Author's Note: Wow…. Thanks a million for the reviews, guys! I was shocked! Almost all of you gave me long, constructive reviews. I wasn't expecting it. But like I said to some of you, I can't use ALL of your ideas… Also, when I mentioned Taylor and Stars Hollow… I didn't mean that she would be a main character. I was thinking just one chapter… But I don't know now, lots of you just reviewed me to say you didn't like her. I don't know what I'm going to do with her now… I'll probably just keep her around as an acquaintance… I have to change her name, a reviewer informed me that there was another Taylor is Stars Hollow… and I forgot about that… So, every time I type it, I think beard-man. I'm changing the name to Abby. Also, no mater what I do with the Tristan story line, no character in this story will be perfect… or unnaturally evil. Thanks for the reviews again, I really like the help… because I only have this chapter and one more planned out… that's when I really need your help, guys.

Title is a Beatles' song…

LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!!!!

Chapter 7

When I Saw Her Standing There

August 22nd, 2002

Logan

There was no pacing this time, only silence and the ticking of the clock on the wall. He sat in his usual chair—the one that hurt his back. He was slouching and was literally twiddling his thumbs, waiting for him to say something, anything. All he was doing was sitting at his desk—in silence—rubbing his temples, thinking. Logan preferred shouting—shouting showed that he had made up his mind about something. This eerie calm thing he had going on was creepy—maybe that's what his father was going for.

Outside, it was murky, overcast, threatening to rain—it meshed well with the atmosphere in Mitchum's office. Logan found himself spacing off—looking out the window. "I just don't know what to do with you anymore." Logan jumped slightly at the sudden noise. He looked at his dad, questioningly, wondering what was whirring inside his mind. "You just seem to be out of control, six boarding schools; you've been kicked out of six boarding schools. Do you understand how serious this is?"

Logan shrugged. "There's more boarding schools that are willing to take your money, dad."

"I know there are more boarding schools," Mitchum spat, glaring at his son, "that's not the point; the point is that this isn't working."

Logan furrowed his brows and concentrated on his face—the ability to read minds would come in handy right about now. "What are you trying to say?"

Mitchum sighed, stood up, walked over to the window and looked outside. "I'm trying to say that maybe boarding school isn't the best thing for you, that being outside of my watchful eye isn't the best thing for you."

Logan's eyes grew wide, he couldn't be suggesting what he thought he was suggesting. "What is the best thing for me, then?"

Mitchum turned to his son, and let a small smirk trace over his lips. "Maybe the best thing for you is to live here… and go back to Chilton."

Logan stood up out of his chair. "No!"

Mitchum rolled his eyes and returned to his desk. "Sit down." He motioned for Logan to return to his seat.

Logan crossed his arms over his chest. "No!"

"Sit down," Mitchum hissed, growing impatient.

Logan, sensing that he wouldn't win this argument if he try to reason with him, obeyed. "I can't go back to Chilton, dad, there has to be another option—just give me another chance."

Mitchum shook his head. "You've had six chances Logan, you're senior year is going to be different. You'll be under my watch, you'll live under my house—under my rules. Now that Honor's at Yale, we'll have more time to devote to you—I'll make sure that your mother and grandfather adhere to that. It's time to stop messing around, and it's time to start growing up. You'll be running this company some day, and we can't afford any more embarrassments. Do you understand?"

Logan shook his head, looking off to the side. "I haven't been to school with these kids since the eighth grade, dad." He leaned forward and ran his hands over his face. He looked up at Mitchum, who was staring at him.

"You'll live; you've been to six different schools without knowing anybody… well, besides that group of miscreants trailing behind you." Logan groaned, realizing that his friends would never go for a Prep school—they probably wouldn't even be allowed to go to one. "Well, what do you expect me to do, Logan? You haven't been home since Christmas break your freshman year. You've been gallivanting around Europe like it was your playground with your school chums. I have to set some ground rules, especially since you just got back for the summer—after I tried to summon you multiple times."

"So, I'm being punished for participating in a culture enriching experience?" Logan countered.

Mitchum's eyes hardened. "I picked you up in Amsterdam, Logan. I had to drag you out of a bar where you were doing body shots off a scantily clad, Dutch girl." Logan locked his jaw—he couldn't argue with that giving the compromising position his father found him in. Mitchum nodded. "Right, so here's the deal, you're going to have a curfew—ten-thirty on school nights, midnight on weekends." Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Mitchum pointed at him, threateningly—warning him to settle down. Logan shut his mouth, realizing that keeping quiet was his best friend—he was only making things worse. Mitchum continued. "You'll attend any function that your mother, grandfather, or I require you to go to." He was listing his demands on his hand. "You'll have dinner with us every Friday night, seven o'clock sharp—this is not an appearance, it's an entire event."

Logan felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket—signaling a text message. He looked up at his dad, who had his back turned to him. He whipped out his phone and glanced at the screen, it was from Colin. 'What's the deal?'

