Author's note: Thanks for the feedback you so graciously bestowed. This story doesn't deserve it in the slightest. I have finally figured out where I am going with this story. Just be patient. I wanted to make this part a bit longer, but I thought that since I got this far, I would go ahead and post to let you all know that I hadn't forgotten about it. This is what I like to call fic without substance. i.e. filler. As for those death threats I've received (well, not entirely death threats), let's just remember I write for my own pleasure above anyone else's. So I sound a bit selfish? Tough cookies.
Also, for the most current updates, or progression on the story, be sure to check out our website. It's listed in my profile, Der.
Part 6
Shuffling her feet on the ceramic tile, she hovered, waiting patiently for the hallway traffic to clear. She stood for a few moments, bumping into her peers as each hurried past, trying to make the most of the five minute break. Seeing a brief opening in the bodies, she weaved her way through the crowd at last able to come face to face with her metal home. Her fingers deftly spun the combination on her locker as she rolled her eyes at the gaudy decoration gracing it's front. Apparently some overly-caffeinated member of the spirit club thought each court member and escort needed further humiliation by announcing to the entire school that they were the chosen ones. As if she needed any further help in the embarrassment department. She had tried to dispose of the awful piece of "art" in the parking lot dumpster, only to have it replaced with another crisp and proper design within hours. After a second attempt with the same results, she had finally given up, resigning herself to the fact that humiliation at this school would be a constant presence.
Finishing out the combination, she swung open the locker door, not bothering to catch it as it opened wide, banging into the front of the locker next to hers. She didn't care much that her action slightly crumpled the identical decoration plastered to the front of Paris' locker.
The irony of their situation almost made her laugh. In the history of the Founder's Court, no sophomore had ever been selected to the prestigious position. Even though in theory, the court was open to all students, nominations tended to fall to the elite seniors of Chilton's student body. Yet for some unknown reason, this year two had been chosen. And at least one of the nominees was taking this seriously.
Paris had been ecstatic when she had been selected, finally having her hard work and effort pay off for something. She viewed the nomination as an honor, bestowed upon her by the students and faculty who respected her for what she did. She had visions of going down in the books as the first to break tradition, transcending the elusive glass ceiling looming over her peers. Her fantasy world came crashing down the moment she found our Rory had also made the Court. The honor of being the first sophomore nominee in history had to be shared with the one girl who was her competition in everything.
In a way, the two were more alike than either would like to admit. Both were intelligent, involved, and in the end, even a bit self-conscious. Had their backgrounds been similar, the two may have actually been friends growing up. As it was, they also had their share of differences, notably in how they reacted to this honor. When they heard the news, Paris had ran home to please her parents with her accomplishments, while Rory had sought out her mother for comfort in her defeat.
She exchanged the books in her bookbag with those in her locker. Wrapping her petite fingers around the oversized spine of her Literature notebook, she pulled it from it's lodging, using her elbow to swing the locker door back to its closed position. Regardless of her personal turmoils, she still had an academic career to look out for. And on the bright side, this whole ordeal would provide a self-promoting byline on her Harvard application.
Swinging her bag over her shoulder she waited for an opportunity to reenter the flow of bodies. Glancing across the hall, she noticed the decoration still in place on Todd's locker. He at least had the decency to turn it over, the imperfection of the back side relaying his opinion of the childish enthusiasm. His antics made her smile a bit. At least some people had a sense of humor. He was vice president of the sophomore class, all-state high jumper, honor student, and her escort for this weekend's festivities.
She merged with the crowd, blending into the sea of blue plaid. She was satisfied with her decision to ask Todd, and a little astonished at herself that she had mustered the courage to approach him. He was a nice enough guy, sat behind her in economics and often offered his notes on the rare occasion when she missed class. She wouldn't necessarily call him a friend, but a friendly face at that stone castle was not something she took for granted. She had registered the shock on his face the day she asked him, pausing to ask if she was serious before he would answer. For he, like most of her fellow classmates, assumed that she would be asking Mr. Chilton himself.
