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Chilton was buzzing and at breaking point, packed with seniors getting ready to go, the halls humming with talks of college and summer and graduation but Rory didn't take part in any of the excitement. She stood against the wall watching Paris boxing yearbooks and barking orders, the only other person not to join in, and considered slipping away as Paris reduced Brad to tears over signing a book on the wrong page. Rory didn't know if she should be concerned that out of all the people at Chilton Paris Gellar was the only one she could talk to.
"Gilmore!" shouted Paris suddenly, making Rory jump. "Get over here right now and quit making friends with the wall."
Rory dutifully walked over, keeping a little distance between them. Paris thrust a box of books into Rory's arms, making her stagger, and without looking up said,
"They need to be stored in the library."
"Okay," Rory said, hesitating, and Paris snapped,
"I can't hear footsteps."
"Paris," Rory said slowly. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"It had better not be about hair slides at graduation or I swear –"
"Paris, it's me," Rory said and Paris finally looked up.
"Is it Madeline or Louise asking about hair slides at graduation?"
"Paris, I really need to talk to you."
"Fine," Paris said, picking up her own box. "Talk and walk."
"I can't talk and walk," Rory said, following Paris out of the hall. "It's private."
"Follow me and don't look back because I'm not turning around," Paris said after a pause and Rory opened her mouth to say something and then closed it, trying to keep up with Paris's alarmingly fast pace and nearly tripping over someone's stray backpack strap.
"Here," Paris said eventually. They were at the back entrance of the library, where Rory had never gone in all her time at Chilton. Paris put her box down and sat on it and Rory followed suit. There was a musty smell and the sound of a pigeon outside and the space where they sat was cramped and dark. Rory could just imagine a bat flying out.
"What is it?" Paris asked briskly. "I've got five minutes and it starts now."
Rory opened her mouth and then blushed, staring at her hands.
"Didn't I say you had five minutes?" Paris said impatiently. "Are you going to spend all of them making like a mime?"
"Fine," Rory snapped. "I don't know why I tried to talk to you anyway."
"Fine," Paris said, but neither moved. Rory sighed.
"Paris," she said nervously. "What was it like when you slept with Jamie?"
Paris looked at her, confused.
"What was it like? I told you, didn't I?"
"No, I mean, what was it like? How did it feel?"
"Oh boy," Paris said. "Is this like run-time advice or something? Do you want to get cosy with the lost member of the Dead Poets' Society? If you have to know, it was sore but oddly pleasant afterwards. Get a stack of condoms ready. Lube couldn't hurt either," she added hastily and Rory groaned.
"Paris! I don't need advice. Not about that. I...I already did it. I had sex with Jess."
Paris stared at her and Rory hastily looked away.
"Wow," she said. "I guess you won't be packing that chastity belt after all."
"Paris!"
"What is it?" Paris asked. "You're not knocked up, are you? You didn't buy into that myth of not getting pregnant the first time round?"
"Paris, do you really think I'd believe that?"
"Have you got some kind of STI?" Paris asked, moving on. "Because I'm not a doctor yet but I'm sure I could easily diagnose you. What is it? Itching? Pee burn? Pubic lice?"
"Paris!" Rory exclaimed, bright red. "Would you just shut up?"
Paris bit her lip and folded her arms, shifting her legs on the box. Rory felt horrible.
"Paris, I'm sorry," she said. "It's just...it's just..."
"What?" Paris asked and Rory said,
"What was Jamie like afterwards?"
Paris smiled and looked far away for a moment.
"He was great," she said. "He was wonderful. He held me all evening and kept asking how I was and then when he finally went home he called me and talked to me until I actually fell asleep on the phone. He called me every night for a month and he wouldn't stop telling me he loved me. He was perfect, Rory. Rory?"
Rory had stopped listening at some point and she sat with her face in her hands, tears falling down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor.
"What is it?" Paris asked nervously. "What's wrong?"
Rory tried to speak and could only sob. Paris inched over and draped an awkward arm around her.
"I don't know how to look after crying people," she said honestly. "Can you say something?"
"It's just," Rory sobbed. "I thought he really loved me."
"Oh, jeez," Paris said, closing her eyes. "Isn't Dear Abby better for this?"
Rory could only cry and Paris nervously took her hand.
"What did he do?"
"It's what he didn't do," Rory sobbed. "He asked me if I was okay and everything but when he left we didn't even kiss and he just said he'd call, and he hasn't."
"And coition happened...?"
"Tuesday," sobbed Rory. "Three days ago."
"Why haven't you called him?"
"I can't," Rory cried. "Why hasn't he called?"
"I don't know," Paris said quietly and then stared as Rory laid her head on her shoulder.
"I haven't even told my mom," she wailed. "And you've met my mom, you know she's cool. I can talk to her about everything so why can't I talk to her about this? I don't get it, Paris. It wasn't meant to happen this way at all."
Paris awkwardly ran her hand over her friend's hair as Rory let out the last of her sobs and, with a hiccup, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
"Here," Paris said, handing her a Kleenex and Rory wiped the last of her tears away and blew her nose.
"Thanks," she said quietly, suddenly embarrassed, and Paris said,
"No problem," sounding much the same way. Neither said anything for a while.
"Did you stroke my hair?" Rory asked eventually, sounding incredulous, and Paris went red.
"It's what they do on TV. I said I don't know how to look after crying people."
"I think you did a good job," Rory said honestly and Paris shrugged.
"We're meant to go to this party on Saturday," Rory said miserably. "I don't know if he'll even show up. Why do you think he isn't calling me?" she asked and Paris said,
"I don't know but I think you should call him."
"Yeah," Rory said quietly and Paris added,
"And Rory, if it's any consolation, sex does get better. Much better."
Rory looked at her and started laughing. Paris looked offended for a moment and then started laughing herself.
"It does," she said, giggling, and gave her friend a hug. "Thanks, Paris."
"Anytime," she said, trying to not sound awkward and Rory released her. Paris let out a sigh of relief.
"So you and diner boy actually did it," she commented and Rory blushed. "I'm impressed."
"Do you think it should have been with someone else?" she asked, looking up and Paris remarked,
"I'd pick him over farmer boy."
"At least he would have called," Rory couldn't help saying and then she started giggling.
"What?"
"I can't believe you called Jess a member of the Dead Poets' Society. You know he doesn't even read poetry."
"He still goes in for all that angsty crap."
They walked in silence down the stairs and then Rory stopped, seeing the large clock in the hall.
"What?"
"You said five minutes," she said, turning to her friend. "And we were up there for half an hour."
Paris went red and said quietly,
"Well, you are my best friend after all."
Rory smiled and hugged her again, briefly and Paris snapped,
"What is this, Gilmore? Do you want to come over to my house next and braid my hair?"
"Well," teased Rory and Paris frowned at her in an alarming way. "Kidding! Paris, what about the year books?"
"I'll get Brad to move them," Paris said. "Is that it then? Have we got our after school movie moment out of the way?"
"Yeah," grinned Rory. "I'll let you go now."
Paris started to walk away and then stopped, smiling at Rory.
"Can you believe we both had sex?"
"No," Rory said. "I really can't."
