Originally, I thought that I would make this story mainly from Rory's point
of view only. But I've decided that, at least for now, I'm going to make
every other chapter Jess. So the odd numbered chapters will be Jess' point
of view, and the evens will be Rory. Oh, and btw, point of view for me
means third person, just describing that particular person.
-----
So that was it. He'd just left the headmaster's office at the local public school. He would be starting as a senior, graduating class of 2004, at Venice Beach High at the end of August. And he was going to work hard. For once in his life, he had something to work for, and he wasn't going to mess it up. He actually had a plan. He was going to go to college, the best he could get into. And then he was going to do. . . something.
He hadn't even gotten that far yet. Oh well. He would figure something out. And he would do something with his life so that he didn't feel like such a nobody. So that he didn't feel as if he didn't even come close to deserving Rory. He sighed. He never would deserve Rory. She was the epitome of the unattainable. But the closer he got to being able to deserve her, the better.
He never planned on doing anything about it. It was going to be like those childhood crushes that everyone has. That they never plan on telling the other person about. This was how it was going to be with Rory from now on.
The hardest part was that it was a step backwards. He had been so close to her, and now. . . now he was out of her life forever. But she would never be out of his. It was all because of her that he had even re-enrolled in high school.
He sat down on a bench that looked out onto the ocean. It kind of bothered him tat wherever he went there were people. That seemed odd to him, seeing as he had spent the majority of his 18 years in New York City, but Stars Hollow had grown on him. He'd liked that everyone was in their homes by midnight, and he'd liked that no matter what, he could always find somewhere to be alone.
This was as good as it was going to get here. The bench that he had chosen wasn't right on the boardwalk and there were no hot dog or ice cream stands too nearby, so the traffic was at its minimum. He pulled a book out of his back pocket and began to read. The book was called Wiseguy, and it was relatively good. It had been turned into a movie, and this was one of the few times where he had to admit that the movie was better than the book.
After about an hour or so, he finished the book and placed it next to him. He was still hungry to read. There was an emptiness he felt that he had to fill, and he was doing it the only way he knew how. He rose and placed the book in his back pocket. He started down the street towards a small secondhand bookstore he had been frequenting since he had arrived.
He had learned to blend in a bit better since he had gotten here. He had chosen khaki cargoes in place of the darker shades, and he had abandoned the leather. Still, he was a wallflower. In a world filled with hippies and beach bums, he still looked like an out-of-place Metallica fan. With his dark hair and stony expression, he was extremely unavoidable. And if that wasn't clue enough for people to get lost, he was wearing the shirt he had worn the day he showed up at his Uncle Luke's, asking to move back to Stars Hollow: a shirt with a picture of a butt with two hands flipping off anyone who chanced to look at it.
He HAD to stop thinking about Stars Hollow, he decided. He walked into the bookstore and nodded at the proprietor. He and Ben, the owner, had never conversed, no matter how many times Jess came in. Both of them were quiet types, and neither had any need for the companionship of the other. Still, Jess liked the constancy of Ben being there. It almost reminded him of the predictability of a small town he knew.
He forced the idea out of his head and began to look for a book. Once he was lost in someone else's world, he wouldn't have to think about his own.
He played a game that he almost always played with himself in bookstores. He ran one index finger across all the bindings, glancing at each title, not stopping until he was forced to subconsciously. It never failed.
His heart dropped to his knees when he saw the title on a binding. Well, it wasn't so much the title as the author. Ayn Rand. He tried to force himself to keep walking. He was supposed to be cutting himself off from all things related to. . . to his past life. But here it was, staring him in the face.
He tried to make his feet move. He tried to continue down the row of books. But instead, he felt his finger slide up to the top of the binding and tilt the book towards him, causing the volume to come sliding into his hand.
He felt the weight of the book and stared at the cover momentarily before he walked to the counter and set the book down. He dropped three dollars down on the counter and walked out without stopping to collect his change.
Instead of returning to the bench, he had a strange idea. A strange longing to climb a tree he saw about two blocks down from the bookstore.
He climbed up and found a sturdy branch to sit upon, his feet each resting on a separate branch below him. He held the book in his fingertips and stared at the cover, not opening the book or beginning to read. For some reason, now, he felt as if he were holding. . . her. It was like this book was a part of her. He stared at the cover like that for a long while before swinging down from the tree and shoving the book in his other pocket. He walked nonchalantly down the street, all the while thinking of the copy of Atlas Shrugged he was carrying in his pocket. This piece of the girl he had loved and always would love.
