Authors: Summer and Joan

Title: Whispered Existence

Rating: R

Chapter Title: The Cycle Continues

Chapter Summary: Rory's first day of classes.

Dedication: To Betty. Because even though lately she's had her problems, she's always been there when we need her.

Authors' Notes:

Um, okay. So, this update took a while. Lets put it this way. My computer doesn't know how to save… at least not in English, Joan's computer, well, doesn't know how to work right now, and to put it bluntly, we've just sucked lately. Anyway, we hope you enjoy the chapter

-Summer, the manic outliner

Blame the slow updating on Summer. :p Nothing's ever my fault, no siree. Chaaaaaaaaad. I'm in a state of euphoria about One Tree Hill. Iaaaaan. Hope everyone loves Noel as much as I do!

-Joan, self proclaimed review whore

Special Note: We are aware that we are kind of… redoing Yale here, with Freshman living off campus, a Journalism major, etc. We were aware that we weren't getting everything "right" from the start. But that's where Summer's "screw convention" attitude plays a major part. In order for this story to work, things need to be a little different. Please bypass the little details and just enjoy our story! We work insanely hard on it.

Rory pulled her empty laptop bag out from under her bed, and proceeded to fill it with her supplies. Assorted pens, pencils and sticky notes went in the front flap. Her wallet, a calculator and a worn copy of the Fountainhead followed. Finally Rory slipped in her Apple iBook into the main compartment.

Swooping down towards her desk, Rory took a final sip of her coffee. She faintly remembered something her math teacher had said during her Chilton graduation, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

On graduation day, Rory felt more elated than she ever had. All her stress over the future, concern over Jess' absence and fear of leaving Lorelai were pushed away as she stood up on that podium. Now, her emotions were catching up with her and then some.

Rory worried about how hard her classes would be, her fellow Journalism majors being better versed, her professors being too tough. She worried about not finding her classes, being late, getting yelled at, not finding a good seat.

As Rory slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out, she just hoped that everything would turn out okay. It may not be the first day of the rest of he life, but it was most certainly her first day of college classes at Yale. She just hoped that it would be a nice beginning to her days as a Yale student.

Rory hesitantly entered the room at the end of the long hallway. Glancing inside, she was relieved to find a handful of students already inside. There were two life lessons Chilton had taught her- when trying something new, never be the first or the last to do so. Starting a new class seemed to count.

The students were dressed much like her. The boys wore khakis and button-down shirts; the girls skirts and blouses. Cool, crisp and professional. Rory mentally congratulated herself on her choice of the simple cotton skirt-shirt combination.

She took a seat in the front of the room, pulling out her laptop as she waited for class to start. She'd arrived five minutes early.

The professor walked in at exactly 9:30. She was young, probably in her early thirties. "I'm Professor Delaney, but I think that makes me sound too old, so you can call me Jessica."

Rory smiled at the teacher's informal introduction, so different from the reserved Chilton teachers.

Jessica smiled at the class, sitting on top of a desk at the front of the room. "I'm not big on the whole "sitting down, taking notes" kind of deal, because Journalism is hands-on, you know? So basically, today will be like an introduction, teach you the basics, what this course is about, what you should do. And next class… we'll meet outside." She pushed a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, glancing around. "You," she said, pointing to a boy in the front of the room. "What do you think the most important thing is to keep in mind when investigating a story?"

The boy sat straighter, tense. "Um…" He paused for a minute, then shrugged. "I don't know. Quoting sources?"

"No. Ethics. See, journalists get a bad name for intruding on people's privacy, breaking stories. Yet when cops do the same thing, they're heroes. So, anyone have any suggestions about what's pushing Journalism too far? Where are the boundaries?"

Rory thought over the question before tentatively raising her hand. Jessica nodded to her. "Yes?"

"It's all relative," Rory said slowly. "Depending on the kind of story. Stories that have less of an impact on the public… such as a fireman rescuing a cat or the president turning 52... those things aren't the kind of stories that people will be thinking about the next day. It's the serious stories, like murder or international conflict that, depending on how a reporter handles it, can scar that reporter's reputation. I think that most things are within a journalist's boundaries, but some things are pushing it. Such as interviewing a person who found the murdered body of a family member that day. It's one of those things that even if you get a good story, you'll still feel horrible at the end of the day, and everyone will think you are too."

Jessica nodded. "Exactly. Journalism is about Ethics. You can push them as far as you can handle pushing them. This is going to sound clichéd, but the public has a right to know the truth. And the public relies on journalism for this."

Rory smiled, leaning back in her chair. She'd enjoy this class.

Rory's hand shot up in the air. She knew the answer to that question. Rory quickly glanced around the room. Wow. Was she really the only one who could comprehend that? She had learned it junior year on the Franklin.

