Chapter Three: Talk of the Town

As I walk down the hall at school I can feel everyone looking at me. It's like they all know what's been going on. I wonder if Christopher told someone.

"Hey there, mommy to be!" someone calls out to me. I'm so startled that I almost drop my cup of coffee.

I whip around and come face-to-face with Celia Kingsford, my favorite person in the whole world besides Stalin.

"What are you talking about, Celia?" I ask, feigning confusion.

"Oh, honey. Didn't you hear about Francine's little breakdown at the DAR's Casino Night? She spilled everything!" Celia smirks at me and I fight the urge to poke her in the eye with my slap bracelet. "It's all over school. Even the teachers are talking about it."

I wanted to keep it quiet for as long as possible. They promised they wouldn't tell anyone. How could Francine do this to me? Forget about me, how could she do this to her own son?

Where is Christopher, anyway? I glance around the hall and head towards his locker when I can't find him. Celia is trotting after me the whole way.

"So how'd it happen? Were you drunk? Was it in his car? I bet it was in his car!" I try to ignore her but she keeps pressing. "Come on Lorelai, you can tell me! It'll just be between the two of us. I promise I won't tell a soul!"

"How about you shut your mouth and leave me alone, Celia!" I snap.

"Hey, we all have a right to know," she grins this snotty little grin at me and I hate her for it. "After all, you've just become a statistic."

"You know what would be great, at least for me, anyway? If I told everyone about you and Mr. Jacobs in the coatroom at homecoming. That would be so much fun! I bet the Headmaster would get a big chuckle out of it." I smile as her cheeks flush a deep red and she makes and irritated squeaking noise.

"Don't you dare!" she exclaims.

"Doesn't feel as good when the spotlight's on you, does it?" I brush past her and approach Christopher who is cornered at his locker by two of his friends.

"You're not actually going to marry her, are you?" one asks.

"Yeah, you really want to be saddled with that, Chris?" They're both shaking their heads like they can't believe how stupid Christopher is.

"Of course I don't want this," Christopher snaps at them. "Who in their right mind would want it? I have no choice and neither does Lorelai. Our parents have made the logical decision for us, and we'll have to go through with it no matter what."

"Leave her, man," one of them says. "Let her deal with it herself."

I don't wait to hear Christopher's reply. I'm hit with a wave of nausea and make a break for the bathroom before I make a mess all over the floor. A group of freshmen girls scatter as I burst into the bathroom, no doubt running off to spread the news that I'm puking in one of the bathrooms.

"Lorelai! Lorelai, where are you?" Christopher bursts into the bathroom and calls out to me.

"Get out of here, Chris," I weakly call back.

He comes into the stall and crouches down next to me. I let him hold my hair and rub my back while I retch into the toilet.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Lor," he says when my stomach finally calms down. "They're a couple of idiots and you know I'd never think like them. I just wanted to get them off my back."

"Oh, please. I know you don't want this baby. And anyway, they shouldn't even know," I whisper. My throat hurts too much to talk too loud. "How could your mother do this?"

"She was drunk. You know how she gets." That's a lame excuse and he knows it. What Francine has done is reprehensible.

"Look, I've got something for you." He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a diamond ring. It's flashy and more than a little tacky. Kind of like Francine. I bet she picked it out. "Marry me, Lor. Please."

"You're asking me to marry you on the floor of the girls' room two minutes after I stopped puking?" I ask.

"Yeah, I am." He holds a hand out and hoists me up off the floor. And then he gets down on one knee. "Come on, what do you say? Let's get married."

"I… no, Christopher." I back away from him and try to run out of the bathroom, but he grabs my hand. "I can't."

"Please, Lorelai. Please say yes," he begs. "It's what's best for the baby, for all of us."

"Come on, Chris," I say as I inch closer to the door. "You know you're only doing this because our parents are making us."

"No!" he exclaims. "I don't care about them; all I care about is us. Believe it or not, I think we have a future together."

He looks at me with pleading eyes and all I want to do is believe him. But I don't. I know he's just doing what it takes to get Straub off his back and Francine off her meds.

"I'm not letting go until you say yes," he says.

"Look, I need time. This is just way too much for me to deal with right now," I say. "I'm going to go home and think about it, okay? I'll call you." I need to get far away from Chris, this school, and these people who have nothing better to do than gossip about my life.

"Soon," he says. "Call me soon."

He lets go of my hand and I leave without responding. I don't know if I can handle this. Everybody wants and expects too much. No one seems to care what I want, not that I actually have any clue what that is.

"Not feeling good, Mommy?" Celia asks as I head for the door.

The only thing that can make me feel better, I decide, is pancakes and a gigantic cup of coffee. If I can keep it down, that is.

As I walk towards the restaurant I get that feeling that people are looking at me again. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. When I walk into Mike's I feel each pair of eyes turn in my direction. It's not paranoia this time. They're all blatantly staring at me. They all know. Amazing how fast news travels in this town.

I decide the best way to handle this situation is to pretend that there is nothing wrong. I take my seat in a booth and place my order with a waitress who asks if the coffee is really such a good idea considering my, "delicate state."

The women sitting behind me are loudly discussing my family. I hear snippets of the conversation; they obviously want me to hear their opinion. They're shocked that I was raised so badly. How ever will Richard and Emily deal with their bastard grandchild?

I've had enough and stand up and tell them so.

"What gives you the right to judge?" I hiss at them. "I'm not sitting around gossiping about how that perm of yours makes your head look like a giant cone of cotton candy or how that shade of eye shadow makes you look like an Oompa Loompa, am I? No! I keep my mouth shut and so should you!"

I have no choice but to leave, despite the fact that I'm starving and I see the waitress approaching with my plate.

I don't want anyone to see me cry.