Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top

by MrSchimpf

Paris·Rory. How does subtext taste? Kind of like ranch dressing and cherry tomatoes. Updated December 21. FEMSLASH

18. The Heart is the Guide…Pt 1

Title: Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top - Chapter Eighteen - The Heart is the Guide, The Heart Knows What it Wants, The Heart is True
Author: Nate
Pairing: Paris/Rory, alternating POVs between the girls, along with Madeline and Lorelai. Also adding in some Madeline/Brad into this chapter.
Spoilers: Into the dead of December after A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, where absolutely nothing happened on the show. At least I think so. I'll never understand why after S2 The WB couldn't spare us one December-set episode. Also note the dramatic license taken with a scene from Rory's Dance and smaller scenes from seasons one and twoin recall form.
Rating: R (sexual situations, profanity, arguing, self-pleasuring, possible breaking and entering and yes, a smidge of our favorite ditz and scared boy getting together in the biblical sense (but not in detail))
Disclaimer: The show's been off for a year, but the it's still not mine. Amy-Sherman Palladino's still holding on tight to it (after Jezebel James flopped I think she has second thoughts about letting go), Hofflund-Polone is still there somewhere, and Warner Bros. Television still holds out that slight hope they might come back someday for a reunion movie. However, David Rosenthal may have run the show, but no one cares about him anymore, except the pale M&L clones that played Olivia and Lucy.

President's Choice is the generic brand for A&P, with Punk'd a trademark of MTV Productions and Ashton Kutcher. Rentschler Field at the time was really being constructed across the river from Hartford, and is the home of the University of Connecticut's football team. Poland Spring is a trademark of Nestle's bottled water division, the Magic Bullet is owned by Homeland Housewares, and Fox Sports World (currently Fox Soccer Channel) is a News Corporation/Liberty Media network. Don Music is a character on Sesame Street, a product of Sesame Workshop. All other trademarks and services within the story are the property of their owners.
Archiving: GilmoreGirlsSlash, Realm of the Shadow, RalSt, aff•net and ff•net. Anywhere else ask first.
Summary: What begins as a night for Paris and Rory to secretly celebrate their growing relationship runs into a few kinks as Mrs. Gellar brings in someone unexpected to throw a wrench unknowingly into their young romance, and Rory isn't pleased. Will true love win in the end or will our girls end up fracturing their relationship beyond all repair? Not if Madeline has anything to do with it.
Author's Notes: This chapter has been a long time coming, I know. Trust me, I really know (the monthly emails about updates have reminded me of that). I thank you all for your patience as I write this, along with dealing withmy continued fretting about whether I got the tone during a scene right or wrote too little or too much. I have a bunch of 19 and 20 written already and I hope to rev up on those.

I had to self-beta this chapter of the story because my beta Danielle had to finish wrapping up (and I know she hates me for saying this and would rather want me to say 'her freshman year'...or kindergarten (cue Toys "R" Us theme)) college altogether. She is a graduate of Albion College with honors, and I am so glad to know her. Without her, this story is half of what it could be, and I think I would have long moved on to something else. I'm so proud of her, and although she may not have had the time to beta this, know that some of the ideas in this story came from her.

I'd also like to thank The Raven for all of her input through various email threads with me and conversations in general, along with saving me the embarrassment of reminding me that Paris is a neat freak and would probably feel uncomfortable in a situation that would happen later in this chapter. Thank goodness those I have look over my stories remind me that cleanliness is a good thing. And thank you for RavenDark and Didi for coming back into my lives, even if you aren't currently betaing or in a position to do much more than read. I'd rather have you in any form that I can than not at all.

I have been really getting into Callie/Erica on Grey's Anatomy lately. The fandom for them is in its infancy, but the LiveJournal group ericacallie has some pretty great stuff. Of course, you should also read fanfiction involving Miranda/Andy from The Devil Wears Prada if you haven't already; it's been one of the more surprising fandoms I've seen develop in such a short time and the quality level is inspiring.

Also, don't forget that July 17th is the International Day of Femslash. I encourage everyone out there who wants to write a Paris/Rory to get one out there and represent our couple. I have something in mind that I want to write for IDF, so please, get it out, read it or write it, do what you must to prove how much of an artform and style of writing that femslash has developed into.

I think you 'ers know by now that if you don't like same sex love, you shouldn't be here. Send me criticism and let me know what I can improved and what you loved as always, and please, I beg of you, more than what Jeremy Shane calls 'feedback'.

Also, please note that due to upload problems on ff•net, this chapter is split into two parts, so at the end of this chapter, click onto 'Chapter 19' to read the second part of this chapter. Don't you love it when tech people fix what doesn't need to be broken?

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Rory's POV, 8:00-8:10pm

So, I have to admit, I feel so strange at the end of this week. Not from it first week of December, the limbo between the holidays where Mom and I have taken advantage of a couple of sales to check off our Christmas lists more. Nor is it from the fact that I'm feeling lethargic with each new thing to learn in each new class. So much for the senior slump, because Chilton isn't making it easy for me to forget one thing. A couple of students have gotten a new wind behind Paris and I and are beginning to fight us to get to the top, so I have to keep myself focused, at least in that department.

I guess this week was, odd. Not in the weird kind of way, just in the sense that I expected more to happen on the relationship front with Paris.

Now I'm not talking about what you think, that we've hit a sexual slump. Truth be told, after the rush of emotions and urges we had at the Manor and near that pond, I expected that I wouldn't feel anymore the rest of the week, getting everything out that I wanted to against Paris's hand.

Oh, God, her hands...her fingers...mmm...oh, if I could feel them caressing me right now...

Whoa, whoa! Sorry about that. Seriously, I know how to keep things like that under control, usually. OK, concentrate, focus, tell. I can do this without interference from thinking about her. I know I can.

Good, I'm settled again. Anyways, this week. Yeah. You'd think after a first time you're currently keeping your mouth shut about like it's a state secret I'd feel my inner vixen shy off for a few days, letting me relax and go back into my usual studious guise, and the same with Par. We are normal, studious and sane teenagers. Sex doesn't define us in any way, shape or form.

It doesn't, right?

Then why can't I get my mind off her? Is there something wrong with me that I can't stand that she's a half-hour away from me? When she arrives at Luke's each morning, my eyes immediately wander from my eggs towards her, standing there in her Chilton trenchcoat with her good morning smile and a greeting directed towards Miss Patty's way which is veiled with thanks for her support of us. She sits down elegantly on the stool next to me as she orders her tea and a English muffin with grape jelly. I'm shocked that Lorelai is none the wiser as her right shin brushes against my left leg, her way of starting the morning off with a secret and intimate moment.

Then her looks at me in class, out in the halls, or in the gym playing lacrosse, they've been so intense to me so lately. Those warm brown eyes, staring at me from across a room, the neutral look on her face definitely hidden behind a lustful façade.

I haven't even mentioned her during biology class, what with her right hand 'leaning' against my stool on the side. She's grown to enjoy wandering her fingers along the bottom of my skirt, taking advantage of her non-writing hand to keep perfect notes, yet drive me crazy in nothing more than a three-inch space that has not been noticed by Dr. Eure as she paces the aisles of the classroom. She gives me an occasional glance, just to let me know she's thinking about me, and goes back to regarding her notes as I do mine.

But what really gets me in a twist is her leg-crossing. Where she used to maybe do it perhaps twice in an hour (don't ask how I know this), now it's about eight or nine times where she switches one leg to be on top of another. Paris lifts her leg up a couple more inches more than she had in the past, then settles it down against the other knee. As I stare her down, I can see her skirt sliding up her leg, baring each one of those lovely thighs. And if she does it just right, well...you can just say that my legs get shaky, and I feel myself wanting to do that thing I occasionally do to release stress.

I'm kind of regretting telling her what I did under her influence; it's in her arsenal of teasing material lately.

Beyond that though, there has been an obvious change with how she comes off to Madeline and Louise, where she's less abrasive or ready to jump on them for a mistake of theirs in the newsroom. Really, she's nicer to Mads though, who we both are beginning to sense isn't happy with her friendship with Louise.

Lately, she's not coming in with her into school, and when Paris asked for what happened when we skipped first period on Monday in a text, she didn't dawdle with it, sending an answer back as soon as she could (and also relief to the both of us; it had just been reading, so we didn't miss a pop quiz, which he even joked about with the class after the bell rung about expecting). Around Louise, she's becoming less enthused with jumping into conversations, not into the gossip or the appraisal of the guys. She's actually concerned with us, but more importantly, she's been concerned with her grades. That became clear in a dining hall conversation we had Thursday at lunch. Louise wasn't in school, having an appointment with her dermatologist about lasering off moles, so Madeline was there alone with us, and allowed herself to open up about things.

As we kept ourselves well-behaved beneath the table, she filled the expected silence with a question about where she should go for college. Paris, expecting her to prefer anything on the 'party schools' list, asked where she was specifically looking.

"Preferably in the Seattle area," she responded.

"Seattle?" Needless to say, a specific place where Madeline wanted to attend school was a shock to my girl. "What about fashion design in San Francisco; you were considering Mills across the Bay."

"I was, but I changed my mind." She then explained things. "I could do something easy that could get me a reality show on a Viacom network and fifteen minutes of fame, sure. But you keep telling me, the both of you, I'm in this school, I get good grades, I have all this potential. Why should I let this education go to waste, when I can make a difference to someone beyond telling them pink isn't their color?"

"What are you thinking then?" I question. "Not to be mean, Madeline, but you seem to slide by."

She shrugged, swirling the water around in her bottle. "It isn't mean, really. But do I want to look back and think I didn't do enough? Should I only be known as the 'girl most likely to marry young and rich' and that's it?" She shyly smiles. "I guess that's why I'm thinking that some kind of science is in my future."

I could tell from that exact moment that Paris was knocked over with a feather, and her voice showed it. "Science?" She was so surprised, thinking that she was in a reverse world. "You might get bored with it though. You're flighty, what If you decide it's not the right career track?"

"Paris," Madeline shared candidly, "I'm not just saying this as a probable maybe, that I might lose interest in it. But let's face it; I enjoy the subjects and the sense of discovery, and science is cool! I'm not like an Einstein, but to be able to do something that I naturally enjoy and want to do, I can't let that go. The field is wide open and I can find something I'm sure to love."

"I guess I can understand." Paris looked over her friend carefully, hopeful she was making the decision with her heart, rather because of a phase she might be in. "I've been set on a medical track my whole life, but I'm really enjoying journalism more than I ever expected to. In the medical classes I've taken I just keep thinking that maybe I'm not right to be a doctor. It's expected, part of my bloodline, but I just can't seem to think of myself next to someone, informing them that they're leaving the mortal coil in a few months."

Everything began to come full circle within the conversation, as I was surprised to hear her think she might not pursue being a cancer researcher. I always thought it was her dream, but maybe it was just expected of her. Madeline and her talked a little longer, and I watched as I finally realized why these two girls had been friends for nine years. When I first met them both, I surmised that they were only together through an odd bond and the connections between their mothers. That thought stayed with me for a long time, especially as Madeline dawdled around during community service, Paris keeping her in line.

They couldn't be more apart, but I saw that Paris, no matter the annoyance she might carry for the girl, does treasure her friendship, and has said as such to me. I remember her telling me exactly that once. "She might be a follower now, but I know her, Gilmore: people will see her lead, one day. It's a gut feeling that she's waiting in the wings for her moment to shine, without Louise." At the time, I thought Paris was crazy.

But as she asked for a recommendation of whether to put in an app with Washington or another university in the area, I couldn't help but wonder if the black-haired girl across from us was still that absent-minded girl with three forms of 'Lynn' in her name (yes, her middle name is Linda. Blame her mother's Dynasty addiction of the time for that).

I'm surprised to say that she is changing for the better, however. I don't know exactly what it is yet, but as she described how she might want to get into botany, or otherwise some kind of worthwhile science where she could make a difference, I have to say that Paris's aptness to be short with her may end up paying off. And I have to admit, no matter how 'ditzy' she might come off usually, Madeline is in the top 60 of our class, but she doesn't feel a need to crow about it. She pursues her happiness, and thankfully her father lets her do so. That lunch went so well, and the three of us came out of the conversation feeling much more in tune about each other than before, although we had to hold back the obvious secret we were keeping.

And what a secret it is! Thinking about this week, how much we've flirted in the halls and within the newspaper, to an outside observer they can't see that anything is amiss. Paris has been so secretive about when she wants to touch, and she brings it out at just the right time, when no one notices. For instance, while I was going through pictures on my monitor to crop and put in the paper, she came up behind me, and I didn't even notice until she was right near my ear, lightly flittering her fingertips along my back while she went on with business as usual.

"I would check the next roll," she hinted. "These kind of look like they were taken in a bad light."

I stumbled over my response. "But cross-country isn't known for good lighting, they were taken in the woods."

"Then find one with the runner coming out of the clearing," she suggested, her cheek brushing mine. "You know my policy is that Photoshop is an emergency tool, not a crutch; take a good picture the first time, or trash it."

"Why am I doing this in the first place?" I questioned. "I'm more into writing than photo layout."

"Because Melanie DeVos is more experienced during crunch times with ad layouts and we have the social season coming up, which packs in the paper with ads. I'm actually doing you a favor here, Gilmore."

"Oh, you are." I smiled, coding the flirt carefully within my words. "Didn't you already do so this week?"

Oh, that got her flustered, and she pushed herself closer. "You're just lucky you're so good at what you do, Gilmore."

"Well I am the best at doing it in a parking lot." Now note that six other people surrounded us on each side, and to everyone else is thinking this conversation is so mundane. Except for one thing; newspaper talks don't usually consist of your editor-in-chief sniffing your hair, or making a massage look asexual. "I proved myself, didn't I?"

A wall of hidden sarcasm was put up. "Oh, beyond my wildest dreams." She looked over towards the screen again, looking at my browsing of the files. "Now if you can find the perfect picture for this story, you deserve much more than a gold star." I scrolled through the file menu, looking at the small thumbnails included in the photo files until I found a perfect one with the runner coming up from a small valley.

"How about this one?" I pointed it out and double-clicked it into the photo window. "I may have to do some adjustments, but just to brighten and sharpen." Poking her tongue in her mouth, she looked it over, trying to judge it in her mental layout.

"Um, I'd crop out some of the side stuff, crop to up to the numbers, and just a bit of color adjustment, her shirt seems a bit more dark blue than Chilton blue." She grabbed my mousing hand, guiding the device within, and used the cursor to point out where I should crop. "I think I'd probably just have this inset within the story, rather than below the headline, it works better that way."

Oh, her hand, it's so soft. I couldn't take it, she felt so wonderful behind me. You could say I was enjoying this hands-on editing style very much, the torture...

But if I thought she wasn't the type to invoke sexual thoughts in public under everyone's nose, I was sorely mistaken moments later as she continued to talk while I manipulated the picture.

"I wanted to let you know that I met your new friend at Westfarms last night." Talking as if it was mundane, I felt my throat catch as I reminded myself of how I ended up at her door Sunday evening.

I decided to play dumb, hopeful she'd cool down if I feigned that I didn't know what she was talking about. "I don't know anyone from Farmington."

"Of course not, because she's from Granby; I checked." OK, let it go, let it go, this is so not appropriate paper conversation. "When I went in, she was very friendly, knowledgeable, not like the women in Wallingford. I mentioned you by description, and she had the other clerks take care of everyone else while she helped me with my problems."

I bit down on my lip, trying to hold back the images of Friday morning when the clerk measured things out and got an idea of what would go with my body type and my personal style. "Truthfully, I never really considered more than their basics and skimmed the catalog, but as she described everything, I was intrigued, and she gave me an idea that I didn't have to think the way I usually do about myself, and that with the right stuff, I could stand out."

Great, just what I needed, to think about her like that! I tried to push the chair back, but she kept her shoes firmly grounded into the floor, disallowing movement. "You helped me out, gave me a basic idea of where to go, and I really appreciate you doing that for me. You'll be glad to know that your friend has a nice holiday bonus check to be drafted to her under my father's secret account in the next week, because when you spend 579, you should really give thanks to whoever helped you out."

She slid her hand across my bra strap beneath my blouse and rose up, leaving me stunned silent. Never had she hurled around those big money numbers, since she always thought as wealth as something to be careful with. But when she threw that figure towards me, I knew then that there wasn't going back anymore. Paris was flirting with me, at the newspaper, and with not even mentioning one word, drove me crazy, and all up the wall.

"Damn you," I whispered under my breath, which she caught. She quirked her eyebrow, and looked me over dead-on.

"Not until Saturday night," she hinted, and she turned and walked away, leaving me to think about her sans the skirt, even more so than I had since the start of the weekend and her first call.

I was left stunned, speechless. I went back to work, the taste of her along my tongue as I thought about her in that shop with my new 'friend', trying on things for three hours straight and giving her that bonus. I know I couldn't do that, but between the both of us, that woman must think we're crazy to ask her advice on what to wear beneath our clothes. Thank God she gets paid to deal with my girlfriend fretting over something that doesn't give her enough cleavage.

I know she was probably thinking about that as she got ready tonight for the Winter Formal. We both didn't want to go and would have preferred to go out on a date someplace special, remembering the embarrassment of the last Formal we attended, when I found out about her 'close date', and of course, Dean and Tristan's cock-measuring contest. We both skipped last year because of calculus exam study. This year we can't get out of it though, since it's organized by student government and we lead it. Both of us had to be in attendance, even if we just sat at the punch table doling out drinks and watched for someone sneaking in to spike the punch.

Thankfully, Paris saw that I wouldn't be happy about that assignment, and when she doled out responsibilities, I had something pretty simple to do, and that was to coordinate the music with the hired DJ so that NWA and Snoop Dogg didn't sneak into the playlist. We all wanted the dance to be a nice calm event, and I also didn't want the DJ to be playing music last loved in 1994. Pretty much all I had to do was check his discs, make sure nothing offensive or lame was in there, and the rest of the night, I can catch up on my reading in the corner. Meanwhile, Par would be at the door, greeting others and welcoming them on behalf of student gov, and then moving on to the mic to announce basic things like Oxfam and United Way donation pleas, along with 'your lights are on' queries. Pretty simple gig, and Paris agreed with me Thursday night, glad to at least have some time with me tonight.