Suddenly, she noticed a hand waving franticly in the air. Rory craned her neck to peer around the large lecture hall. She noticed a long mane of blonde hair, sitting in the front row. The teacher looked down at her clipboard, "Yes. Miss...Gellar is it?" 'Gellar? Hmph,' Rory recognized that name.

Miss Gellar' swished her shiny long, dirty blonde hair and proceeded to give a long winded, complicated answer. Rory was shell shocked. She had really doubted that Paris would be at Yale. Could it be her? Or did she have some freaky long lost twin?

As Rory took in the signature blonde hair, and listened to her answer, she became sure. It had to be her. It had to be Paris.

Rory met up with Paris outside the room after class. They walked together from the building in silence, pleased to have met up with one another.

As they entered the courtyard, Rory opened her mouth to speak. "So, why Yale?" she asked bluntly, sidestepping overgrown shrubbery. "At the end of last year you seemed to be leaning toward Princeton."

Paris met her gaze, almost defiantly. "I was," she said simply.

"And…" Rory pushed hesitantly. Paris didn't usually need to be goaded.

Paris shrugged. "Well, it's closer to home, which is a pro. I can still see Nanny and the kids on the weekend."

Rory frowned. "What about Jamie? I know you're too smart to base your decision on him but shouldn't he have been a factor?"

"We broke up," Paris supplied smoothly, shrugging. "A few days after graduation."

"Oh." Rory wasn't sure what else she should say.

"Well, things started falling apart after my meltdown on C-SPAN, so I wasn't really surprised. I couldn't blame him. I knew it was coming and when it did, I felt… relieved."

Rory wasn't used to Paris being so forward with her emotions, at least not in such a calm way. "Do you guys still get along?" she asked, her thoughts turning toward her relationship with Jess.

"Yeah. We still talk once in awhile and email each other. What about you and…" Paris trailed off, unsure of the name.

"Jess," Rory supplied.

"Yeah. How's that going?"

"Not so good. He left. For Venice Beach, to seek out his dad. We haven't really talked."

"Oh, I thought it was weird he didn't show up at graduation. Had he already left?"

"Yeah. Drove a nice little wedge between me, my mom, and my grandmother though. I'm mad at him, so my mom's mad at him since I'm mad at him, so I'm mad at her for being mad at him for making me mad, and my grandmother's mad at my mom for making me mad because she's mad I'm mad… and the cycle continues."

"A lot of madness to go around," Paris quipped. The summer had seemed to loosen her up. "But I know the feeling. My parents and I don't get along very well either."

"Really? And I'm not really still mad at my mom but she and my grandmother are still mad at each other so…" Rory trailed off, shaking her head.

"Yeah, really." Paris chose to ignore the second part of the statement. "That's actually part of the reason I chose Yale. Breaking the Gellar tradition and all."

Rory vaguely remembered that five generations of Gellars had gone to Harvard.

"Listen," Paris continued, "I haven't talked to you since graduation. Why don't you come to my room tonight and we can talk?" She scribbled her dorm room number and phone number on a sheet of paper she'd ripped loose from a binder.

"Okay," Rory answered. It wasn't like she was doing anything anyway.

It was 11:20. Rory sighed, glancing at her watch. The class started at 11, but the teacher still hadn't shown up. She'd figured Russian Literature wouldn't be the most conventional class given the subject matter, but she'd never thought the professor would skip out on the first day.

She stood up, deciding there was no point in staying here if there wasn't going to be a class.

"Generally, a teacher would apologize for being late, but I'm not like that. Hell, I'm not even a teacher. I'm an assistant."

Rory tensed at the voice, sitting back down and spinning around toward the source. A dark-haired man stood in the back of the room, looking over the class. "This is certainly a larger group than I was expecting," he started. "There was originally going to be three classes, I heard. However your professor, Mr. Mironov, is out for the next month or so due to a surgery. So, you're left with me. Sorry about that."

Rory watched as he started walking down the rows of bleacher like seats, handing out half sheets of paper randomly. "Somehow, they thought combining three classes into one would make it easier for me. I have absolutely no idea what they were thinking."

He stopped in front of Rory, handing her a sheet of paper. Rory took the paper from his hand hesitantly, glancing up at him. He wasn't much older than her, she realized. "What is-" she started to ask, but he'd already started walking off.

"Many of you are probably staring at me… or the paper, depending on what yours says… having no idea what to think of this. You each have three words on the paper. The first is a title, and the second and third are themes. And to prove you deserve to be in this class, you're going to have to explain to me how each theme relates to the novel and what each theme… and the novel's… importance is."

Rory glanced down at her paper. Lolita. Lust. Violence.

"If you haven't read the novel, I have extra copies. Come by tomorrow and you can sign one out."

Rory sighed. She'd see him tomorrow then. Lolita had never been her kind of story.