Author's Note: Hello everyone! Alright, I guess I have a bit of explaining to do. Rory decides to go to Princeton after hearing Christopher's father say that she ruined her father's future. Jess is at Princeton. You'll find out how he got there, why he's there... all that jazz in this chapter... I really like Jaime, and so I put him in my story. Jess is related to Luke, but he doesn't actually know Luke. He might meet him later in the story, I'd have to think about that.

I noticed a couple of errors in my last chapter... I'm sorry about that. I'm a real write, post, then read over type of gal. I'm usually really good about not having errors, but I am human, and I do slip up every once and a while.

I don't really like this chapter very much, but here it is.

Oh! I forgot.

Disclaimer: I do not in anyway own Gilmore Girls. The only characters in this story (so far) that are mine are Joanne and Alicia.



In the Newsroom

This is how it works

You're young until you're not

You love until you don't

You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their final breath

"Okay everybody, Alicia wants this issue done by noon, so photogs, meet with me over here." Joanne, the photography editor was pacing up and down between the desks of the Daily Princetonian's newsrooms. Her voice was higher and slightly squeakier than usual.

Jess half sat/half leaned on his desk. The "Managing Editor" plaque in all of its bronze glory didn't really fit in with the rest of the item on the cluttered surface. His laptop rested on a stack of books. A tower of paperwork and manila folders was haphazardly perched on the edge of the desk. Pens, pencils, and notebooks filled with a messy scrawl were sprinkled on top, just for a touch of flavor.

One other thing looked out of place. Right next to the "Managing Editor" plaque was a picture frame. The frame was silver and held a picture of Jess and a girl. Jess' dark hair and olive skin contrasted brilliantly with the girl's white blonde curls and fair pale skin.

"Jo," Jess said from his place at his desk, "we haven't missed a day since the Princetonian became daily in 1892. Relax."

He sat down to edit some pages that had just been placed on his desk a second before.

Just then, the bell above the room's door rang.

"I hate that damn bell," Jess said, somewhat to himself. "What do you want?" he said, looking up. His warm brown eyes cooled a few degrees as they met ice blue ones. "Oh," Jess' voice was lower, "it's you."

Rory stared from across the room, wondering why this boy- no, why this man had acquired such a sudden distaste for her. "I'm the new reporter."

Jess whipped a piece of paper out from the stack next to him. "Lorelai 'Rory' Gilmore," he read aloud, "from Stars Hollow, Connecticut. Graduated from Chilton Preparatory top of the class. Birthday in October. Your mother had you when she was sixteen." Here he paused. "You like any kind of junk food. You were managing editor of your school's paper and your grandmother is a member of the DAR." He started to set down the piece of paper, but stopped. "Oh," he added, "and you like Ayn Rand."

Rory was stunned. The other reporters looked on, not surprised at all.

"How did you know all of that?" Rory asked, incredulously.

He smirked. "I know a lot of things, Lorelai." His voice was teasing. It was almost mean, but didn't quite reach that line.

Rory was speechless. Suddenly, a light and airy voice filled the room.

"Don't worry, Rory. Jess can be a bit annoying. But there's a reason he was our best investigative reporter." The girl from the picture on Jess' desk had walked out of a door labeled "Editor in Chief." She held out her hand to Rory. "I'm Alicia Stone, your new editor."

Her eyes were strange. A thin blue line raced around the edge of her iris. Inside that was a thick ring of what can only be described as forest green. Inside the green was a ring of brown, flicked with gold. They caught Rory off-guard, but she managed to respond.

"Nice to meet you Alicia," she took Alicia's pixie-like hand in her own clumsy one and shook it once. Rory couldn't help smiling as Alicia grinned at her. There was something magnetic about this girl, with her hair the color of the white hot sun and her extraordinary eyes.

"Here," Alicia said, taking hold of Rory's arm as if they'd known each other forever, instead of five minutes, "let me show you around here. Then we can talk about your first assignment."


Four Hours Later

Here's to us fools that have no meaning

I tip my glass to you

Let's toast the night away to friends

And forget about tomorrow

Jess was sprawled out under his favorite tree, a book in hand. He was trying to read, but someone kept invading his thoughts. As a pair of blue eyes floated in his head, a pair of electric green ones popped in front of him.

"How's Rory doing on the paper?"

"Jay," Jess whined, "I was reading."

Jaime plucked the book from his hands to see where he was. "You were on this chapter at the coffee cart, so don't bullshit me. How did things get on with Rory?"

Jess sat up, leaning his back on the tree's damp trunk. "How the hell should I know?"

"Uh, I don't know Jess," Jaime began sarcastically, "you're just the managing editor of the paper. Aren't you, like, 'in charge' of the writers?"

"Alicia was showing her around when I left. She's in good hands. Why do you care so much?"

Jaime looked around, as if to make sure that Rory was not hiding behind a bush and about to pop out. "Rory's kind of like a sister to me," he started. "She's had a rough month. Her boyfriend of three years dumped her when she told him she wasn't going to go to the state school with him. Her father, Christopher and her stepmother Sherry were in a car crash and her mother Lorelai is looking after her half-sister Gigi."

Jaime gave Jess a pleading look. "Please, Jess," he continued, "just don't harass her too much."

Jess just nodded. He felt a pang of guilt, but one thought overran his mind as Jaime stood and walked away.

How did I not come across this in my research?


Jess Mariano was nineteen years old. He was a sophomore at Princeton University, and he was the only person in his family ever to go to college. His mother was a drunk, and Jess hadn't spoken to her since he was emancipated at the age of sixteen. He'd worked hard in school, but not because he really wanted to succeed. He only wanted to prove his mother wrong; prove that he wasn't just a failure like his father.

His father… He didn't know his father. Jimmy had walked out on his mother when Jess was still in diapers. Jess had no real desire to see Jimmy, and Jimmy had no real desire to see Jess.

Jess knew he had an uncle, but his mother had never spoken much of him. All Jess knew was that his name was Luke, and he lived somewhere in Connecticut.

Jess got a scholarship to Princeton, based somewhat on his grades, but mostly on his essay. His essay on the "adulthood that had been forced upon him and ultimately shaped his life" had been what really impressed the ties and suits on the Princeton Scholarship Committee.

So here he was, sitting beneath a shady oak tree, basking in the "know-it-all-ism" that came with going to an Ivy League school, totally out of place but completely belonging at the same time.

In his nineteen years of existence, very few things had intrigued him ( Hemingway, why MTV was popular, and grapes, just to name a few). He had never been one to be confused. His eyes didn't glaze over in Advanced Organic Chemistry. He didn't draw a blank when faced with infinitives and proper clauses. Perhaps that is why he was feeling less than cordial to this new girl.

Rory Gilmore more than intrigued him—she fascinated him. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and this annoyed him. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was akin to nothing he'd felt before.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

She was still on his mind when he picked up Alicia at 7 o'clock that night.


Author's Note: So, there it is. I know, I actually killed Christopher. What can I say? I really don't like him.

Please review! I want to know what you think (good or bad... please, be honest, but not brutal). Bashers will be laughed at.