Still, no matter how much I wanted to just come in a t-shirt and jeans, we were required to dress fancy, no matter our duties. I put a bit of effort into it, having Mom alter an off-the-shelf grey dress a bit, add a bit of a slit, adjust the bodice, things I knew would tease Paris, but at the same time show that I didn't want to put much effort into attending the Winter Formal. I looked pretty enough, and as we got within a half-mile of the Armory, Mom gave me some ground rules to follow.

"You'll call me if there's any problem or you have to stay out later than expected. I don't want to have you freezing your ass outside for an hour because you forgot to call."

"Don't worry, I won't." I rolled my eyes up. "Trust me, I'm planning on going with Par's plan to be out by ten, we just need to be there two hours."

"They'll drag you into more, trust me," Mom warned, remembering back to her younger days. "I know you don't think you're dancing, but I know you will."

"I won't," I insisted. "I brought a good book, I'll be buried in it!"

Mom shook her head, denying my theory. "Trust me, kiddo, bribe the DJ into keeping you in the seats. He's going to beg you to dance at least once."

"With who?"

"Oh, I don't know," she teased, then teased my call before Friday night dinner. "Paris kind of wanted you to dance Thursday night when I turned on the music."

"She was not! She was telling you to turn it down."

"What, she doesn't like AC/DC?" Lorelai pouted as she made the last turn towards the venue. "Tough breaks! She knew what the deal was for Thursdays, I can do and play whatever I want when she's there."

"Mom, next time she's over, do not taunt her by putting in the Wizard of Oz disguised as Troop Beverly Hills!" I was annoyed as I went on. "She has nightmares about flying monkeys. Monkeys with wings!"

"But it's the best movie ever!"

"No!" I stuck my finger out. "Never, ever again! You will lose your movie choice if you mock her like you do."

"Your girlfriend is no fun," she whined. "Dean mocked with me."

"Dean would mock Saving Private Ryan." Yes, I totally said that. "Seriously, she's much better than Dean; she even bought the food for us. You loved that, right?"

"Well...yeah."

"And she was on her best behavior," I noted.

"Sure she was," Mom said wryly. "I know you two were having fun before I came home from work, so she got her energy out before then."

I tried to deny her allegation, but well...it didn't work. "Yeah, having fun studying." I said that with a dreamy look on my face.

"Studying the fly on your jeans?" Oh, crap! "Trust me, kiddo, I know all the tricks, you and her were doing things I need not know about that I did with your father once."

"We were not!" I continued to argue for my non-existent innocence. "Maybe we made out a little, but the door was open! We weren't going to do anything too wild, and we followed the rules, Mom."

"Honey, calm down. I'm just teasing you, and whatever you're doing with her, as long as it's not interfering with your education or dangerous, it's fine." Stopping at the last light before the Formal venue, she turned around and attempted to quell my panicking. "It's going to take me awhile to get used to this, but she's a good girl. She knows what she's doing, and with this, she's becoming less intense. Frankly, I'm glad you hooked up, since it gets her off our backs during PTO meetings!"

"Mom!" I was smiling again.

"She was going to make some big presentation about a front lawn LCD sign Tuesday night, but she never appeared. I think Ava and Aubrey drank to that after the meeting and actually had a party!" Oh, if I could tell her what she was presenting that night in reality, which involved the two of us in iChat, misusing the technology of instant messaging after ending discussion on an essay topic...

Finally, we arrived at the front entrance, and I felt so strange not having a date on such a date night. But as long as she was there, I could handle the problems and pressures of having to attend the Formal as a single girl, rather as a newly devirginized lesbian with my lover at the door.

"So, this is it. Your final Formal." Mom smiled at me. "I can tell you right now, Paris is going to have a dry mouth."

"She doesn't drool." I blushed, wondering if I was showing off too much cleavage. "She'll look, shrug, and say I look nice."

"She has blood, right?" Far be it for me to deny that Mom and I share an odd kinship. "Paris will drool."

"I guess." I still doubted myself about my looks as I got out of the car and said goodbye to her, climbing out of the Jeep as gracefully as I could. Gathering my purse and making sure that my book and wallet were secure, I felt around until I found my staff ticket to get in. Looking up at the big doors of the neo-Gothic building, I felt a shudder at going into the huge hall, alone.

Thank God Paris would greet me at the inside door as I went into the hall. Opening the outside door, the decorations were spare, fitting a Chilton-sponsored dance within the corridor. A crowd of other students was in the hall as I went through, trying to find which door Paris was guarding. I prepared myself for the visceral reaction of how she looked. Instead of the green dress of last time though, I pictured her more in the sweater dress she wore to my 16th birthday party at Grandma's, not going for looks, just for comfort.

I wanted her to look conservative, boring, dull, so I could see the way she usually presented herself. I felt so odd, wanting her to dress down, just so that no other person in that hall could eye her up. I was the one making her hot, but I needed her to cool down in public, for my own sake.

Looking towards the inner doors, paired in three sections, I couldn't find her though. That's odd, I thought. Maybe she had changed assignments with someone else. I did see Chip from one of our projects last year at a door instead, along with a couple of other students I didn't know at the other two. Maybe Chip would know something, so I went towards that line to dig out information. I patiently waited in line for my place to give him the ticket, and after five minutes, I was at the head of the queue.

Greeting him, I asked him if he knew where she was.

"She should be in there, I'm not sure where though," he explained. "She called me just before she left home, said I had line duty."

"Did she say why?"

"No idea, I guess she didn't want to do it. But she was in a rush so I couldn't really question it. I think she just came in through the side door."

"OK, thanks."

"Enjoy the evening." He took the ticket, and I was puzzled by what he said. Was she even here? Why would she ditch the true opportunity to make sure everyone knew she was the queen of the school? I know how excited she was about it, texting me all day as I got ready about how she was glad to have line duty. Why would she change her mind so abruptly?

I guess I feel so protective of her, that I'm scared when she goes off-plan, like she did Monday morning with us being late. I have to get used to that. Maybe once I consult with the DJ, things will be much calmer and I'll realize that she's probably at the food table--

Uh, wait a second. Why is she mingling in the middle of the crowd? I see her over towards the middle, and I know she never mingles, ever. She is always on the side, no matter what.

Besides that though, uhh, she certainly hasn't shrugged off dressing up for the dance at all. Her dress is a sort of a lighter green, and has a satiny look to it, it makes her look thinner than she seems. Um, and her breasts are coming out to play tonight, did our friend at the Secret sell her this dress? I mean, wow, she still looks like Paris, really.

But she's standing there in that dress...uh, she has a slit up the right side of her dress. A nice, long, leg-bearing slit.

Oh, damn. For someone who shops petite, she's making me seem so small all the sudden. My heart is palpitating, and I'm undressing her here, in the middle of this room, with my eyes. I want her so bad, and here I am, ready to just...

Ready to just...

Uhh, what in the hell is Jamie doing there, approaching her with some punch? I can recognize him any time, what with his dull Brock Squarejaw preppy look. My fists are clenching; there is no way in hell that Paris invited him here, did she? Or that she's pleased to see him at all...

Oh, maybe she is, since she's smiling at him. Why is she smiling at him?

What the fuck is going on here, is she going to call me out right here and now?

God, I hate Jamie. I hate him so much...damn it, they're getting into a dancing position! She hasn't even seen me yet and I am boiling mad. Why is she with Jamie, why, why, why?

I'm just going to turn away and stew in a fucking corner, and I'm going to get Louise to do all that DJ crap. I can't believe her! After all that she's shared with me, and all that I've shared with her, she's dancing with Jamie Pratt! He came all the way up from Princeton, likely with flowers and candy, and got her to date him, and then fuck me over! Sorry for getting all salty with my language here, but I'm pissed off! Why didn't she tell me at all? What is wrong with me?

She told me I wasn't a phase, that she wanted us to be as close to each other as possible. She promised me, and now...

Paris is looking right towards me, smiling, saying hi, asking how I'm doing.

I turn away from her, coldly. She will not see what she has done, that I'm on the verge of exploding in tears. I should have known I was just the filler before Jamie kissed up to her, and that's it, we're done. To everyone else, it's just another night, another stage in the combative story of the two of us, publicly.

To me though, I feel my heart shattering. I don't need any kind of explanation at all, because no matter what she says, she's holding Jamie's hand. She's got a guy. She doesn't need me anymore.

I feel empty inside, and suddenly, I know how she felt when Tristan told her they weren't right for each other. Dirty and wrong, wanting to lash out.

Suddenly, I feel so used. A month, down the drain, because she's found someone appropriate for her to love. I know she may say she hates Jamie, but when you're surprised, you can't help but fall in love.

If you'll excuse me, I kind of feel like Miss Haversham right now. I need to cope before I end up living the rest of my life in my bedroom wearing this same dress...

Paris's POV, 8:25pm-8:35pm

I've been watching her all night, when I can. From a seat along the sides, she sits on a folding chair, near the corner, reading Madam Bovary. I can't help but notice how beautiful she looks, the way her hair is tied back, how the grey dress she wears accentuates the beautiful paleness of her skin, and falls just above her knee. Tonight, Rory Gilmore isn't a Disney princess at all; she's gone far and above those homely ladies and become a beauty of her own, in my eyes.

But if you look under the façade, you see that her blue eyes, usually so full of life and bright, are instead darkened. Full of rage and betrayal. She's angry, bitter, hiding it all under her usual cherry disposition to anyone else.

Except for me. And I must take full responsibility for ruining her night.

Probably her life if I don't fix things very, very quickly. She hasn't even said a word to me, walking towards Louise to ask her to take DJ duty, then sitting down shortly after, and she hasn't moved from her chair since except for her 'clearing the air' before this moment.

Obviously, I fucked up, horribly. This is all my fault. I had opportunities to make it clear to her that the situation I was in wasn't the culmination of some sick joke where I'd take her virginity and reveal her as a dyke at the end of the night. Mind you I'm saying that in the guise of a Chilton student with the humor of Jimmy Kimmel, And not myself.

Maybe I should say your average member of a Princeton fraternity, also.

I suppose I should tell you how I got hoodwinked into the situation in the first place. Trust me when I say, this night did not need to happen. It should have never happened.

I should not be with Jamie Pratt, who I could barely tolerate when I went out with him in August. I should be joking about slutty girls with my girlfriend and giving her wide-eyed stares and inflaming her with a bit of leg in this hot little number.

But then my mother found out that I had gone out with him, no matter how much I tried to hide it. For the last month, she's been conspiring with this yutz to give me a surprise for Winter Formal. Mind you, I've been telling her 'I am going alone' since the start of October, and any dates would be rejected.

Next time this happens, I will just get ready at Maddy's.

If there is a next time, that is. For all I know, Rory is planning my demise while reading that book, and I'm living my last hours because she's going to stab me in my bed hours from now. Probably with knitting needles.

Maybe a little macabre, but please, get the point. Rory hates me, and she has every reason to do so. But she doesn't know the facts.

After I was finished getting ready, I decided to do my usual duck from my room and through the kitchen stairs, hoping that I could just shout to my mother I was going to leave and dodge out without exchanging more than four words. I thought I had a pretty good chance of it this time, seeing as she had her own night out with Mohegan Man. What they were going to do, I don't really know. All I knew is I didn't want to know, and to get out of there quickly was my main goal. I wouldn't let anything get in my way.

"Mother, I'm leaving!" I shouted from the top of the landing.

"All right!" OK, home free, nothing said, she couldn't stop me as I rushed down the stairs towards the kitchen...

And ended up being met with someone at the bottom of the landing, blocking my way with a dozen blue roses and a gift.

"Hello, Paris," the person said, and as I caught my breath from looking at my feet while I went down the stairs, I looked up towards the speaker.

Who immediately brought me into a very unwanted hug on my end. "I've missed you, how have you been?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God...no, this is not happening! I remembered the voice from its boastful drone during the dinner in Washington as he talked about McCain being his idol and such, and immediately, I felt myself wanting to be sick.

It was Jamie. The freshman from Princeton who was a good debate partner, but I couldn't muster a sexual thought about, which finally brought me out of my delusion that my feelings for Rory were from a lack of any boy I wanted. Mainly because beyond Tristan, I didn't want a guy.

If this was Vance Beardsley, it would be so much easier. But this guy, he likes me. Likes me! He thinks my anger is a turn-on, so I couldn't threaten him and expect him to clear away.

"Ahh, Paris." There was my mother, coming towards the two of us and probably already up to a .11. "I see you're very surprised."

"Um, yes." No, I was shanghaied! Looking him over, nothing got me all hot. He looked just as non-threateningly cute as he did four months before, wearing a dull suit with a silver tie.

I couldn't believe this. How the hell had Jamie got my number, and more importantly, on my mom's side? This was a nightmare. I knew exactly why he was there, so I tried to play dumb to misdirect.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I'm greeting people at the door of my school's Winter Formal--"

"No you're not!" Sharon cut me off immediately. "Paris, enjoy a night out, I'm really impressed with this boy."

"Mother, I'm the greeter! I'm not going to have time to dance!"

"You will if you call someone to take over. What about that Chip boy, he seems to somewhat enjoy you in student government."

"No, I'm not calling anyone." I brought my focus towards Jamie, hoping to dissuade him with a future pity date. "Look, Jamie, you can call me next week." I tried to walk off towards the garage.

And then, he stopped me.

"I came all this way to see you," he said, smiling. "I really do miss you."

I tried letting him off easy again, doing all I could to get out of the house, but my path continued to be blocked. "Jamie, it was a nice date, but--"

"Paris!!" Mother stomped her foot down on the ground. "Into the dining room, now!" She grabbed me by my arm forcefully, and yanked me towards the other room, definitely angry with me. Locking me in, she unfortunately used the soundproof sliding oak doors to my disadvantage.

"Mother, I--"

Now let's examine why Sharon isn't Mother of the Year with this conversation, shall we? "Shut up, you will not embarrass yourself in front of one of the most eligible bachelors in all of Philadelphia!" She stomped around me, standing straight, her voice weakening my resolves. "Now why you are not going out with this boy, is beyond me. You never told me about him at all, and frankly, young lady, I'm very disappointed in you! How dare you not let anything develop with him, after one date!"

"That's because it was a dull one," I said, meekly. "I didn't have fun."

She sneered her mouth, growling at me, her flesh and blood, verbally abusing me. "Oh, fuck fun! For once in your life, think about more than fun. You're not allowed to have fun on a date, you learn about each other and go from there!" I felt myself wanting to cry, but knew if I did, she would slap me in the face. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking in that head of yours, but you are my daughter, and you will do what I say. And tonight, you will be on Jamie's arm and enjoy your night, dancing."

Rory, if you were here now...I felt scared, really, truly scared. I tried to raise my voice. "What if I don't? Let's say I walk out this door without him and go to the dance, what will you do?"

My mother stood still, letting her words speak for any action she might take. "Then I guess I'll have to tell the Pratts that you refused to date him, and they can use their influence to shut down any Harvard contacts you might have, since one of their family members happens to work in the dean's office." My face was pale, and I felt sick as she attacked my future. As I began to look down, she threw more sickening attacks in my direction. "Look up here, you sniveling bitch!" She took her finger and propped up my chin up sharply, her nail digging into the soft skin and almost drawing blood. "Let's get things straight, Paris. I don't care about your future, as long as it's filled with grandchildren and you being a loyal wife to your husband. I'm tired of your idiotic attitude towards being independent, and you will get in line, or else I will ruin your life. I realized I was losing control of you when that bastard spawn of Lorelai Gilmore's visited here overnight last week."

My jaw clenched, and I tried to defend Rory. "Excuse me!" I felt so hostile towards her. "Rory is my best friend and does not deserve your hate! Don't you dare belittle her or Lorelai!"

"I could give a shit about who you keep as a buddy; besides, she'll probably meet the same fate as her mother sooner or later and ruin her life." This was becoming the first time in my life I was willing to go to jail and punch Sharon out. Yet I held back, remembering how long until I no longer had to abide by the shitty ruling of Hartford County's divorce court. "Now you are not going to ruin this for me, or your father. You have a guy who likes you out there, and you will enjoy him, no matter what. I don't expect you home before one, and if I hear anything about you doing your stupid volunteer work, you're going to be sorry you disobeyed me. You understand?"

I nodded silently, hoping the room's oxygen went away.

"I said..." she repeated with a growl, "do you understand, Paris?"

"Yes, Moth--"

She grabbed my hand tightly, like she did when I was younger, in a way that hurt. "You show him a good time, or else!"

"Yes, Mother." I was weak, and quiet as I shirked out of the room after Sharon's rant towards me, feeling like crying, angry at her, angry at Jamie, feeling so violated. I ran for a corner of the hall, away from Jamie, where I called Chip to let him know he had door duty. I knew if I kept my original plans I'd get a whiny Jamie, and Sharon doing much more than screaming at me. The call was quick and to the point, and with that, I moved on to informing Rory. I tried to call, but got her voice mail, so I left a quick message.

"Rory, it's Par. I'm out with Jamie against my will, sorry."

Then, thanks to Madeline's knowledge of speedy text messaging language, I made sure cover myself completely, although the vocabulary portion of my brain was screaming out corrections as I typed swift characters on the tiny cell phone keypad;

R,

911, Sharon forced me on Jamie 4 formal date! dont kill me, sorry :(. b thinking of u all nite.

Par

I had a feeling she would get it, and I'd be well-covered enough. At least I hoped so. Shortly after, I departed with Jamie in the town car, and I could tell Henrico was not pleased at all to be called in by my mother on a day off he planned for months to launch his new indoor soccer league for kids down at the Y in his neighborhood. He actually used the term concha putrefacta to describe her as I apologized to him in Spanish before departing. He wasn't mad at me, but made it clear he would be screening from now on, and that if I needed his services that I would have to call him on my cell personally.

