Author's Note: Heh. I am on a roll….
Chapter Eleven:
It was a very long night.
Around three in the morning- never Tristan's finest hour- he finally dragged himself out of his rumpled bed and stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen. Locating (not without difficulty) the stainless steel refrigerator tucked in between an ocean of stainless steel cupboards, he pulled it open and dug out a bottle of water. Get a grip, a nasty little voice in his tired brain whispered, she doesn't like you.
But maybe- maybe she could?
If he kept his mouth shut and his brain turned on and his eyes above her shoulders (But what about the ear? Or the curve of her neck? taunted the voice) a tiny, long-ignored part of Tristan thought that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot with her.
Or maybe she'll stomp on your heart again, said the nasty little voice, encouragingly.
Shut up, Tristan told the voice, holding the bottle of water against his forehead. I already know this. Still holding the water to his head, he dragged himself back up the stairs. He flopped down on his bed, firmly shutting off his thoughts and closing his eyes, but there was a tiny surge of hope inside him that he couldn't quite squash.
****
The weather forecasts for the new day were full of warnings about the heat, tossing around phrases like "another scorcher" and suggestions about sunscreen and not leaving one's pets in cars. Rory eyed her heavy plaid skirt and knee socks with loathing as she navigated her way through the un-air-conditioned Chilton hallways toward her first period class. Noting that nobody else seemed to be affected, she idly wondered if air conditioning was too nouveau riche for Chilton. Maybe the offspring of the fabulously wealthy had their sweat glands surgically removed at birth?
She was still pondering the likelihood of this when she walked into her classroom, when the sight of a tousled blonde head instantly distracted her. Tristan looked… tired. Really tired. His eyelids were heavy and his messy hair looked less like the result of artistically applied gel and more like he hadn't had time to comb it. She wanted to reach out and fix it for him. Ooh, or maybe she should get him some coffee. Coffee always made her feel better….
On the other hand, maybe the blonde senior girl currently snaking her arms over Tristan's shoulders would perk him up.
Rory's eyes narrowed as she watched the girl sitting behind Tristan lean forward and wrap her arms around him, a small white square clutched in one beautifully manicured hand. Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear for a moment and then slid back into her seat, leaving him holding the envelope. Rory's mouth hardened as she watched the pair, her overactive imagination kicking into high gear. He was probably tired from- from an orgy! A drunken orgy! A drunken orgy involving many model-gorgeous blonde Chiltonite princesses-
"Uh, hi, Rory," Tristan tossed the invitation toward his backpack without another thought, all his attention focused on the dark-haired girl currently scowling at him. He smiled at her, a trifle nervously. Why was she suddenly looking like she could spit nails?
"Hi," she said brusquely, intending to slip past him without another word. Unfortunately, her inner twelve-year-old wouldn't shut up. "You dropped your girlfriend's note," she pointed out, despising the snide tone of her voice. Forcing an unconcerned smile onto her face, she pointed at the envelope that had slid off of his backpack to the floor.
"Huh?" Tristan replied, looking confused. Following the line of her outstretched hand, he bent and picked up the note. "And she's not my girlfriend." In fact, who were they talking about? Tristan turned around and glanced at the girl sitting behind him. Oh. Brittany? Bethany? Something like that. He wasn't sure, but he had a vague memory of making out with her at party the year before. With a mental shrug, he forgot her and used his car keys to slit open the note. "Hmm."
"Right," Rory said. She still sounded huffy, much to her disgust. Sternly telling herself to stay quiet, she turned to take her seat.
"It's an invitation to her back-to-school party," Tristan said, frowning down at the note. "Hmm. Might as well." He tossed it back toward his backpack, where it promptly slid off again. He turned back to the girl sitting behind him. "Thanks," he told her. "Er… Bethany." The girl scowled. Woops, must have been the wrong name.
"Well, I'm sure you'll have a perfectly lovely time," Rory told him, her voice dripping with insincerity. Good Lord, she thought, what was wrong with her? Would she never shut up? Why wasn't she currently in her seat, peacefully reviewing her notes, thinking about the class ahead and (most importantly) not talking?
Tristan was wondering the same thing. She wasn't turning away, she wasn't ignoring him, and she wasn't attached at the lips to someone else. Sure, she looked pissed, but you couldn't have everything. The tiny surge of hope returned… taking a deep breath, he spoke before he could lose his nerve. "Do you… do you want to come with me?"
Rory stared at him, confused. "Where?"
Tristan rubbed his eyebrow, a nervous habit he had never quite succeeded in conquering. "Uh, to the party." (Neither one of them noticed the irritated "Hey!" from the girl seated behind him, whose name happened to be Brianna.)
"Okay," said Rory. Then she sat down and took out her notes, her mind blank with shock.
Maybe she could blame it on the heat.
TBC