Chapter 2: Between Love, Hate and Rory's Knees

Author's Note: Maybe my goal will be to have my story and chapter titles get more and more inappropriate as the story goes on. Or I'll just take a golf club and whack you over the head with all the sexual innuendo and whatnot. This title is pretty PG (I've seen Hannah Montana episodes that are more provocative). But, if I start using parts of anatomy in my titles maybe that'll really be pushing it.

To all those I didn't respond to because you don't have an FF account or you don't think I'm important enough to read the response I sent you, much thanks for loving me almost as much as I love you. Seriously, the response I got to this story was a bit unexpected, but totally awesome. Hopefully I won't blow. It. (see, right there I was going for the sexual innuendo thing again. Man I'm messed up).

Disclaimer: Don't try to be this awesome at home kids. It's for professionals only. But even though I say this, think about all those kids who tried the Jackass stunts at home. So really I should just type blah, blah blah...

Same effect, right?


She knew she couldn't avoid that shock of blonde hair for the rest of her life.

She'd actually had many dreams about what she would do when she saw E again.

What they'd say. What they'd drink. How long it would take for her to strangle her to death.

It'd probably start with a hello (it was a standard greeting that even those in high society tended to use).

She'd only have time for one drink. And as soon as E brought up Logan, Rory's hands would strangle every single bubble gum breath out of her.

It's not that she hated E; she just thought she was better off dead.

Or in a nunnery.

But E coming back now just didn't fit into Rory's social calendar. She could have penciled her in sometime next February, but right now, she had better things to do.

Lose her virginity.

Kill Jess Mariano.

All were things she needed to do before E returned to shove her blonde hair in her face.

She stared at the blank word document in front of her, the blinking cursor mocking her inability to put any coherent thoughts onto the page.

It should be easy to create any entire document of ideas on how to destroy someone's life. Rory was the master, commander and fucking queen of hearts at turning bright futures into trailer park heiresses.

In case you are unfamiliar with the term trailer park heiress (a seeming oxymoron), don't feel left out. It was a phrase created by Rory Gilmore's buzzing heard of bees.

She'd spayed Tristan DuGrey, nurtured Paris Gellar and driven countless other girls insane.

But when it came to E, she knew her normal five-step life destruction plan wouldn't cut it. E used to be her best friend forever (carve that into a tree!). E wouldn't flinch if Rory posted pictures of her walking out of the free clinic. She'd laugh and say the free condoms really weren't something a girl could pass up.

The next day every freshman, who the day before was licking Rory's yogurt spoon, would be caught at the free clinic, everyone's favorite new hot spot.

No, with E, Rory needed a machine gun leg, metaphorically speaking.

Wait, what? Did anyone see machine gun leg as fall's new trend in Vogue?

Miss 2300 on her SAT practice test was going to have to get her Manolo Blahnik over the knee suede boots a bit scuffed up to make E disappear, yet again.

Thank god they were from 2006, nearly vintage.

Rory noticed the little messenger icon was dancing on her dashboard.

She saw that Jess Mariano had sent her an instant message.

Cue the over-the-top groan.

Jess:

Read E was back. Just making sure you hadn't offed yourself yet.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt to flirt with her over instant messaging.

Why had she not blocked him again?

Rory:

I'd only off myself if a camera crew was present.

He replied back, instantly. Rory had a flash of some girl on her knees in his bedroom.

She shook that thought of her mind simply because she'd vomited enough for one night.

And she'd taken a vow to pretend genitalia no longer existed.

Obviously, someone had not read "Our Bodies, Ourselves."

Jess:

Attention whores are my favorite kind of whore.

Rory:

I thought any whore worked for you.

Jess:

I have certain whore requirements.

Rory:

I don't think there is training to be a whore. If you need training, you've obviously landed yourself in the wrong profession.

Jess:

I don't think Chilton's last virgin can give advice on how to make it as a whore.

Rory blushed. The virgin word always led to hot pink creeping its way up her neck.

She smiled at what she was going to type next.

Rory:

So how is Louise doing? Does it upset her that you're talking to me while she's getting carpet burn?