As much as I'd like to say that Jamie and I had a conversation on the ride over to the Armory, I'm not going to run it down for you, mainly because I didn't get to say all that much. Instead, I was able to recall why I never found him attractive beyond the surface, as he boasted about how much he was 'owning' debates (I thought they were owned by the schools, not him), and that he was the best pledge in his fraternity. He let me know how his boring family was, who made Dean and the Forresters seem like the fucking Osbournes in comparison. And then he went into detail about how much he missed me, including spending nights on the phone deciding whether to call me or not.

Yes, I'm serious, he acted like he was in a bad 60's movie when it came to his feelings for me! God, I mean come on, either call me or give up, but don't wait until I've completely forgotten about you to make your move!

But things got worse, and soon it was clear that my absent-mindedness during that luncheon had come back to bite me, hard. He went on and on about how I was the best thing to happen to him that summer, and that he couldn't think about anything else when he was alone at night.

"I even thought of coming up to your school and surprising you last month," he mentioned. "I called them to ask, but unfortunately your headmaster said I couldn't visit without your permission, something about security precautions."

Remind me to send Hanlan and Bitty a card showing their appreciation for rejecting that visit. I couldn't have imagined what he'd do, get down on his knees? Ask for my hand? Who does he I think I am, god damned Scarlett O'Hara?

No matter what, I would have been fucked one way or another, thanks to my mother's tenacity. When I asked him how he got my mother's number, he said that his grandmother was a member of the DCW, and since Sharon leads the Hartford branch, it didn't take long to get a hold of her.

I felt a headache coming on as he prodded me for information for how I was doing within the fifteen minute drive to the Formal venue. I rattled off a basic review of the last three months, filtering out anything to have to do with Rory, and tried to sound just barely interested in recounting to this stranger in my eyes how my life was. Frankly, I was surprised that he wasn't mad at me for not mentioning that by the time I got back to Hartford, I had forgotten all about him.

As much as I'd like to recount the full conversation with him, there was no ice broken between us, and I already knew that this would be our second and last date. He tried to inch closer, but I avoided it by claiming I needed to be next to the window because of being carsick.

And as much as I hate to say this, would it have killed him to offer dinner at the very least? Not that I was starving and would eat something at the hors d'oeuvres table, but it would have been much appreciated.

I did know that I would have to play along all night, lest I look less than enthused to him. As much as I didn't think Jamie dateable, I wasn't going to be completely bitchy and tell him to go find someone else to have fun with. Besides, what can go wrong, I asked myself. I thought I was pretty well-covered and Rory would understand.

Oh, but she didn't. The moment she turned away from me after I greeted her, she didn't see the surprised shock on my face, the anguish. I felt my stomach drop at that exact moment, and I could tell that if not for Jamie, I would have probably turned her on quite a bit. I went on dancing with him, which was a mistake in hindsight. But I was listening to him, because I didn't want trouble with Sharon, and no matter how much I wanted to go talk to Rory, Jamie was stuck to my side, and when I said I wanted to talk to her, he tried to interfere.

"Cool, I want to talk to her too," he said, eager to restore our Junior Leadership bonds. "I'm sure she's also missed me...though not as much as you did." He said the last part with a flirt, and brought himself closer, expecting a kiss.

I pushed him away in a nice manner. "Actually...um, it can wait, honestly. It's something you wouldn't understand." I looked up at him, feeling so strange to be in the arms of a guy who shadowed over me by a foot, rather than the comfortable few inches of Rory. "Maybe later?"

"Um, sure." We continued to dance, and I was thankful not to have anyone like Madeline or Louise come over to examine that I had a guy. Well, Madeline saw us, but didn't say anything, just waving, saying hi and eventually moving out of my line of sight.

I had my fingers crossed that maybe I could try to figure out why Rory wasn't being social and bitter to me, and I kept a vigil towards her seat, hoping to catch her leaving for something like a restroom break. In the meantime, I had to duck Jamie's feet trying to stomp me several times, along with his musical commentary. Let's just say our views on Mariah Carey as the finest songstress of our time are very divergent.

I knew Rory couldn't sit there and stew forever, and finally, forty minutes into the event, she got up from the chair. That was my signal to confront her.

The plan was put into effect quickly. "Uh, Jamie, would you mind if I used the restroom? I drank a little too much water before the Formal." I faked a nervous laugh and looked up at him.

"Sure, why not?" He nodded, letting me go. "I'm just going to wander the room."

"Take your time." With that, I found myself broken off from him, and rushed quickly towards the hallway, hoping that I could catch Rory in time. I just felt this night falling apart with each step, and hoped if I explained it all to her, she would have to understand that I had no intention at all of hurting her.

Did I mention that I cannot run in heels to save my life? I almost fell a couple of times and must have looked like Square Pegs-era Sarah Jessica Parker running down that hall, even if I was in a Sex in the City-era dress.

"Rory!" I called out her name once I was out in the hall. "Hey, Rory!" I raised my hand up as she turned to look at me.

She was immediately bitter towards me, standing up straight and staring me down as if she forgot that I used to really intimidate her. Strutting towards the restroom, she had an acidic venom to her words as I caught up with her. I felt a chill as we entered the room, thankfully alone.

"Rory," I started, "I wanted to explain--" I tried to talk as if nothing was amiss, but she stopped me by slamming the door shut, and turning the lock.

"Wanted to explain what?" Oh, fuck, she was pissed off! "Wanted to explain what you're doing with that idiot?" I felt my heart beat picking up as she stomped her heel down, leaving me to gape at my beautiful girlfriend turning into a Medusa before my very eyes. "Why is he here?"

"I don't know--"

"Wanted to embarrass me later, push me out of the closet, deny we have anything and leave me to the vultures?" OK, this wasn't the Rory Gilmore I knew at all. "You had this planned, didn't you? Get me right to that point, all buttered up, romantic, unpopped, and then BAM! Your ultimate mindfuck where you get the V slot, just like Mom said you were going for. I trusted you, I thought you were true."

I'm losing her. I was in an extreme panic, trying to make a comeback. I could usually keep up with her, word for word, but at that moment, I was failing, looking down at the octagonal tiles below, ashamed. Admittedly to anyone else, I probably had the upper hand. But I just couldn't grasp on.

"I am," I responded solemnly, hoping I could explain things, forgetting other details. "You really think I would be that low? That I'd date a guy who dropped off my radar the moment I came back to the dorm, then spend the last month of my life proving that I want you the way I do?" I wasn't going to be pushed into a fight with her, and if she wanted one, I'd take the punch.

She had spent the last forty-five minutes stewing, angry at me. I was powerless to stop her from using her words to cut me.

"Yeah, like I believe that now. Friend of Louise, whose picture is right next to the definition of one night stand, and daughter of a woman who gets wet from seeing others in pain." I felt her gaze burn into me, hateful and unyielding. "Seriously, you could've done a lot better than Jamie when it came to screwing with me; I know Vance would love to have you."

"Ror, please stop--" I had never felt so defeated before, never so down and out. I was losing my will to fight the accusations as I tried to beg and plead for her to check her messages.

"The name, is Rory. You just lost your right to shorten it." She backed me towards another part of the bathroom. "What you've done is low, you know that, right?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I screamed in desperation. "Jamie--"

"Look, just don't bother talking to me for now." She held up her hand. "You've done just about enough tonight, and I don't even want to look at you. I hope you have a nice, fun night out, Paris." I began to cry fully, knowing that my happiness was once again snatched just as I had a supposedly tight grasp on it.

"You really don't understand, I didn't mean to go out with--" Rory quickly left the room before I got my confession out, and when the door shut, I was in tears, not giving a damn about my makeup or anything else. I once again felt all alone in the world as my best friend, the love of my life, left me, without letting me convey how much I hated the current situation.

I eventually retreated into the stall I'm in, not giving a fuck about Jamie at all. I felt my stomach twist and turn, feeling so hurt and angry.

Angry at myself.

Angry, because I didn't push myself out of Jamie's way, make him tumble on his ass and tell Sharon if she liked Jamie so much, she could date him.

Angry, because I can't stand to hurt my girlfriend, and I have. Maybe forever.

Angry, because I did nothing to follow my heart, and complied the moment my mother called me a bitch.

I wish I had just called in sick and didn't do the Formal now, because this would have all never happened. I could be at home working on a project, and Rory would be fine with me, not hating my guts because I happened to have an unwanted escort.

As I sit in this stall, I wonder if things have changed between us. Or worse, she'll out me to everyone and tell them about Monday morning as if it was different, dark, and twisty.

Fuck. Thank God Jamie didn't take me to dinner; I'm beginning to truly feel sick...

Madeline's POV, 9:10pm-9:25pm

I'm trying to think about the exact point things changed for me, and why all the sudden I've gone from having such low expectations for myself, to thinking of myself as scientist material. Three months ago my only concern was about how hot Louise and I should look for Homecoming, and how many guys we should dance with, or in Louise's case, bed.

Not me, it takes a while to get me to sleep with a guy. I may seem like I've slept with a lot of boys on outside appearances, but really, it's more like only three. Everyone else that appears to be a bedpost notch, they've only gotten a handjob. Frankly, it's cleaner and a lot less icky, especially when I could convince the lucky fella to wear a condom.

And yes, a few I've taken into the mouth, but it's very rare. I kiss my daddy with this mouth, and I don't want to share those gross germs with him!

However, that was me three months ago. To tell you the truth, I was beyond bored with sex and relationships in general, sticking with them only after Lou begged me with peer pressure. After Rory and Paris left for the summer, I spent the summer trying to improve myself, spend more time at the country club playing sports, to tone myself up and look for someone interested in me beyond what magic my tongue could do. I managed to keep myself single all through the summer, usually avoiding any dating opportunity Louise presented me with by saying I wasn't all that interested in a hook-up. I felt myself unhappy and bored with going out, and frankly, Louise gravitating towards Duncan and Bowman's old clique was something I tried my best to discourage. Tristan was already stuck at military school, and Louise there? A sequel to Private Benjamin waiting to happen, and not in a good way!

Soon, I was getting really annoyed with Lou as she let her morals slip away. On the phone, she'd call me a 'tight-ass', going on about how I should enjoy my senior year, that I was guaranteed to graduate.

Yeah, my brother Cecil thought the same thing four years ago over at Hillside. Now he's reduced to a pool boy because he didn't put any focus on his grades.

Nothing is guaranteed. My mother was guaranteed four more years by her doctor after her ovarian cancer diagnosis, but February 7th next year, she's been gone for a full decade, only getting three months of that time. You have to do all you can in life, and she did so, even if my only memories of her are vague recollections, photographs, old home movies and memories of her. My goal is to be happy, but to also live life to the fullest. That's what my mom did, and though she was taken from me too soon, she died happy, ready to meet God, her last thoughts being her family above her, watching her close her eyes for the last time, especially the sad eyes of her only daughter.

I wasn't looking for happiness that night at Homecoming, just for a good time. Still, I felt incredibly empty, turning down a middle linebacker's offer for a night of fun, content in my silence, despite Lou's pestering. I didn't even have Rory and Paris to talk to, since they were too busy building out the paper for the Homecoming review edition. So I just smiled, danced with whoever I could, had as much fun as I could without sex getting involved. I wasn't really in the mood to get into a relationship at all.

At least, until I saw him.

Trust me, I sometimes have to pinch myself to remind myself that I am doing what I'm doing. I feel so 'secret agent woman' about it, sneaky and sort of Sydney Bristow. Well, except with a lot less lycra and some more wool-silk blend or something like that...

Wait, wait. Focus, Madeline, lay out the facts, don't get distracted. You're trying to recount something true, not go off on a tangent.

Sorry about that. Anyways, well, let's just say it. Brad was there.

Yes, Brad Langford, a boy on first glance I thought I knew wouldn't have a chance at me. Come on, his mom stuffs dead animals for a living, it was a match made in hell! I love animals, I'm a member of PeTA, I have three dogs, a couple of birds, and a ferret!

And of course the whole 'geek thing' wasn't something attractive to me at all. I had this entire image of him in a Dexter-like laboratory, crowing about his 'newest creation' with maniacal laughter and the like, and that his only brushes with the touch of a woman involve his aunt pinching his cheeks and telling him he looks so cute.

Well, Brad had scored a date for Homecoming; color me surprised. Brenna Chaffee had asked him out, and he accepted the date, happy someone was taking notice in him.

Unfortunately, it turned out too good to be true. The poor guy was immediately ditched when Brenna's friends found a better guy for her, and he spent most of the night in the corner, sad and dopey. My heart just hurt for him, and out of the reach of Louise teasing me about not opening my legs up, I found myself remembering back to the year before, during the projects we had. About how really was a bit interesting, even if Paris was heaping scorn at him for being timid and weak. I spent all of that time next to him on that bench trying to zone out from her yelling, and my mind wandered off to other worlds and tangents, including one involving him kissing me when his leg brushed accidentally against mine.

At the time, that image freaked me the heck out. But still, Louise treated him like crap when he didn't deserve it, so I felt empathy for him all these months later.

Soon, I found myself wanting to talk to him, and after awhile, brought him a cup of punch and sat down next to him, smiling and trying to be a friendly face.

"Brad, I thought you might want something to drink." I showed my teeth, along with my grape sparkly lip gloss towards him. "How are you doing tonight?"

"M-m-Madeline." He was blushing, taking the cup in his shaky hand. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a date?"

"Nah," I responded, making a shoving motion with my hand. "Who needs a date?"

"Well, uh, you." He was surprised. Like 'OMG a girl is talking to me, eep!' surprised. I looked at his tie, a striped red one going with his dark suit and blue shirt. "You like guys, right?"

"Oh dear, Brad, you thinking about me with Louise?" I teased. That got him into a panic as he struggled to correct himself, stumbling over a few words until I could bring him back down to earth.

"Geeze, I kid. Calm down!" I laughed, feeling good, trying to bring him out. "Really, I'm not here to find a date, I just want to have fun."

"M-me too."

I looked at him, sympathetic. "But you aren't, right?" He shook his head, mumbling out a quick no. "I'm sorry Brenna did that to you. She's such a bitch."

Brad attempted to make an excuse for her. "No she isn't. She just found someone better."

"Brad." I tried to calm him. "My first rule of dating; no matter the choice cut in the butcher's case, you stick with what you have, period. Brenna should have stayed. The date may have failed, but if she had rode it out, she may have found a nice friend in you. But now she blew it and she's stuck with some guy with a two week shelf life." I smiled towards him, beginning to feel so much empathy for his situation.

Of course, leave it for my mind to get ahead of me before I could stop it from wreaking havoc. "Look, we can ditch this dance after we finish our punch. How did you get here?"

"I, uh..." He was so embarrassed. "My mother drove me here."

"Great, call her." I got up, giddy.

"Call her?"

I shook my head. "You know, get out your cell phone, dial the number, wait for it to ring, and the other person picks it up and talks to you?" Oh, how he's just so...kind of odd. "Tell her I'm taking you to the IHoP on Route 5, my treat. You can get pancakes with strawberry syrup, and bacon and eggs made into a happy face!"

Looking at me for a moment, he must have thought I went bye-bye. He quirked up his eyebrow and sighed. "I don't know if I should. I...you've never talked to me before."

"Brad, I don't ditch people who are unhappy. Unless they're scary types with icky tattoos and playing screaming metal; you're not gonna get through to them." I shuddered at that image and went on. "I just don't want you to go home remembering your last homecoming dance as crummy and sucky." Trying to hold back that something was building, I tried to keep things easy. "Really, I'd like to get to know you more. We never really got to talk with Lou around, and Paris is far, far away, not about to scare you."

I put his hand in mine, and helped him up. "I promise you, I don't bite." He seemed to brighten up, losing his shaky nerves slowly as he realized I wasn't going to humiliate him.

"Well, if you say so." He brought out a small smile.

"I do." With that, we left the dance, and I didn't let Lou know where we were going. I figured she didn't care, and could get a ride from one of her beaus.

Who would have thought that simple dinner invitation would have turned into so much more? On the drive to the restaurant, Brad didn't say much, and I sense it was because he felt intimidated by my being friendly to him. He thought it was an act, and probably thought Ashton Kutcher was going to pop up from behind the bar and tell him he got punk'd.

Once we got to IHoP though, I slowly made progress with him. At first we went towards the safe topics of school and the sports teams, then let the conversation drift slowly from there.

Eventually, I learned so much about him, such as he's more into acting than science really. I mean really into it. You know that Life With Mikey movie? Yeah, he was like one of those kids, and had been down in New York during his summers and winter breaks since he was six. I was in awe as he described the backstage scenes of a Broadway theater, about how he might be nervous in a regular school or social setting, but on stage, he's focused.

"I even was offered a role in a show this fall," he said, telling me about his possible role in a play called Into the Woods. "I had to turn it down though."

"Why's that?" I wondered. "I would've loved to be in a Broadway cast."

"I would've had to take the fall off from Chilton, and I didn't want to lose any progress. Plus, I hate tutoring, some of my friends down in New York left school to act year-round and regretted it later on."

"That's understandable," I said, thinking about how much progress he might lose. "I admit, I'm not the biggest fan of school, but you should be happy in what you do."

"I am...the teasing's a bit rough, but I'm fine." He smiled, laughing nervously towards me.

After our food came, we learned much more about each other, and the ways we actually related outside of our peer circle began to build up. He told me how much he enjoyed some of my favorite bands, and that he wasn't a fan of Star Trek like everyone thought he was ("I can't even stand science fiction!" he admitted). He said he enjoyed sports like tennis and soccer, and I was surprised, since those were my favorite sports too. We laughed at our similarities, which soon would become closer than I expected.

By the end of the night, I learned that his father did not leave the Langford household as I thought before, but died before his prime, of prostate cancer when Brad was eleven, something he wasn't afraid to talk about with me, surprisingly open about all my questions and telling me how much his bond with his mother is close because of it, and instilled a sense of family for him. To hear him talk like this, and then being able to open up about my mother without feeling morbid for doing so, it was comforting, and talking about being in a home with a widower encouraged me to feel less alone about being with a widower, although his mother hasn't remarried and I have my stepmother.

