Author's Note: Hey, everybody. Check it out: a title! And only seven
chapters in! This, for me, is actually pretty impressive- my "Roswell" fic
went nameless for much longer. Thanks for all your kind reviews- feedback
makes me tingly.
Part Seven:
"Miss Gilmore?"
Rory jumped, startled by her sixth-period teacher's voice. "Yes?"
"If the patch of carpet you've been staring at for the past fifteen minutes won't miss you *too* terribly, would you mind focusing your attention on the board?"
"Sorry." Rory could have kicked herself. Her mind kept drifting, and it was wreaking havoc on her reputation as the school's second-most-obsessive student. She cared about- she had to take a quick look at the board- conjugating Latin verbs, she really did, but somehow her traitorous brain kept meandering in undesirable directions.
Tristan-y directions.
What would he think of her house? What would he think about her town? Her mother? Her evil monkey lamp? What if Babette was outside, chatting with the garden gnomes?
Then again, why did she care what Tristan thought? She *shouldn't* care. It wasn't logical-
Oh, God, had she remembered to close her underwear drawer this morning?
"Miss Gilmore!"
Drat.
~~~~
Tristan wasn't much better off, but his teachers were more familiar with his lack of attention. He was, in a word, fretting. How should he play this? Swaggering arrogance (his favorite) was obviously *not* an option. Should he go for pathetically grateful? It didn't feel right. He tried to picture himself- effusive, gushing thanks, eyes misting with gratitude….
Or not.
But if he didn't think of a damn good plan in the immediate future, he, Chilton's very own Master of Seduction, was going to have to Play It By Ear.
Tristan *hated* playing things by ear. He was the kind of guy who liked a plan- well, at least when it came to his dealings with the opposite sex.
Feeling vaguely grumpy, he tried to look nonchalant as he strolled up to Rory's locker after school. "Hey," he greeted her. Why did the stupid uniform have to look so good on her? Who was *flattered* by royal-blue plaid, damn it?
She jumped, whirling around. "Hi. Uh, how's it going?"
Tristan shrugged. "Not bad. So, you still up for showing me your-"
"Sure she is!" A passing classmate with an exceptionally dirty mind began to laugh. "You da man, Dugrey!"
Rory closed her eyes.
"…WAR AND PEACE POSTER!" Tristan raised his voice in irritation, scowling at the retreating back of their fellow student. Some nearby cheerleaders looked at him with concern. He closed his eyes, too.
Rory sighed, opened her eyes, and squared her shoulders. "You know it." Both looking rather fierce, they marched out to the student parking lot. Rory held her head high, ignoring the smirking grins of assorted football players and the grim expressions on the handful of perfectly groomed young women who just "happened" to be hanging out next to Tristan's car.
Conversation was virtually non-existent until they had reached Stars' Hollow, and both teens were feeling a little on edge. By the time they had reached the pretty little town square, Tristan had hunched his shoulders almost up to his ears, and Rory's habitual good manners were screaming at her. She had extended the invitation; it was clearly her responsibility to open with the small talk. "So," she began- not at all awkwardly- "Your car is very, um, clean."
"Thanks." Tristan still looked tense. "Your, uh, town is very clean, too." He did a double take. "Very, very clean. Er- is that guy dusting his sidewalk?"
Rory craned past him to look at the frowning man in a cardigan, enthusiastically swishing a pink feather duster across the sidewalk. "Oh, yeah. That's Taylor. He says the street sweeping machine in this town is a menace to the business community."
"Is it?"
She grinned. "Actually, yeah. But, see, Taylor hates it 'cause it kicks up dust, but the *real* problem with it is that it used to be a Zamboni. Somebody just jury-rigged the street-sweeper thingie on with duct tape, and one of these days it's just gonna go flying off and crush some prospective shopper. And then the Stars' Hollow business community is going to lose that person's business forever." She looked thoughtful. "Well, except for Frannie."
"Frannie?"
"Owner of Frannie's Funeral Emporium."
"Ah." Tristan tried looked solemn. "That's a very, er, sad story."
Rory nodded soberly. "It will be. Again, except for Frannie. And maybe her accountant."
Tristan snickered. He couldn't help it.
Once Taylor and Frannie had broken the ice, the two teens managed to keep up a strain of cheerful, mildly snide conversation until they pulled up outside the Gilmore residence. It wasn't until they had parked the car, grabbed their backpacks, climbed the steps, and stepped inside the messy hallway that Rory realized the danger her new almost-friend was in.
"Hi, honey! Oooh, is this *Tristan*? I've heard so much about you!" Lorelai was home, and she was smiling her sunniest, most deadly smile. Rory winced. Tristan had been a total jerk, true- but did he really deserve her mother in Avenging-Goddess-Mode?
