A/N: Here's the next update! I've got a pretty solid looking plan going with a few alternate endings/side-shows... I'll just write away and see which one fits the bill. Otherwise, sit back, relax and enjoy the ride 'cause things about to get interesting. Okay... sue me; I'm just tryin' to get some atmosphere going- alright! I'm going... here it is...
--Pride and True--
Chapter III: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Why did she care whether her hair was looking right or not? After all, it was just a chance drop-off because of some silly error he'd made by not being careful. Anyway, she was going to class, who was she trying to impress?
She thought momentarily of Dean. What exactly was going there? What was she to him?
She brushed past a rather burly looking lad and gave an apologetic nod, before quickly brushing her skirt and automatically fixing her hair.
"Stop that," she said aloud, unaware of her lapse in concentration. Perhaps it was over-thinking. Rory had a tendency to over think. Not that she had too much time anymore for over thinking – but when she was faced with the opportunity, she drifted and floated away into her own paradoxical world.
Her purse beeped and several people standing around her gave inquisitive looks. She fiddled for a moment and fought with the latch of the small bag – why had she brought her purse to class – never mind, she thought, and continued to fish in her bag, for the beeping culprit. Those, whom stood around, seemingly with nothing better to do, watched, concerned as if it were their business, as she produced a diminutive flip-cell phone.
"Hello?" she answered, flustered as she broke away from the crowd to hear better over the noise of the morning rush.
"We don't talk anymore, kid," the phone teased.
"Hello Mom," Rory replied, ignoring her mother's taunt.
"So, what's the deal?" Lorelai continued.
"What's the deal with what?" Rory questioned, confused by the direction of the conversation.
"The deal, what's the deal with no talkie?" Lorelai repeated. That was one of the more- different aspects of her mother, which she loved very much, that Lorelai wasn't afraid to be who she was; even if that meant acting sixteen all day, every day.
"I've- I've had a lot to deal with..." Rory answered hazily, wanting more than anything to dump the wallet off with Logan and to run to class.
"So the deal with the no-talking deal is that you've had to deal?" Lorelai recapped, attempting to make light of her daughter's poor choice of wording.
"Yes, the deal with the no deal and the deal and then the deal- what was our deal?" Rory half-mocked, throwing the conversation in jeopardy as a ruse for facing the issue.
"Our deal is Friday night dinner," Lorelai answered sing-songily, "I was gonna suggest catching up with you tomorrow but that's kinda fallen through thanks to a scheduled meeting about Inn Profits or something".
"Friday night dinner, right," Rory thought aloud, "but I thought Grandma and Grandpa were still had the battle-lines drawn".
"They do," Lorelai replied, somewhat devilishly, "but we're still going. They need an audience".
"Alright, I'll see you then," Rory agreed, "I've got to run to class and do this other stuff and-"
"I get the picture," Lorelai interrupted, "my daughter's a big-time student! Oh, the drama!"
"Love you, mom," Rory good-byed.
"Love you too!" Lorelai replied with a click.
They definitely had something a little more relaxed in their relationship. Lorelai was her mother, her friend and her confidant. Even so, she felt it unwise to ask her mother about Logan.
What's there to ask? She thought. It was ridiculous even contemplating.
I'm just going to go to his room, knock on his door and hand him his wallet, turn around and walk-away and go to class and hopefully that will be the end of it, she continued to think. And so she repeated this mantra to herself, walking the way the information desk had suggested, toward Logan's dormitory.
Although Yale itself is by far and abound one of the most luxurious of campuses worldwide, Rory found herself in a particularly ancient, yet distinctively wealthy, part of the University. It was intended to be this way. Adorned with shields and swords, flags and suits of armour, it was a remarkably well finished wing – like stepping into a castle when it was at height in the middle ages.
Her dormitory was exceptionally modern and by no means under par, but even her room paled in comparison to the arrangement she had found herself surrounded by.
"Simple task Rory," she said aloud, "find room four-one-seven hand wallet in, walk".
Momentarily dazed by the scene she continued to walk slowly down a thin hall to a much larger, lobby-esque room, she matched the numbers to a plaque above a door.
