Author's Note: Okay here are Paris' thoughts as a child of high society.  It features a very pissed off Paris who is obsessed with being perfect so if you don't like that idea, don't read.  You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Must I do this every chapter?  It's getting very depressing to keep saying I don't own Gilmore Girls and that they all belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB.

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"Perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away"
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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I'm not a very interesting person.  There's nothing special about me.  I don't do the whole prancing down the hall with a skirt the size of a band-aid sort of thing.  So I don't know why people keep looking at me as I pass.  I have a massive urge to scream, 'Get a life, you morons.'  My dignity stops me from doing so.  If I didn't have that, then nothing would stop me from doing things I wouldn't normally do.

I saunter down to my locker and found the space in front of it occupied by Chilton's king and his latest slut, practically ready to procreate.  I scowl angrily.  I can usually put up with Tristan's antics but not today.  Not thinking about what I was doing, I shove the both of them out of my way, causing the two to topple on the floor.

They both stare at me from their place on the ground and I glare back at them.  And then it hits me.  What I'd just done.  Oh. My. God.  Where did that come from?  I am a firm believer of planning my life.  Every step I take, every word that comes out of my mouth has been planned.  That push was not part of the plan.  I was going to go to my locker and then go home.  So where did that come from?

If life were a game of chess, I would probably win every match.  It's important to map out your next move and I do that every day of my life.  A sudden movement, like the one I had just pulled, disturbs the balance of my existence, knocking over the chessboard, toppling the pieces onto the floor.

They were still staring at me.  Tristan and his girlfriend were still in shock.  Everybody in the hallway was stopping and gawking.  The urge is returning.  I open my mouth to scream but stop myself in time.  I cannot move.  Literally.  It feels as though my feet are glued permanently to the floor.  Ha.  The floor.  Now there's an interesting coincidence.  It's tiled black and white, like a chessboard.  Maybe that's where I got this whole planning-my-life thing.  When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to play chess.  I was just a careless little girl back then.  I understood the rules but I didn't put any thought into my movements.  I carelessly moved my pawns, bishops and castles and let each one get swept away by my opponent.

And then I came across this phrase: 'To stay ahead, you must have your next idea waiting in the wings'.  I suppose it was then I got my motivation to always be number one.  I wouldn't let anything or anyone stand in my way.  It became an obsession.  Being perfect, getting top grades.  I needed to know where I stood in this world and I did not want to settle for anything less than the top.

From then on, no one was able to compete with me.  No one.  And it sucked.  Being the best means beating the best and there is not a single student at Chilton who is capable of being my competition.  Except maybe Rory Gilmore.  It's funny.  I always wanted someone to compete with and when I got it, I wished for her to go away.  Be careful what you wish for.  I won't make that mistake again.

And now we're back to my present problem.  The hall is silent and I haven't moved.  Tristan is still on the floor, gaping at me.  It was weird.  I was getting an odd feeling from what I'd just done.  I wasn't sure what it was.

Finally, I just open my locker, grab the books I need and head for the front hall.  People are starting to move now, whispering quietly among themselves, pointing at me.  I can't even begin to imagine what they're saying.  The mind works funny like that.

I wonder how long it's been since I pushed Chilton's golden boy.  It felt like hours.

"Did you hear Annie?" a girl whispered frantically.  "Paris Geller pushed Tristan DuGrey like five minutes ago."

Five minutes?  That was a pretty long time for the halls of Chilton to stay quiet.

"I know, Lauren," her friend replied.  "That girl has some psychotic issues to deal with."

I breeze by them without giving them a second glance.  Psychotic, huh?  Was that what that feeling was?

Strange- it felt more like satisfaction.