Disclaimer: Not mine. Lyrics: "A Poor Wayfaring Stranger" from Eva by Heart. Some of the conversation are quotes, taken directly or paraphrased, from The X-Files, episode 5X04, Detour, ‹ by Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement intended. Those who can guess which ones will earn an extra brownie point! Lafayette Hall and the student building, the Marvin Center, really do exist. However, the auditorium was my own invention (at least I hope so!).
Many, many thanks to the people who reviewed and critiqued the first chapter. Your words are much appreciated. Please send comments and corrections to jcd1013@yahoo.com. I love reviews!
Chapter 2:
I am a poor wayfaring stranger
While journeying through this world of woe...
I know dark clouds will gather 'round me,
I know my way is rough and steep...
Paris tapped her fingers impatiently against the counter and resisted looking at her watch again. That incompetent clerk, if a freshman boy with zits could aspire to that title, had left her four minutes ago, with little indication that he was going to get the manager as he professed. She hated dealing with people who really shouldn't risk stepping outside in case their few remaining brain cells blew away. And of course, Rory had made some excuse of getting the rest of the bags from the car and had left her to argue with the clerk about the rooms.
She sighed. If today was any sign, it was going to be a really long six weeks. Yes, she was happy to be here, but the thought of rooming with Rory, in a too small dorm room, was upsetting, especially now since it looked like she was going to be moody about the whole thing. The tension in the car yesterday had lightened up after Rory had discovered the CD--in fact, Rory had talked about the latest Stars Hollow scandal, where Luke had put up a "No Taylors Allowed" sign in his cafŽ. He professed that it was an honest misspelling and that he had the right to serve who he chose, but Taylor was still furious. Paris also had opened up and they had chatted quite pleasantly about places they wanted to visit someday.
But the friendly atmosphere had faded by the time they hit the city. Paris had watched the anger sweep across Rory's face when she found out that the dates were mixed up (why couldn't people have things marked clearly on packets?! How hard is it to make sure that the day matched the date) and it did not bode well for the rest of the trip. Yes, she had made a tiny mistake, but it wasn't the end of the world. Actually, Paris preferred arriving like this-plenty of time to scope out the locations, without all of the sweat and anxiety as they hurried around like lost little sheep. And because of their early arrival, they would now get the best room-that is if pimple boy would ever come back.
In all honesty, she didn't know how she felt about Rory. Two years they had known each other, and she still didn't know if she could classify Rory under the "friends" category. Deep down, she had this nagging feeling that the only reason Rory spent anytime with her was because she pitied her. At least with Madeline and Louise, Paris knew exactly where she stood with them-the bonds of kindergarten and money holding their relationship together. They might think that she was uptight and power hungry, and she may get irritated at their immature behavior, but they knew each other well enough that it really didn't matter. But with Rory... In some strange way, she had become a charity case for Rory. Paris was almost nervous at the thought of spending six weeks with the girl, only to have her go home and sigh to her mother how relieved she was to be out of her company.
Wonderful. The boy had been gone long enough for her to completely psychoanalyze her friendship with Rory. And people wondered why she was so terse.
"Excuse me?? I recall I asked for some assistance! Did you get lost? Perhaps I should come back there and-"
"Miss Gellar? I'm the resident advisor. I understand there is a problem?"
Finally! She turned to the man, pasting her most professional "I Mean Business" look on her face. "A problem? Yes, there is a problem. There is a tree outside the room that I am booked in. I am allergic to trees. Trees block the sun, preventing me from studying. I have to study. I need a new room."
"Ms. Gellar, let's see. You're from Chilton, right? Hmm, you and Lorelai Gilmore are the only females from your school attending. It looks like a girl from Ohio is missing a roommate and she has a room on the fourth floor, but that's the only one available. You could room with her." He paused, his finger posed above the keyboard, ready to make the necessary changes.
Paris panicked. While living with Rory might not be the ideal situation, it surely beat staying with some unknown girl from Ohio or wherever. For the first time in her life, Paris backed down. "No! No, I suppose the room will have to do. Thank you." She grabbed the key from the table and pivoted on her heel, intent on making a quick break away.