At the end of the night when I pulled up to his house, I was expecting things to go back to normal, and that I wouldn't think of him again after her got out of my SUV.

But then, he did something, that looking back, changed me so much.

He complimented me on my intelligence.

At first, I thought he was joking with me, but he was truly serious. "I know you don't think you are, but it's the truth. You retain information about almost every student, your grades in science classes are wonderful without much effort, even if you just shrug them off. You also get along with almost everybody, no matter what. You really know how to listen to people, and you didn't have to do what we did tonight; you could have just brushed aside and let me go."

Moving closer to me, I felt myself flush as he finished his compliment. "Madeline, I...I..." He was shaky as he tried to construct his words. "I know you usually speak your mind, even if your opinion may be brushed aside, and that you listen." He took in a breath, and I smiled, warm and anticipating.

I saw the look in his eyes...the one I've seen before with Tristan when he was moony over Rory. I felt my usual self fighting with that one who was finding Brad so endearing and cute, and wonderful company. All the sudden, I just felt so enamored, and away from the girls, I felt my own heart taking over control, making me see Brad as more than a pesky nerd boy.

He was a good guy, with a nice heart, and from what I could tell, was a boy who was a diamond in the rough. I was surprised that a guy like him hadn't found anyone to date in New York.

Within moments, I found myself drawing towards him. "Brad..." I whispered softly. "No one has ever said that."

"I know." He touched my hand. "You're more than a pretty face to me."

Oh my God. I was getting serious chills, knowing this was him speaking from his heart. "Brad...uh, what are you saying?" I could hear our breathing coming together, my throat drying in anticipation.

"I...I like you." He said the confession in less than a whisper. "I have a crush, I think you're...you're beautiful." I felt his hand shaking in mine. "I know that probably, I'd be back of the line, or nowhere near. I'm just a guy with not much to offer, and before we went our separate ways in June, I wanted you to know that." He began to pull back. "Do with my crush what you want to do, but I had to say something. My therapist said I should be truthful, and I know we barely know each other, so--"

I suddenly squeezed his hand tightly, my blood rushing through my body, overwhelmed from his confession. My heart, unknowing of these feelings only moments before, was drawing me towards him, consequences and future popularity be damned. "Brad?" I smiled, and closed my eyes, his concentration on a sudden escape broken.

"Um, yes?" He gulped.

"Shut up." Before he could say another word, I brought him into a soft, caring kiss that showed that I was heartened by his words, and his feelings for me. The crush was very cute, but the way he spoke about my intelligence is what drew me in. Before I knew it or could stop the ball from rolling, I was falling for Brad, and hard. I tugged at his tie, and the both of us escalated the kiss, finding ourselves attached by an outside attraction. Suffice it to say, it was the best kiss I've ever had in my life until that point.

I've had many more best kisses since then. Since around the beginning of October, we've been seeing each other on the sly, and the both of us have decided on a sane relationship pace, after an afternoon conversation while I gave him a ride home, where I admitted that I'd rather be wooed. He has gone with my wishes, and everything has been awesome, despite having to hide everything from everyone else beyond my father and stepmother, and his mother. Thankfully with my position within the gossip circle, if anyone finds out, I can misdirect.

We have made out though, don't get me wrong. I find that he loves me running my fingers through his red hair, while his hands...oh my God. You know what they say about a guy with big hands! If I thought I needed implants, he has proven me wrong so much, since he enjoys touching and fondling my breasts, and after some sessions, he'll lay down on my chest as we just talk about little things.

And well, I'll just say right now that he wears boxers. And he fills them out very well. I've stroked him through his shorts when we really get hot and heavy up in his bedroom, and feeling him against me as we grind with nothing but our underwear on? It's just so divine how wet he gets me. The best part of being with him is that he allows me to take my time, and I can talk dirty to him for as long as I want to.

But really, there's much more to our relationship than sex. He's encouraged me to push myself, to look at my life outside of Louise. He analyzed what I was doing wrong as far as studying, helped me with the tough stuff, and told me that I should really apply to more schools than those close to home. Before, I felt so ashamed that I was planning to pursue fashion design for my first year, then 'lose interest' and spring my true calling on everyone else, because I feel myself better at something scientific than I ever will at floral prints. I found what I wanted, and I've decided to apply at some Western schools. I do admit that some of them are those Brad's trying to attend (basing his choice on the acting role availability in the Northwest and Vancouver, while some family for me is still out there), but trust me, I'm not planning a Felicity. He pursues his thing, I'm free to get my lab coat thing on, and truly, I'm happy with him.

That, and I feel like that finally, I'm finding my voice, especially with Louise. Before this year, I was like a Buddy Bear from Garfield's cartoon show (I own all five seasons, awesome show! Definitely recommended. Damn, tangent again...), agreeing with Louise, no matter what. I can tell she's starting to take things personally, and with my more frequent absences from girls night outs and not having my cell on while I study, she's getting pissed.

Frankly, I don't care. I'm having fun with Brad, and soon, I'll make that clear. I just want to see Louise try to argue against me in seeing him, because I feel ready to shoot down her problems with Brad. So he's not popular? That's not a problem! At least with him I won't have to see my gynecologist triennially for an STD test.

Sorry, a little cold towards her?

Eh, frankly I like knowing that Brad is a fresh slate, and loves to explore with me.

Alright, so, yeah, with Brad now, no one knows yet except for our parents.

Well, Paris does now.

And now I know something else involving her and Rory, which a year ago I would have spread through the school like wildfire.

Instead, I feel sobered, and I just want to shake some freakin' sense into Ms. Stars Hollow Pie Queen, seriously!

I hated having to not be able to dance with Brad tonight, but I still managed to have a little fun here at the Formal, occasionally sending him a naughty text or feeling him up slyly when I went past him. In the meantime I helped out with chairs and such, along with making sure the refreshments were refreshed. I was having a pretty calm and quiet night, just basking in the fact that Louise got saddled with DJ duty.

Around nine though, I was tapped on the shoulder by some guy while I poured water into the hot chocolate maker. When I turned around, I was confronted with someone I had never seen in the school at all. A pretty dull guy, with a close-cut haircut and very unfamiliar to me.

"Hey, do you know where Paris went off to?" he asked.

"Um, no." I was friendly, despite his stranger status. "How do you know her?"

"She's my date for tonight. I'm Jamie Pratt, from Princeton."

"Ahh, I heard something about you, hello." I shook his hand, and recalled the first day of school when Paris told Louise and I at the dining hall table about her date with him, which was in a word, 'boring'.

Looking at him, I could see why. You know those genero-hunks you see on Disney Channel shows? Well, this guy was President's Choice Creamed Spinach, which is usually put at the back of the shelf and never used except if a Category 6 hurricane hits the state (and yes, I realize there is no such thing as a Category 6 storm. See, I do have a brain!).

"Can you find her? I'm sort of worried where she went."

Then why aren't you looking for her? Usually that would be the first thing I would do if on a date. There had to be some reason for her to not come back, and usually she was watching the room, ready to strike if someone got out mini-bottles of liquor to pour into the punch. I half-smiled, trying to think of where she was.

"I'm not Kreskin," I said sarcastically, noting that he didn't even ask my name. "But I'll try."

"Thanks a lot." He walked away from me, and I was left confused.

"Um, alright." I headed out of the hall, grabbing my hot chocolate to let my cold hands warm up as I went down the hallway, deciding to check the coat room first.

Peeking in, there was no sign of her, nor within the refreshments pantry. Since the National Guard kept most of the facility locked beyond the needed rooms, that left just one she could possibly in, and that was the small restroom near the front of the building, which wasn't used often because of the cramped quarters.

Opening the door when I came in, I didn't see her on sight, and a check under the stalls for shoes didn't come up anyone.

"I think I'll have to call her." I took out my phone and scrolled down to Par's cell entry, dialing out and thinking she was nowhere to be found.

What an odd coincidence then that a ringtone sounded towards the east side of the room. Very, very weird timing. Surely it couldn't have been her.

I stood still, letting the phone ring a second time. There was the same ring, again. But thrown in for good measure, some odd hesitation.

I thought everything was just an abnormal coincidence until...

"Madeline." The voice sighed, defeated and worn out. "What do you want?"

Usually, I'd hear her voice muffled and scratchy because of the cell phone network, but this time I had an odd stereo echo effect going. I was sure she was in the room, but just to make sure...

"Where are you? Your date is looking for you."

Moments later, I could confirm that we were clearly wasting our phone minutes. "Why would he care?" I walked towards the far side of the room, towards the stall I thought she was in. "How does he even know you're my friend?"

"Um, lucky guess?" I licked my lips. "Look, I know you're in that stall."

"Madeline, don't worry about me, just tell him I'll be out...out eventually...(sniff)..."

Was that a sob? What was going on? Paris was never this depressed, not even after her Nanna died and she had to mourn during school. Also, not to get into the area of TMI, but she never usually stays in a public restroom for more than five minutes; she does her business, washes her hands and leaves.

I clasped my phone shut and pocketed it, and got in front of the stall, knocking on the door, getting a bit worried.

"Par, what's going on?"

"Nothing," she said, trying to avoid me. "Look, I'm--I'm fine."

"Something's going on; if this was a debate, that stumble would've been followed by a curse word." I didn't know exactly what I was getting into, but I was her friend, and I had to know. "Look, I'm not going to leave."

"Mind your own business!" She kicked at the side partition. "I will be out shortly."

"Hon, I know he's a bad date, but certainly he's not that bad." Usually an opinionated statement by me would get a rise from her. "Paris, come on."

"No." She sounded even more defeated than before, and her voice, usually so even, was wavering and cracking. "You would never understand what's happening."

"Actually, I do." I made a guess based on her reaction. "You have absolutely no interest in him."

Her temper was short as she finally got up from the toilet, and I could see her feet. "Gee, what gave you that clue, Einstein?"

Usually, I don't get mad at Paris, because I get scared when she's angry. This time though, her quip got me riled up, and I moved closer to the door as I got out a coin from a side pocket in my dress. "That's it, I'm coming in!"

"The door is locked!" She reminded me, but having to get Louise out of stupid jams quite often, I knew the trick to getting many doors opened, including the 'coin in the stall slider' one. I put the dime in, turned it counter-clockwise, and in moments, I pushed the door open.

"Not anymore--" My anger at her immediately subsided when I was face to face to her. "Holy crap, Par."

The strong girl I knew since she protected me from little Summer Sheffield trying to shake the lunch money from me the day I arrived at Country Day from Brighton in Seattle was gone. In her place, a devastated young woman. The spare application of mascara I saw when she came in was streaked down her face, she held herself in a protective hold across her chest, and her eyes, usually an authoritative and fierce brown, were dark and lost. Her hands shook as if a disease took her over, and she somehow seemed smaller than five feet.

I knew something was very amiss when I tried to bring her into a hug, and instead of her usual stubborn resolve not to give appreciative affection, she immediately let me bring her into it. Never had I known her to be touchy-feely.

There was something very wrong with her. I sighed as she mumbled against my shoulder, buffeted with only a thick satin blue strap, as she cried again. My heart broke for her, so much, whatever it was. Her voice became unintelligible, and I could only theorize what happened to her.

"Did--did Jamie try something with you?" I didn't say 'the word', scared to say it myself. "And you said no?"

"Uh-uh," she mumbled. "I can't tell you."

"Paris, I'm here, tell me." I rocked her back and forth, trying to settle her down. "Nothing you say leaves this room."

"It can't leave my lips," she said hastily. "Please, just know whatever it is, I have to deal with it on my own."

"You're hurt," I said. "I don't like enjoy seeing you like this."

A minute of silence passed as she attempted to calm down and settle her frazzled nerves. She just looked very devastated and hurt, and if this was Jamie's fault, there would be no limit to the hurt I could cause him. It took a few minutes, along with a lock of the door to assure her that what happened in the bathroom stayed there, before she was relatively composed again. She didn't say anything, just apologizing for my walking into her being like that. I, of course, wasn't going to accept her apology; a breakdown was needed now and then.

Soon, I had her out of the cramped stall, sitting on the window sill as I leaned against the wall, and she kept her face down, staring at the floor tiles, while her right hand was occupied with the marble finish of the sill, scraping her nails against it. I bit down on my lip, absolutely feeling my heart break for her.

"Paris," I pleaded, "please talk to me." She stayed silent, and I had to keep prodding her to confess. "It won't get out."

"What if it does?" Paris asked, panicked. "What if I tell you what happened, and you think I'm incredibly stupid?"

"For what?" I shook my head. "Stupid?"

"Yes, I'm stupid," she spat out. "Everyone else, I'm either just a bit needy for attention or just a pain in the ass. But when it comes to falling in love..." She stopped, nervously twisting her hair around her finger. "Look, it's over, whatever it was. I can't go on thinking that what I did was right."

"With Jamie?" I was a bit confused, since I just met the guy and figured they didn't have much going on. "I mean, yeah, he's nice, but I wouldn't date him."

"I didn't want to. My mom..." Another pause, and time for me to think about the words unsaid, which from my past experience with Sharon Gellar, were pretty easy to figure out.

"She called him, didn't she?" Paris nodded her head, sighing.

"I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't let me say no."

"Oh, Par." I offered her my hand to take. "You really do have to stop listening to her."

"I can't though, she's my mother."

Forget mincing words or giving her some benefit of the doubt, because I was very angry at Sharon. "I can't stand what she did to you, springing some date you don't want. At least Jacob was tolerable, even if he was related to you. This guy is dead weight, and you shouldn't have to date him."

"That's why I'm hiding, I can't stand him," she admitted. "He's a horrible dancer, and the date in Washington, he made me feel inferior to him." I rubbed the inside of her palm to keep her on an even keel. "But there's another reason I absolutely cannot be dating anyone right now."

"I know; Harvard, right?" I smiled, thinking that she was fully focused on her 'prize', no matter what.

"It's more complicated than that, something I can't tell you, especially now that it's over." Sulking in her seat, she looked so lost and out of it.

"What's over?" I had no clues to go on, and couldn't understand what she was talking about. "Hon, are you..." I felt my mind coming to life with a realization. "Jamie didn't do this at all, did he?"

"He sort of did."

That's when it came to me; I remembered talking to Rory about ten minutes before, sulking in the corner with her book, there just because of the VP requirement of attending the Formal.

"Hey, um...did you...did you have another fight with Rory?" I knew the circle of tension they were in, but they had been very, very calm as of late, and I hadn't seen them fighting all that much the last few weeks.

She sheepishly nodded her head. "I think it's really over this time, our friendship." Lowering her hands down to her lap, Paris seemed so defeated, and down.

"Your friendship? Wait, does she like Jamie too?" I was confused as to why anyone would like such a dull guy and they would form a love triangle revolving around him.

"No, she doesn't." She spoke slowly, trying to build herself up. "Look, I can't say why she hates me, but what I did, maybe it's better this way. Just to get some space and, I really can't do it. I went too far."

"Rory doesn't hate you," I assured. "She'll get over it, because she doesn't hold grudges."

"Madeline, she hates me." She spelled it out slowly. "We're over, capital 'O'. I'm not going to bother, since it's me, and really, who would want to be my girlfriend?"

I was about to say that I still thought Rory was a good friend, when I processed what she just happened to spill. I went over the sentence in her voice twice more in a think-process-focus manner, breaking it apart.

Then it came to me, the final word, and one she obviously didn't mean to say.

Girlfriend...girlfriend.

Oh my God. I admit I call Lou that word, but just in the totally friendly sense. Again though, Par has never dropped the g-word in casual convos, not at all. We were her friends, period. No other synonyms, just the one word.

Add one syllable though, and it all changes.

She realized her error at just that moment, and from there, I knew exactly what happened without any kind of summary.

Girlfriend...

OK, let me just clear the air about something before I go on here. I have known Paris for nine years, and we're both completely different, in mannerisms and personalities. While she's more reserved and keeps everything close, I'm an open book. Seeing her mature firsthand after Sharon pulled her out of dance, I knew it changed her opinion on things, and slowly, she went from outgoing to holding everything in, afraid that domineering bitch would take any new thing she got interested in away from her.

But I'll admit something I haven't told anyone before. When Tristan kissed her on that dare back in the junior high years, it wasn't just a simple peck or a three second thing. Tristan actually liked her then, and I saw the kiss. It was deep, a dream kiss that every girl imagines when they're young. To me, it looked like her knees should have given out and she should have lost her bearings fully, a life-changer that would have gotten her all aflutter and off-focused.

However, when I asked her what it was like?

"It was nice."

That's it, nice. Not life-changing or amazing or anything like that. Just nice. Unknowingly that lukewarm reaction from her is what brought him into being the suave Don Juan he would be after that, because he figured her reaction would be a bit more animated. Most likely that's why the date Rory arranged never really got off the ground, because the kiss brought up that past baggage they never talked about from the dare.

I had my suspicions in the past about how she wanted to be loved, and I thought it was odd for her not to be seeking out a new crush after Tristan got kicked out of Hartford by his father. I expected her to move on to someone else she liked, but she remained a blank slate, burying herself in her studies. So I dropped the topic and moved on internally.

However, there were a couple of incidents last month that I recall with clarity. Something I'm sure she didn't know anything about at all, because I didn't say anything about them.

But, now it was all coming together. The newly found harmony, the need to be close to each other, her strangely upbeat mood at lunch Monday afternoon, along with her asking for notes in Advanced Ec because she inexplicably never appeared. Nor did Rory.

There was one more thing though...

A blush streaked my cheeks as I felt myself onto Paris revealing something she meant to hold close.

"So, I should probably assume that those brushes against my ankle at the lunch table were meant for Rory?"

It was meant to get her attention, and it began to all come together as she was shocked.

"What--what did I say?"

I then saw another sign along the tip of her shoulder that there was much more she had to reveal. I tried to keep myself even, dealing with the sudden shock of what she was saying.