Tristan, Rory was pleasantly surprised to note, had the good sense to look terrified.
TBC
Next Chapter: Tristan thinks on his feet.
Part Seven:
"Miss Gilmore?"
Rory jumped, startled by her sixth-period teacher's voice. "Yes?"
"If the patch of carpet you've been staring at for the past fifteen minutes won't miss you *too* terribly, would you mind focusing your attention on the board?"
"Sorry." Rory could have kicked herself. Her mind kept drifting, and it was wreaking havoc on her reputation as the school's second-most-obsessive student. She cared about- she had to take a quick look at the board- conjugating Latin verbs, she really did, but somehow her traitorous brain kept meandering in undesirable directions.
Tristan-y directions.
What would he think of her house? What would he think about her town? Her mother? Her evil monkey lamp? What if Babette was outside, chatting with the garden gnomes?
Then again, why did she care what Tristan thought? She *shouldn't* care. It wasn't logical-
Oh, God, had she remembered to close her underwear drawer this morning?
"Miss Gilmore!"
Drat.
~~~~
Tristan wasn't much better off, but his teachers were more familiar with his lack of attention. He was, in a word, fretting. How should he play this? Swaggering arrogance (his favorite) was obviously *not* an option. Should he go for pathetically grateful? It didn't feel right. He tried to picture himself- effusive, gushing thanks, eyes misting with gratitude….
Or not.
But if he didn't think of a damn good plan in the immediate future, he, Chilton's very own Master of Seduction, was going to have to Play It By Ear.
Tristan *hated* playing things by ear. He was the kind of guy who liked a plan- well, at least when it came to his dealings with the opposite sex.
Feeling vaguely grumpy, he tried to look nonchalant as he strolled up to Rory's locker after school. "Hey," he greeted her. Why did the stupid uniform have to look so good on her? Who was *flattered* by royal-blue plaid, damn it?
She jumped, whirling around. "Hi. Uh, how's it going?"
Tristan shrugged. "Not bad. So, you still up for showing me your-"
"Sure she is!" A passing classmate with an exceptionally dirty mind began to laugh. "You da man, Dugrey!"
Rory closed her eyes.
"…WAR AND PEACE POSTER!" Tristan raised his voice in irritation, scowling at the retreating back of their fellow student. Some nearby cheerleaders looked at him with concern. He closed his eyes, too.
Rory sighed, opened her eyes, and squared her shoulders. "You know it." Both looking rather fierce, they marched out to the student parking lot. Rory held her head high, ignoring the smirking grins of assorted football players and the grim expressions on the handful of perfectly groomed young women who just "happened" to be hanging out next to Tristan's car.
Conversation was virtually non-existent until they had reached Stars' Hollow, and both teens were feeling a little on edge. By the time they had reached the pretty little town square, Tristan had hunched his shoulders almost up to his ears, and Rory's habitual good manners were screaming at her. She had extended the invitation; it was clearly her responsibility to open with the small talk. "So," she began- not at all awkwardly- "Your car is very, um, clean."
"Thanks." Tristan still looked tense. "Your, uh, town is very clean, too." He did a double take. "Very, very clean. Er- is that guy dusting his sidewalk?"
Rory craned past him to look at the frowning man in a cardigan, enthusiastically swishing a pink feather duster across the sidewalk. "Oh, yeah. That's Taylor. He says the street sweeping machine in this town is a menace to the business community."
"Is it?"
She grinned. "Actually, yeah. But, see, Taylor hates it 'cause it kicks up dust, but the *real* problem with it is that it used to be a Zamboni. Somebody just jury-rigged the street-sweeper thingie on with duct tape, and one of these days it's just gonna go flying off and crush some prospective shopper. And then the Stars' Hollow business community is going to lose that person's business forever." She looked thoughtful. "Well, except for Frannie."
"Frannie?"
"Owner of Frannie's Funeral Emporium."
"Ah." Tristan tried looked solemn. "That's a very, er, sad story."
Rory nodded soberly. "It will be. Again, except for Frannie. And maybe her accountant."
Tristan snickered. He couldn't help it.
Once Taylor and Frannie had broken the ice, the two teens managed to keep up a strain of cheerful, mildly snide conversation until they pulled up outside the Gilmore residence. It wasn't until they had parked the car, grabbed their backpacks, climbed the steps, and stepped inside the messy hallway that Rory realized the danger her new almost-friend was in.
"Hi, honey! Oooh, is this *Tristan*? I've heard so much about you!" Lorelai was home, and she was smiling her sunniest, most deadly smile. Rory winced. Tristan had been a total jerk, true- but did he really deserve her mother in Avenging-Goddess-Mode?
Tristan, Rory was pleasantly surprised to note, had the good sense to look terrified.
TBC
Next Chapter: Tristan thinks on his feet.