The cursor sat still, Jess taking longer than before to reply.

Then in came his response. She was sure a smirk was attached.

Jess:

She knows she alone can't do much for me.

If Rory wasn't blushing before, her whole body was now radiating heat. She needed a bath. Or to think about other things.

Rory:

You're so disgusting. I'm not partaking in aim sex with you. I'm signing off right now.

Before she could sign off, Jess sent her a final reply.

Jess:

Don't forget to go to confession tomorrow to wash away all those thoughts I know you're having right now.

Rory:

Don't forget to get tested, asshole.

She was too riled up to fall asleep at this moment; even her Chinese sleep chants and an aromatherapy bath couldn't calm her down.

She needed pie. She needed to gorge on an entire pie.

Or maybe what our perfect little virgin needed was to taste the forbidden fruit.

Maybe she needed to get laid.

We don't want our Queen Bee to suffer the effects of replacing food for sex. We all know what happened to Kirstie Alley.

Jenny Craig was not an acceptable career outlet for a Gilmore.


Rory entered the kitchen and saw her mother shoveling spoonful after spoonful of chocolate crème pie into her mouth.

Emily must have struck.

She lifted a spoon, silently inviting Rory to join her in a pity fest over pie.

Rory sauntered over to the kitchen table, accepting the spoon and the invitation to take part in 'whose life sucks more' part deux.

"Emily said I was fat," Lorelai sighed, taking another bite of pie.

"E's back."

Lorela's spoon slowly tumbled to the floor, as did her jaw. "I thought she was sent away to boarding school?"

"She was," Rory responded, in a bored tone.

"And now she's back in Hartford? Why?"

"To ruin my life."

"E never did play nice."

"You know what she'll do first to celebrate her homecoming?"

"Logan?"

"Logan is over her."

"I'm sorry. I don't trust him. He's way too in love with his penis."

"He'd get Chlamydia."

"Then you better get him disinfected the next time you see him."

Rory's eyes turned almost black. "I have to get rid of her. I can't let her come back to Chilton and pretend nothing happened."

"You can't kill her." Let's hope there won't be any dialing M for murder in this saga.

"I could hire someone to kill her."

"I think the pie is going to your head."

"Do you have a better idea on how to get rid of her?"

"Something legal would be nice."

"Veronica never got caught in The Heathers."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"I'd just need to find a Jason to help me get away with it."

"Maybe you need counseling. Maybe all this talk of murder is your repressed feelings about your father leaving when you were five."

"Oh, who cares about dad? He sends money and Manolo's."

"Are you projecting your anger at Logan on E?"

"Why do you care about E's well being?"

"I care about the Hartford police not dragging my seventeen year old daughter off in cuffs and pearls. You know Michael Kors won't visit you in prison."

Rory shoved another spoonful of pie into her mouth, leaving the spoon in there long enough to lick every single calorie off. "I wouldn't leave fingerprints."

Lorelai covered her ears. "If I can't hear what you are saying I won't have to testify against you."

"Unless you leave fingerprints or semen the cops never find you."

"Well, it's a good thing you don't have the option to ejaculate all over the body."

Rory sighed, adjusting the straps on her nightgown that were digging into her shoulders. "I can't think of a rumor to spread that isn't true. Everything I could say, she's done."

"You could say she's a female hyena."

"Huh?'

"They have mock penises."

"She spreads her legs too often for that lie to work."

Sometimes Lorelai was astonished at the words that came out of her daughter's mouth. "I can't believe I raised such a mean girl."

"I'm the queen bee at Chilton for a reason. You don't get to where I am by simply smiling and looking like Snow White."

"Then use your little army of bees to brainstorm on how to get rid of E."

Rory rolled her eyes. "They're lucky to have a firm grasp on the English language."

"What about Paris? I think she knows at least five languages."

"I do respect her."

"She's your only rival at Chilton."

"She put up a good fight."

"And I'm sure she has no use for E."

Rory flashed her mother a wicked smile that appeared even more evil in the dark. "Maybe I won't have to resort to murder."

"That makes mommy very happy. You just wouldn't look good in orange."