Automatically, once again, she straightened her skirt and quickly rearranged her hair, attempting to strike the 'I'm clean but I don't care who I'm talking to look' she had read about in one of the many trashy magazines her mother had bought. Satisfied she knew what she was doing she reached up and rapped her fist three times on the wooden door.
She paused; listening for any activity within.
Nothing was heard.
"Oh that's just great," she said aloud, "this is brilliant. He's not even here and now I have to come back and go through all this again".
"Go through what again?" a voice asked from behind her.
Rory spun, startled by presence of another person.
There, standing before her, was the boy she had come to see, carrying a load of groceries, she guessed, in brown paper bags.
"I- uhh- I-"
"Go through what, again?" he repeated, grinning evilly, "your expression here, this is the Kodak moment I've been searching for".
Rory blushed a shade of crimson that would have made Harvard proud.
"Well, you gonna give me an answer today or are you gonna stand there and block the entrance to my home away from home?" he continued, still smiling.
"I- uhh," she babbled, before snapping and shoving his wallet in his general direction, "I fou- my room-mate found this".
"Oh!" he exclaimed, somewhat forcibly, "thank you Rory".
"It's okay..." she paused, as he took the leather piece from her hand, "I'll be going now".
"No, no! Stay, I-"
"I've got a class to get to," she protested, moving aside and walking away from him.
"Wait!" he called, placing the bags on the ground outside his door, "how honest would you say you are?"
Rory stopped, turning slightly, "what kind of question is that?"
He smirked slightly, holding the wallet open, "how honest would you say you are?"
She thought for a moment before turning to face him more, "I guess I'm pretty honest," she replied truthfully.
"Okay," he said, opening the change pocket of the wallet, "if all the money is here, you go on your merry way with all the money in my wallet, if not," he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, "then you have to go out with me".
"That's absurd," she recoiled, blushing again.
"Well you seem to think you're a pretty honest person," he toyed, smiling down at the wallet.
"So you're saying I'm a thief?" she asked defensively, rolling her eyes all the while.
"Three-hundred, forty-two dollars, fifty-eight," he replied.
"I don't care how many people are in your fan club, I won't be one of them," she retorted.
He laughed, but attempted to hide it, "that's a tad cold, isn't it?"
"Only dish out what you can take," she answered, standing firm.
"Then play the game," he persisted, "you're a nice, honest girl, what have you to lose- hell, you might just make three-hundred odd dollars?"
Rory narrowed her eyes.
"It'll be like Las Vegas except without the all the baggage... there won't be all those hideous lights and this'll be less painful for you – you won't wake up next to a total stranger without your kidneys".
Rory fought the urge to laugh, "fine, I'll humour you, but hurry up".
Logan ran his hand through his hair and withdrew each and every piece of immediately useable monetary wealth that could be seen, counting in his head, as Rory watched from a distance.
"Well?" she asked, shifting her weight slightly.
He looked up at her briefly, then down at the pile of notes and change in his hand, then resumed his gaze upon her, "you can pick me up at eight on Friday".
Rory's mouth dropped, "excuse me?"
"You're thirteen cents short... what, did you have to stop for gum on the way?" he teased, "but seriously," he continued, with a gleaming smile, "Friday; eight – I'll be waiting".
She rushed over to him and snatched the money from his open palm, quickly counting the pile of cash, repeatedly, several times, to no avail.
"We dropped it," she blabbed, "and the coins went everywhere... I'm sure they're on the floor of my room-"
"Hey!" he interjected, "I'm not that kinda guy. Save the bedroom for at least the third date".
"Funny," Rory capitulated; wit failing her, "but we did drop your wallet and the coins did go everywhere".
"You said you were an honest girl, yet you didn't tell me the truth from the start," he contemplated aloud, taunting her.
"I'll see you on Friday," she mumbled, dropping the money in his hand and turning away.
"Eight," he called, "sharp".
She sighed as she exited his dormitory but then- did not quite know what to feel but her emotion was stifled – strangled by the screaming of something that had been there all along. A memory...
"Friday," she mouthed, "Friday night dinner".
She groaned. It was going to be one of those days.