She could have killed herself. He was moments away from breaking down; she could sense the cracks in his matter-of-fact exterior. A minute more and she could have argued to just switch rooms entirely. It wasn't like any one else had arrived; no one would even know. But she had had a moment of weakness and hadn't even pursued it.
The summer seemed to stretch infinitely before her.
Pairs peered out the glass doors, looking for Rory. A bus had pulled in while she was haggling for the room--it appeared that the other students had arrived, for teenagers milled around the parking lot of the dorms, while college students (yep, more freshmen) wearing brightly colored t-shirts tried to organize them into groups. Paris quickly scanned the crowd. Yes, there she was--the woman who was in charge. She was wearing a red t-shirt, which proclaimed in loud letters "Head Cheese" and seemed to be directing the younger students as she pulled boxes from her van.
Paris pressed forward, picking her way through the crowd. If she could introduce herself to the head lady, there was a chance that this trip could be salvaged. She could get a packet and look over the conference, as well as find out about any materials she might need.
Her face intent and determined, she failed to notice the spiraling football, or the lanky boy chasing after it. Until they both simultaneously slammed into her.
She actually saw stars, little flecks of light that moved across the fuzzy black. Her befuddled mind tried to process what exactly it meant, but she could only concentrate on the fact that she must not fall in front of all of these people! Somehow, she managed to keep her balance, although she stumbled hard into people gathered behind her. She closed her eyes, trying to process the pain, as murmurs of concerns filtered into her ears. She groaned, and slowly opened her eyes, seeking out something to focus on. Faces swarmed in and out of focus, but the one that she noticed was bent close to her, mumbling over and over again "I'm really, really sorry, I didn't see her" and "oh, man, she's going to kill me." Brad looked pale and sick. He turned green as he noticed Paris focus her steely gaze on him.
One of the perky young counselors ran up, holding a portable first aid kit, (one that didn't look nearly as functional as her own design) and tried to move her away from the crowd. Clucking "oh you poor dear, let's get you inside" as if she was Paris's grandmother, she felt her forehead. Embarrassment flooded Paris's body, blood rushing to redden her face and ears. Great, this was just how she wanted to be introduced to every one, by some hen-mother freshman, who obviously had extremely little training in first aid.
"I'm fine!" She snapped, brushing off the girl and straightening her shirt. Her face must have convinced her that she meant business, because the girl scuttled off quickly after the obligatory "Well, if you're sure?" exchange. Paris noted, with a grimace and a wave of anger, that Brad had also taken the opportunity to disappear. It was just as well. She was in the mood to strangle someone.
Purposefully, she swiveled and strolled back into the dorm lobby, head held high, holding tears back with determined practice. Hopefully, Rory would have some aspirin. She could sense a roaring headache developing.
Paris marched determinedly to the front of the room. Good, there were still seats available, although she would have to settle for ones more on the left than she would have liked.
"Do we have to sit so close?" Rory's voice was almost a whine, and Paris glanced back momentarily at her roommate who was rubbing her sleepy eyes.
"Yes. That way we can take good notes and get into productive small groups if necessary. It's the only way to let the teachers know that you are one of the people actually here to work, not play. Have you forgotten that Harvard wants letters of recommendation too?" She barked impatiently, shifting the pile of notebooks to the empty desk.
"Couldn't we at least stop for coffee? Paris, I'm going to be falling asleep and it's going to look really bad if I do that on the front row."
"Fine. You go, I'll wait here and save your seat. Maybe next time, you'll actually wake up on time." But Rory had already left and missed her departing remarks.
She was angry and rather resentful. The incident with Brad yesterday had turned into more than just a sign of doom for the summer-more like prophecy fulfilled. Most of the afternoon had swirled around the other students locating their new homes for the summer and unpacking, but the dinner, the dinner that she had so looked forward to, had been a complete waste. Rory had disappeared after gulping down her food and the only conversation she had initiated had been interrupted by Brad's profuse apologies. She tried coolly brushing him off, but finally had to resort to barking at him to make him leave-and her conversation partner had quickly followed suit. There went her one chance to salvage this summer and make it different.
