My Brother

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Setting: See first chapter.

Note: Originally, when planning this fic., (yes, it is planned out and the ending is fixed, though, of course, it could change) I intended that it would be from Tristan's POV and about his growing relationship with his brother. But I added some twists. This chapter, for example, is all from Rory's POV. The outcome should be about the same, though…We'll see!

Rory walked into the school feeling dejected. The toaster had popped a fuse or something that morning, there were no more pop-tarts left anyway, her mom made pancakes but there was no maple-syrup or any other kind of liquid sugar so they threw them away, and then Lorelai found some pop-tarts under the couch and heated them up in the oven but by the time they were ready Rory had been afraid of being late and left home without breakfast, which was a disaster. And now she was hungry, of course. A bad start to what promised to be a bad day. And then there was that small issue about Tristan and the kiss…

Oh no. She had to see Tristan, confront him, speak to him, maybe. And then there was that project! How would they manage that without at least one of them being completely mortified? It wasn't possible. She would just have to ask the teacher for another partner. And that was the simple solution.

Now stop fretting over it, Rory! She scolded herself as she walked to her classroom, head down and a frown plastered on her face. That was the solution. There was a solution. Now she could stop feeling so uptight about it, so nervous, so fidgety, and so worried about seeing Tristan.

"Hey Mary," a boy's voice called to her. Rory's head whipped up and she felt her hair slap someone behind her. Slowly, she turned around, expecting and dreading to see Tristan. No, no, please don't let it be Tristan! I don't want to see him. I won't be ready to see him for the next ten years!

"Ouch! What the hell did you do that for, Gilmore!" the boy she'd hit with her hair cursed. Rory let out a breath of relief when she saw it was Tucker, and not Tristan. And then she quickly turned red when she remembered that she'd hit him in the face with her hair and he had his left eye closed tightly, his hand covering it up.

"Sorry, Tucker," she apologized honestly. "Do you…need help? Should I ask the nurse if she has anything for your eye? Really, I'm sorry. But if you just open your eye and blink a few times it should…"

Tucker was grinning, not wincing. Why was he grinning? This was not good. Rory's level of panic escalated as she gulped, let her sentence trail off, and waited for the explanation as to why Tucker was grinning like that. It couldn't be good. "You responded," he said, chuckling, a gleam in his right eye. "You responded when I called you Mary. Did you think I was Tristan or something? Were you getting ready to smooch him again?"

Rory stood there, facing a cackling Tucker surrounded by a group of other laughing students, her eyes wide open and her heart thumping wildly. He knew. Tucker Harrison, and all those other kids, knew that Tristan had kissed her. Did Tristan tell them? Was it a bet after all? Did he tell everyone in the school that he'd gotten Rory, gotten Mary, to kiss him? But she hadn't kissed him, he'd kissed her. It was entirely different. And here Tucker seemed to think that she had been the one doing the kissing. No, she'd been the one doing the panicking.

"Tristan is an arrogant jerk. And you most of all, as his friend, should know that I hate him. Now why would I kiss someone I hated? Tristan is the last person I would ever kiss. And you, Tucker Harrison, should know that," she snapped at Tucker. Turning her back, Rory hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulders and walked away from the hooting Tucker.

Once Rory dropped into her seat, she was affronted by Paris, her hair hanging down like a curtain, her face forcing itself in front of Rory's. "So. You kissed Tristan DuGrey. Congratulations; now every single girl in the school has been kissed by Tristan except for me. Do you feel proud? Exhilarated? Triumphant? Happy? Hmm? Are you happy, Gilmore, that you have now officially joined the long line of girls who have been kissed by Tristan DuGrey? Are you happy, Gilmore, that you are in that line and I am not? Are you?" Paris was practically screaming at this point while Rory shrank farther and farther into her seat.

What was wrong with Paris? Why was she affronting her like this when she, most of all, knew how much Rory hated Tristan, knew that if it was true that they had kissed, it would have been because Tristan forced it on her? Why was Paris behaving so unnaturally?

But of course. The natural explanation was the valid one. Paris was in love. She was in love with Tristan.

"I'm surprised in you, Paris," Rory told her quietly, sitting up straighter and therefore forcing Paris to move back a bit. "I thought that you would shoot higher than Tristan."

For a moment Rory and Paris stared at each other, both coolly indifferent. Then Paris let out a forced laugh. "Me? Shoot higher than Tristan? And this coming from the mouth of the one who just recently made out with him so passionately in front of the lockers?"

Paris said it to uphold her dignity, but she knew, and she knew Rory knew. They both knew that Paris was the one mooning over Tristan, and they both knew why she was being so illogical.

Paris stared at her for a few more moments and then, flushing red, turned away and marched to her seat right before the History teacher walked into the room. Immediately, Rory's hand shot up straight in the air.

The teacher wasn't even at the front of the room yet but he smiled at one of his best, most promising pupils and asked, "Yes, Miss Gilmore? Do you have a question?"

She decided to get straight to the point. "I can't, I won't, work with Tristan DuGrey," she told the History teacher straight out, making eye contact with him to show how serious she was. The only good thing about this day, she noted to herself quickly in the pause that followed, was that Tristan seemed to be absent.

Immediately the teacher's smile slipped and she was no longer regarded as one of his favorite students. "Oh, but you can and you will, Miss Gilmore," he told her in icy tones. Promptly, the teacher walked to the front of the room and began the lesson. It was settled and there was nothing she could do about it; Rory Gilmore would have to work with Tristan DuGrey. Now was the time to panic.