, you continue you envelope addressing. Michel, try to play nice. And I will attempt not to throw a knife at this party." A brilliant-albeit saccharine-grin plastered itself on Lorelai's face as she went on to cater to her clients.
"Lorelai what are you doing?" Emily asked sharply, peering at her daughter over the table. Friday night dinner and the entire Gilmore clan was spread around the dining room table. Lorelai looked up from her plate and said, "I am separating my peas and mashed potatoes."
Emily frowned. "For goodness sake, it's like your four."
"No, if I were four I'd be throwing the peas, not separating them."
Emily made a point of turning her head away from Lorelai and settling her attention on her granddaughter. "So, Rory, how is school going?"
"Fine."
"Anything exciting soon?"
"Not really," Rory said, pushing her peas away from her mashed potatoes. She had to agree with Lorelai on the account that neither had the right to fraternize with the other. Like mother, like daughter.
"Rory, tell them about your trip to New York," Lorelai suggested.
Emily grinned expectantly. "A trip to New York? What are you doing down there?"
"I'm seeing Richard III with my Shakespeare class. It's one of the plays that we're studying."
"Well, isn't that wonderful."
"That's a well-rounded education," Richard said appreciatively. "You're going to become a very cultured young lady."
"She already is," Lorelai piped in. "She's seen all three Godfathers. And Hardbodies."
"Honestly Lorelai," Emily chided.
"It should be good," Rory said, lying through her teeth. She imagined it to be terrible and awkward. A several hour bus ride with all of her Chilton tormentors. And that was only to get down there.
"Well, you will have to tell us all about it," Emily said.
Sure, Rory thought, if I survive.
Rory arrived at Chilton promptly at 10 AM Saturday morning. She was dressed nicely for the theater, cream sweater with a chocolate brown skirt. The back of her knee itched and she leaned down a bit to reach it.
"Well hello," Tristan said from behind her. When she looked back, her cheeks flushed from the direction of his gaze. "I've always wondered what you'd look like without plaid. I have to say, Mary, you don't disappoint."
Rory suddenly wished that she wore a longer skirt and she tugged the bottom down a bit. "Don't you have someone else to bother, Tristan?"
"And sacrifice our witty repartee? Never."
She rolled her eyes, walking away from him toward the bus. Mr. Medina gave her a congenial smile, which she forced herself to return with a blasé greeting. Honestly, she found it hard to be cordial after the D. And it was even harder when the giver of said D was forcing her to spend a day of mandated fun with her lovely classmates.
She took a seat in the middle of the bus, placing her bag next to her to ensure no riding partner. This did not shield her from whoever sat in front of behind her, though, which proved difficult when Madeline, Louise, and Paris surrounded her. Rory pulled her book from her bag, pointedly ignoring them.
"Are you prepared for the test Tuesday?" Paris asked Louise loudly.
"It's too early to start studying," Louise said airily. "I think I'll start Sunday. After my date. Or maybe Monday."
"I think I'm winging it," Madeline added.
"I'm not too worried," Paris said, hoisting herself in the seat and leaning against the window. "An A on that paper gives me a pretty good cushion." She turned her head toward Rory. "If I got, let's say, a D, though. Well, I would be worried."
"Me too," Louise agreed.
Rory stared down at her book, unable to read a word.
The first act was awful, several students to the right of her refusing to show the actors an ounce of respect as they talked over the dialogue. If Rory were a confrontational person she would have said something. But she wasn't, so she kept quiet, stewing while she missed half of the action. Intermission was a welcome distraction, as was the coffee advertised at concessions.
Paris stood behind her, snidely remarking, "How was it for you, Rory? Easier to understand?"
Rory refused to let herself become incensed, instead setting the most saccharine grin on her face and turning toward Paris to tell her, "It's an absolute treat."
She stepped up to the concessions and ordered her cup of coffee. Five dollars later she was handed a cup and directed toward the carafe. She left Paris in her wake as she walked toward the coffee, thanking whoever had came up with the brilliant idea of stocking the theater with caffeine. Her jubilation was cut short when the carafe proved empty.
"What?" she muttered. "No, come on coffee. Don't do this to me."
"Are you talking to the coffee carafe?" She turned, blushing when she found herself eye-to-eye with the guy from the twins' wedding. It took her a minute to remember his name.
"Logan, hi."
"The real question is, did it talk back?
"Huh?"
He pointed in front of her. "The coffee carafe."
"Oh, um, no it didn't. But it's empty."
"You do know that there is another carafe?" Logan led, grinning as her eyes brightened. He had never seen someone so positively ecstatic at the prospect of coffee, yet this Rory seemed one cup away from a tap dance.