"My skin tone does not agree with that repulsive color."

Lorelai yawned, then stood up, heading off to her bed that was too large for one person. It had to make her feel extremely lonely every time she was reminded only one side of the bed was ever used. "I'm off to bed."

"I need to go plot."

"You're such a little evil genius."

"It's the bit of grandma that wore off on me."

"You never did play well with others."

"I just don't like to share."

Irony.

That statement was drenched with Dolce Vita perfume in irony.

For a girl who didn't like to share, she didn't seem to flinch at how many girls knew whether Logan preferred boxers or briefs.

But in her mind, she wasn't sharing Logan, because sex was irrelevant. In the end, she was the girl he'd marry.

No one else would look as stunning in a Vera Wang dress.

Emily had Mindy Weiss on speed dial in preparation for the day Logan dropped to his knee for something that required pants.

But was seventeen-year-old love really that predictable? And wasn't there a certain boy who would love nothing more than to see what was under her stockings?

You might know him; he was the guy who was not going to go away, no matter how hard Rory pushed.

He was not one to be discouraged if you didn't let him in the front door. He was quite the fan of entering through windows.

And exiting when the father or boyfriend (or husband) returned home.

Jess Mariano was made to be the other guy.

He couldn't help that he knew how to please the female species.

And right now, his best friend wasn't pleasing the most perfect of the female species at Chilton.

E returning and a love triangle? Could this year get more perfect?

Only if someone was shoved in a pool because R caught L with E and a catfight ensued.

Of course, the standard threesome would suffice as well.


Rory gripped her coffee cup, anger pulsing through her veins.

There she was. That blond haired coke head was standing in Headmaster Charleston's office, flashing anyone who passed a cotton candy glossed smile and giving every prepubescent freshman boy a little 'I Might Want You When You Can Get It Up' wave.

She hated her.

She wanted to run into Charleston's office, politely smile at Miss Higgins, the criminally unfashionable assistant, and toss her coffee on E.

A few coffee burns would just be a warm up for what was to come. And really, what damage could a 140 degree latte do?

The always-anal Miss Gilmore requested her lattes be at the perfect temperature of 140 degrees. 150 would not do; 130 and she'd make the poor underfed barista cry.

It had to be 140.

If Rory cared that much about the temperature of her latte, what was she going to do to E?

Paris Gellar, in her dreadful knee high grey stockings, walked up to Rory, nervously adjusting her headband.

Ever since the day Rory dethroned Paris Gellar headbands had made her uncomfortable.

They were one of Rory's signature pieces.

She always feared Rory would ban her from wearing them. Not that she'd listen.

Rory might have won the war, but Paris wasn't about to raise her white flag. She certainly wasn't a subscriber to Gandhi's philosophy.

One day, she'd earn her nickname Bonaparte back.

"So is it true?"

Rory sighed, already bored with Paris' question. "What?"

"Everyone is saying you're being shipped off to rehab."

"For what?"

"I believe Franci diagnosed you as a depressive alcoholic sex addict."

"I do love Franci's Freudian tendencies."

"I don't believe the sex addict part."

"It's hard to be addicted to something you've never partaken in."

"And the alcohol part?"

"I didn't expect you to fall into the gossip world, Gellar."

"If Robert Downey Jr. can get caught with blow wandering into strangers homes, so can the great Rory Gilmore."

"I like the sound of that."

"The blow part?"

"The great in front of my name."

Paris rolled her eyes. "You love this, don't you?"

"If they're not talking about you, you really don't matter."

"So how's E?"

"Probably infected."

"Already? I figured it would take her at least a day before she found her way back into the maintenance closet with Jess."

"She had to find someway to distract herself on the plane ride back, I'm sure."

"If Jess is missing during first period, we'll all know where he is."

"You can normally find me in the 2nd stall in the girl's bathroom if either of you want to stop by," Jess stated, standing dangerously close to Rory's body.

Paris groaned at the presence of Jess Mariano. "You really don't know when you're not welcome, do you?"

"Rory and I are best buddies now, aren't we?" he smiled at Rory, daring her to deny it. Daring her to deny the nose hump, the instant message; to pretend the sheer tension between them in this moment didn't exist.

