Even as he smiled falsely and signed copies of his book, Jess couldn't get her off his mind. She'd given him all the cards. He alone could decide to reunite them after all this time. He hated her for doing that. True, she'd just confirmed his suspicions that the number hadn't changed. He could still call her. He could have called her before. He had always known that. That hadn't changed.

What had changed was her permission. He wasn't a hundred percent positive she wanted the ball to start rolling again, but had given her consent. And he couldn't figure out for the life of him what to do.

He was in Los Angles at a signing, the last stop on his tour. Lily had gone home and taken their things with her, and he would drive home in a few hours and be done with this whole experience. He'd go to Sasha and Jimmy's house for dinner, and they'd ask him all about the tour. He'd respond with monosyllables, and Sasha would get so pissed off that she'd ask Lily what was up his ass. Lily would tell her about Rory, and Sasha would never get off his ass to call her. He already knew how this night was going to go. He wasn't looking forward to it at all.

"I totally love your books! I've read all of them! I'm so thrilled to finally meet you!" Jess raised his eyebrows at the girls in front of him. What sickened him, although he also got a kick out of it, was that some of these people read his stuff mainly because of the picture on the inside back cover. If he had been born grossly disfigured, this would not have been a problem. But he was pretty, so he had to deal with posers.

"Who's the girl in the book?" asked another of the girls as she held her book out to be signed. Jess shrugged.

"Read it and find out." She didn't look very happy with that response. He smirked at her as he added the "S" to Danes, and handed her book back.

His psychic powers had been right on the mark. Dinner went exactly as he expected it.

"…and then she knocked on our cab window and told Jess it was the same number as before, and we drove away with Jess yelling her name out the window. The end." Lily smiled innocently at her scowling brother as she finished her tale. Jimmy just raised his eyebrow at his son, and continued eating. Sasha, however, attacked.

"Same number? Who the hell is she Jess?" Jess rubbed his temples. He felt a headache coming on.

"An old friend."

"A 'special' friend," Lily stated, remember what he'd told her in the cab.

"How special? Jess, look at me when I'm talking to you, good boy, how special?"

"Special."

"Special as in lipstick-on-the-collar special, or I'm-going-to-pine-for-you-for-the-rest-of-my-life special?

"How are you distinguishing between the two?"

"Oh. My. God. It's the girl!" Sasha was the brains in the family. She put two and two together where Lily hadn't.

"Is it the small town chick, Jess?" Lily asked excitedly, finally seeing the light once her mother had figured it out. He sighed. He could tolerate Lily when she was being unrelenting, but Sasha would drive him insane.

"Fine. Yes, she's the girl. What else do you need to know about my personal life?"

"Everything," Sasha said, abandoning her meal so she could scoot her chair closer to her step-son. "Did you get laid?"

"This is really not the thing you should talk about at the family dinner table."

"Manners, schmanners. You're a pretty cute guy, Jess. All my girlfriends are wild about you. And yet, I don't think you've gotten some in a while." Jimmy started to protest this topic, but she silenced him with a patented Sasha-stare.

"I have 'gotten some'. Not everyone minds my sandy sheets as much as you."

"Well fine then, you're not gay. Doesn't mean you're living up to your full potential. Call the girl. You'll regret it later if you don't."

"I don't believe in regrets."

"You need to do this. Go get the girl, Jess! She put herself out there for you, and you're being an ass just leaving her hanging." Jess put down his fork with a clank, and stood up.

"It's my life. Don't dare tell me how to live it." He stalked out of the house to his car, and drove home blasting Metallica. He got home and threw his keys on the counter. They skimmed the surface and then flew off. He hadn't realized he threw them that hard. He sank down onto his sofa, staring at the phone. Was this what it was going to be like for the rest of his life? Every time he saw a phone he'd go mad, every time Sasha butted into his life and tried to get him to pick up the damn phone, he'd force her away. He didn't want that. Maybe he'd call, just to make life easier.

He exhaled slowly, deciding that scenario sounded best. Yes, he'd call. But he'd wait a few days. Maybe weeks. He couldn't put it off too long, but he'd do it eventually. And he'd apologize to Sasha. He was in for an ass-whupping as it was.