"Par, that's not something you got bumping against a door, was it?" I brought my hand towards her shoulder, the familiarity of the bruise so familiar to me.

"Madeline..." She lowered her voice, petrified that she just let it slip. "It's nothing, honest."

"Hey, hey...come on, hey." I slid my hands down to her back, trying to reassure her. "Don't clench, come on, I'm not going to fight you."

"But I'm...Rory's gone, she hates me, and now I don't know what to do. And you probably hate me for lying to you."

"Hon, I don't," I assured her. "Why would you ever think that?"

"B-b-because you...you keep trying to set me up with guys, and I keep rejecting you."

Sighing, I made her see things my way. "Well, I know why now." I brought her out of the hug, and explained that even with the shock, we'd still be friends. "Look at me, Par." I handed her some TP from the roll in the stall she was in so she could dry her eyes. "If you're a lesbian, and Rory is too, and you like each other, I can't stop that. And I won't, because that's not how I was raised. I'm a tolerant person and you know me, I can't stand hate in the world."

"I'm...I'm scared though." She bit her nails, freaking out since she was out to me now. "You have the item of the year though, what about--"

Quickly I silenced her with a voice like a schoolmarm's. "I won't say a word." I admitted a secret I kept as the gossip girl of the school. "I actually know that there are 33 other guys and girls in Chilton who are gay or bi out of sight, either from rumors or confirmations. That's the kind of crap I refuse to say a word about, because who you love doesn't matter, as long as you're a good person. I refuse to be responsible for ruining someone's life by outing them, or to give fire to the haters who want me to do so. I actually got a stinger once because someone was pissed I wouldn't out their mortal enemy."

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore," she said, looking downtrodden. "Rory and I are over, all because I'm stupid." I looked at her, and this wasn't the Paris I knew. She was weakened and willing to let her go, all because her mother fucked up everything.

"Then tell me how you got to this point. Everything you can in five minutes." I reminded her of her long-repeated studying advice. "Think, process, and focus."

"So, you don't hate me?" She batted some hair from her eyes, while moving towards the sink to wash her face. "I've...I've been lying to you about Rory, how I feel about her, what we've done, and I'm sorry."

I held a finger to my lips. "Shush, you had a reason to do so, and I'd be the same way." I kept my hand on her shoulder as we moved to a sink. She splashed her face with the running water and wiped off the mascara, and I could tell that she was thankful for once to have me there with her, calming her down.

From there, she told me about Rory's pursuit of her, and how she wanted Rory for at least months before the trip to Washington, along with their conflicts throughout, and the day after that dance marathon back in Stars Hollow when they realized they wanted to be together. I could tell she was holding back a few things, but those were mostly of the relationship details, of which I could fill in the blanks to quite easily. The way she talked about who she used to call 'Farm Girl' in our private conversations, there was definitely more than met the eye. And I saw it all in retrospect, describing to her my notices of them over the last two months, including snuck glances from her and Rory, the occasional hinting in the newsroom, along with the total disinterest in going to the Homecoming dance because they cared more for the paper than their popularity.

Really though, I could see it farther back than when Rory came to Chilton. With Tristan, that she had a crush on him, but not a deep crush at all where she had his picture hidden in a locket. There were also cues from when she came over to my house for girls nights and such, where it was clear that she was a hopeless romantic, more into the heroines of a story than the hunk. She wouldn't read the profiles in my teen magazines, but was the type to actually think about the quizzes and other editorial content within them. There were even a few instances where she outright criticized Cosmo for not accommodating those women who weren't all atwitter for abs and 'making him scream'.

And then came the clincher moment, when she told me she left a text and voicemail on Rory's cell to pre-warn her she had been hoodwinked into seeing Jamie. My face lit up immediately, knowing the situation from back in November.

"Brad and I had the same thing come up last month!"

Uhh, yeah, I paused and watched Paris's eyes widen in shock as I had revealed to her who had been distracting me.

"You and Brad?" Surprisingly, she wasn't angry with me. "Are you two...you two? Really? You're not punk-rocking me, right?"

Oh, Par, you and your boycott of MTV. Sometimes I love you for that. I laughed at her as she shook her head. "Yup, we've been going out for two months."

"What about Louise?"

I made my feelings immediately clear. "Who cares? She doesn't like him, but I do, he's funny and brilliant."

Wiping off her face, she smiled. "I knew there was a reason for your grades going up, but I thought it was just panic cramming."

"I'm calm, honest. And happy, very happy." She threw out the towel, as I felt free enough to joke with her again. "Oh, and you can tell your rabbi he did a great job on Brad's circum--"

"Madeline, no!" She closed her eyes. "I know your mind is filled with it, but I will not think about...that!"

"Of course not, 'cause you're thinking about Rory and her magical vag--"

"Madeline!" OK, pushed a biiit too far there, as she went back to her demanding growl. "Look, I don't know what to do to explain this. I mean I can try tonight, but Jamie's here, so it makes it hard."

Little did she know, all through the convo, I had figured out a Plan B to get the lovebirds back together, and push Mr. Boring back to Jersey listening to angsty Bon Jovi songs.

"You're not going to give up now," I stated firmly, stomping down my foot and getting her attention. Before she could say another word, I interrupted her. "Now yes, the Formal, it's fucked, it's doomed, blah-blah-blah, Jamie is the Beezlebub ruining your Lesbian Heaven. We're going to be stuck with him at least for the next half-hour." Oh, I felt so smart, watching the smart be guided by me, the usual ditz.

Not anymore, baby. Madeline the Genius is coming out.

"But the ride home, we can change that." I went into her purse and grabbed her cell. "So you and Lorelai, you get along, right?"

"As well as a woman who caught me flashing her on top of her daughter can, yes." Thank God her sarcasm pulse was back.

"Then you take this, you call her, and tell her to check if Rory's phone is still in the house." I looked at her straight. "Remember, you have the most hated mom in Hartford society now. She has Emily Gilmore, the most hated mom in 1984. Which means you have her sympathy almost immediately." I then went on, describing that if she could convince Lorelai to have an emergency and not come to pick her up, she'd have Rory stuck in the car for a half-hour, at least. "So you give her a ride home...and by that, I mean dump Jamie back at his hotel, and then you...well you ride home--"

She held up her hand, stopping my clumsy explanation towards the end. "Madeline, trust me, I get it." She paused for a bit. "Just one thing."

"Your mother, right?" She nodded, telling me she had to be home by one. "Well, stay out with her until one and make up a story about the time you had to spend with Mr. Funsucker. Say the date was a dud, and you're home free."

"She's going to ask though."

"Paris, you've snuck a relationship under my attentive nose for a month or so. Trust me, you know how to do the perfect snowjob. Just say he tried getting fresh." I also made an observation based on his leering stare as he approached me. "Barring that, I know men like him. He's going to do something to screw things up, somehow. I say if he does, you magnify that problem, and there goes his thoughts of you as his future trophy wife."

She pursed her lips together, her confidence starting to come back slowly. "So what you're suggesting I do with Rory is entrap her against her will, ending the date of doom with Jamie, and then?" She left the last statement open for my interpretation with a smirk.

Oh my God, that's how I smile just before I get frisky! Obviously, the Mouse (my nickname for her when she was younger) has learned how to game things in the bedroom in such a short time.

"Paris, you horndog!" I shrieked. "Yeah, I would hope the night doesn't end on a boring note."

"I can't help it, Mads," she shared, being honest with me. "She is really that good for me, and you're right. I'd hate to lose it over something as silly as her leaving her cell at home."

"And I'd hate for her to be you." Shouldn't have said that, as she slugged me in the arm with her fist. "What? She's acting like you tonight when you get all mad."

Paris saw things in another light. "No, she isn't." She looked down at herself, smoothing out her dress. "That's her bitterness from Dean coming out. I never did like him."

"Louise still likes him," I shared. "Of course, she likes anything with a washboard set of abs and eight inches, but I digress." I shook my head. "Anyways, you need to call Lorelai and spring your trap. Somehow, I can see it work dividends for you already." I walked over to the bathroom door, and unlocked it.

"Why's that?"

I looked her up and down, and smiled. "Brad gets all nice and riled up when he rants about the wrestling team picking on him." With a wink, I swung open the door and left my dear friend to work out the rest of her night, hoping that Rory saw her through current anger and realized she screwed up, and badly. To see Paris the way I did, hopeless and sad that she may have lost her without listening to anything that she said, that hurts. It hurts me personally, and I only want what's best for the both of them.

Now, let's just hope the next time I talk to Par, she's lost her breath because of something mind-blowing. Speaking of which, I want to give Brad some time on the dance floor. Maybe he'll let me dance really close tonight. After all, I think I look damned hot tonight, in my humble opinion...

Lorelai's POV, 9:35pm

My daughter is becoming a woman.

That's what I have to keep reminding myself every time I think about her and Paris together. That Rory is an eighteen year-old woman, and no longer can she run to me to fix things. She has to begin to deal with everything on her own, and I just have to hold back and hope for the best, and that she learns from the consequences.

After Paris's phone call a few minutes ago, I just have to hope that some kind of lesson is learned tonight. One I really wish I had taught her before Dean came into the picture.

I look at her cell phone, sitting on the front table just outside the foyer, and think if she hadn't rushed out the door and I caught my eye on it, she'd be having a good time with her girlfriend right about now.

Whatever happens, I do know one thing: I'll be talking to her when she gets home about the importance of communication in a relationship. I just hope she hasn't truly blown it with Paris.

I just have to admit, a month ago, if you told me my daughter would be batting for the Pink Ladies instead of for guys, I would've directed a look towards them, followed by a 'whatchu talkin' 'bout?' I never thought of Rory as gay, really, and there were no warning signs for it, beyond the loss of scorn for Paris and commands for me to be tolerable to her for now on and that she didn't deserve any of my mocking.

Really, I should have seen it more. The not dating until sixteen part should have screamed obvious, along with her keeping occupied with books rather than the hunk of the month. She didn't care, and Dean has been her only male crush, beyond a silly 'I want to marry Luke' thing when she was ten.

Oh, and a small, itty-bitty thing for Kirk ten years ago when he worked at the toy store. I kind of try to never mention that, since I could be sentenced to four days in the town square pillory by Rory for saying something about it. Damn it, I've said too much!

In all honesty though, I have begun to warm up to Paris, despite my first thoughts of her being too cruel and unbalanced for her to be with Rory, along with a fear she was rushing into things. I don't want to see her unhappy, and Paris knows this all too well.

I just didn't expect to see that the reverse had happened. Or that my daughter would ever act like my mother when another woman flirts with Dad. Seriously, she's scary when she gets even an inkling my dad may cheat! Who cares if it's a nun or someone with a chastity pledge, she doesn't discriminate about telling someone who would take her guy to back off!

But to have Rory act that way, it was disconcerting. I certainly taught her to speak her mind, but before she did, hear the other person out. I think of what Paris said as she called me, the fear and uncertainty in her voice.

"I wouldn't normally call you and ask you not to pick up Rory, but I need to convince her that I didn't mean this."

"Paris, I understand." I was surprised by her call, along with how she felt responsible for an error that wasn't made at all. "I'm sorry she didn't grab her cell, and that you had to go in there blind."

"I just wish she would have heard me out. This was easily preventable, but now it's going to be hard to convince her."

"I support you," I said, truthfully. "I have the phone in my hand, and I'm reading your panicked text message. You did not want this. Hell, I didn't want this. I haven't seen Jamie, but from the description of your date, it makes a Bigfoot/Truckasaurus twin bill look like so much more fun."

"Add a root canal and you have the full effect." I heard her sigh into the microphone. "Are you sure you're fine with this, Ms. Gilmore? I know you're not exactly a cheerleader for us, but I don't want her to break up with me because my mother forced me into this."

"You're fine, Paris," I said honestly, no longer giving any thought to her being dangerous for my daughter. "You behaved when you were over on Thursday, and I'm glad that you're seeing that you don't have to be so stuck in the rules. I am lenient with you, and I know you don't mean to hurt Rory anymore."

"I just hope she understands that."

"She better," I warned. "I'd hate to see her end a great thing because of misplaced jealousy."

"Me either." I could tell she was hoping for a good ending to the evening, eventually. We talked a little bit more, until she had to go, just about things like what we'd be doing on Thursday night as far as our movie night.

As I sat back down on the couch to go over some supplier's contracts for the Inn, I hoped that my daughter would find enough sense to forgive Paris. I remember that I did the same thing once with Christopher when I heard a woman's voice in the background during a phone call, and hung up on him in anger.

That woman turned out to be his aunt, who was just tipping a few too many back, and eventually, the two of us laughed about it.

I really am growing to like Paris, especially as we chat more about the war stories of being an uninterested heiress in Hartford. What her mother did was very low, and even Emily would consider it bad form to foist a surprise date on someone the last minute. All my 'surprise dates' before sixteen were guys I had known before, or we had been supervised by each of our parents.

That Sharon Gellar would trust a guy from Philadelphia around her daughter that she didn't know outside of the controlled situation of that conference, it was a bit disconcerting. I mean I'm sure he's nice and all, but what if he had a record she didn't know about? Or even worse, he was a mobster?

A little hyperbolic? See, I watch too much General Hospital; damn you Sonny!

But really, she felt no chemistry with Jamie, period. Sharon should have taken that into mind. And now because that woman can't get the point that over is over, Paris is stuck having to dig her way back into my daughter's heart when she did nothing wrong. I really want them to push and just be each other's Sonny and Cher...

Captain and Tenille?

Uh, Laurel and Hardy?

Electra Woman and Dyna Girl? Damn, there aren't that many power girl/girl couples out there, that sucks! Oh wait, Xena and Gabrielle!! Yeah...

Or no. Gah, now they have me onto this subject I must brush up on! Looks like I have a 'research problem' to Google, because I need a silly nickname to call them when they get home. Yes, that is my goal! Well, after I approve Local 192 for our electrical needs...

Rory's POV, 10:00pm-10:30pm

Now I can understand how it must have felt for Tristan to have to watch me dance with my boyfriend. I can understand it very clearly, more than I ever expected to. See, when you're stuck in a seat for forty-five minutes having to watch the girl you love have fun with someone she barely knows, it makes your blood boil, and you just want to tear that person off from them, because they clearly don't deserve them. They've proved they've been awful in the past, and they aren't changing.

Basically, I couldn't wait until ten, when I could get out of there with Mom and wallow in Saved by the Bell reruns, convinced I would never get to touch Paris again in any kind of way. I stewed, angry with her more minute by minute. I felt myself seethe, and that I lost that special bond with her. There she was, dancing with him, occasionally giving me a look, as if she was sorry.

Yeah right, I thought to myself, and lowered my eyes back down to the book, as if to say that she no longer existed in my world. Once Jamie had her, it was all over. I knew she'd be going to his hotel room somehow, and that I'd be left in the dark. The vicious circle would begin to spin again, and we'd back to being enemies.

Of course, that's what I thought would happen as the long minutes ticked away, until the clock struck ten, and the announcement over the loudspeaker by Mrs. Hollinger that student staff could go home. I was glad, telling Mom hours earlier that she had to be there on the dot, not a minute more, not a minute less, something I was glad to do in hindsight. I was sick of looking at Paris and Jamie together, and the faster I could forget her, the better. I felt weighted down, annoyed that the night didn't go as planned in any way. I saw the two of them head out the door together, talking, and I just held back on purpose so I wouldn't have an awkward meeting with them, getting up a minute after they left the hall. I filed out, silent and cold, ready for the long death march of our relationship to come.

The one thing I didn't expect, however, was for Madeline to stop me. She held up a hand like a stop sign, and for some reason she seemed a bit mad. I assumed it was from something else, and greeted her without any bitterness.

But I was surprised when she didn't return my greeting in a friendly way.

"You're so dense, Rory."

Instead, her hazel eyes started me down, and she shook her head, turned away from me, and walked away.

I didn't really know at all what that was about; had I done something to offend her? I thought for a moment, and thought that maybe she just had a bad night. Hoping it was just that, I took my coat from the check room, put it on, and prepared to meet Mom in the front.

When I got out there though, there was a long line of cars, and the familiar tan Jeep didn't seem to be one of them. I looked back towards the road, and couldn't find any headed up from the north and into the front driveway. She must be late, is what I thought, thinking she got a late jump on the evening.

I waited a couple more minutes, the chill of the evening seeming to be in line with how my soul felt. The sky took on a pinkish glow, the pre-warning that it possibly might end up snowing soon enough. There hasn't been even a flurry so far, and I felt depressed, waiting out there, having lost Paris to that idiot who had no business coming back here.

I reserved much of my anger with her, though, offended that she hadn't told me about going out with him at all. I didn't think she would be that cold or callous, to drop me like that. I could understand her breaking down in the bathroom, but my first thought as I told her what I thought was that she was being manipulative, and lying about having any interest in him.

This, even as my conscience was telling me I was being cruel to her. It kept nagging me that I should listen to her and let her tell her side of the story.

I had my pride though. I broke up with her, on my terms, and cleanly.

At least that's what I thought. Having to look at her all night in that beautiful dress, her hair upswept and dancing gracefully with Jamie...OK, as graceful as she could be with a dumbass who danced like Frankenstein, it really did so much to me.

I also noted her long absence after I left her in the bathroom. But I couldn't think that she would ever cry. Why would she? She'll get over it.

I stood out there for three more minutes, wrapping my legs tightly around my dress, wondering where the heck my mom was. "What happened, geeze! It's freakin' cold!" I rubbed my hands together, the thin fabric of my dress drawing the cold air right where it decided to flirt with certain other parts that I didn't need.

Eventually, a car pulled up in front of me as I looked down at the ground, burrowing my neck into my jacket. Assuming it was meant for someone else, I began to walk away so whoever was getting the ride could get in.

As I turned away though, I heard the power window slide down. I continued to ignore it, until...

"Rory."

No...uh-uh. Thank God I have an excuse. I was ready to walk away from her again.

"Don't worry about me," I said, not looking at Paris. "My mom is coming by."

