She couldn't even count them anymore, and she had long since ceased to place them in orderly lines. Her wall was marked in inky black lines, and she threw down her sharpie with disgust after adding yet another. How many days had she been in the orphanage? She couldn't even imagine; it had been years. Occasionally she was transferred from one foster home to another, but the families always sent her back here. It seemed she was difficult to deal with.

The only silver lining she could think of was that they always returned her to the same room. It was supposed to provide normalcy to her world, at least, that was the theory. Rory didn't know if it was true or not, but she did appreciate that she neverhad to start another wall. She could just pick up where she left off, filling any empty space she could find with yet another black stain.

"Ror, what are you doing?" Anne asked, leaning against the door of Rory's room. Most of the girls didn't have their own room, but Rory was somewhat of a veteran at Stonehinge Orphanage.

"None of your business." Rory responded absently, still looking at the bricks in front of her.

"That stupid wall is going to get you in trouble. It's vandalism." Anne's sour breath stagnated in the air and Rory stood up from her cot.

"Do you want something?" she asked tartly.

"Why do you even do it?" The girl whined petulantly. Rory turned back to the stark white wall, thinking out loud.

"It's a count up." she said, half to herself. "It don't know when I'm getting out of here, but I'm definitely getting out, and when I do, I'm going to college." Anne snorted behind her and Rory turned once more to fix her with a cold stare.

"What, Harvard again? Never gunna happen, hun. Your have no money."

"Don't call me hun, Anne, you're thirteen." Rory retorted, and stormed past the girl and into the hall. It was filled with the clamour of children with nothing to do. Rory made her way to the caretakers lounge and carefully peeked into the wire rimmed window. The room was empty but for one man, sipping coffee at a pressboard table. Rory opened the door and shut is slowly behind her.

"Hey, Albert, is Mrs. Marsha here?" she asked.

"Nooooope," he announced through a toothy grinn, "She's gone for the day, visiting family in the city." Rory smiled and took a seat next to the bald cook and leaned back, propping her feet up on the table. She looked critically at the socks poking out from beneath her jeans. They were mismatched. She sighed.

"So, how are the studies going?" he asked after a long, satisfied sip from his mug.

"Pretty well, i scored a 772 on the SAT2 this week." Rory announced.

"Which one?"

"March 1999 Literature." She said, and he nodded happily.

"You always were good with words."

"When can I get my next test?" She asked eagerly.

"Oh, I'll have one in a day or so." he emptied his mug and looked sadly into it. "Can you make another pot?" he asked her, his wide eyes blinking.

"Again?"

"You make it best!" he cried, flinging his arms wide and grinning widely. She took his cup and walked over to the coffeepot.

"Do you think you'll have the test by tomorrow?" she asked again.

"You know, you're going to run out of sample tests eventually." he informed her. She doubted it. Even if she did, she could always start taking ACT tests. It was the only way she could teach herself. She knew the school at her orphanage was barely more than a formality. Nothing that place taught her would ever get her into Harvard, unless they offered a major in basket weaving.

It disgusted her, the way Stonehinge gave up on it's tennants. The only way she coul measure herself to the outside world was by teaching herself, and constantly checking herself with standardized tests. She didn't actually know if it would help her, but it was sure worth a try. Albert worked as a cook, but had once pushed pencils for a record filing company for the SATs. He always found extra tests lyring around, though for the lifeod her Rory could not figure out how.

She finished making a fresh pot of coffee and hid the emptying bag of Asian pacific.

"Go for the Ethiopian sidamo next week, this one's not dark enough." Rory instructed, covering the bag and closing the drawer before moving the toaster in front of it. The regular coffee was Folgers, and was what the rest of the staff drank, but Rory turned up her nose at that swill. She and Albert worked out a lovely deal; he bought the coffee, and she brewed it for him. He couldn't list the pot of water, his limbs grew too weal with age. Rory wondered idly why this didn't impair him more as a cook.

"Why did you put your hair up?" he asked suddenly.

"Um..."

"You should leave it down more. Here." he reached up and pulled her pony tail holder off, and adjusted her brown locks. "Lovely, lovely." he smacked his denchures together. Rory smiled at the familiar argument. She hated the way her hair got in her face, but he always insisted she leave it alone, and made a habit of stealing her hair holders.

"Albert, you're just obsessed with my hair becuase you don't have any." Rory smiled, and the old man patted his head, his hand making a smacking sound on the bare skin.

"At least I don't have to wear a hairnet."

So last story, Rory lost Lorelai. Im thinking man, that blows, everyone deserves a Lorelai. So in this story, she gets one.

Should I continue this? I wasn't sure how much to write becuase Im not sure if I'll continue with this. I guess it depends on you guys. Know that if I do, it will be a Rory/Jess--fitting, right? Hmm? I don't know.

Comments make a difference here...