So, she had given up and headed for their small, tree-infected room, hoping to at least talk to Rory, see if she had any ideas about how to deal with the situation. Rory was so much better at these social situations. But Rory had been on the phone, and when she finally got off, she had ignored Paris's attempts to converse. And finally, Paris let the words fade into silence and readied for bed. Perhaps tomorrow would be better.... Sleep was a long time coming, interrupted by Rory's giggles on the phone outside their room.
She had been up at dawn, not needing an alarm to awaken. While Rory seemed to be the type who would get up early to read Walden by the pale light, (although having been witness to this morning's Without-Coffee-Rory, she honestly couldn't see Rory doing that either), for Paris it was simply that she detested being late and rushed. Too many of her memories of elementary school revolved around trying to awaken her mother from her alcohol-induced slumber and the subsequent embarrassment as she walked into class forty minutes late, her hair unbrushed, shoes untied. The day that she had been deemed old enough to walk to school by herself, she had vowed never to be late again. Of course by that time her parents had decided that raising a child hampered their personal lives and she spent most of the time with her nanny anyway. She never mourned the fact.
Paris had showered and dressed, choosing her clothing with regards to the high likelihood of no air conditioning in the auditorium that they were meeting in, while also remaining professional. She'd left to grab some breakfast, bagels without cream cheese, and had come back, slamming the door each time. She had even blown dried her hair and Rory had slept through it all.
She had debated whether or not just to leave her-Rory didn't expect her to wake her up every morning, did she? She wasn't going to be her nursemaid or mother or anything. And she hated touching people when they were asleep. What if she jumped or screamed? But she couldn't leave her, so she settled for kicking the bed and loudly calling her name. It had worked; Rory had frantically dressed, ignoring her roommate's pointed comments.
Lafayette Hall, the place that the students were staying, was right next to the student center where they were meeting that morning, so thankfully Paris didn't feel flushed when they walked into the room, a large, "theater-style" auditorium, decorated with cherubic pink angels that the early fifties had obsessed about. It was sickening. Paris resolved on the spot to remove George Washington from her college backup list-there was no way that she could spend four years in a room like this.
With a final involuntary shudder at those stupid angels, Paris surreptitiously glanced around the room, grateful for a chance to finally observe the other students. They didn't seem to remember yesterday's incident; at least none were pointing or whispering in her direction. She felt relief and a surge of anger that she actually cared what they thought.
As was always the case, the "cliques" had already started forming-the class clowns, "let's see how much disruption we can cause" were gathered up near the top, laughing over some kind of picture. The juvenility of the male species was beyond her comprehension. A few of the "couldn't leave until my makeup was perfect" girls were seated behind her a few rows. Paris squinted and decided that one looked like Louise with a bad hair dye-that horrible tin-color red, which just screamed "For Sale, Cheap!"
There were the loners scattered across the room, carefully placed so that the seat on each side was empty. In the center rows were clustered the ones who decided that sitting next to someone they at least knew was preferred-people who under normal circumstances would never dream of acknowledging with a nod. She spied the four other Chilton students doing just that. Brad sat by a sophomore boy (Paris vaguely remembered that he was some sort of baseball superstar in the school-Tad? Ted? She'd never taken the time to learn his name before, and you know, it really didn't bother her). Brad paled as he noticed her glance and Baseball Boy, following his glance, timidly put up a hand in a mini-wave, his eyes bulging like a deer's caught in the headlights. Paris turned away after a searing lookdown at Brad; there was no way she was letting him ruin her day.
Only one or two looked like possibilities, those who were actually here to learn and would be worthwhile in a small group setting. She mentally committed to approaching the girl sitting kitty-corner behind her: her notebooks were plain and opened, completely doodle-free, a fresh, attentive look on her face as she coolly looked around her. She made eye contact with Paris and smiled slightly.
Paris relaxed and gave her first non-scowl of the day back. So far, immature boys aside, things didn't look so bad. She pulled out the pamphlet again and scanned over it and felt the initial excitement build back up in her bloodstream.
Rory slid into the seat just as the woman, whom she had dubbed the Head Cheese the day before, walked up to the front of the auditorium, minus the tacky tee-shirt. Although she had introduced herself at the welcome dinner the night before, her name had evaporated from Paris's memory. It took a minute for the rest of her peers to realize that someone in authority was trying to talk to them-the noise level slowly drained to silence.