"She isn't," Paris responded, seeming to have gotten over her alleged sadness. "Come on, hop in."

"No, I know she is."

"Ror, she called me." I thought I told her to use my full name. "There was an emergency situation at the Inn, so she can't pick you up."

"I didn't hear anything." We volleyed back and forth, and I noticed Jamie was in the car with her. "Look, if she's not coming, I'll just get a cab."

"On this night?" She rolled her eyes. "You're going to end up stuck with some drunk tank regulars bar-hopping for an hour before the cab gets to the Hollow."

"I'll take that chance."

"So you want me to call her and tell her you're calling a cab?" Her voice took on a desperate tone.

I reached into my bag to pull out my phone in order to make the call. "Look, I promise you, I'll make it home fine--"

As I reached in though, I was surprised to find I didn't have my phone in the bag. Huh? I reached deeper in the small bag, convinced I buried it within it.

No dice. And no phone.

And suddenly, I saw that Paris was...she was smiling at me? I had to take pause, as it was the same smug grin she directs towards a competitor as a 'take that' taunt whenever they were beat with a point.

At first, I continued to dig in the bag, convinced that I would find it sooner or later.

But then I learned that while I was able to get Paris down in that bathroom, eventually, she will bounce back, with a hidden vengeance that you don't even realize you've ired until it's too late.

"I'm guessing you didn't get my text from earlier then."

Text? What was she talking about? I didn't know about any message sent to me this evening at all. I looked at her, not only confused, but lost. Like the bracelet from Dean until we broke up, I needed my phone with me 24/7. It never left my side, ever, and...

"What text? Um, I think I forgot my phone."

If I was pissed off at her before, what she said next threw cold water on my 'hate her always' plan.

"I also sent you a voicemail. You know, about unexpected extra work on the paper? I got an email from Ms. Walthorne, and it was a surprise. We're going to have to work tomorrow on it through IM."

OK, now if you take that full sentence on its words, you're not going to see anything amiss at all. Reading that, you think we have extra Franklin work, and that Ms. Walthorne assigned it.

Except, this week, bored watching the weekly paper run on Wednesday afternoon, we both came up with a rebus-like code language that we could explain girlfriendy things in public to discuss our relationship without arousing attention.
I was paling from more than the cold at that exact moment.

Holy fuck. The 'extra work' was 'some guy Sharon makes me go out with'. Ms. Walthorne, meanwhile, is the only teacher beyond Mr. Mercurio she's ever hated, as the matriarchal home ec teacher who gave her the only failing class she had, in the seventh grade for burning some food, while using her as the spokesgirl for 'don't let this happen to you future June Cleavers'.

Pretty much, she was a humiliating bitch. Like Sharon.

Then to end everything, the final code was the newspaper work for tomorrow, even through IM. A definite 'I still like you, and I'm sorry. Don't hate me, please!'

I suddenly felt so embarrassed with my behavior. Not only had I ruined her night, but I almost ruined our entire relationship, just because I didn't pause for thirty seconds to hear her out. I didn't know what she really had to say in detail, but I knew for sure that she was 'enjoying' Jamie just as a façade, and behind it, she wanted me with her.

She kept looking at me, unsure, even a bit scared that I was going to walk away from her. I would not have blamed her at all, because the way I behaved towards her made Dean seem like a cultured gentleman.

What were you thinking?! My inner vixen screamed. Instead of telling her how she looked in that dress, you demeaned her because of something her mother did to her. You should have thought more about how to confront her. Now you'll be lucky to get a ride from her in the future.

I was pretty much preparing myself for the break-up to be sealed, as she stared at me, in the car, starting to freeze a little.

"We have to go," she said, and I couldn't really read her words as either biting or mothering.

"I...I guess I don't really have a choice." Shrugging nervously, I opened the door, and was thankful that Jamie was on the left side of the car, with Paris in the middle, so I would get the seat on the right side. I felt my heart lurch as I sat down, sad that I may have just ruined the best thing in my life. I thought that for sure, some kind of argument between us was coming.

I turned to look at Jamie, and he seemed sort of impatient, like my ride was cutting into his time up here. He was expecting to spend the whole night with Paris, and I was probably annoying him because of my need for a ride home. I slid the shoulder belt across my chest, and clicked the lap seatbelt into place, reclining against the door.

"Did you have fun?" She asked me. Again, her tone was neutral. "I mean your book, I should borrow it one day."

"It was good enough," I said, trying to create some semblance of a conversation. "I just didn't feel good tonight."

"I could tell, your face is all red." Surprisingly, she brought the back of her fingers against my cheek, and brushed them across. "Is the flu going around early?"

"I just--I didn't feel hungry tonight," I said. I shuddered, her touching such a calming sedative. "I didn't mean to push DJ monitor off to Louise."

"Hey, gives her something to do." OK, this was good, no anger. She seemed not ready to kill me...yet. "I know how much you really didn't want to be here tonight."

Holding back that I knew she didn't want to be there herself, I went on with the conversation. "I get to dress up at least. I like that."

"Me too." She did a scan of me, and both of us seemed to be putting Jamie into the background. "Your mother really knows how to hack a dress."

"Hack?" I didn't even know what that means. "Isn't that bad?"

"Oh, uh, no. Actually, it's a new term for 'mod' Madeline learned from her shows on that computer channel, actually. Mod, as in modification. Only they use it in the sense to change around a computer. She says that some of their hosts are women, and pretty inspiring." She laughed. "I guess the lady on HGTV wouldn't use it in her vernacular."

"Probably not." OK, I was getting comfortable again, as we pulled onto the main road towards the expressway. "How is Madeline? When I saw her, she was a bit mad. I've never saw her like that."

As Paris was about to answer though, Jamie interrupted her suddenly.

"She seemed fine to me," he said, butting in where he didn't belong. "Maybe she's grumpy because of...that time of the month."

Cue the both of us directing very annoyed stares towards his direction, along with him reeling back because he definitely said something stupid. What was he thinking, saying that?

"No, she couldn't do something she really wanted to do," Paris answered, seething at his callousness. "One of her friends also didn't understand that she was mad at them for something they did this evening."

As she said that, I found her right hand cup my knee, and she jabbed a finger hard against my kneecap. Internally, I knew that was her way of telling me that she now knew about us.

Yeah, you know that song in the South Park movie where Cartman called Kyle's mom the b-word, but took it to outlandish extremes? That music was running through my head with my name replacing the song's subject, because it was definitely describing how I came off.

I felt so horrible, and it was obvious that now, Madeline knew that we were together. Something I would have wanted to keep from her until I was ready, but frankly, I deserved it. I looked out the window, ashamed to look at Paris, scared that she was being friendly now, but on Monday morning I'd be a leper.

We got on an expressway towards the downtown area, and that's when I felt myself in a panic. Instead of going home right away, Paris was going to have Henrico drive me home, alone.

Then there was another thought that she was going back to his hotel. Oh no, no! Great, now she was going to have to spend the night with him, and I would be powerless to stop it. I would get my ride home, but also a reminder that she was going to rub this in my face.

I tightened my grip on the armrest, feeling incredibly depressed that I ruined anything we might do that night. I blew it, I thought to myself. Getting ready for the long ride home, I took off my coat, lifting myself up to work it off, and preparing for the future nightmares of the both of us coming to blows at the Formal.

I was about to knock on the partition so that Henrico could throw it on the front seat, when Paris grabbed at my hand. I was startled, and wondering why she did so. She turned to speak...

"My legs are cold," she smiled. "Do you mind if I use it as a temporary blanket?"

"Paris, I can rub them for you--"

"No thanks," she responded to Jamie's offer tersely. "I'll be fine."

"I suppose," I said, feeling a bit shaky, especially since she had to remind me how much leg she was showing off in her Formal gown. Her right leg, bared next to mine in that close slit up to mid-thigh. She draped the jacket across her lap, and expressed immediate relief at warming up again, visibly relaxed. I was happy to see her calming down from the crap I put her through this evening, and hoped the last five minutes we spent in the car together would be drama-free. At that moment, all I could hope for was that we'd be OK, eventually, remembering she held in hate for me for five months after I 'took' Tristan.

What happened after, however, showed she was much more than OK about me.

Within moments of covering herself, I found her hand, which had stayed on my leg after her jab at her hidden words about Maddie, wandering up my thigh. At first, I thought it just a nervous tic, weirded out by Jamie. I thought nothing of it at first.

At least, until I felt the lower material of my dress being slid up in a serpentine fashion behind my legs. What is--what's she doing? I was trying to convince myself that she was angry at me, not wanting me anywhere near her.

But if she was really pissed, she wouldn't be talking to me at all. And if she was really interested in Jamie, I'd be sitting in the front seat, a third wheel. Paris should have been closer to him, not only two inches away from sharing her skin against the material of my dress.

I closed my eyes, trying to distract myself with the answers I needed for my paper in Life Sciences on Monday. Surely I was just feeling things, and the girl next to me hadn't forgiven me so quickly. My view out the window was of the towns on the east side of the Connecticut River, various Christmas lights twinkling in the distance on the bluff homes overlooking Hartford to the south of the city, and the construction site of Rentschler Field to the north, the lit-up cranes just visible enough. It was a beautiful sight, to be sure.

But then, I kept feeling those fingers, sliding the back of my dress up, as the jacket fell down more across our legs. I felt the hem in the back rise up above my inner knees, and her hand tracing the curve of my left leg. I was trying to figure out what she was doing, and I couldn't understand her intentions at all. Was this the female equivalent of blue balls, her kind of revenge? What was it, exactly?

As long as I was in that car though, I couldn't say a word. I was helpless to her, and she was taking advantage of it. Going on with Jamie about a debate topic she was feigning interest in, Paris's fingers dipped below the hem of my dress, and against my warming skin. I involuntarily tightened myself up, hoping that I could stop her from getting too high. Meanwhile, her foot touched against mine, her black pump heels kicked off, my ankle being rubbed against by her large toe. Which I may add, surprisingly was painted in an indigo blue, along with her nails. Again, hidden by the jacket, and only visible to me.

I wanted to push her off and cool her down, but I couldn't. She wasn't even paying attention to me, listening to Jamie as she brought her hand higher within my dress...and closer to the inner portion of my anatomy than the outer.

Now my eyes were shut not from trying to think of things other than her anger, but because of what she was doing. I could tell her to stop, but I wasn't going to reveal anything to anyone else. I refused to have Jamie be the third to know, ever. I didn't want him to know, period!

I scooted up on the seat as far as I could, hopeful that gripping my thighs against the edge of the seat would discourage her from venturing any further up. I was getting so turned on, but I didn't want her to know that. I felt as if she was just teasing me until they were dropped off. I was thankful when she retracted her hand from me, and I thought she was done and calming herself down.

A minute passed, and she was no longer teasing me further. I began to relax and was ready to push the back of my dress back down...

Little did I know, she was planning another route of attack. As the 'Downtown 1 Mile' sign passed, Paris gauged that she had just enough room to squirm her hand between the back of my thigh, and the blue leather seat. She grabbed the hem, pushed it back just that much further, and slid her hand in.

I immediately widened my eyes as that tingly barbish feeling went through me, while her fingers danced across the rear of my inner thigh.

No way...she is totally not doing this, with Jamie here! I was in such shock that she was getting this gutsy with me. She should be angry and ready to throw me out of the car, not getting me hot. I was getting all wound up and in a sexual panic. Just what on earth was she doing? What exactly was she thinking?

Apparently, pushing her hand higher and higher. I wanted her to stop; did she not remember what I did to her backseat on Monday morning?! I twisted around, trying to convince her this wasn't the place, at least rationally. But otherwise, I was totally open to this. I relaxed against the seat, her finger making circles along the bottom of my thigh. I was beginning to think it was meant as sort of a calming move, her equivalent to my massages. I wanted to lift up, but I was watching Jamie out of the corner of my eye and didn't want him to see that there was anything amiss.

The sign noting that the Trumball Street exit into downtown was 1/4 mile away passed over us, and I felt myself begin to prepare to say my goodbyes to Par for the night. I knew she was going to leave me hanging, so I wanted to get as much out of the time I had with her as possible. I scooted up, encouraging her on, as she kept talking...

Then I moved back, remembering there was something else besides my cell phone that was forgotten at home. No, no, not the time! I decided to quickly pull back...

But I was too late. I relaxed against the door, and opened myself to her, which I was quickly regretting. Her circles moved northward along my thigh, smaller and smaller, confined, but she knew the effect she was having on me. She began to look straight ahead as Henrico took the exit ramp around the north side of downtown, clearing her throat, getting so close. My breathing came out in soft gasps, my clit was pounding between my legs, and my feet felt like they never wanted to move again. I was paralyzed and locked in.

She's not...come on. Let off! I hoped she would retract soon, but as the 'keep slow' sign passed, she was only getting closer and closer. I felt myself begin to slicken with anticipation. What I would have given to have this be a two-seater car, so she couldn't do this. Jamie went on and on with his conversation, but to my ears it came out in the hornspeak of the adults in Charlie Brown's world. I darted a hard state at Paris, which was quickly muted. I instead became intoxicated upon seeing her bare lip gloss shine from the yellow mercury street lights streaming from the sunroof, highlighting the perfect pink sheen of those kissable lips.

Closer, closer with her hands...Oh my God! Literally, she was only inches from my center, and I expected her to brush against my clit with her index finger. Getting so damned wet, and hot...

Instead, she went south, barely brushing my lips, and I could sense a somewhat cocky smirk from her as she realized I was without underwear, like she had a feeling I was going to.

I saw the stoplight in the near distance, and tried to push into her, feeling so needy, but she instead went towards the bottom of my weeping lips.

And then lower than that.

Finally, her hand arrived at its destination, and with a broad sweep of her index finger, hidden by only a jacket, I felt her do what I had never expected her to do. She made a slanted stroke of her finger on the right side towards my thigh, and then did the same to the left side. Finally, she made a side stroke with her finger, straight across the space between my opening, right in the middle.

If I thought she was done...she was far from it. With one last movement, her index finger circled the heated flesh that was my clit in a broad stroke.

Not just once, but twice. Clockwise, and counter-clockwise.

Before I could push against her, she yanked her hand away from me, and as my face was heated, left me so wanting of more, while reminding me that I wasn't dealing with a plain woman, but a force of nature.

I was stunned in place as she wiped her hand against my thigh, and pulled completely back, and she reminded me that I could top her in bitchiness, but she was the Queen of bitches. She would not be outdone, and she used all twenty minutes to remind me that.

To finish off this ride with what she did. To draw a landmark in her namesake city along my slit to show that she was not about to want to lose me...

She just drew the Eiffel Tower between your legs! My inner vixen, putting everything in perspective. Now do you really think she has any interest in Jamie? I was literally gasping for breath, so overwhelmed. The Tower is her shorthand signature, so familiar to me from her notes on the paper and proposals that didn't need her full hallmark. You would have never thought she'd have adopted it, as she was so serious about things, but it was a familiar sight to me during proofing sessions and reading over debate transcripts.

But moments before we pulled into the garage of the hotel, she drew it across...across me. The tower in the middle, and the 'flag' as my clit.

I was seriously ready to collapse, and even more, was angry at myself for not listening to her.

She still wanted me. I blew into her, and still, she brushed it off. My heart swelled, and I felt so stupid for what I did.

But she still liked me. The stroke of the symbol was clearly meant to tell me 'I still want you, Ror'. My heart hammered in my chest, and I think from now on, when I thought of her, slant-slant-line-plant will be my personal Pavlov reaction to the thought of her, even if she's anywhere close. I felt so overwhelmed, hot, beyond dazed. I didn't know what to do as we pulled up to the parking garage entrance.

As a matter of fact, I was so out of it, that when my thoughts returned to present time, it wasn't with Paris crawling out of the car and saying goodbye.

It was instead, my girlfriend reasserting control over her sexuality as Jamie tried to pull her into a kiss. I turned around, just in time to see her pull away.

"No, Jamie." She pushed him back.

"Paris, I like you. You had fun, right?" He tried to go back for another kiss, but was again denied as she turned her head away.

"I think some signals were crossed," she began to explain. "I was not expecting to go out with you."

"But your mother said you couldn't think about anyone except me."

Uh, what? Obviously, Sharon must be talking about BizzaroParis, who talks in clichés, has the worst Chilton grades ever, and no morals to be found.

"I know you missed me." Again he went back, and again, he was stopped.

"I did not! Jamie, you were lied to. I enjoyed our date in Washington, but I have no interest in anything right now except my grades." She pushed herself closer to me, hopeful I'd jump in to defend.

As he tried to make hay of the situation, he felt himself struggling to figure out what was happening. "But, she really did say that, you were looking forward to tonight."

"I was?" Paris was in shock. "I don't know what she told you, but I didn't even know you were my date until I met you downstairs. I had no dating plans, I was going stag." I was beginning to feel like I wasn't the only one being played with.

He began to stumble over his words. "But what about your letters? You sent me one every three weeks, I...I have them back at the dorm. You said you missed me." Paris was shaking her head, completely confused and bewildered.

"Letters?" Her eyebrows quirked up in surprise. "Were they...were they typed, or handwritten?"

"Typed up." Where was she going with this question? I wondered.

"What font was used to write them?"

Jamie couldn't understand exactly why he was being asked, but answered to assuage her. "I think it was Times New Roman."

"Are you kidding?" I should probably tell you that Paris is a font geek; she's so typeface-obsessed that she will click out of a webpage if it has one letter in Comic Sans, and certain horrible fonts (in her eyes; to tell you the truth, mine too) are banned from Franklin ads. "That's the font of the lazy! I type up documents in Myriad unless the instructor forces me to write in that godforsaken dull print, and everything I do is on a Mac." Oh, was Paris about to blow a gasket. "That, and I always write letters and correspondence in longhand; it's a lost art. But I'm afraid I didn't send you any notes; I don't even know which dorm you live at." She felt sad for him. "I'm sorry."