He was double dog daring her with his eyes.

"Rory, do tell me Jess has fallen and bumped his head?"

For a moment, Jess' elbow grazed against Rory's arm. It was too quick for Paris to notice, too quick to even look like it was done on purpose.

But Rory felt it. She knew what game Jess was playing. She had played this very game often when Logan was around.

"I wouldn't define our relationship as best buddies."

"Relationship?" Paris asked, with her eyebrows.

"I don't mean relationship. I mean…" she trailed off, unsure of what she meant.

"What do you mean?" he asked, curious as to what she was getting at.

Or more curious as to what words she was consciously admitting.

"Jess, go off and hump something," Paris suggested, uncomfortable with what was going down between Rory and Jess.

"Not before Rory answers my question."

"I'm not answering your question."

He smiled. Without answering his question, she'd answered his question. "I like your stockings. It's nice to see your knees."

"Don't look at my knees."

"Why not? You have nice knees."

"Are you going to write a poem about her knees?" Paris was amused at his attempt to flirt with Rory.

Rory bit her lip, unable to control the smile that was plastered on her face. She looked ridiculous, smiling at Jess' inability to keep his eyes off her.

Before the party it would have disgusted her; before the nose graze she would have made some bitchy comment and stalked off, leaving him only her ass to long after.

But today she stood there, waiting for him to say something else inappropriate.

"I'd rather write a poem about taking off her stockings."

"Remind me to wear tights from now on, Gellar."

Jess smiled. This was too easy. "Why, are you cold? I'm sure I could find a way to warm you up."

"Really? And how would you do that?" Rory asked. Paris gawked at her. What was she doing? Was she flirting with him? HIM?

"You can follow me into the bathroom and I'll show you."

"How about I let you take that little trip yourself."

"Too much masturbation can lead to night blindness."

"What do they consider too much?"

"That's a good question. Since a man made the rule, my hand would most likely fall off before night blindness set in."

"So I think you're safe to go at it alone."

Jess stood still for a moment, gazing up and down Rory's body.

She blushed. "What are you doing?"

"Just getting a mental image."

Paris grabbed Rory's arm, pulling her away from Jess. "Let's go to the library, Rory."

Jess gave her a little wave. "Bye Rory."


"You have to stop that." Paris huffed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're practically sleeping with the enemy."

Rory looked annoyed. "I'm not sleeping with Jess."

"You gave him masturbation material."

"I was just having a little fun."

"Fun time with Jess is over."

"Paris, nothing is going on with Jess."

"That's not what it looked like to me. You were blushing. He made you blush."

Rory put the brakes on any more talk about Jess when she noticed her perfect blonde haired boyfriend making his way toward her. "Oh look, here comes Logan."

"Yes, here comes Logan, your boyfriend. Jess' best friend."

"Drop it, Gellar," Rory muttered, through clenched teeth. "Not another word or everyone will know about you and your cousin."

The best bitches always kept one secret about their enemies in case of emergencies like this.

If Chilton knew about Paris and her cousin, she'd never be Bonaparte again.

Kissing cousins hadn't been kosher in high society since the British stopped openly inbreeding.

"He's my second cousin," Paris muttered.

"You really think that will matter to anyone at Chilton?" Rory gave her that cold, emotionless smile she had perfected upon exiting her mother's womb.

Rory Gilmore was born a bitch.

Anyone with common sense would wonder why Paris Gellar even associated with someone who dangled secrets over her head like a carrot to a horse, but in this world, the Godfather mantra truly did apply.

If you're not sleeping with the enemy, at least make sure you're making small talk to their face, with that butcher knife twirling in your hands behind your back.

And one day when she turned around, it would be the death of her.

All this talk of murder is a bit unsettling, girls. What happened to putting your rivals bra in the freezer and sleeping with her boyfriend?

It must be too been there, done that for this set. And that is meant in the most literal sense. You can only do someone so often before it becomes mundane.

"Ace, love of my life, where have you been all morning?" Logan laughed at himself. Or with himself.

