AN: So I hope this makes all of my readers happy.. the story is longer. Anyways I just wanted to say that I obviously do not own Shrek. So read, enjoy, and please let me know what you thought.
It was obvious that she knew each and every word of this movie. She proved this by quoting the eccentric character's lines. When she did so, she changed her voice to imitate the character.
"Quick," Lorelai imitates Shrek, "tell a lie!"
"What should I say?" she asked in her best Pinocchio voice.
Rory had to admit that her mother's Donkey imitation was her favorite.
"Say something crazy…like you're wearing ladies underwear," Lorelai said sounding exactly like Donkey.
Pinocchio remained silent when his nose didn't grow. Shrek then asks, "Are you?"
Lorelai not only began sounding like Pinocchio, but she shook her head appalled, "I most certainly am not."
Now Pinocchio's nose extends.
"It looks like you most certainly am are," Lorelai says like Donkey which has Rory involuntarily chuckling.
"I am not!" Lorelai copies Pinocchio.
His nose extends once again.
Lorelai then gets a Spanish accent when she personifies Puss-in-Boots, "What kind?"
"It's a thong!" Lorelai exclaims as her inner Gingerbread Man comes out.
"Mom!" Rory exclaims herself.
"What?" Lorelai asks truly innocent.
Rory shook her head at her mother, "Is it really necessary that you quote each and every line of Shrek?"
"Yes."
Rory gave her a disbelieving look.
"Rory, that was the best part of the entire movie!"
"I understand, but-"
"But nothing, oh beautiful daughter of mine," Lorelai tells her, "That was the first time in nearly a week that I saw you smile. I missed it."
Rory couldn't help but look away from her mother: She was absolutely right. Her confrontation with Tristan, that took place in front of their entire English class, had put her in a real deep funk. She tried to talk to him on numerous occasions, and on each time he completely blew her off. Tristan wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.
Each and every time he basically told her to go fuck herself, the look on his face and in his eyes, killed Rory inside.
The simple thought of knowing how much she had hurt him, brought tears to her eyes. She refused to let them escape. She took a deep breath and steadily let it out.
"Sweetie-" Lorelai began but didn't have a chance to say what it was that she wanted to say because Rory didn't want to hear it.
"Mom, I get where you're coming from, I really do, it's just that I've tried everything possible and he wants nothing to do with me."
Rory had filled her mother in on everything.
Everything.
After the big showdown in English, Rory wasn't herself and Lorelai noticed.
Lorelai wouldn't be Lorelai if she didn't insist on knowing what was wrong. Lorelai also wouldn't be the amazing mother that she is if she didn't insist on knowing.
"Obviously not everything because the blonde Greek god is still not talking to you," Lorelai tells her and then has a thought, "Wait, is he an Italian god because you met him in Italy. But wait, do the Italians have gods like the Greeks do?"
Rory ignored her mother's pointless babble and kept to the point, "Mom, I know he's not talking to me and the reason he's not talking to me is because he does not want to."
"Yes he does."
"No he does not."
"Rory, dear," Lorelai said sounding like her mother, "yes he does."
"How?"
"What?"
"How do absolutely, positively know that he does want to, in fact, talk to me?"
Lorelai dramatically rolled her eyes, "Why wouldn't he?"
"Mom! Are you serious?" Rory asked disbelievingly.
The conversation took a serious turn, "Rory, listen," Lorelai began, "You hurt the kid, there's no doubt about that-"
"Thanks mom," Rory interrupts her with sarcasm.
"But," the older Gilmore continues, "That doesn't mean that the feelings that he had for you completely vanished. He's hurt; his pride took a major blow."
"I know," Rory admits quietly.
"Then do something about it."
"Have you not heard a single word that I have been speaking? He doesn't want to talk to me. I've tried everything."
"Have you tried locking him in the school bathroom?"
Sitting in her English class with Tristan sitting two seats behind her, Rory was unable to focus on what Mr. Medina was lecturing. All she was thinking about was Tristan. Today was going to be the day that she would finally get through to him. She was not going to take no as for answer.
Rory Gilmore was determined.
The bell rang that signaled the end of class. Rory didn't even bother trying to stop Tristan. Besides, when she looked up from her blank notebook, she saw Tristan exiting the classroom.
Rory couldn't help, but let out a frustrated sigh.
She got out of her seat and made her way into the hallway with Paris close behind. Today was the day Paris was going to butt in. She lasted nearly an entire week before putting her opinion where it was not needed, nor wanted.
"So what went down between you and lover boy?" Paris asked, once Rory reached her locker.
"Hello Paris," Rory said as she finally got her locker open.
"Listen, I don't have time for the pleasantries, I've waited a week for the scoop," Paris says matter-a-factly, "I've heard many rumors, so I want the cold, hard truth."
"Rumors?" Rory decided not to give her what she wanted; she decided to play with Paris for a bit. She just wanted to see how far she can push her before she exploded, "Oh please fill me in on some of the juice. You have gotten me interested."
"Well," Paris began even though she didn't want to be talking, she wanted to be hearing the truth from the horse's mouth, "there was one where you both joined the mile high club."
"Interesting…please, continue," Rory encouraged her as she finished with her locker and now leaned patiently against it.
"There was another one where you two met in Italy and after having your way with Dugrey, you decided that the Italian men do it better."
Before Rory could put an end to the ridiculous words that were coming out of her friend's mouth, the bell beat her to it.
"Damn, now you made me late for class."
Rory couldn't help but roll her eyes, "You made yourself late with all of your nonsense."
"Whatever," Paris said before storming away. Rory remained where she was for a few seconds longer. She didn't feel like going to class. It was absolutely pointless: she wouldn't be able to pay attention. She wouldn't be able to pay attention in any class until she worked things over with Tristan.
Speak of the devil: Rory watched as Tristan appeared around the corner. She kept her blue eyes on him as he made his way into the boy's bathroom.
Her mother's words popped into her head.
"No," she said out loud to a deserted hallway, "I couldn't possibly – it's insane."
It was her last chance.
Keeping her head held high, Rory went into the boy's bathroom and quickly locked the door behind her. After doing so she made sure no one else was in there: It was just her and Tristan.
Tristan was drying his hands when he saw her.
"Am I in the wrong bathroom?" he asked confused.
"No," Rory said with a shaky breath.
"Then you're in the wrong bathroom," he said.
Rory watched him; he didn't seem upset, he just seemed sad. Which made this entire situation even worse for Rory.
"We need to talk Tris," Rory finally began.
"I don't want to talk," he briskly says as he tries to make his way out of the bathroom. Rory's small hand on his chest stops him. "Rory," he wants to protest, but instead her name comes out as a soft, painful moan.
"You can't avoid me forever," she whispers.
"I can try," he was fighting every bone in his body not to press her up against the door and have his way with her then and there.
"You'll fail," she told him with such confidence that it turned the couple on even more.
"You sure about that?" he asked as his famous smirked played on his lips.
"Mhm," she says as she pulls him closer to her. He didn't put up a fight. He couldn't put up a fight. He missed her. He wanted her. He needed her.
This wasn't Rory's plan, but the connection that these two people have is so strong that neither of the two could possibly think straight. Rory wanted to – needed to talk things out with him for what she did back in Italy. To yell at him for doing what he did to her in front of the class. But at this specific moment Rory couldn't think about anything, but the way Tristan looked, by the way he was looking at her and his cologne that was intoxicating her sense of smell.
Tristan had her pressed against the door. One hand travelling up her skirt, caressing her thigh as his other hand cradled the side of her face.
"Tristan," Rory moaned as he found the spot on her neck that made her crumple.