He looked down at his hands, beginning to feel played by Mrs. Gellar. He sighed, shaking his head, feeling sad. "So you didn't want you...and I...here tonight? To...you know?"

I paled at the thought of him lead to believe that Paris was going to have sex with him tonight, based on her mother's lies.

Un. Fucking. Believable.

Paris felt herself lurching, a mix of sadness and anger overtaking her. I began to feel so sorry for the guy, played with from a distance like a puppet by Sharon.

Her jaw was clenched as she answered. "That is definitely not my dating modus at all. If my mother told me I was going to sleep with you, she is sorely mistaken. Nothing against you, but personally, I see us only as friends." She also cleared up further things that should have clued him in that he was played. "If I had wanted to start something, I would have given you my cell number. I never conduct anything but what is required over a landline at home, on the off chance she may listen in. I don't like taking that chance."

She was firm, but kind, trying let him down as kindly as she could. "Finally, my mother does not speak for me, Jamie. I speak for myself, and I am terribly sorry if you were misled by her into thinking I harbored feelings for you. I would have thought she would have said something to me, but obviously she's going behind my back."

As Paris tried to soothe him, Jamie was beyond devastated. His heart was crushed, and he vacantly stared down at the floormat below. I wanted him to leave Paris and I alone, but certainly, this was not how I wanted it to be.

The both of us shared in his frustration as he clenched his fists. "So basically, the last four months, I've been penning love notes to her? And she's been writing back as you?" This was cold, this was low, and even more so when Jamie admitted he spurned a girl he was growing attracted to because of Sharon's plan for Paris. "I...I just don't know what to think. I feel horrible for you, Paris, that you got dragged into this arranged thing without your permission. I should have sensed it all night, but I couldn't say anything."

"So, you saw it too?" Paris felt relieved that he was making the observation first. "I thought it was just me, honest!"

"I could tell there wasn't anything between us," he admitted. "When you prepared for a debate this summer, you were iron-willed and determined. Tonight, you just looked fully lost." I was still in shock from everything, feeling horrible for both of them. "Then when you ran out of the ballroom to be alone for that long time, I knew something was up. I looked for you all over, and I thought you were hiding from me."

I began to feel so guilty, for not only hating Jamie, but putting Paris through a living hell that should have never happened. I could just see her, crying in that bathroom, unhappy from the double whammy she had. She frowned, trying to come up with a spin on something.

"It was me, I just felt uncomfortable," she shared, hopefully misdirecting him. "I am really, truly sorry that you came up here and wasted your time, and I hope you can forgive me."

"Paris, there's no need," he assured her, rubbing his hands on top of hers. "You truthfully didn't know, and I feel bad for you. No wonder you didn't want me to come up here and meet her." She laughed a little.

"I did enjoy our date, I won't deny that. But we can't be together. You're Princeton, I'm Harvard, and we're in different cities and circles. Right now, I just don't see myself defined by a guy, and if I would have found out before, I would have gladly saved you the grief."

"I'm just glad that I didn't do something you would certainly regret. I could have never forgiven myself for making love to you when there was nothing there." Jamie was sincere, and I could not begrudge him for wanting to leave us on a high note. "But now, I can get back on track."

"Eyeing someone up?" Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Eh, you could say that." He went on to describe a nice girl from Baltimore he was really wanting to pursue who he had met a couple days after the dud date and had an Internet friendship with. "I'm sure she's taken, but...well, I'm not trying to take anything away from you, but she's pretty."

"Then go for it. You don't know what you have until it's gone."

"And she's not a 48 year-old woman disguised as a teenager," I teased, earning death glares from the both of them. I shook my head towards them. "Hey, just pointing out the obvious here, folks."

"I guess you're both right." We both got out of the car to see him to the door. "I just know that I probably did something to ruin your night, because I noticed you sulking in the corner, Rory."

"We had set jobs, and Sharon's plans ruined them," I explained. "I wasn't expecting to have to watch my friend here dance with you."

He smiled at me, and I was glad to see the jealousy I felt for him quickly dissipate. "You could have said something though. I would have gladly taken any excuse not to dance, because I know I suck."

"Me too. Why didn't you say anything, Gilmore?"

"Because I don't break up dates," I said weakly. "I didn't want to curse you."

"Well, it's all right. Now you two are free to have fun for the rest of the night." He brought Paris into one last friendly hug, to say goodbye to her for the last time, but this time I wasn't going to stop them. "I'm sorry your mother ruined your last Formal for you. I do wish you well though, and I know you'll find someone special one of these days."

"I hope so for you too, Jamie. It didn't work, but we tried. That's the most important thing." She looked up at him, serious. "I do ask one thing though; don't tell her what happened."

"Are you kidding me?! I'm not even telling anyone at Princeton what happened, because they'd have a field day." He shook his head, groaning. "I still can't believe it!"

Paris was curiously self-depreciating. "Well, it's something to tell the grandkids; 'Daddy almost got seduced by a Hartford MILF.'" Of course, she blanched at the very thought of her mother that way. "Seriously, I hope you have a safe drive home tomorrow, and if you ever do want to write a letter to me, the real me, go ahead."

I jumped in myself. "Me too, I welcome them."

"Thank you girls." After a few more goodbyes, the both of us watched him walk into the Capital Hilton, and I felt Paris lean against me once he pushed through the revolving doors, visibly relieved that her horrible date with Jamie was over.

Instead of continuing the sexual flirting behind the jacket further, we both had something else we had to deal with. I was still in shock as I climbed back into the car, and Paris slid against me on my left side, having to keep good humor up wearing her down quickly as she digested the details.

"I can't fucking believe her." She seethed quietly against me, so riled up. "I just can't. What possessed her to lie to him about me?"

"I'm not sure--"

"I have a reputation to uphold, a family name, a bloodline, and I will do so. But for her to create this bullshit where I want a guy I wanted to be only friends with, under my name. What the fuck is she thinking?" She was about to cry again, this time from anger rather from hurt. "Is it too much for her to actually, you know...talk to me? To know my needs and understand just how much I don't care about men? She stole my good name and almost got us into a very dangerous situation, all three of us!" I ran my fingers through her hair as Henrico decided to circle downtown, waiting for us to tell him where to go next. "I actually have to pay my accountant 20,000 a year to keep a constant eye on my credit report, because I'm afraid Sharon's going to try to defraud me. I have to hide my accounts, I can't even keep a checkbook, and I have a Canadian bank account in Nova Scotia so I can draw funds without her questions. What if she hadn't been trolling for a date for me, but something else?" I hated seeing her like this, freaking out, her stomach in twists. "Trust me when I say I did not want this at all. I didn't even know she was planning this."

"I know, I know." I massaged her back, running my hand across the smooth skin as I tried to calm her down. "Paris, I just want to say--"

"Rory, you can save it. There is nothing you have to apologize for, because we were manipulated."

Still, I had to say something. I didn't want to leave a festering wound in our relationship. "But I was a bitch, jealous of you and Jamie, and that you were going to dump me for him. I acted like a shrew, not even letting you get in an explanation. I felt so guilty all through the ride here, and I was sure that you don't want anything to do with me again." I began to ramble further. "There was absolutely no excuse for me to be so mean to you, ever. You couldn't help it, and I should have just trusted you. But I didn't, and I can't help but blame myself for this night going from bad to worse.

"I don't know how I can make this up to you. I wouldn't blame you if you denied me affection for the next week or so, your sneaks notwithstanding. I don't think I deserve you because I acted so much like...like..." I just couldn't say the name, clamming up, my throat drying at even the urge to utter the name.

Paris jumped in. "No." She was calming down. She brought herself close, eschewing the seatbelt just to be close to me.

"You can't deny I was--"

"Let's clear something up here; you will never be like Dean to me, ever. No matter how angry you might get, or the jealousy that might take you over, you will never take all of his traits." Explaining further, she reminded me of how he discouraged me to shoot higher academically, made me feel idiotic for having my own views when it came to women's rights, even my choice in television shows. "Just because you became irrational at the sight of a guy with me, that's visceral and expected. If we were vice versa, you with the guy and I was misinformed, I would have probably done the same thing." I felt her press up against me, close and intimate, the conversation echoing through the divided interior of the towncar. She continued to describe how she usually thought of me as being angry

"Now I know how you are, Gilmore. I remember when you came into the school and beat yourself up over that D you got in Medina's class. But you fought back, clawed tooth and nail to prove him wrong. You got in my face and told me I was stupid for making fun of you because you were five minutes late, but still ready for the test. You didn't back down, and despite all of the Byzantine regulations of Chilton, you got to retake it. Three days later, you stopped by locker with a smile on your face, with the test paper in hand, marked with a 97."

I still remember that moment, where for the first time I showed I was staying, and she would not be the one to force me out Chilton. "You gave it to me, and right in front of Madeline and Louise, reminded me that I only scored a 95. As I looked in shock at the paper..."

"I said 'Meet your living hell, Gellar', and smirked, to show you could demean me all you wanted, but I wouldn't let you get to me." I felt so powerful, and smiled at the memory. "The look on your face as you gave back the paper and just silently walked away, that was priceless!" She pushed closer to me, rolling her eyes at how confident I was.

"I was stewing for a week after." She smiled, and I felt her hands slide against my arms. "But I couldn't tonight. I was hurt after you said that, but after talking to Madeline, I realized we weren't in a drama situation, just a comedy of errors."

I felt that description was accurate. "It wasn't very funny though." I asked her how Madeline reacted to us being a couple.

"She seems fine with it, we make a good couple and all of that. Apparently, she also has a secret thing going on herself."

"With who?" She said Maddy and Brad were together, and I laughed at being proved right. "I told you they were seeing each other!"

"You did, but I couldn't believe you."

"Yeah, but two months ago, you couldn't see us together," I reminded her. "Now look at us, we've already had our first fight, but it turned out to be so silly."

"Actually, I don't think it was silly."

Suddenly, she pushed the seatbelt button and helped to retract the belt from across my dress back into the reel. I felt rather confused, and a bit scared from how she was looking at me. Not to mention I felt rather dangerous without a seatbelt on.

"Um, Par? What are you doing?" I bit my lip as she pushed against me, encouraging me to slide my left leg onto the seat. "Uh, you do realize we're in a moving car, right?"

"I've just digested this whole night through my mind," she said, her voice in that dangerously sultry tone of hers. "I had such wonderful things in store for us before Sharon blew everything that I had planned." I shuddered beneath her, a bit apprehensive about what she was going to say.

"I had plans of sneaking touches and glances at you all night long...of meeting you at the punch bowl and bending down, so you could finally be able to eye me up in public." I had tried to avoid staring at her deep cleavage all night through my rage, but with her front and center, I just had to stare. She went for the same effect she had from the sophomore Formal, a deep line down each breast. There was a difference this time though, in that she had her breasts a bit more pushed up, and the material over them was at least 1/4 less. Her tan from Ormond Beach helped amplify the effect of how beautiful she looked, the dark skin seeming to go perfect with the light green. I brought my hands across the smooth material along her abdomen, enjoying the feel of it within my hands. She watched me closely, deliberating her flirting.

"I was going to tell you our friend at the Secret recommended a dress shop in Windsor Locks after I told her I had the Formal, and she cursed me out for thinking dowdy was best. She wanted me to stand out, and pre-warned the owner of that shop with my measurements and body frame. When I arrived there after dropping you off at the grandparents last night I thought I was going to be stuck trying on dress after dress, but she had this one picked out for me already." My breath caught as her hand slipped across my legs. "I tried it on, and immediately, it was love at first fit. I've never had that with a dress before, beyond the one from the dance marathon. The dress shop owner suggested one other thing to go with it, as a lure."

"Your perfume?" She nodded, as I inhaled the aroma from her décolletage. It had a mix of a floral and sweet fragrances mixed together, such a heady mix, perfect on her body. "It was getting to me, I just didn't say anything."

"Of course, I had on makeup, but it was kind of ruined." She felt a bit apprehensive about having to clean it off because of her crying. "I hope it didn't dim the effect." My gaze scraped northward, and really, I couldn't tell at all she had been crying. I also only saw her makeup from a distance only before our argument, so I didn't really notice.

"Par, you're beautiful as you are. Makeup is just an accentuation for you, not a definition." My fingers wandered along her sides as she placed her left hand against my knee, while running her fingers through my hair.

"All night, I wanted to be alone with you, to do something. I was actually under the impression your bathroom trip was a hint to be intimate, but obviously that was wrong." I found her sliding her hand closer to the inner portion of my thigh as she pushed above my knee. "After Madeline convinced me to go back into the hall, I was stuck with just Jamie, and my thoughts, stewing as I watched you." I couldn't say a word as she wove the scene. "I wanted you pressed against me, dancing in time with the music, my hand starting innocently above your waist, but sliding down with each revolution. I tightened up, thinking about you with me, your anger at me guiding me on. I should not be thinking of possession as a turn-on, but it was." She fluttered her eyes, sucking her stomach in. "I kept watching towards that corner, waiting for the moment where you'd yank me off to the coat room and show that I was yours."

I couldn't stand what she was doing to me, using my tantrum as fantasy fuel. I could feel myself tightening, lust beginning to overtake me as I felt myself aroused from her ability to construct the night into something else entirely. "I wanted those hands against my hips, your chin against my shoulder." She pushed me down further, hitching my dress up along my thigh. "To press yourself against me, in such a public situation. Something that would get the rumor mill going, but just as a tease. Nothing to push the suspisions."

I began to realize what she was doing, her teasing more cavalier as she pushed deeper into her naughty talk. "I imagine you, dreaming of yourself as the innocent girl of your community, when it's clear you're not. You think about me, every moment of every day, in very interesting situations." I didn't understand where she was going, beyond up my thigh with her hand, which I was powerless to stop. "Your mind Is just filled with so many naughty situations, isn't it?"

"If only you knew," I uttered in a breathy whisper. "I've even thought of you and me against the lockers, schooling Summer on the lost art of making out."

"I couldn't do that," Paris admitted. "I have no need to rub it in to anyone. I enjoy you as I do, privately."

"You're a romantic." I hmm'ed, giving her a seductive look. "So there's no way I could push you against anything and get you to stand on one foot?"

"Well, you have to find the appropriate buttons," she demurred. "But we have plenty of time for that." I felt the air rushing up through my dress, the article being slid up me, while her other hand was at my side, near the zipper holding me within the dress. "But for now, I have the upper hand."

I felt I did owe her for earlier, and allowed her the control. "You do." I expected her to push in for a kiss eventually...

But I was surprised as just as she was about to caress my mound, she pulled away from me, retracting both of her hands, and backing up towards the left side of the car quickly, retreating. She left me stunned, and I wondered her intentions as she kept her eyes upon me.

The sudden shift in her mood was unexpected, as her voice went from soft, to terse within moments. But really, I couldn't blame her, because of the reason she had to pull away.

Namely, her stomach was empty, and it was growling. And uh, loudly. Let it be known that for once, her hunger wasn't sexual, and she blushed in embarrassment at her predicament. She broke apart from me, putting her hands in her lap as she tried to recover, nervously going back to her Tristan-era sexual self.

"Umm..." Her facial expression took on a frown/smile mix, as she felt herself odd to want to satisfy her craving for something. "As you can tell, Jamie didn't take me out to eat."

I shook my head, smiling at her. "Have you had anything since lunch?"

"Not really." She sighed towards me, and got out her phone. "But thankfully, I have something in mind. How about fish and chips?"

"Anywhere fancy?" I wondered, immediately thinking about something on par with a Red Lobster.

"Actually, this nice place in Berlin my father frequents, the Berlin Fish Market. They double batter their fish and serve those thick fries I just enjoy. Trust me Gilmore, it's to die for." She began to dial out as I laughed at her new wonderment at the foods she used to call 'silent killers'.

"I never thought you one to enjoy fried fish."

She darted a look at me as she waited for an answer from the phone. "There are plenty of other things I enjoy." She followed up with her secret smile, then a scan with her eyes down my body. It looked like the tension was beginning to melt away, as she darted a look at the cleavage peering out from my dress. She kept her stare still after the fish market picked up. "Yes, it's for Gellar. Mm-hmm, I'm Harold's daughter..." She went on to order a three-piece perch meal for both of us, along with sodas, and a cod dinner for Henrico, talking with the order taker happily like the person on the other end was an old friend.

I couldn't help but stare at her lips as she talked, being a mere spectator to her and enjoying the drone of her voice, along with how she used her mouth to make her point. Of course, that brought me back to how she teased me Monday morning in the Jag backseat, and I rolled my eyes back. I felt myself going back to that moment, skirt wrapped around my waist, thankful that I had taken that shower Friday night to trim after the fitting, where I realized my previous pattern wasn't enough to go with my newly-acquired items.

I thought about her tongue...that talented thing. Oh man, I have such a mouth fixation with her, down to her perfect teeth, nipping against my lips while she suckled the flesh surrounding them. Of her voice, also. I think of how she spilled over when I hummed against her clit atop of her desk and got wet at the thought.

Comparing my voice to hers though is like comparing star fruit to a pear. I haven't had the diction classes she's had over the years, and I know her voice has been well trained to be commanding and fair, even and firm, filled with the class she imparts in everything that she does. I hear shades of Katherine Hepburn of it, of Old Money, distinction, independence. Her voice is stronger than even my grandmother's, and she speaks intelligently, evenly, and never missing one beat in her words.

Fuck, imagine that throat rattling her tongue against me as she speaks. If my voice vibrates, Paris's quakes and registers like Loma Prieta. I'll even admit that I've taped her during Franklin and student gov meetings with my micro-cassette recorder under the impression of recording the minutes, and turned up the volume, placed it against my body, and stroked myself while trying to 'feel' her voice. I think it was the voice that did it to me to begin with, as after Tristan left, I listened to her more and fell in love with her speaking voice. From there, I saw the woman in front of me, and everything else began to fall into place.

Alone, her saying my name, she's the best at it, be it Lorelai, Rory, or Ror. Even in the bathroom as she begged for forgiveness, the stab I felt when she said my name in desperation before I coldly ended the conversation still threw that familiar sting of desire through me. She's perfected speaking to me down to an art, and she knows how it gets me. It always gets my attention, no matter the tone or emotion behind it.