Everyone else just laughed at his pathetic attempt to be humorous.

Rory didn't even smile. "Are you drunk already?"

"What, no kiss good morning?"

"In case you forgot, we're not getting along at the moment."

"I've forgiven you."

"Really, you forgive me Logan?" She delivered this in an overly sweet tone of voice that let Logan know he was still on her shit list. "Gosh, I'm such a lucky girl to have a boyfriend that fucks around and forgives me, aren't I Paris?"

"How I wish I was you," Paris mumbled, knowing she had to play along.

"You're still mad about that?"

"Still mad? STILL MAD? You're lucky I'm not completely insane or you'd be missing your favorite member."

"I sleep with one eye open for a reason," Logan responded, almost in a whisper.

Rory sighed, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. She leaned in close to Logan, close enough to kiss him, kill him or whisper to him. "Enjoying fucking yourself tonight."

"It's not like you ever would."

"It's not like I'd ever want to."

"What, you're going to go off and fuck Jess now?"

"I'll start with Jess, then work my way around. By tomorrow I should be done with the entire junior class."

"Good luck with that," he spat out bitterly. She was a pro at getting to him.

She popped a bubble in his ear. "You know you love me."

She spun around on her heels, making the perfect exit.

She might cry alone in her room over Logan, but he'd never know it.

No matter how many times she taunted him, emasculated him or threatened to fuck his best friend, Logan continued to come back for more.

They were the definition of a fucked up match made in heaven.

Paris Gellar had disappeared during their little battle. She probably went off to stick another needle in her Rory voodoo doll.

It was equipped with a headband and faux leopard coat (even the insanely rich had a soft spot for animals, if you weren't an Olsen twin). Quite life like. They were all the rage at Chilton, especially among those that Rory made quiver with fear.

Translation: everyone.


Miss Fischer was the epitome of everything no Chilton girl wanted to be. She wore department store Mary Janes, sported eyebrows that would dethrone Peter Gallagher and insisted on reapplying a whorish color of lipstick everyday in class.

Rory pitied her.

At least she had nice cheekbones.

"Jess, how did you feel about last nights reading?" Miss Fischer was in love with Jess. Pretty much every female staff member had a diary entry or two about how much they loved Jess Mariano.

His ability to charm the female staff was why he passed chemistry. And geometry. And any other class he had taken since he had hit puberty.

Miss Fischer always called on Jess just so she could openly flirt with him without raising the suspicions of Headmaster Charleston. It didn't matter what Jess replied with; Miss Fischer was always one smirk away from having to excuse herself.

Her cheeks had already turned a dangerous color of pink. The poor woman was struggling.

He smiled, removing his eyes from Rory's thighs.

Rory's skirt was three inches shorter than dress code required, but not even Charleston would fight with her over how much leg she showed off to her male peers.

"Saroyan was a Hemingway wannabe." That's right ladies and gentleman; dickhead had a brain and used it from time to time, when he actually made an appearance in class.

Rory rolled her eyes. She knew Miss Fischer would be useless the rest of the class period, too busy writing 'Miss Fischer Mariano' in her grade book.

"Hemingway was just a depressive drunk who was jealous Saroyan was better than he was." Rory lived off of starting confrontation. But she did have an extreme distaste for Hemingway.

"Saroyan went on and on about how he was the greatest writer of his time, but what does he have to show for it? No one knows who the fuck he is now."

"Language, Jess," Miss Fischer warned. She wasn't even taking part in this soon to be lively debate.

"It's pathetic that people would rather read an entire book about fish than 'The Time of Your Life.'"

"It's about more than just a fish."

"The entire book is about his struggle to catch this giant marlin. Who cares? It's just a fish."

Jess stifled a laugh. "You're supposed to be Miss 2300 on her SAT's right? How could you not get the symbolism? The marlin is more than just a marlin."

"Jess, don't insult Rory's intelligence. She's entitled to her opinion."

"Miss Fischer, I'm just simply enlightening her."

Rory interjected, wanting to piss Jess off even more. "It was 100 pages of wasted symbolism."

"So are you implying that Moby Dick was a waste of paper?"