She briefly looked over at his closed locker, it's bare front seemingly out of place with those surrounding it. Everyone, including her, had assumed that he would be escorting one of the nominees. He was, after all, the be all and end all of what a Chilton male should be. Any of the five girls should be honored to walk into that room with him on her arm. She knew that she herself could not ask him to do this for her, not after the way she had ended things. She half expected Paris to jump at the opportunity when she learned that Rory had selected someone else. However, be it out of respect for Rory, or more likely disdain for Tristan, she had settled on a lesser known, yet equally as attractive junior. Either no one else had offered, or he had declined. For as it was, his locker remained bare.
Adjusting the strap over her shoulder, she shook her head, freeing herself of the traces of guilt and proceeded onward to her next class.
She pressed harder on her new pen, scribbling furiously as she tried to dislodge the ink from its tip. The harder she fought it, the deeper the indentations became on the notebook paper. Her eyes glanced up briefly, landing on the pacing figure of her instructor as he continued to pace the worn path in front of the class, spouting out the intricacies of supply and demand. Cursing the god of pens, she tossed it into the pocket of her bookbag as she tried to quietly rummage for another.
She was aware that every second another fact that she should be committing to memory passed from the lips of her instructor. She reached deeper into the pocket, turning her head to the front as she strained, her eyes locking with her instructor. He paused his movements but continued to lecture, while simultaneously giving her a scolding look. A flush of embarrassment crept up her cheeks as she futily searched for the non-existent pen. She berated herself for not carrying a spare, foolishly expecting that a pen fresh from the package would perform it's sole duty of writing.
Sparing herself further attention, she sighed and straightened back into her chair. Slumping in defeat, she turned her focus to the monotonous tone of her instructor's voice, intent on memorizing each and every word.
A few seconds later, she felt a light tapping on her left shoulder. In her focused state, she wasn't sure if the gesture were real or imagined. Not wanting to draw the wary eye of the man in charge, she thought it best to ignore the feeble attempt to gain her attention. Moment's later, she felt a brushing up against her arm, as the good Samaritan behind her reached around laying a pen on the arm of her desk. Her eyes brightened as she took hold of the proffered object, uncapping it and testing it on her notebook. The ink flowed freely and she breathed a sigh of relief.
When she was certain she was free from the evil stare, she turned her head away from the instructor, briefly facing her savior. She smiled timidly, mouthing a silent 'thank you', receiving Todd's confident smile and nod of the head as acknowledgement. She turned and faced front, feverishly writing the tidbits she had picked up earlier.
Smiling slightly, she thought to herself. Maybe this making friends thing wasn't such a bad idea.
Minutes later, the shrill bell rang out, effectively ending another hectic school day. Rory stood from her chair, reaching down and swinging her bag up onto her seat. She gathered up her belongings, shoving her notebook and text into the already exploding back, she zippered it shut, eyeing Todd as he did the same.
Stretching out her arm, she returned the pen to it's rightful owner. "Thank you for that. You're a lifesaver."
He smiled a sweet, but confident smile as he accepted her offering. His dark brown locks were styled neatly in short cut and his darkly tanned skin contrasted with the blue blazer. Having been a track athlete for years, the time spent outdoors greatly helped his complexion and the exercise undoubtedly toned the muscles his jacket hid. He stood a stout six feet tall, his eyeline about even with the top of her head.
Shoving his books comfortably under his arm, he tried his hand at witty humor. "Well, I was only aiming for GPA-saver, but I'll take the upgrade."
He turned and headed for the door, holding it back as he allowed her to pass. She graciously thanked him, and started in the direction of the main door.
He fell in step beside her, shortening his strides to let her keep up the pace. "Can I ask you a question?"
"It's a free country." She smiled .
He was silent a moment, as if trying to find the right words. "What's the deal with you and DuGrey?"
She was taken aback by the question, her shock causing her to hitch her step. Recovering quickly she pressed on down the hall. "Ask me anything but that question."