"You will not make plans with any of your friends on Friday night, if the night wraps up early, then you can do whatever you please."

Logan quickly typed in a reply, 'Chilton prep.' He pressed the 'send' button and stuffed his phone away.

"You'll maintain your grades, you'll join the paper, and the honor society."

Logan felt his phone vibrate again. 'Meet hotel in 30.' After Logan's dad dragged him out of Amsterdam, Colin, Finn, and Steph had followed Logan to the states—they were staying at a nearby hotel waiting for the verdict.

'OK.'

Logan put his phone away just as Mitchum was turning back around. "And for God's sake, Logan do not even think about getting expelled from this school, or you can kiss your trust fund goodbye—understood?"

Logan chewed on the inside of his cheek. He knew he didn't have a choice in the situation, but he was hoping that there could be some kind of silver lining. "Can I have a car?"

Mitchum looked at him with weary eyes. "I should make you ride the bus…"

"But?"

"But… I guess you have to get around some how," Mitchum resigned. Logan mentally cheered. "We'll go to the BMW dealership tomorrow."

"Porsche," Logan corrected.

"Porsche," Mitchum amended. Logan stood up from his chair and headed for the door. "Oh, and we have to go to some function tonight."

Logan halted and turned to his father. "Tonight?"

Mitchum smiled. "Better get used to it."

Logan thought about arguing, but considering he had just convinced his dad to buy him a Porsche, he decided not to push his luck. He nodded and practically ran out of the room—trying to avoid any more torture.

He immediately headed to the garage to find the family driver, Frank—he needed to get out of the house, and fast.

---

"Prep school?" Finn cried, when Colin lead Logan to the common area of their hotel suite. "I haven't been to prep school since I was ten."

Logan plopped down on the couch next to Stephenie and covered his face with his hands. "Well, 'hello' to you too, Finn."

"Aw," Stephenie cooed, snuggling into Logan's side, resting her head on his chest, "did someone have a bad confrontation with Mr. Bad-man?"

Logan uncovered his face and smirked at his blonde friend. "'Bad' is an understatement."

"I need a drink," Finn announced, heading for the mini-bar.

Colin rolled his eyes and sat down on the plush chair across from the couch that Steph and Logan were sitting on. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back. "Any chance of getting out of this?" he asked, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

Logan shook his head. "He was pretty set on his decision." He played with a strand of Stephanie's blonde curls.

Colin flopped his arm down on armrest of his seat and sighed. "Okay, then I guess we're going to Chilton."

Logan's jaw dropped. "Really?"

Finn walked over to the group and sat down next to Logan on the couch. He brought over four bottles of beer—holding them by their necks in between his fingers. "Of course, mate; we'd follow you to the ends of the Earth… which apparently has uniforms."

Stephanie retracted herself from Logan's grasp, retrieved her lip-gloss from her purse, and began applying it. "You're just lucky that I look great in seersucker." Logan smiled, slinging his arm over Steph's shoulder.

Colin got up from his chair and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He headed for one of the adjoining rooms. "I just have to make a phone call," he announced, referring to the phone call he would make to his father about his school arrangements.

Finn placed one of beer bottles on the coffee table—for Colin. He leaned forward and removed the bottle caps using the edge of the table. He two of them off to Steph and Logan, and kept one for himself. He leaned back and put his feet up on the coffee table like Colin had done minutes before. "Drink up, chums. For tonight, we will be merry."

Logan took a sip of his drink and winced. "Yeah… about that…"

---

He found himself, for the first time in years, stuffed in a suit at a stuffy party, eating various appetizers from the buffet table, and putting the ones that he didn't like—but had taken a bite out of—back. He fidgeted with his uncomfortable tie—feeling like it was gradually getting tighter and tighter. The last apple tart caught his eye, but as he was reaching out to grab it, someone to his left slapped his hand away.

"No way, you got the last shrimp puff."

Logan groaned. "Steph," he whined as she popped the desert into her mouth.

"You dragged me to this shindig, so I get first dibs on food." A water—carrying flutes of champagne on a tray—walked by, and Steph grabbed two glasses from him. She handed one off to Logan. "Drink up."

She went to bring the glass to her lips, but Logan took it out of her hands. "We can't drink here, Steph," he hissed.

Stephenie grabbed her drink back from Logan. "Look around, no one is watching us, it'll be fine." Logan looked around and noticed that no one—indeed—was watching them.

He took a sip of his own drink and surveyed the party. He hadn't missed this—the tedious, society parties his parents used to drag him to. Only now, unlike during the days of his adolescence, he was expected to mingle… and he knew that he'd be going to more of these functions now—as a senior in high school—than he had when he was in middle school. He decided he might as well use the night to get reacquainted with the high-brow members of the Hartford Elite. Looking around, he spotted a pair of legs—they belonged to a girl, but due to his dirty mind, that's where his eyes trailed first. His eyes wandered up the rest of her body—she has her back to him. She was wearing a flow-y, yellow, knee-length dress—which was half-covered by her long, brown hair. He could tell she was pretty, even though he could only see the back of her—it was a nice backside. He felt himself tuning everything—even Steph's happy chatter—as he appraised the girl's body. Due to the foggy state of his brain, it took him a few seconds to recognize her face.

