A/N: I was so dissatisfied with how things turned out for Rory. Even though I'm annoyed at her (and have been for the past two years), I wished someone could help her, make her feel better about what happened. I thought Paris was just the right person to do this, because she's at Rory's level in age and experiences, but she's also really persuasive, and Rory respects her without being intimidated by her. So here goes.
Please review- just take one second. It makes me happy!
Rory Gilmore groaned and rolled over in bed. "Just five more minutes," she mumbled. The thumping noise that had interrupted her slumber came again. "Ugh, stop it!" Rory moaned and pulled the covers up around her head. Thump-thump-thump. "Oh my god!" Rory sat up and opened her eyes, trying to figure out exactly what the source of her annoyance was. She looked around and took in the shiny golden sconces in walls, the fancy rose-printed wallpaper, the lacy trimming on her comforter.
Her grandparents' poolhouse. Her new bed in her grandparents' poolhouse, where she had been staying for the past six days. The past six days in which she had not spoken to her mother, or to anyone for that matter, except for her grandparents and Elise, the latest Gilmore maid. Rory groaned and fell back into the pillows, pulling her sheet up to her chin. There was no way she was getting up just to deal with another day of knowing she was a failure.
Thump-thump. Someone was banging on the door. Rory looked at her clock. 8:37 AM. Who could be bothering her now? Her grandfather would be rushing to get to work, and her grandmother never woke her before 9:30. Could it be her mother? Rory wasn't sure if this possibility excited her or terrified her. She and Lorelai hadn't spoken since the night she'd moved in here, and she really didn't have much of an idea what they would say to each other the next time they did. Meanwhile, she really had to open the door.
Rory swung her feet over the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. She grabbed her blue fuzzy bathrobe from the back of an antique chair and shuffled to the door. Upon opening said door, she came face to face with Paris Gellar.
"Paris! What are you doing here?" Rory spluttered. She definitely was not expecting this.
Paris ignored Rory and marched into the room. Once inside, she stood in the center of a Persian rug and crossed her arms, glaring at Rory. "What the hell is this, you're not coming back to Yale?"
For a moment Rory was speechless. She had decided to "take time off" just over a week ago, and now her roommate was here before nine in the morning on a Thursday in June demanding an explanation. "What- how- who-" Rory stammered, before finally settling on "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes, Rory, I am fully aware of the time. Now answer my question. Why aren't you coming back to Yale?"
Rory went into defensive mode. "What, did my mother call you and ask you to put the old Paris charm on me? Because it's not going to work, I've made my decision."
"Actually, Gilmore, I called your house at seven-thirty this morning, because I realized you still had my Gabriel García Márquez book and I didn't want to be without it all summer, and your mother picked up the phone and seemed slightly annoyed to hear my voice. At this point I'm not sure if it had to do with the "early" hour, the fact that you are screwing up your life, or the explicitly sexual fumblings I heard in the background, indicating that I was clearly interrupting something. But at any rate, she informed me of your mid-youth crisis and hung up, leaving me with no choice but to find you, sit you down, and talk some sense into you. So here I am to talk. You ready to listen?"
"Paris! This is none of your business! It's my decision, it's my life, and you have no say in it!" Rory exploded.
"Hey, I'm not the only one who's upset by this. Here." Paris thrust a note at Rory, who reluctantly took it.
" 'Dear Rory,'" she read aloud, " 'I am extremely distressed to hear that you will not be returning to the Yale paper. Your contributions have added so much to the overall quality of the issues, and I desperately hope you will reconsider. Your devoted fan and editor, Doyle.' There is no way Doyle wrote this of his own free will. What did you do, threaten to steal his lucky troll pen?" Rory asked bitterly.
"Close. I stopped in the middle of giving him a blowjob and wouldn't finish until he wrote it."
"Eww! Paris!" Rory exclaimed, grimacing. "In one hour you managed to track down your boyfriend, get him into a compromising position, force him to write an insincere note, get dressed, and drive to my grandparents' house?"
"Actually, I was already dressed before the compromising position; Doyle isn't very good with buttons. But that is not the point. The point is that Rory Gilmore does not quit college. Rory Gilmore does not quit anything. Rory Gilmore achieves-with-a-capital-A. For heaven's sake, you were the only person ever to give me a run for my money in terms of academics at Chilton. You were Valedictorian. You got into Harvard and Princeton, in addition to Yale. You are going to be a journalist. So explain to me, Rory, why you are dropping out of one of the top universities in the country. Just explain that to me."
Silence.
"Mitchum Huntzberger-" Rory mumbled, before Paris cut her off.
"Oh, I know what Mitchum Huntzberger said to you, your mother told me- I mean the valid reason, Rory. Because there is no way the Rory Gilmore I know drops out of Yale because of what some snotty newspaper editor said to her. No way in hell."
"Paris, he knows! He's in the business, he can see if someone is strong enough, forceful enough to make it in the news world! And he said I don't have it! I don't have it, Paris, so what's the point?"
"Oh, my god, Rory. You are so dense. You think you need to be forceful? Is that what he said? What does that have to do with writing?"
"Paris, he's right. It's not just about being able to write, you have to be ready to jump in, to take advantage of people to get ahead. That's not me!"
"Let me tell you something, Gilmore. Maybe it's a good idea to be forceful in the journalism business. But that's something you can pick up along the way. You're only twenty, you have time! For now, it's enough that you're an amazing writer! You can build up your aggressive skills as you go. And not every journalist is loud and commanding. Maureen Dowd, for instance. She writes some of the most "forceful"op-ed columns in the New York Times, and as a person she's really softspoken. I saw her on Meet the Press, and she was so polite and never cut anyone off to make a point. I also heard her on an interview, and she gets nervous going on TV. And my great-uncle? He was a freaking agoraphobe, and he published two books of harsh literary criticism! The point is, your writing can be your weapon, it can be aggressive for you. You can just be you."
Rory didn't say anything. She walked over to the bed and sat down heavily. When she spoke, her voice was quavering with tears. "I know, Paris. I know about everything you said, it's just- this was the first time someone really told me right out, 'you can't do it.' It just- it threw me. I don't know what to do, I know I should be stronger than this, but- I don't want to get hurt again."
Paris crossed to the bed and sat next to Rory. "I get that, Rory, I really do. But listen, life is hard. Stuff like this is going to happen at one time or another. I hate to use this as an example, but- when your mom got pregnant with you, she started a whole new life for herself, and I'll bet she got a ton of crap about how she was "failing," how she couldn't raise you all by herself. But she did, and she's stronger for it. Rory, it's okay for what Huntzberger said to upset you, but if you hold your head up and keep going, that's your chance to be stronger. And according to dear Mitchum, that's exactly what you need."
Rory looked at her. "Paris…."
Paris stood up. "Come on. Get dressed. You have five minutes. We're going to see the dean."
Rory got up too. "I'll be right out."