-----
So that was it. He'd just left the headmaster's office at the local public school. He would be starting as a senior, graduating class of 2004, at Venice Beach High at the end of August. And he was going to work hard. For once in his life, he had something to work for, and he wasn't going to mess it up. He actually had a plan. He was going to go to college, the best he could get into. And then he was going to do. . . something.
He hadn't even gotten that far yet. Oh well. He would figure something out. And he would do something with his life so that he didn't feel like such a nobody. So that he didn't feel as if he didn't even come close to deserving Rory. He sighed. He never would deserve Rory. She was the epitome of the unattainable. But the closer he got to being able to deserve her, the better.
He never planned on doing anything about it. It was going to be like those childhood crushes that everyone has. That they never plan on telling the other person about. This was how it was going to be with Rory from now on.
The hardest part was that it was a step backwards. He had been so close to her, and now. . . now he was out of her life forever. But she would never be out of his. It was all because of her that he had even re-enrolled in high school.
He sat down on a bench that looked out onto the ocean. It kind of bothered him tat wherever he went there were people. That seemed odd to him, seeing as he had spent the majority of his 18 years in New York City, but Stars Hollow had grown on him. He'd liked that everyone was in their homes by midnight, and he'd liked that no matter what, he could always find somewhere to be alone.
This was as good as it was going to get here. The bench that he had chosen wasn't right on the boardwalk and there were no hot dog or ice cream stands too nearby, so the traffic was at its minimum. He pulled a book out of his back pocket and began to read. The book was called Wiseguy, and it was relatively good. It had been turned into a movie, and this was one of the few times where he had to admit that the movie was better than the book.
After about an hour or so, he finished the book and placed it next to him. He was still hungry to read. There was an emptiness he felt that he had to fill, and he was doing it the only way he knew how. He rose and placed the book in his back pocket. He started down the street towards a small secondhand bookstore he had been frequenting since he had arrived.
He had learned to blend in a bit better since he had gotten here. He had chosen khaki cargoes in place of the darker shades, and he had abandoned the leather. Still, he was a wallflower. In a world filled with hippies and beach bums, he still looked like an out-of-place Metallica fan. With his dark hair and stony expression, he was extremely unavoidable. And if that wasn't clue enough for people to get lost, he was wearing the shirt he had worn the day he showed up at his Uncle Luke's, asking to move back to Stars Hollow: a shirt with a picture of a butt with two hands flipping off anyone who chanced to look at it.
He HAD to stop thinking about Stars Hollow, he decided. He walked into the bookstore and nodded at the proprietor. He and Ben, the owner, had never conversed, no matter how many times Jess came in. Both of them were quiet types, and neither had any need for the companionship of the other. Still, Jess liked the constancy of Ben being there. It almost reminded him of the predictability of a small town he knew.
He forced the idea out of his head and began to look for a book. Once he was lost in someone else's world, he wouldn't have to think about his own.
He played a game that he almost always played with himself in bookstores. He ran one index finger across all the bindings, glancing at each title, not stopping until he was forced to subconsciously. It never failed.
His heart dropped to his knees when he saw the title on a binding. Well, it wasn't so much the title as the author. Ayn Rand. He tried to force himself to keep walking. He was supposed to be cutting himself off from all things related to. . . to his past life. But here it was, staring him in the face.
He tried to make his feet move. He tried to continue down the row of books. But instead, he felt his finger slide up to the top of the binding and tilt the book towards him, causing the volume to come sliding into his hand.
He felt the weight of the book and stared at the cover momentarily before he walked to the counter and set the book down. He dropped three dollars down on the counter and walked out without stopping to collect his change.
Instead of returning to the bench, he had a strange idea. A strange longing to climb a tree he saw about two blocks down from the bookstore.
He climbed up and found a sturdy branch to sit upon, his feet each resting on a separate branch below him. He held the book in his fingertips and stared at the cover, not opening the book or beginning to read. For some reason, now, he felt as if he were holding. . . her. It was like this book was a part of her. He stared at the cover like that for a long while before swinging down from the tree and shoving the book in his other pocket. He walked nonchalantly down the street, all the while thinking of the copy of Atlas Shrugged he was carrying in his pocket. This piece of the girl he had loved and always would love.