It had been over a week since the spontaneous cab moment. Rory had stayed true to her word, and not waited for him to call. She'd kept herself busy with writing and other various activities. She'd tried not to think about him, because she knew very well that he might not call. She wouldn't wait her entire life for the phone to ring.

She had allowed herself one simple Jess pleasure, however. She'd bought his book recently, and it sat on her dresser, begging to be opened. She had nothing better to do at the moment. All her other books had been read, her mother and Lane were working, there was nothing on TV, and she'd been writing all morning.

She walked around the empty house, desperately trying to find something else to do. She was scared that opening the book would turn her into a big puddle of Jess-mush. But in the end, boredom sucked. And she really wanted to read the book- Jess was a good writer. A little peek wouldn't hurt…

She sat down on her bed, and picked up the book again. She rolled onto her stomach and tried to get comfortable. Not working. She sat at her desk chair. Once again, wrong. She moved throughout her entire house, even her mother's room and the bathrooms, trying to find a good spot and position to read in. 'Get over it, Gilmore. You're being stupid. You can read anywhere; it's your nerves that are making you uncomfortable.'

Suddenly, she realized where she wanted to read. Cliché as it sounds, she just knew. She walked to the bridge with the book in her back pocket, a habit she'd picked up from him. She smiled at neighbors as she passed them, not stopping to make small talk with any of them. The rumors about her and Jess were beginning to disappear as nothing new had happened, and she could now walk around town without every pair of eyes watching her, trying to see if Jess had left any visible evidence on her. Bite marks, hickeys, Babette had told everyone to be on the lookout for all of them.

She reached the bridge and lay down on the stiff planks. Her back liked the hard, flat surface, and her face liked the spring sun spilling down. She opened the book and placed it where it shielded the ultraviolet rays from her eyes. There was no dedication. She hadn't been expecting one for some reason. She turned to the first page and began to read the forward.

"I was born on a bus. This may seem an unusual way to start a book, but it's true. I was born on a bus heading towards New York Presbyterian, the Columbia branch. My parents, you see, were not the smartest of people. My mother, Lisa, had wanted to wait for her younger brother, Robert, to get there. My father, James, had stood back and let her. When my uncle finally arrived, the genius that would soon give birth to me loaded her family on a crowded bus. Instead of taking a taxi, or my uncle's truck, she thought it would be easiest to take the bus.

My mother was, and is, and idiot.

I was born on 165th, at 5:11 PM. Rush hour. I've never had the best timing.

Now I get along to explaining why I started off this way. My life has had three phases, each of which has monumentally shaped me in some way. Each of those phases took place in a different location. Firstly, I grew up in New York. I learned how to fight, shoplift, smoke, and curse in that city. For seventeen years I rattled around the city, getting into trouble. My previously mentioned brilliant mother did nothing to stop me from careening out of control. I almost feel like I should hate her for that. But she was just as lost as me, if not more. She couldn't take care of herself, much less me.

If you're wondering where my father is while I'm self-destructing in the Big Apple, I'll come back to that. I've got a whole book ahead of me to explain, and I plan to use it accordingly.

Finally, she wised up. Recent events in her life prompted her to try and get clean, to mellow out a little. She couldn't do that with me coming in at all hours of the night, smelling like Mary Jane and Jack Daniels. So she dumped me on a relative.

I hadn't seen my uncle Robert since I was born. And I was probably focusing just as much on the other bus-riders as him at the time. So she was shipping me off to a complete stranger.

To make matters worse, Robert lived in the fiery pits of hell. Any mail sent there, however, would have the words "Taylorsville Connecticut" stamped on them. Don't bother looking it up on a map. Did you think I was stupid enough to use real names and places? If so, you haven't read my other works. Which would lead me to question why you're reading my autobiography.

I got to Connecticut by bus. The second major phase of my life, and I entered by bus. See where I'm going with this bus theme? The second I stepped off that bus, I knew my life was officially going to, for lack of better term, suck.

Children ran down the sidewalk with flowers in their hair, and their mothers laughed and called after them. The friendly townspeople stood on ladders in the streets, hanging garlands of leaves from lampposts. It was such a contrast to the cold apartment building I was used to, I wanted to heave. All over their perfectly-cut, green lawns. I would have too, if my uncle Robert hadn't dragged me back to his home.

