Summary: A new conflict surfaces in Rory and Jess's relationship, manifested as they struggle to define themselves as adults.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo. Nothing graphic.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.
Author's Notes: Rory's POV. This is a bit of a departure from my usual style. I hope you guys like it. I was trying for a more realistic feel than some stuff. Let me know what you think. AYA is something I made up. I used as many facts as I could but obviously, some stuff is made up. The main titles and chapter titles are e.e. cummings quotes.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the other creators of the Gilmore Girls universe.

Ch. 2: what if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two


Wishing desperately that I hadn't hit the snooze button that third time, I rifled through the stacks of papers on my desk. Yesterday's newspaper, a novel due at the library last Thursday, an unfinished letter to my grandmother—there it was. I grabbed my notebook and headed out the door, hoping I could catch the T in time to make my Islamic Civilizations class.

The phone rang as I was slipping on my sandals and I paused in the doorway to listen as the answering machine picked up. Hey, it's me. I'm guess you're not there, so—

I lunged for the phone.

You're there.

I'm here.

You're not on your way to class?

I am, but I can be late. What's up? He paused, and I could hear Luke's voice in the background. He was at the diner. Jess, what's up?

I got into AYA. His voice caught just slightly with excitement, a self-satisfied sound that might have gone unnoticed by someone who knew him less.

You got into what? I pinned the phone against my shoulder with my ear and starting searching through the bag sitting on the couch. It looked like I was going to need cab fare.

AYA? American Youth in Afghanistan? It's a volunteer relief group.

Feeling bad for not remembering anything about it, I overcompensated. Oh, right! I didn't know you'd applied.

I didn't want to tell you until I—Hold on a second. He covered the phone and I heard his muffled voice against the morning diner noise. I wondered if my mother was there; I hadn't talked to her in over a week.

I'm back. He paused. So what do you think?

It sounds great! I found a crumpled ten dollar bill I'd been using as a bookmark.

He sounded shy, as he always did when he was proud of himself. So do you think you could see it in your heart to give me a few culture survival lessons before I go? I'll be taking a crash immersion course, but a tutor might be a good thing.

His oh-so-serious tone made me smile. I think it might be a possibility. I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. When do you leave?

June. Right after your graduation.

I felt a twinge of disappointment. Are you going to be gone for the whole summer?

There was a silence. Through the receiver I could distinguish various individual voices around him, most of them familiar. Homesickness swamped me. I wanted to be back at that counter again, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Mom, wearing saddle shoes and plaid.

he said. I'm going for a whole year.

I sat down hard. My voice sounded small and pathetic, even to me.

I thought you knew that.

I did. I closed my eyes. I just forgot for a second, that's all.

He knew I was upset.

I'm really late for class now. I winced, realizing that sounded cold. I'm sorry.

No problem.

A guilty chord chimed within me. He sounded so different then he had when I'd first answered the phone. Crestfallen. I'll call you later, okay? There was a pleading note to my voice that I hated. I felt like a baby.

He was retreating into his sullen teenage facade.

I waited for him to hang up first, and felt stung when he did so immediately.