(I'm looking to do a longer fiction, mayhap including more romance and a pinch of drama. I'd like to team up with someone to write it though, as I have bad commitment habits and a tendency to writers block. Interested? E-mail me at
optimistic_thought@ hotmail.com.)-HTS
~*~*~
***I'd like to send out a hardy thank you to Princess Ruby, for catching my blatant misuse of the French Language in the previous chapter. The problem has been rectified according to her suggestions, as I only have moderate experience in high school Spanish and rely heavily on my nifty translator program. Thank you.***
~*~*~
Rory Gilmore: DJ Extraordinar?
Chapter 2: When Schedules Go Wrong
~*~*~
Tuesday, to the untrained eye, might look the exact same as Monday, but really it was a whole new day. After hurling her alarm against the wall, and wishing her many other problems were as easily silenced, Rory managed to get to her cherished coffee.
"I love you Mom." She grinned as she set up the shiny new coffee-maker. Lorelei entered the kitchen, her pink fuzzy bathrobe slightly askew. Any broken appliance, in the hands of her mother never boded well. Always the prideful one, Lorelei absolutely refused to admit her lack of any kind of mending abilities. They buried it in the backyard.
"Less chit-chat, more pouring." Eyes squinted against the entirely too bright light of the morning sun, Rory's mother slumped herself in a chair.
"Why, mom, why so uncommunicative on such a lovely morn?" Handing her mother a cup of the sweet liquid, Rory went in search of new quarry, the illusive pop-tarts.
A thunk-like sound was heard from the table as Lorelei's head collided with it.
"Don't use your fancy-shmancy words on me little missy. That 'I Love Lucy' marathon was worth ever minute of sleep that I didn't get."
Sliding the frosted pastries into the toaster, Rory went to sit by her mother. After several long quaffs of coffee, she smiled, "Mom, I told you, you'd regret it, just think of all the lovely times you'll have today; arguing with Michel? Not to mention Sookie just got a new vegetable shredder."
A lackadaisical finger was pointed at Rory in accusation. "You, demon child, are not my daughter. My daughter, loves 'I love Lucy' and would not miss such an enlightening experience as Lucial Ball shoving a variety of chocolates down her shirt. She also would not torment her poor, dear, overworked, underpaid mother." A slight pause as Lorelei's jaw seemed to become unhinged, letting out the largest yawn Rory had ever seen and droped her head back down, "The mother that fixed our beloved coffee-maker." An eye, a single eye became visible under the mass of dark hair, daring, just daring her to mock someone of such a munificence nature. The hand then fell, lifeless across the wooden table, "Now, go be a good demon-child, and fetch me a pop-tart…" Her vice faded off as her breathing became even.
Shaking her head, Rory did as she was commanded. Leaving the strawberry filled delectable with easy reach of her mother, she left to get dressed for another long day of glaring Paris' and lecherous Tristan's, not to mention the endless stream of work and teachers with no empathetic inclinations.
As she left her room, dressed and ready, she found her mothers prone body spread across the kitchen table, half the coffee untouched and cooling fast, the pop-tart had been knocked to the floor. Rolling her eyes, in a cross between exasperation and amusement, she gently shook Lorelei's shoulder.
"Mom, wake up." Her efforts were to no avail. Tapping her foot, now fully in a state of irritation, she pondered how she was to get her inert mother to wake. The solution was obvious, reaching slowly, she extended her arm towards her mothers 'Charlie's Angles' mug, trying not to slosh the drink, she pulled it across the table towards her. "Mother," she called in a sing-song voice, "Since you're on your TV binge and hangover cycle, I'll just finish this for you…"
Quicker then the human eye was capable of observing, Lorelei's arm shot out and grabbed Rory's shirt collar, "Point made, oh child of evil. Put coffee back on table and step slowly away, or evil, nasty things shall befall you."