I don't know why I'm putting so much into this thought. I mean, it's just her voice, not something like her breasts. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy every single part of her, but just her talking reminds me that the girl behind that voice isn't just some future heiress, but a woman with her own destiny in mind, to make herself the sixth generation in Harvard, past Jewish quotas be damned. Her family has already proven themselves over the years, and I have a stake in the next girl to create a nice, long and powerful branch on her family tree which with almost 99 certainty goes back to the Sephardis who came to New York a mere thirty years after the first of the Hayden lineage landed at Plymouth (allegedly; I think it's a tall tale actually).

"Rory..."

Her voice is breathless, yet domineering. I don't even know what to say to her at all, and I just want to hear it forever.

"Rory..."

Yeah, so hot, keep talking to me, baby. I love it when you speak my name...and when you scream it...

"Oh my God...Rory!"

Why is her voice getting so soft, and what is wrong? It's getting so tight, what is...

I suddenly realize that I've not been in a reality since I began to take in her food order, and that my eyes are shut. Not to mention, my throat is abnormally dry. Obviously, I had a sudden blackout from going on the tangent about her voice, what I was thinking probably overheating a brain so used to romance cutting away at the perfect moment before the editor got out his censorship pen.

So why do I feel so clammy? The air in the car had been so dry. Suddenly my head feels cool, and my brow is dripping, along with my underarms...

Of which on my right side, is pushed against me, hard.

Trailing down to my arm, I realize it's not at all at my side, like I assumed that it was.

It's nowhere near my side.

Uh, did I mention that there's a huge rush of cold air going up my legs? Or that the reason for that is that my dress is hiked 3/4 up my thighs?

Or that my hand...

Oh fuck.

Look at Paris, look at Paris. She must be thinking you're a goddamn loonball right now...

What the hell was I thinking about during that pause? I need to ask her, she must think I'm beyond multi-faceted abnormal!

Wait, why is she looking at me like that? She's close to me in the middle of the seat, and she's looking at me with...I've never seen that look on her face before at all. I know all of her expressions, how her face scowls, and how high she smiles, but never before...

Her eyes look dilated, and far gone. Her mouth, opened wide, yet she bites at the inside of her lip. Her breath is heavy, and she's panting, hard. Her cheeks are red, and she's just looking me...down and up. My own face is wrinkled, as if I was in the middle of something...

When I look down towards her breasts, her chest raises high and low, hard breaths swelling her as far out as she'll go. Her throat is tightened in, and her nipples...I will just say that whatever was shielding her behind the satin of the dress, it really wasn't working.

She was stunned, and cold, looking at me in a way I have never known. I don't know how long it takes her to speak again as she tries to regain her bearings.

I wouldn't blame her if it took the rest of the night. But if she doesn't say anything for two minutes, she thinks she's lost her voice in the world...

"So my voice, eh?" Firm and direct, yet with a small sense of mirth within.

"What about your voice?" I didn't think I said a word...

"I was trying to tell you that the order would be ready by the time we got there, but suddenly you were blacking out and you seemed to be..." She directed her look down, "involved."

"Are you sure?" Says the girl with the dampened hand and heated clitoris like a lump between her legs.

She stares at me, like I had possibly gone Sybil on her. "So you have absolutely no idea that you asked me to keep talking, because quote, 'it gets me so fucking wet'?"

My eyes are wide. No, definitely not me. At least in reality. I'm like a sailor in my dreams. "No," I squeaked out smally.

"Or that if I was a sexual phone operator, I'd need to charge 100 per minute because everyone would come within 38 seconds from my voice?" Oh God!

Another squeaky "No."

She's moving closer to me...what happened to the tension from earlier? And why do her breasts seem suddenly swelling within her dress? "So you couldn't have heard me say after I hung up, I saw you pushed hard against the back of your seat, gown hiked up your pale legs, fingers gliding within yourself, and you had no idea that I was watching you confess that you used minutes recordings for jilling material?"

This was getting to be a routine. "No."

"Why aren't you finishing then?" She's looking at me, stopping me from pulling down my dress in embarrassment. "If a simple food order can get your trigger going, I think I'll have to hold off reading the Constitution as a bedtime story for at least a few months."

"Paris..." I felt mortified. "This is embarrassing, I shouldn't--"

"I hope the next word is 'stop', because..." She scrapes her fingers across my left arm, moving her lips within inches of mine. "This is exactly what I was looking forward to for tonight. Nothing else."

"Hearing that I have a voice kink?" Internally, I'm freaking out majorly. I'm composed and have a good head on my shoulders, I shouldn't be blacking out. "I let my mind wander, I'm--"

"Going to masturbate until you can't stand it anymore." She lays a kiss against my lips, soft, just enough to show that she's going to be verbally aggressive towards me. "And yes, I said masturbate. It's hardly a crude term at all when you think about it. I don't understand why it has to be hidden under all of these girly terms. For instance, petting the kitty?" She scoffed. "Really? Petting the kitty. Believe me, I understand that kitty is synonymous with cat, and in turn, pussy, but let's review the facts here; I've never had a cat. Madeline had a cat. When I've petted it, it certainly hasn't been in the way I've 'petted' my so-called 'kitty'. You can call it Sherman for all I care, but it's still a pussy, and all the cutesy words in the world aren't going to cover that up!"

Paris, stop it, fighting that damn urge...fighting that fucking urge! And stop blatantly showing your boobs right in front of me!

"I never understood why anyone would coin it a beaver either. I've examined an actual beaver, and as far as I know, the human vagina neither has bucked teeth or a flat tail. The short fur, yes, that is an apt comparison, but that's about it. But if you went with that broad criteria, you could apply it to a hedgehog also, and frankly the only image that inspires that comparison comes every twenty-eight days or so..."

She takes this opportunity to undo the few complicated pins holding her hair within an upswept bob, going east-west around her head as she begins to let her hair fall down. I can feel the breath from her speech fall against my chest, and a few words come out strong, flinging droplets of her saliva across it. I'm letting myself fall back into her speech as she goes on further with the nickname topic.

"Frankly, the best slang I've found to describe how we fuck ourselves, it has to be double-clicking the mouse. Now, I'm not into teen sex comedies at all, but it's just perfect, and it aptly describes how I both drag the cursor within the space of my trackpad, along with manipulating around my clit." She's adding a bit of a sexual commanding husk on as I press my index and middle just below my button. "The term in itself suggests an accomplishment, like after you click on an icon, you start something up you really want, say a web browser window or composing an electronic mail or instant message..."

I love how she never abbreviates anything, it adds even more words for me to get me hot to...

"Sometimes it doesn't work, like if some stupid slow program is hanging everything up, but you can fix that easily in both circumstances. Boot the task from the Task Manager, or reposition yourself. Sometimes you just don't have enough room to navigate, and you're crowded in. But you make do, because your thigh makes just as good a mousepad, or you manipulate so that in the tight spot, you can still get yourself off. Frankly if you let yourself wait, the high disappears. You need to go further, whether you like it or not, and just finish yourself off."

I seethe her name through my teeth, my fingers tightening within me. "Paris...more..."

"Then, there was tonight, while you were watching me with Jamie. A missed opportunity to buff the pearl in the way you seem to enjoy so much."

What was she talking about? I continued to stroke, circling my clit with my thumb, my eyes focused on her, but I did force out a response.

"Are you kidding...me?"

She was surprisingly unshakable, her voice remaining steady.

"You're not being serious, are you? For at least an hour and a half, you did not sit in that chair, just focusing on the adventures of Madam Bovary and not think, 'Gee, I wonder if that girl whose current date I want to pummel with a test cricket bat is repeating what she did two years ago as far as what's residing against her bum? Is she wearing anything beneath that dress? And how does it feel for her, compared to me? I'm surprised I'm in public without panties, and I don't see the big deal about attending social events like her without them on. Never mind that she goes without just to keep the focus off her ass and that pantylines to her are a true imperfection. She might not be vain, but she's not stupid; look at her brain, not her booty.'"

I can't believe I'm doing this, with her driver behind a partition and disobeying the passing signs to 'Buckle Up!'. I'm listening to her dialogue, focusing my eyes on her delicious mouth, watching her tongue click atop the roof of her mouth. I'm grunting and panting her name, hearing the suction of my pussy as she goes on and on, while suggesting panties to her are like her tight bras after school, annoying. She can't push it any further, can she?

"Even when I was forced to go to that horrible party your grandmother threw for you just after you arrived at Chilton, I didn't need to wear any. When I look back on that day, I don't remember the bitterness, the hate I had for you at the time. I imagine you and I, pushing into the game room, both of us so turned on, while you're so pissed off over Emily, over Tristan, over me, but yet, you're willing to fuck even your worst enemy to expel the stress. Onto the pool table, the triangle digging against your back as I lift the green overdress off from you, and unzip what you wore under to get at you. Your hands find their way beneath the wool hem of my own dress, and hitch it up until I'm almost exposed. But damn my mother for making me wear fucking pantyhose that night, how dare she, beyond a whine that I would freeze without them on."

Shit...overload. She has dreams of messing with her past, imagining herself deflowering me on the day I turned 16. She's so crude, yet...so very articulate about how we go about it. Her voice is taking on that possessive growl.

"You deal with them rather quickly, however, grabbing at the nylon, tearing a hole across them, freeing my cunt." She's doing the leg uncrossing...my eyes are wandering down. "Your fingers plunge in, and I'm so gone, immediately. I slide my own two between your thick curls. It's nothing loving, just anger and lust buried within, a wanting to know how Madeline, Louise, Tristan, how those three feel when they're in this depraved act. We bite, scratch, claw, and I leave a trail of marks across your form, two months older than mine. I whisper into your ear...'I hope your sixteenth is sweet, because you taste that way to me.'"

I'm rubbing myself, faster...faster. Her legs are still open, nipples so fucking still against the bodice of her dress.

"I manipulate our past often when I get myself off...the concert, we shove off to a bathroom under the stage. Madeline's party, I beat Tristan to get at you, and your body leaves a indelible print on the surface of that 115 year-old Steinway as you make Don Music seem like a competent composer with your feet smashing against those keys. Even the date with Tristan, I fuck up for my own depravity. I changed out of my clothes at your home, in your bathroom, but leave your mom's on the toilet seat. I walk out of the bathroom fully nude."

My eyes are tightening shut, my weeping quim inundated, my fingers cramped as I push in-out in-out, my clit swollen so hard.

"I tell you I don't need your pity..." Pushing back to be close to me. "But I do need you."

"And that will never change. Ever. Because, Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, if I ever say that I don't, it's a goddamned lie." She's straddling across me on both sides, one hand on the suit hook above the door, the other against the seat. Paris's cleavage...up close and personal, I can strongly smell her perfume. "I think of you now, every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, every hour of every day, of every week, and finally, of every week of every year." I can clearly see the pink outline of the top of her nipples, down her dress. I'm circling my clit as if I need the release immediately.

"I do not want you to ever doubt what I feel for you, ever again. I am ready to tell you..."

She comes in for one last kiss, forcing her tongue within my mouth and escalating it as I begin to feel the contractions begin. I'm bumping up and down against the seat, the rubbing so overwhelming.

Paris forces in a little more, pushing her tits against mine within the dress, we have no space to spare. The last of the braids falls from her hair, leaving the top of her head a sloppy mess, but a hot and sloppy mess. I'm closing my eyes again.

"I want you to be mine for as long as you'll have me." I have three inside now. "When you see me with another guy, I'm thinking of you. With another woman, I'm thinking of you. Anywhere...just you, baby. I think of you." One more kiss. "Come for me, let me see you spill out, come on! Please, just for your Par-Bear, the one you want to snuggle up with at night against her chest."

I love her encouragement.

"Fuck...Paris...Par...oh damn!"

"I want to be the only one to ever see you this way..."

"Baby girl..." I don't even know how to censor myself anymore...

"That's right, I'm your little baby, I'm your baby girl. You're my mama, teaching me what to do, how to let my heart come out to play. To be passionate...to be sexual, frank, honest, to feel beautiful."

Oh yessss...yesss, oh lord...I've got a nickname from her, and I'm almost there. I can't even say anything, I'm reduced to gasps and curses!

"And to know that there's someone out there who loves me for who I am." I can feel it bubbling, up, up, up...

"Par...baby girl..."

One more kiss, a deeper one...oh my God...

Another pause, I don't know what's happening.

"I love you, Rory Gilmore."

An echo through my mind. Three words.

Oh my God.

I think that did it. I hear her say what she's wanted to admit for months.

That's the trigger point. I can't stop this orgasm from overtaking me, as she presses hard against me, physically and emotionally with her words.

I think I'm about to cry.

And I am, hard as everything hits home. The four letter word, in my mind, as I feel the heat between my legs spill forth against the back of my dress. I'm shrieking, cursing God's name.

Never has this happened. Ever. I'm overcome.

Her words have gotten to me, the tease through her sexy voice. She knows how to get me off just right, and this is definitely beyond words. I can't say a damn thing. Two hours off what would have been the end of everything, and she's shown me the light.

Literally. I see a white light within my closed eyes. My stomach sucked in as I feel the buildup of two days overcome me. I'm gone, I'm coming, I'm wanted.

I'm loved.

And I'm crying as I begin to settle down. Yet I'm afraid of what to say next. Do I admit the same? Do I wait?

Do I--

She's kissing me softly, upon my forehead, and my temple, the tip of my nose. The come down feels sticky and hot, but yet, it is a wonderful afterglow, as I let myself cry, feeling so overwhelmed by her voice. Just her voice, and my fingers, and her kisses.

Along with her love.

"Ror, don't say a word." She's caring, the demanding voice gone, replaced with her rare soft tone. "I don't need to hear you now, I'll wait."

"But--but..." Disorientated, undone, my hair sticking against me. "I thought."

"I love you for sharing that with me," she coos. "To let me watch, to enjoy you as you are. I don't need to hear it. I will not pressure." I was shocked, she's usually so demanding.

"Paris, did I?" I left the question hanging. I'm letting the tears fall freely, as she helps me fix the dress and brings me against her, in a tight hug.

"You did scare me tonight," she admitted. "I was so afraid, petrified. I had been holding it to my heart for a least the last three weeks, since you defended me. I don't want to lose you, hon." I'm beginning to relax, and she grabs tissue from the console dispenser to help cleanse me. "I know you needed that. You get cranky when stressed, and always, it's a natural stress reducer."

"How much do you..." I hang the statement again, the petrifaction at saying the word still blocking my desire.

"I can't say an exact range. But I'll tell you it broke the Range Game and Bob Barker's blowing a fucking gasket at me." I laugh a little, but my sides hurt from my coming, so I have to settle down, since I feel that dizzy sting in my head. "I'm not afraid to be myself with you, dear. You see me for who I am, and tonight when I was crying after Maddy found me, I knew I had to fight to get you back." Her body is warm, soothing. I love to be against her...

"You won, baby girl. You won me back." I continue to cry against her, visibly and emotionally spent from her sharing so much with me. "I'm sorry I was--"

She lays a kiss upon my lips, interrupting me before I can continue to apologize further. I know she says I don't have to, but I must. She's stopping me, though. Another kiss, and she pulls back from me, her lashes lowered and regarding me as the most beautiful thing she's ever laid her eyes on.

"We have at least two and a half hours before we must be home," she mentions, and for once I'm thankful Lorelai dropped curfew for once, mentioning that I should enjoy the night and she would trust me. "Just as long as you get home before the bars close," she said. "My mother expects me to not even walk in that door until after one, and for once, I'm going to push it." She smoothes my dress out along my lap, my raspy breathing still heavy.

"So that means..." I thought about the time schedule and the layout of the rest of the night.

"We're rebooting the night." She compares it to a video game. "Irrational jealousy just put us on a different path, the long detour. This night will end right, I know it."

For the first time since the moment I saw Jamie, I could smile without any guilt, feeling it all freed up from me. "I know it will. It's started off on a good note." I was now thinking about it since my blacking out, with her admission of her love for me. As we broke apart, I felt a renewal that no matter what Sharon did to muck up things for her, Paris would not let anything get in her way. I looked at her, so beautiful, her hair out of the odd bun from earlier, curled down across her shoulders. I'm taken aback by her every time I see her, and there's nothing she could ever do or say to kill my high from her saying 'I love you, Rory Gilmore'...

"One thing though. I'm asking for some moist towelettes when we pick up our food."

"Well, of course, fish can be messy." That's when I saw her eyes wander southbound, and she clears her throat.

"Not for that." She giggles a bit at me, and umm, yeah. Obviously I've been so unfulfilled for so long within a relationship, I didn't know that when I have an orgasm, I really have one!

I shake my head and dart a dirty look towards her. "You're not exactly spic and span yourself there, hon."

She opens her mouth wide, surprised by my audacity. "Excuse me, but I feel like I have some semblance of control over my fulfillment!" She slugs me on the arm.

"For now you do," I suggest darkly, moving close to her ear. "One day, you're going to scream from me, and you'll be feeling it for days." I lick her earlobe, chuckling as I move back, and see her roll her eyes up. Obviously, she doesn't believe that whenever I do so, I will make her brain melt into a puddle.

"I'd like to see you try," she comes back, and I feel like I finally have the last word to win the argument.

"Oh, you know you'd love me for it," I respond sweetly, crossing my legs and putting my seatbelt back on. Now I can throw her confession of love right back, and be all smug and high in front of her.

And for the next three hours, we're all alone, beyond a driver who won't say a word about us because he cares about her, but also because you don't mess with Paris, ever.

I already have things in mind, and trust me when I say this will be a Formal night we'll never forget. I know it's burned into my mind permanently, taking the place of my hate for that damned Barbie that said Math is hard.

A memory I don't mind losing, because I now have someone can undress and do whatever I want to, and I'm not about to pull her head off.

And she loves me.

I now have a true lover.

God, I love her...

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Continued in part two (Chapter 19), so click on through below...