It felt like someone kicked him in the chest.

Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second, before she quickly turned away, pretending like it never happened. He continued to watch her though, and he could mark the differences right away—and not just in her body. Her face maintained its elegant demeanor, but it was less round—she had lost her baby fat. Her face was angular, and it suited her better, it enhanced her beauty. She was fidgeting uncomfortably in his scrutiny—he could tell she knew he was staring at her.

He felt a soft hand close his unhinged mouth, which he didn't know was hanging open. Startled, he turns to Steph, who rolls her eyes at him. "Are you even listening to me?"

Logan shook his head, distracted. "No."

Steph took a big gulp from her champagne flute. "Oh, you're too busy thinking below your belt, like usual."

Logan ignored her, and turned back to where Rory was moments before, but she has disappeared. "Great," he murmured. He felt a tap on his shoulder—not coming from Steph's direction—causing him to turn around. He was startled again by a pair of light-blue eyes.

"Logan Huntzberger, as I live and breathe," Tristan laughed, patting him on the back. He had a strained smile plastered on his face—he and Logan never had gotten along and Logan was obviously making him uncomfortable.

Logan mimicked Tristan's façade. "Tristan, good to see you." He looked around Tristan to look at a figure, slightly hidden, Rory. She was looking away—eyes glazed, and arms wrapped around herself protectively. Her face was blanche. He felt his insides squirm involuntarily.

Tristan cleared his throat, gaining Logan's attention again. "So, who's this?"

Logan furrowed his brow, trying to figure out who he was referring to, then he remembered Steph. "Oh! I'm sorry." He placed his hand on the small of Steph's back and inched her forward. "This is my friend, Steph." She gave a little wave and a small smile, before returning her face to a disgusted scowl. Logan's mouth twitched downward, also. He remembered how much she hated being out of the limelight and he was practically ignoring her. "She's just a little hungry," he said, justifying her cranky disposition.

"Well, you guys are by the buffet table," Tristan pointed out.

Logan forced a laugh. "Well, when you go three years living off nothing but boarding school food, you tend to flock to free, catered food." His smile was so strained, he felt like he was stretching out his face.

Tristan nodded as if he understood, as if he too had gone through the same thing instead of being a snotty, little prep-school kid. "Well, listen, since you're new to these functions, we're going to give you a heads up—the first rule with dealing with parties like this is to form a sub party. A bunch of us are meeting in the pool house in twenty minutes. You should come."

Logan nodded—like he was considering the offer, "We'll think about it."

Tristan patted him on the back again—making Logan cringe, "Well, if you don't come, it was nice seeing you again."

Logan watched as Tristan grabbed Rory's hand—preparing to walk away. Logan opened his mouth to say something to her, to say anything to her. "I—," he stopped short when she looked up from the ground and looked him in the eye. She gave him the saddest look he had ever seen. She vocalized so much pain and pleas for his silence in that one look that it literally shattered his heart to look at her. He closed his mouth and watched her walk away. He swallowed—hard—trying to rid himself of the unfamiliar sensations occurring inside of him. Beside him, he heard Steph clear her throat obnoxiously. "Oh, hey." He regained his composure now that she was out of sight.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Steph said, hotly, "where you talking to me?"

Logan smiled at her bratty behavior. "Yes, I'm talking to you, are you done?"

"Well, I'm sorry; I thought that you usually talked to the girl you brought to parties… instead of drooling all over another one. I'm quite offended."

Logan groaned. "Was I really drooling?"

"A puddle was formulating on the pretty, marble floor." She motioned to the ground.

Logan laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "We don't have to go, if you don't want to." He was referring to the infamous sub-party.

Steph shrugged. "I don't want to, but you do."

Logan shook his head. "Actually I don't, that guy is an ass."

Steph smiled. "You're just saying that because he had his hands all over that pretty girl."

"Oh no, it's not that." He was serious; he and Tristan had always been rivals. Being away from him had been an added bonus of boarding school.

Steph grabbed a quiche from the buffet. "You know what? I do want to go. I want to see who the 'real' Logan Huntzberger is." She gave him a cheeky grin, and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the room—towards the pool house outside. He followed, obediently, secretly wanting to see the girl who used to haunt his dreams years ago.

Author's Note: Next chapter is the sub-party—in Rory's POV…. After that, I have NOTHING PLANNED! I need the kind of response I got last time. I need some reviews… as you can see, they make me work faster… but I need reviews with ideas… or your updates are NOT going to come quickly. This story takes place throughout Rory and Logan's senior year. It's going to be a long story. It's going to be slow moving… but it will be filled with drama and angst… that's what I'm aiming for.