Rory smiled, "I'll see you later too." She leaned down and kissed her mother on the top of the head. "Don't pass out from sleep depravation today." Lifting he bag onto her back she turned to leave. "I hope you learned your lesson."
As she left the house, she thought she heard mumblings of an all-night M*A*S*H marathon scheduled for that night.
~*~*~
Once again Rory made her way to her locker. The day seemed to be a bit more amiable then its predecessor, for the door opened with ease. Surprised, but pleasantly so, she exchanged her books and set off to find her new morning class.
Feeling rather pleased with herself, she walked down the crowded halls of Chilton, an obliging locker, no Tristan, and she got to trade a period of French. Life just didn't get any better. Except for that nagging voice in the back of her mind that insisted Tristan wasn't that bad. She squelched it violently.
Room 213. This was it. She pushed open the door and found the class wasn't all there. She also saw her perfect morning shatter before her eyes, for sitting in the front row, her immaculate Chilton uniform pressed and cleaned, her patented maddening smirk spread across her face, was her scholarly adversary.
One Paris Gellar.
"Oy vey." She groaned as she shuffled over to an empty seat, Paris grinned wider.
"I thought you were taking French?"
'I'll show you French….' She thought with ill will. But Paris began speaking again.
"You need to go sign in." She said. An uncanny light in her normally glaring eyes. Rory, for good reason, felt unsettled, but rose to do what she said. With a backward glance, she approached the teachers desk.
"Hello." She greeted, the teacher merely looked up at her.
"Name?" came the bland response.
"Rory Gilmore." A shuffling of papers.
"I don't have a 'Rory Gilmore'." She responded.
"Oh, they must have put you had a 'Lorelei Gilmore', right?"
The old prune of a woman just shook her head.
"Look, don't waste my time, you're not in this class or you have a schedule problem. Get to class or go to the office."
Her feeling of unsettlement rising, she turned to gather her things. Paris just smirked. Rory scowled.
"What did you do Paris?" her anger getting the better of her.
"What did I do?" came the not in the slightest innocent reply. "I did nothing." How could a person smirk that hard and not split their face? "But I may have instigated a few changes…"
"What-" Cut off by the galling voice of the teacher, she was forced to leave.
Walking down the halls of Chilton once more, Rory didn't know quite how yet, but revenge would be sweet.
~*~*~
Over the past thirty minutes, Rory had acquired a noticeable twitch.
Paris had managed to switch her to public telecommunications. Public telecommunications! Her mind told her to calm down, it would all turn out okay. Her mind was an idiot. This would certainly not be okay. The rational part of her told her it would be best for her career choice anyway. Who needed rationality anyway?
In any event, it all might have ended okay. Key word being might. For upon entering her new classroom, and seeing only one face she knew, her heart hit the floor.
Of course, it made perfect sense. He would have to have chosen this course. That unbelievable cocky glance he tossed her way gave her the impression that he had done it for the sole purpose of making her life hell.
One semester.
One semester with Tristan DuGrey.
One semester with Tristan DuGrey and a dearth of coffee in this depraved school.
The twitch worsened.
~*~*~
He followed her with his eyes as she sat down, utterly defeated, utterly dejected. He wished he didn't smirk at her like he did. He wished that when she saw him he couldn't see that look of revolted horror in her eyes. He wished he could say he liked her, and wanted to be her friend.
Normally Tristan was not a believer in Fate. Or a believer in friendship for that matter, but as he felt unfamiliar emotions bubble up from their long hiatus as he glanced at her soft hair, he wondered. Could this be his second chance? Would he take it? Was she worth it?
Turning to gaze at her profile, perceiving an eye twitch, he smiled, a smile quite unlike the one he was used too. Perhaps, maybe just perhaps... things could be different.
The door opened, momentarily snapping him out of his elucidating thoughts, allowing their new teacher walk in.
"Welcome," he said, "To basic Public Communications."
~*~*~
To be continued…when the non-French speaking author gets around to
it…