Sensing her reluctance, he decided to test the bounds of their acquaintance and pressed onward with the unpopular topic. "No, really. Is there something going on there that I should know about?" He watched her face for any telltale signs. "It's just that ever since you asked me to this soiree, I keep looking over my shoulder, half expecting him to come out of the shadows and deck me for socializing with his woman."
At that , she all but stopped in her tracks. She knew that their relationship had stirred questions among the inner circles, but she had never prepared herself to be asked point blank about the situation by anyone other than Paris.
She stumbled over the words, as she thought of the best way to convey the situation. Had it been anyone else, she would have been appalled at his audacity. However, since he was doing her this favor, she thought he had a right to ask. "We're not together....we never were." She paused briefly and continued. "We were just friends, and now...." she drifted off. Quieter she uttered, "Now I'm not sure."
He gave her the once over with his eyes. "Well, I find it all very fascinating. It reminds me of one of those angsty soap operas." He waved his hands in the air as he spoke. "Boy likes girl. Girl hates boy. Girl falls for boy but won't admit it to herself. Girl and boy just can't get it together." He watched her eyes, seeing a slight flash that confirmed his guess. She remained quiet as he continued. "And let's not forget the scorned and jealous wife. The girl who has loved the boy all her life, only to have him stolen by the sweet newcomer. It's all textbook, I tell ya."
Rory flushed as the problems in her life were simplified into a few sentences. Sensing her aversion to the conversation, he quickly changed the subject.
"I'd offer you a ride home but we've got a meet tonight."
She shook her head knowingly. "Oh, that's O.K. I don't mind the bus. It gives me a chance to wind down a bit before rejoining civilization." As insane as it sounded, it was true. The bus ride home was generally pleasant with few distractions to lull her out of her trance.
They reached the main entrance. He reached out, opening the heavy oaken doors and repeating his earlier gesture. His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back as he ushered her through. She was aware of the physical contact, but also noticed the lack of sensation his actions brought. There was no tingling, no burning sensation where his body met hers. She wasn't certain whether she should be alarmed or relieved at the revelation.
"So." He paused at the base of the steps, knowing they had to part ways as she headed for the bus, and he for the practice field. "We probably should work out the details of this shindig, don't you think?"
She turned her body to face him, adjusting her bag to a more comfortable position over her shoulder. Tilting her chin up to meet his eyes she smiled. "I was hoping we could kinda wing it."
He glanced over her shoulder for a moment before his eyes settled back on hers. "That would be fine with me, but I think I should at least know when and where to pick you up."
She shifted her weight on her feet. "I guess that would be a good idea." She reached into her bag, pulling out a scrap of paper. Forgetting that she didn't have a workable pen, she laughed as Todd waved the pen teasingly in front of her.
"Perhaps you should keep this."
She took the pen, scribbling down her digits onto the scrap. "Here's my phone number. Call me sometime tonight after you get home, and we'll get everything worked out.."
He took the note, shoving it into the pocket of his twill pants. Taking a few steps backward, he called out. "I guess I'll talk to you later then."
She nodded her head in agreement, as both turned and walked in their separate directions.
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Tristan angled the car into the lot, pulling in smoothly next to pump number five as he hit the brakes, screeching to a stop. He threw open the door, hopping out, and kicking it closed with his foot. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the Visa his parents had given him, swiping it through the reader on the machine.
He hated buying gas. It was one of those activities that seemed pointless, because no matter how frequently he filled up, he knew that he would have to do it again in a few days. It was futile really. His father's car guy had offered to take it out on the evenings that he did his father's cars, but Tristan politely refused. The maintenance guy was a good friend to his parents, and he didn't need him reporting back to them, mileage sheet in hand. So instead, he resigned himself to doing the dreaded task on his own.