He owned and managed a small diner, which I came to find out, was the main center of nourishment for the townsfolk. Above the diner, he had a miniscule apartment and an inflatable mattress just for me. He had no idea how to take care of a teenager, much less a rebel-without-a-cause like myself.

I was contemplating getting back on a fateful bus, going to Canada, and letting Robert and Lisa wonder where I was. But on my second night there my life completely changed, even though I didn't know it at the time.

Her name was Lauren. Not really, but I'll call her Lauren. She had the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, and her hair was brown and silky. I didn't actually get to touch it for quite some time. But you could see its silkiness.

I'll come back to Lauren later. Trust me, you'll know her inside and out by the time I'm done. But she made Taylorsville bearable. She made it the second noteworthy phase of my life.

So why would I leave, if she was that incredible? Allow me to search deep inside my soul for a minute, and try and figure that one out. To be honest, it was a lot of everything. I was running scared. Being in love for the first time is scary. And I was desperate- Robert had basically kicked me out, and the entire town was against me. Lauren cared, but her best friend in the world, her mother Lana, was even more hostile towards me than anyone. Well, except for Lauren's moronic ex-boyfriend.

So for whatever reasons, I found myself on a bus to California. Bus, third phase. That's where I find myself now. I'm lying on the beach, completely soaked and fully dressed. I've been trying to muster up the courage to being writing this book for a few months.

One thing led to another, my stepmother being obnoxious in her own caring way, and my publisher breathing down my back. My girlfriend of three weeks breaking up with me did nothing to appease the situation. So I took a deep breath, ran out along the dock down the street, and dove in the freezing surf.

I swam back to shore, exhausted, and am composing this part of the book in my head. Above I can see the Big Dipper, and something that looks like a snake. I'm not well versed in constellations, so I don't know what it is. Mental note: look up stars.

And now you know what happens. I've just spoiled the plot for you. Cry about it.

But if you're still here, I think I do a damn good job of telling the rest of my story…"

Rory smiled as she looked up from the book. She realized there was a lot she didn't know about Jess, specifically anything in his New York and California 'phases'. She looked back at the book, and began to read the first chapter.

Sasha walked through Jess's house, muttering to herself. There was sand all over. The sheets, the shower, the carpet, you name it. Jess spent a great deal of his time outside, and he never gave a damn about dragging the beach inside with him. It was a springboard for their never-ending arguments.

Things with her and her step-son hadn't been that good since he stormed out of her house a month ago. She'd unknowingly touched a nerve, and it was because of this girl he wouldn't talk about. She'd read his book. She knew all about this girl. He hadn't held back relaying their relationship. He just hadn't gone into depth about his emotions at the time. Typical guy…

She hated to see him like that, and she hated him being cold towards her. She sighed aloud, and noticed something on the counter. It was a single sheaf of paper. Normally, he had stacks lying around, full of ideas and musings and the first chapters of many never-continued books.

She curiously picked it up and read it, eyebrows raised. This was Jess, so you never knew what he could be up to.

Sasha,

I'm sorry for being such an ass of late. You were right on everything, but I'm not going to list all the ways. I've got a little too much self-respect to do that.

In case you didn't know, I am fucking INSANE. You'd probably be the first to agree, but this is insanity on a whole new level. I'm seriously looking at what I just wrote, counting the days until I start hearing voices and seeing dead relatives. I think Lizzies's parents are over there in the corner right now.

God, I'm so insane. I'm beyond insane. I'm fucking deranged. Send the highway patrol out after me so they can stop me before I do something crazy, because that's where I'm headed. I need to be put in a loony bin. I'm scaring myself.

The damn phone is mocking me. And you were right. Not about the sand, but about Rory.

When you read this, I'll be on a bus heading for Connecticuit. I can't call her. Her mother might answer, and that would be bad. I have to see her again. You were right.

I'm insane.

Jess

Sasha smiled and laughed heartily.

Thank you to the people that did review! I got more reviews in the beginning and now I'm not sure if people are lazy (lord knows I've been there myself, even when reading something awesome), or if there's a disinterest. This is not a ploy to get you to review; it is solely a curious inquiry. …okay fine, maybe it is a ploy to get you to review. pathetic look pwease?