The woman smiled. "I know we did the unofficial welcome last night, but let me say again how excited we are to have you here.
"I'm Susanne Krum, director of the Auxiliary Government for Youth, a non-profit organization through which students participate in workshops designated to teach the purpose and responsibilities of the government. As you are probably aware, voter turnout was at an all-time low for the 18 to 25 age group. Part of the reason for this apathy is believed to be due to a lack of information and understanding that one vote can have power. Florida should have proved that, but apparently teenagers had thick skulls."
Paris groaned silently. It was way too early in the morning for cutesy humor and frankly, the last thing she wanted was six weeks of lectures on her patriotic duty to vote.
"You should receive a packet containing all of the material for this course-I think Mary is passing them out right now." She paused, as the college girl scuttled forward and began handing out large folders. Paris opened it up and began to pour over the material-colored papers with a detailed schedule for each week, pamphlets outlining the AGY's mission and a bunch of brochures on the wonderful charms of DC.
Head Cheese continued as if she didn't notice the increase buzz in the room. "Some of you will notice that the itinerary has changed from what was given to you earlier. Due to the overwhelming support from the politicians, along with considerable financial support, the last three weeks of the course you'll be working as an intern in various political offices. This is an opportunity to which no other student in the United States will be privileged. You'll receive your assignments later. No consideration will be given to your own political beliefs in these placements-you are here to learn about how the government functions, from the formation of a bill to its presentation in the different branches until it becomes law. You will put aside any biases that you may have picked up from your parents, teachers or peers." She stopped again and stared hard at the students. Paris met her glance firmly.
"Make no mistake. You are some of the brightest students from around the country, but now you are here on a college campus, earning college credit and therefore we expect that you will work hard."
The stare downs were starting to get really annoying.
"However, we do want you to have fun-after all, we are right next door to one of the greatest American treasures there is." She beamed, which supposedly was the cue for the cheerleader chorus to come and join her. That started a whole round of cheerful introductions from the "community facilitators"-the cutesy name given to the college counselors. So much for the non-camp environment.
The endless parade was finally over, to Paris's infinite relief. She stretched her aching arms, glancing over at Rory. Rory was drawing absentmindedly on her notebook, a vague smile plastered on her face. Obviously she hadn't heard a word of what was going on. But now that introductions were over, they would finally start doing something productive. She opened up the folder, pulled out the schedule, skimming over it quickly. Opening session: introduction of so-and-so, more introduction and.... Oh no. She pulled it close to her face, squinting. It didn't actually say that-
"Okay, so I'm Kimberly and while we call ourselves community facilitators, you don't think of yourselves as neighbors yet, do you? Well, you won't be able to say that by this evening! So for the rest of the morning, we're going to be doing some team building exercises and believe me, you're going to be building muscles you didn't even know you had! Because before we become a community, we have to have Communication. That's the key!" The girl put on a ninety-watt grin.
Paris couldn't even close her mouth, which had dropped in disbelief. Kimberly was shouting out orders for everyone to depart according to the color of folder, but Paris's mind was numb. She gathered her things and walked up the steps, oblivious to whether Rory was behind her or not. This could not be happening.
Dimly she heard the Louise-look-alike squeal. "Oh, we did this last year at cheer camp. We had two minutes to build a tower out of ordinary sports equipment. When I stood on Jen's shoulder and I put that roster on the top of the pile, we both knew, we could never have done it alone."
Her dreams for the summer were gone, instead she found herself in a nightmare, one that showed no signs of ending. Was it too late to go home? Hartford and negligent parents seemed like heaven.
She bumped into a shoulder and looked up to see the petrified face of Brad. "Oh, hi, um, Paris, I see... I see you have a blue folder too. We're, we're on the same team, I guess." He stammered. And who said God didn't have a sense of humor?
"Kill me now." She breathed as she walked out into the blinding sunlight. Only forty days left. Only forty. In two hours it would be thirty-nine and a half. The countdown began.
Really short AN: Okay, so we've got our Narcoleptic's, the Java Junkies', the Trory's, and Literati's. I've been thinking that we should start a new "couple" classification--Paris and Brad should be called Peanut Butter. Whadda think? I'm fond of Jamie, but I think there's a reason that Brad has been a rather frequent recurrent character.... J