His parents would have a hissy fit if they had any idea how much time he spent out driving. He didn't go anywhere in particular, mostly driving to calm his nerves, or simply take him away from his facade of a home. Occasionally he would find himself wandering through the small town of Stars Hollow, quickly catching himself before he would be recognized. He knew that was unlikely since his visits usually happened well into the night, at times when he couldn't get her out of his thoughts and needed to be somewhere, anywhere close to her.
He busied himself with the task at hand, reminding himself of the promise he had made. The promise not to think, speak, or relive anything having to do with Rory Gilmore. A vow that was easily broken.
He returned the handle to it's place, making certain to replace the gas cap and shut the small door. He reached over and grabbed the receipt. Opening the door to his car, he swung his leg in, pulling himself into the plush interior, and shutting the door behind him. Out of habit he leaned across the passenger seat, flipping open the glove compartment and adding the receipt to the stacks of others hidden within. In his swift movement, he dislodged a black box, sending it to the floor with a soft thump.
He reached down, grasping blindly for the object that had managed to bounce under the seat. Encountering it with his fingers, he wrapped his hand around it, pulling it from its hiding place. As he returned it to the glove box, its shape and writing caught his eye, and he stopped his movement, instead pulling it to him.
Opening it slowly, he ran a finger over the velvet lining, still indented from the necklace that belonged inside. He hadn't seen it since that night, the night when he had placed it around her neck His mind returned to thoughts of that night, a barrage of feelings and emotions betraying the promise he had made to himself, unable to control the wave of nostalgia as it flooded over him. He could see her in his mind, passing before his eyes in a sea of red, her smile sending shivers through his spine.
He had barely spoken to her since that fateful night on her porch, still not certain of his next move. He had told himself to forget her many times, but his mind and body refused to let go of the one thing that had been pulling him forward. She had made it clear that night that she could not, or rather would not get involved with him. Yet part of his heart held a shred of hope that time would change her mind. And he was willing to wait as long as it would take.
The beeping of a car horn jolted him out of his reverie. An impatient driver hovered behind him, waiting for him to vacate the pump. Snapping the box shut, he threw it back into the compartment, shutting the door, and vanishing it from his sight. With one hand he pulled the seatbelt over his shoulder, fastening it into place while his other hand turned the key, then shifted into gear as he pulled away.
Flopping onto the sofa, Rory grabbed her history notes and began the monotonous task of highlighting. She glanced across the room at her best friend, curled up in a chair with the latest issue of Cosmo. On the eighth of every month, like clockwork, Lane would appear, ready to delve into the latest issue of her guilty pleasure. Mrs. Kim prevented her from reading such trash, and was in fact, the instigator in having all such magazines removed from Doose's market. Luckily for Lane, the Gilmores had an unending subscription to the forbidden fruit.
She was deep into one of the quizzes when she felt Rory's eyes upon her. She looked up, only to catch Rory's gaze focus back on the notes in front of her. Things had been awkward between the two since her encounter with Tristan. An encounter that Rory remained unaware of its occurrence. She was most likely confused as to what had changed, but knew without a doubt that something was noticeably different.
Lane had wanted to confront her about the information she discovered that day, to ask what Tristan had meant about the non-Dean kiss. She couldn't bring herself to broach the subject, knowing that in doing so she would reveal herself to Rory. She didn't know how Rory would react to her having approached Tristan, but instinct told her it would not be pretty. Especially if she ever came around to the realization of Lane's motives. Instead, a momentary awkwardness grew between the two, increasing emotional separation between them.
Rory's head shot up, her eyes darting around the room. "Do you hear that?"
Lane looked at her puzzled. "That mumbled sound? Isn't that your phone?" She was used to the scavenger hunts that ensued each and every time the Gilmore phone rang.
Rory held a finger to her lips, shushing her as she stealthily moved about the room. With each distant sound, her head turned in a new direction, pinpointing the location of the desired object. On the next ring, she plunged her hand into a basket of folded clothing, emerging with phone in hand and smile of triumph plastered to her face. Lane grinned knowingly.
Rory's fingers pressed the keys, ending the now shrill ringing of the phone, placing it to her ear. "Hello?"