"You can't compare Melville and Hemingway."

"Both Moby Dick and The Old Man and The Sea have biblical symbolism. Both are a about a man out at sea."

"Melville didn't compare himself to Jesus Christ. You're just a fan of Hemingway because he enjoyed booze and bar fights."

"So did Saroyan. In fact, Saroyan and Hemingway were known rivals."

"But Saroyan was not a Hemingway wannabe. You can't really believe that."

"I can believe whatever I want, sweetheart."

"What did you just call me?"

"It's a term of endearment."

"Take that back."

"Would you prefer I called you something else? How do you feel about Freckles?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't give me a nickname."

Miss Fischer cleared her throat. "Lively debate you two. Does anyone else have something to add?"

Paris Gellar raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Gellar?"

"Can we start a petition to have these two locked in a room so they will be forced to sort out their issues?"

"Paris!" Rory practically squealed.

"Sorry Gilmore but every day it's the same thing. You two bicker over the literature, then end up fighting about Jess staring at your legs or him giving you a nickname or how many times he said your name to condescend you. It's ridiculous. I'm here for an education; not to listen to you two idiots flirt over Saroyan."

"We weren't flirting!"

"Rory, stop yelling at Paris," Miss Fischer interjected.

"Yes Rory, calm down. You don't want to get sent to the office again." There was Jess, condescending her again.

"That was once and it was your fault. You bumped into me on purpose."

Finn lifted his head from his desk, pissed that Rory's squealing had stirred him from his slumber. "Love, if you don't keep it down I'll be the first one to sign that petition."

"Go fuck Colin," she spat out, that famous Gilmore rash forming on her neck.

"No need to bring Colin's ass into this, love. It's not my fault you use your mouth double to make up for not making use of other parts of yourself."

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"I'd be happy to give that part of you a little action."

"Finn, don't talk about Rory's innocence like that. You don't want me to call Miss Fairfield in here, do you?" Miss Fischer threatened.

Miss Fairfield liked three things: Jesus, Jude Law and show tunes, in that order. Everyone was pretty sure she was asexual. Actually they weren't even sure if Miss Fairfield was a woman. It was still a mystery not even Jess had figured out.

But whenever a girl's innocence was brought up, Miss Fairfield was dragged into class to give everyone a lecture on how everyone only had one toothbrush and now everyone but Rory had a dirty toothbrush.

Her metaphors were truly inspired. And quite graphic.

Jess groaned. "We all know Rory only has one toothbrush. We just think she'd be better off if she let one of us borrow it."

"We promise to give it back," Finn fretted.

"In five to ten minutes." Jess adjusted his tie, stealing a glance at Rory's perfectly pink ears.

"What do you say, love? Broom closet before history?"

"Fuck off," she muttered, sick of her virginity being topic for discussion everyday.

"Miss Gilmore, language," Jess said, mocking Miss Fischer.

The bell rang, releasing Rory from her own private suicide.

Jess made sure he brushed up against her when exiting the classroom even though it was ridiculous to think her 90-pound frame took up any space.

"Fun as always, Gilmore," he breathed into her hair, lingering for a moment to take in her scent of cinnamon and patchouli. "My offer still stands."

Rory whipped around, so close to him that her hair slapped him in his face.

Once again, their lips were centimeters apart. But Rory wasn't in the mood to linger.

"From now on, don't talk to me…."

"You don't mean that. You like when I pay attention to you. When I accidentally brush up against you. You like our little debates over Hemingway. They get you going."

Rory huffed and pushed her finger into his chest. "Shut up! Did I say I was finished? Don't interrupt me with your little psychoanalysis. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't even say my name. In fact, don't think about me. Leave me the fuck alone from now on."

He removed her finger from his chest. A visible anger had washed over his features. "As you wish, Princess."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you know me. You know nothing about me."

"O-k-a-y." He took the time to pronounce each letter.

"You're infuriating!"

He leaned in closer, almost whispering in her ear, but instead, leaving his hot breath on her cheek. "Does Logan get to you like this?"

