CHAPTER 4

"Paris, have you seen my History book?" Rory called out.

"No," Paris echoed. "Did you try under the couch?"

Rory bent from her waist to check under the couch. Her fast action made her nauseous. She saw the book, grabbed it and sat back on the couch.

"You better not be lounging. We're going to be late," Paris warned as she put an earring through her earlobe.

"I just got light headed really quickly," Rory said in passing. "I'll be fine."

"Oh no. You're not going to get me sick again," Paris advised her.

"Hey, you're the one who gave it to me days ago," Rory accused her roommate.

After Asher's wake, Paris' system broke down. She was sick and vomiting. She looked like she had a stomach flu and Rory helped nurse her back to health. Comically, it reminded her of the C-SPAN incident she and Paris went through several years ago. Paris just looked that haggard.

"Well? Have you recovered?" Paris asked.

Rory swallowed. Nothing happened. "I think I will be fine."

"Then let's go," Paris suggested.

Thirty minutes later, Rory wished she stayed in her room. She blamed it on the weather. The Indian summer drove her batty. Rory's head pounded and her back hurt. She forced herself to focus on the droning material rather than her numerous aches and pains.

And so she sat through the three-hour class preferring death to the lecture. The moment she got out of the class, she made a beeline for the restroom. She was just relieved that her breakfast held long enough in her stomach before she regurgitated it out the way it came in. The porcelain throne was her best friend at that moment.

'God, my head is spinning,' Rory said to herself as she wiped her mouth. She was rarely sick, but when she was, it usually was bad.

It took her a few minutes to recover. She got out of the stall and found a Paris, arms akimbo, waiting on her.

"What's up?" Rory asked as she washed her hands.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"I think the weather's getting to me," Rory said.

"I think you need to go to the clinic," Paris recommended.

"I don't think that's necessary, Doctor Geller," Rory said. "How'd you find me?"

"One of your classmates: The one with the permanent skullcap on. He said you headed out like a bat out of hell," she said.

"So you got me. Why are you looking for me?" Rory asked.

Paris looked at her, slightly confused before responding. "Oh yeah. I just wanted to tell you that you are needed at The Herald. Apparently, Doyle needs someone to cover a story and I won't be able to do it. So, that leaves you, Gilmore, to do the grunt work."

"What happened to the freshmen that used to do this crap?" Rory asked stomping her feet.

"Doing what you're doing right now, throwing a tantrum," Paris said.

"Harsh," Rory responded. "Do you know what the story's about?"

"I think it's about some of the guys that are heading out to DC to shadow some junior senator or something," Paris rambled.

"So now I have to do it?" Rory questioned. She was not looking forward to adding to her current workload until she gets over the bug.

"That's up to you. I'd say tell them you do this and it should count as a grade in your writing class. Might as well get something out of it," Paris suggested.

"I guess. See you back at the room?" Rory asked.

"Till then," Paris said as she walked out of the bathroom door.

Rory did a final look at herself in the mirror before leaving the rest room. She picked up her feet and headed toward The Herald. She was not looking forward to seeing Doyle so soon.

Rory's mood changed for the better as she stood outside of the building. The paper gave her the same feeling every time she walked in. She felt like she was a step closer in getting towards her dream. Seeing exotic places and meeting new people is just a couple of its perks. Making herself indispensable was her goal.

"Gilmore, just the person I was looking for," Doyle greeted her.

"If I were you, I'd run," Glenn said as he came out of nowhere. Her eyes followed Glenn scurrying through a door.

"Hi," Rory replied almost breathlessly.

"You are my only hope. I need someone to emcee and write an article on the Yale Model Congress group that is going to DC in two weeks. I'd give it to a frosh but I don't want this butchered. My juniors and seniors are already working as shadows to the papers so that leaves you," he rambled.

"What have you done for me lately?" Rory asked.

"I can give a good word to the Dean?" he implied.

"How about a grade for my extemporaneous speech due in a month and a bye on one of my writing projects due in two weeks," Rory offered.

He scratched his head. He started walking away from the table before he turned around and faced her.

"You drive a hard bargain, Gilmore, but I think this is a start to a beautiful relationship," he said.

"I still want the grade, Doyle," Rory yelled after him. "When's this suppose this happen?"

"Saturday. Hope you have a nice dress," Doyle said as he continued walking away from her.

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It was a little past three in the afternoon when Tristin's phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out as he walked to his discussion group.

"'Sup?" he responded.

"You wanna hang out with me in DC in two weeks?" Graham asked.

"What are you going to be doing in DC?" Tristin asked, holding the door open for a girl who was walking in. The leggy blonde flashed him a dazzling smile. He eyed her from head to toe.

"It's something for the Model Congress group. We have to hobnob and do a project with the senators at the Capitol. I heard it's lovely in DC during the fall," Graham tried to coax his cousin.

"Let me think about it. You're at least going to be doing something. I, on the other hand, have to entertain myself," he reasoned out to his cousin.

"Well, bring a date," Graham suggested.

Tristin choked. "Are you serious? Dating and me are like water and oil: don't mix."

"You're kidding me, right?" Graham asked half-serious.

"Hey, I may be a stud but I've been pickier lately," Tristin defended himself.

"Do you want me to ask Rory to come along? You can keep each other company," Graham plotted secretly hoping his cousin would accept.

"Or kill each other," Tristin said. "I think I can choose my own company if left to my own devices."

"Suit yourself," Graham responded. "How about you come over this weekend? There is this little shindig that's happening at the hall. I'll be on public access cable and afterwards, there's this party happening."

"Really?" Tristin said. "Will there be a certain someone that will be in attendance?"

"I'm not her keeper," Graham said.

"How about I give you a call when I get there?" Tristin promised.

"Seriously? Great, man. See you this Saturday then?" Graham inquired.

"Saturday it is," Tristin responded.

"Later, Tris," Graham said.

"Later," Tristin responded, ending the call. He turned off his cell phone and shoved it back into his pocket. The blonde he opened the door for was waiting on him at the other side. She waved at him with her fingers.

"Well, hello," Tristin greeted as the two of them walked down the halls.