Lane half listened to the conversation taking place at the opposite end of the room. She had gathered enough to know that the caller was none other than Todd, Rory's escort to this weekend's festivities. She heard Rory's voice change, overcome with a sound of panic and concern. Looking up from the magazine in her lap, she saw her eyes widening and look of anxiety spread over her face. Watching with concern, she listened as Rory wished him good luck, and apologized for something Lane had yet to figure out from the one sided conversation.
Clicking off the phone, she threw it to the side, turning to face her best friend.
"Is something wrong?," Lane quickly prodded as soon as Rory had set the phone aside.
"Todd tore something in his knee today. Something about miscalculating his approach, jumping from the wrong spot, and landing awkwardly on the bag. His leg twisted the wrong way and now he's torn something." She slouched back against the couch. "They did some tests and scans tonight to confirm the damage, and they're keeping him at the hospital until they decide what they want to do. He's most likely having surgery of some sort over the next few days."
Lane's face contorted as she thought of the pain he must be in. "Wow. That sucks for him."
"Yeah," she agreed.
"And sucks for you," Lane added.
"Yeah." Rory was finding it difficult to form more than one word sentences. The big night was less than forty-eight hours away, and her escort was taking an unfortunate detour through the hospital. She needed another escort, and had very little time to seek one out.
A few moments passed as Rory stared at the coffee table, and Lane watched her intently, Lane finally breaking the silence. "What are you going to do?" She knew that Rory was not looking forward to this event in the first place, and this added inconvenience was not likely to help in the enthusiasm department.
Rory sighed heavily. "I'm going to have to find a new escort."
Lane looked her over quietly, pressing forward with the issue. "Have anyone in mind?" She knew that Rory's contacts at school were minimal, and her only likely option was going to be Tristan.
Rory breathed deeply, speaking out loud, but addressing herself more than speaking to Lane. "I can't ask him. It would be too weird."
Lane shifted in her seat, tossing the magazine to the side and bracing herself for the conversation she was delving into. "Who? Tristan?"
Rory shrugged her shoulders. "He's the only other guy I even know."
Lane anxiously anticipated her response to the next question. "Why would it be weird." She was watching her words carefully, seeing to it that Rory was leading this conversation.
She scooted forward on the couch, planting her feet on the carpeted floor. "There's too much history there. Too many old wounds I don't want to open." She picked up her empty coffee cup, standing and making her way to the kitchen. She headed straight for the coffee pot, it's endless supply welcome at a time like this. While she refilled her cup, Lane sat in the other room, forming the words for her next statement in her mind. She heard her call out.
"What do you mean by history? I thought you guys only went out that one night."
A small wave of guilt passed over her as she took a sip from her mug. She had never taken the time to tell her best friend about that first night with Tristan. She had been so busy crying on the way home, she hadn't been able to form a coherent word about it. And Lane respected her enough not to pry into the matter. She knew she would tell her when she was ready.
Only she hadn't. Days had turned into weeks, and still Rory had not enlightened her to the other aspects of the Tristan/Rory dynamic. As time passed, she found it harder and harder to bring up the topic out of the blue, and convincing herself it wasn't an important issue in the first place. She had let something slip once during her wallowing over Dean, cluing her astute mother into the night's happenings. Her mother had been taken aback, not sure how to process that her sensitive daughter had been fraternizing with the enemy. But the secret had remained between the two of them.
She couldn't keep it secret any longer, and decided it was going to be now or never. Inhaling deeply, she trudged back into the living room, prepared to spill her deepest and darkest secrets to the person who thought she knew them all anyway.
End Part 6
End note: Yes I am well aware that most high jumpers would be so sound in their technique that they would not make a simple mistake as I have made him commit. I'm just trying to find the easiest way to not drone on and on. As for the medical aspect, I could have gotten into that a lot further too, but I highly doubt anyone would like to read the medical jargon I have to sift through every day.
Feedback is greatly appreciated. Though highly undeserved.