"He's your best friend," she whispered, almost like she didn't want to say that. Almost like she didn't want to say anything.

Look who was struggling now.

"Hoes before bros." He couldn't be cute forever.

She pushed him away from her, finally, after the longest thirty seconds on record. Call Guinness.

She was too flustered to think of a witty retort. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before Jess could push it behind her ear. She wasn't letting him get that close.

She started backing away from him, gathering her books as he stood there seemingly unshaken, smirking.

"This…never…happened. I don't know what's wrong with me." She released that last part in a bitter tone, a tone that was meant to be hurtful, like why in the world would she ever associate with the likes of him.

Check mate for Jess Mariano.


There was a reason we as humans walked forwards instead of backwards.

When we stumbled backwards, we tended to run into people. And sometimes, we'd run into that one person we'd hoped had died in a tragic something or another. Suffocating on cotton candy would suffice.

Rory Gilmore, lacking the grace a future debutante should instill, slammed into that one person she had wished some type of tragic death on (not that Rory would weep over her).

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Rory knew that voice, that need to apologize. It was Bambi with wolf's fangs.

She slowly turned around, praying she had misheard. Praying it was just some squeaky freshman.

It wasn't.

Their eyes locked for a moment before E lunged at her. For a hug, not to strangle her.

E was not the one with anger issues.

That urge to vomit E regularly caused hit Rory again.

"I'd missed you so much," E gushed like they were still best friends.

"Yeah." Rory awkwardly untangled herself from E's hug and stood up, forgetting about the books and papers littering the floor.

She couldn't let anyone think they were friends again.

"I didn't know you were back," Rory lied.

"Daddy and mommy Warbucks got sick of me."

"Shocking."

"But now I'm back! I'd missed you. No one is as much fun as Rory Gilmore."

"I have to go," Rory said, abruptly ending the conversation.

E made her signature puppy dog face at Rory that had gotten her in more trouble than any boy ever could. "Aw, so soon?"

"Harvard prefers you to not spend a year in France sucking down champagne and sleeping with princes. And to attend class. Which is what I have to do." She showed E her watch as some kind of collateral that she really did have to leave. "I wish I could stand here and catch up, really I do, but..."

"You never did lie well." E popped a bubble right in Rory's face. Strawberry gum. She always smelled like strawberry and weed.

"We should get drinks later." Why was Rory offering to voluntarily hang out with her? What was she plotting?

"I'd like that. And bring Lorelai."

"She's busy." Lie, lie, lie again Pinocchio. Your nose might start growing one of these days.

"That's a shame; Lorelai is so much fun."

"Yeah, a shame. Look, I really do have to go."

"Is Logan waiting for you?"

Rory stiffened at that question. She hated when E mentioned Logan. "No. Coffee is."

"Well don't let me keep you from your one true love. Besides, I see Jess. He's always fun."

"That's what his card says." Rory rushed off, leaving behind all her dignity.

Audrey Hepburn would not be proud.

Drinks with E later? That was the recipe for a classic society cat fight.

Let's hope someone has a camera phone on hand.


Ending Author's Note: Nothing about the story yet but if you haven't checked it out, go watch the awesomeness that is Dr. Horrible. The link is in my profile page, along with a little fangirl rant. But it's hysterically awesome.

No name for Miss E yet. It'll come in due time. Think of it like the mystery of janitor's name on Scrubs. Maybe it'll become like my thing to not give characters whole names! It'll be our thing, like the bridge for Rory and Jess. Yeah, that's tight.

William Saroyan, if you don't know, is this awesome author that no one knows about (probably why I prefaced this with no one knows) who I took a semester on. So google him just for the hell of it, please. And yes, I kept Rory and Jess all book loving cause the characters must have depth! Except for E. Gotta have one person who is superficial somewhere. The world is full of them (that's why we have plastic boobs everywhere).

Reviewers: If I was able to, I'd hand out 20 dollar bills to yah'll like Frank did at the Sands. Sadly, I can't pay you off. So I guess I'm asking you to be my story whores for free.

There are worse offers out there, right?

But yeah do that review thing with jazz hands, cartwheels and gushing about moi.