"Where?" she asked excitedly, head whipping this way and that as she searched for the elusive carafe. He extended his arm in the direction of the table and she was off before he could say a single word. Chuckling at how he was upstaged by coffee, he followed.
"So, what are you doing here?" he asked, watching her fill her cup. "Besides seeing a play, of course."
"I'm here with my class," she told him, taking an experimental sniff of the coffee. She nodded to herself and he wondered whether that was good or bad. "You?"
"My parents." He gestured toward a tall, stout man standing over to the side with a woman who appeared to be drowning herself in her champagne. Neither looked rather happy and Logan remarked, "There is the happy couple."
The man looked familiar and after a moment it clicked, Rory nearly dropping her coffee as she realized that she was talking to Mitchum Huntzberger's son. Logan smirked and said, "Made the Huntzberger connection?"
She nodded.
"I'll give you a minute," he joked.
"So, um, how are your cousins?"
"Good," he said. "Still married. Still twins." He ran a hand through his hair and she became distracted by the forearms that sprouted beneath the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. They were strong, veins pushing under the skin. "Loved what I wrote in that book, by the way. Although I think their wives have officially blacklisted me."
"I don't blame them," Rory said, wrinkling her nose a bit. "You besmirched the wedding book."
"Besmirched?" he repeated, a sliver of a smile playing on his lips. He glanced over her shoulder and asked, "So, do you know Tristan DuGrey? Or has he been staring at me all this time?"
She turned back, frowning when she found Tristan gazing at them. When he caught her eye he smile lasciviously and saluted her. "No idea who he is," Rory said.
"And the salute was…"
"Fine, I wish I had no idea who he was," Rory said glumly.
"What do you have against DuGrey?"
"He's entitled."
"Ouch," Logan remarked. "Hate to imagine what you think of me, then."
"Just not the biggest fan of his."
"DuGrey is an acquired taste."
"One that I will never acquire," Rory answered resolutely. The lights dimmed suddenly, brightening a moment later. It repeated and Logan said, "Guess that's our cue to leave. Second act is starting."
"Yeah," she said, feeling disappointment settle as she realized that this second chance meeting might be their last.
"It was great running into you again." He reached forward and brushed his hand against her arm and then he walked away. She didn't move for a moment, watching him disappear into the theater. She caught herself when an elderly man behind her grumbled that she should move, casting a reproving look as he walked around her. Quickly she moved forward.
An unwelcome surprise befell her as fell into step beside her. She looked over at her, wondering why Paris was standing so close to her. "How do you know Logan Huntzberger?"
"Huh?"
"Guy you were talking to," Paris said impatiently. "Blonde. Newspaper heir. Don't even try to tell me he just approached you."
"I met him last weekend."
"And?" Paris pressed. She was gazing at Rory expectantly, eyes wide and lips parted. Rory realized that Paris was actually interested in what she had to say. It was strange, to say the least.
"He's nice," Rory tried.
"No," Paris snapped. "I mean how did you meet him? God, it's like trying to hold a conversation with a goldfish."
"His cousin's wedding was at the Inn my mom runs. We just sort of ran into each other."
They made their way back to their seats and Paris surprised her by settling down into the seat beside her. Rory worried for a moment that the seat's prior owner would object, but then she remembered it was Paris beside her. Any Chilton student knew better than to question any action of Paris Gellar's.
"Are you going to keep in touch?" Paris asked crisply. "You could probably get some great contacts. A summer internship, maybe." Rory could see the cogs whirring in the blonde's head, all culminating in an overly saccharine grin directed towards her as Paris said, "That test we have coming up sounds pretty harrowing. We should study together. Power in numbers, right?"
Rory narrowed her eyes. "You only want to help me because of my possible connection with Logan."
"We could both benefit. You pass Mr. Medina's class. I get in contact with a newspaper mogul. It's win-win, Gilmore."
"No thank you," Rory said steadfastly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't need your help to pass. And I hardly even know Logan. I can't bolster your contacts."
"You're going to regret this," Paris said tightly, leaning toward her. "I am a wonderful asset at Chilton."
"I bet you are," Rory said. "How about you go and be an asset for someone else?"
Paris stood up in a huff, turning on her heel quickly and stalking down the aisle. She returned to her original seat, barking at the person who had taken it. "You think you can just take other people's seats? Well, I don't think so," Paris snapped.
Rory sunk in her seat, counting down the minutes until the play was over.
A/N: How'd you like this? I have to say, this chapter didn't sit right with me. I had a lot of trouble writing it. The next chapters are all planned, though, and I think you will really enjoy them! Please leave feedback!
