Yay! Season 2 is finished! Now we're getting to the good stuff. At least I hope it will be good. We'll see. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story throughout all of these chapters!

And a special thanks to the readers who reviewed the previous chapter. Your reviews filled me with "warm fuzzies" and made me happy about my story again!

Thanks also to Jessjunky who brainstormed with me about 7 months ago. Some of this chapter is born out of our conversation. I hope you'll like it.

Well, I'm impatient. So, on with the story…

3.01a Cruel Summer

He gathered the mail, each day, in a stack
But none was from her so he couldn't write back.
He waited two weeks but nothing was heard,
No phone call, no letter, no sociable word.

He couldn't just ask to get her address
And Luke in these matters was rather hopeless.
So Jess took the matters into his own hands,
Since such was the strength of Jess's thread's strands.

He tracked the postman on all daily rounds.
He kept a safe distance. He uttered no sounds
And tried not to laugh as Mail Carrier Kirk
Did clums'ly go 'bout his route's daily work.

At ev'ry mailbox, Kirk's walking was stopped
Whereat, in the box, some letters he dropped.
And Jess, down the block, would likewise there freeze
Behind some parked cars, tall bushes or trees.

When onlookers did his mission abort,
Well Jess had a book, a trusty cohort.
He'd pull it out swiftly from pocket of jeans
As was his most normal of all his routines.

And when the onlookers would cease with their stares
Then Jess carried on with former affairs.
He'd scoot down the street to catch up with Kirk
And, from a safe distance, in bushes, he'd lurk.

And there'd come the time when Kirk would bestow
Upon certain mailbox, ere turning to go,
A bundle of letters which held a prospect
For solving the problems in Jess's project.

So when he decided the coast was all clear,
Jess opened the mailbox, inspected its gear.
All this did he do, for over a week.
Some covert intel he sought out to sneak.

The boxes he checked—Gilmore, Forrester—
Could surely contain some letters from her.
And, written in pen by her fingers and thumb,
They'd bear an address, from where they had come.

(Though Jess had suspected she'd write some to Lane,
And from those good letters her address could gain,
The elder Kim's mailbox he never did touch
Since no other woman could scare Jess so much.)

Before this routine dipped into monotony
And had the appeal of cerebral lobotomy,
There came the fine day when his shadowy mission
Produced some results and came to fruition.

At end of his quest came pleasant surprise
(With packet a sight for sorest of eyes!)
Though letter, in virtue, was rather unclean,
For it was addressed to deplorable Dean.

Jess thought, for a moment, of letter's retention
So Dean would be lacking in Rory's attention.
But that misdeed might be traced back to him.
He'd not take that chance, however it slim.

Besides, there was hope the letter was good.
Jess kept optimistic as best as he could,
By holding a hope that the letter's contents
Would speak of a fav'rable turn of events.

Jess patted his pockets, not once, rather twice.
In search of his notepad and writing device.
Then, into his hand, his pen made an entrance.
Of notepad, however, he found no known presence.

This moment with nuisance so surely was packed.
Today, came the letter but notepad he lacked!
The only real paper he had on his person
Belonged to his novel that barred note's insertion!

(See, Jess had no qualms about, into a book,
Inscribing his thoughts and thorough outlook.
But anything other than proper critique,
Was crime against lit'rature's due, so to speak.)

At luck, or his lack, then Jess his head shook.
And then he set out to marring his book
He loathed to deface a book in this way.
Utility, though, did morals outweigh.

So into the margin he wrote address down.
While bearing, on face, a rancorous frown.
Then into the box the letter he thrust
Abruptly the box he closed with disgust.

One day, the next week, was sunny and warm.
Jess tucked a good novel beneath his strong arm.
And stuffed in the book was paper aplenty
To write down his thoughts. And now Jess had many.

Jess found a good spot 'neath leafiest tree
Where sunlight spilled down, dappled but free.
And from his deep pocket, he pulled out a pen
To try to put pen to paper again.

At first did he start with simple "Dear Rory,"
But there did he pause to drum up his story.
With pen to his lips, Jess gazed to the north,
Then words of his love abruptly rushed forth.

Then signed he the letter with mention of love,
A masterpiece written he should be proud of.
He sat back and read. Then quickly he soured.
This wasn't the moment. In shyness he cowered.

His heart was too naked in this early version.
To saying so much, Jess felt an aversion.
So that page he tore to tiniest pieces
Which fell on the lawn and blew in the breezes.

Began he, anew, this time fairly bluffing.
His second attempt did, really, say nothing.
He crumpled the page. Threw that in the lake.
Another new sheet did quickly he take.

On this, he poured forth his thoughts and confusion
Which only her answers could bring resolution.
Just what was she thinking in Washington town?
Did she think of Jess—or only that clown?

Jess grumbled again upon reading this letter
There must be a way to write it much better.
For all of his practice and all of his skill
The words were defying his hopes and his will.

The truth was he had not the tiniest clue
Of what he should write or what he should do.
She'd left him alone, his self-esteem sinking,
Without any word of what she was thinking.

The meaning of kiss he hadn't yet heard.
She hadn't, to Jess, sent one single word!
Yet, twice more that week, did Dean get a letter.
Of love from that girl, seemed Dean was a getter.

(See, Jess had kept checking the other's mailbox
As simple it was, without any locks,
And his curiosity had him compelled
So 'gainst his good sense he'd daily rebelled.

And each day he'd hoped to read on Dean's face
That Rory'd requested that they put some space
Between them. In fact, he'd geared for a fight.
But nothing did seem to Dean's anger incite.)

His fourth draft was packed with anger defined
Of how she could kiss him, then pay him no mind.
Had she any idea how much that had hurt,
For her to rebuff after such a good flirt?

He reread this too and, finally, smiled
As heaps of his spite were, in letter, piled.
But then, with a frown, did Jess slowly cool.
A possible thought did, hate, overrule.

Maybe her reasons were steeped sage and wise.
Maybe more knowledge burned 'neath her blue eyes.
This letter, as well, opposed all his aims.
He reached for his lighter and set it in flames.

As Clotho passed by her mystical portal
She glanced down on earth, towards the fine mortal.
She witnessed how Jess, with pen in his hand,
Was thoroughly wrapped in the writing they'd planned.

She smiled to herself, just knowing his fate.
This Jess, once he'd grown, would start to create
A body of work to earn him some praise.
He'd make a fine author, on one of these days!

She peered a bit closer, all set to peruse
Which tale was, today, inspired by his Muse.
A letter, instead, did Clotho then see.
Her eyes bugged out more when she saw addressee!

She called for Lachesis to witness as well
How silver did not, thoughts of Rory, dispel.
Seemed writing alone was a feeble distraction.
A more robust plan they must put into action!

The fifth, sixth and seventh attempts that he made
Just like those before did not make the grade.
As Jess was destroying another attempt,
He heard sudden words of playful contempt.

"I see from the way your papers all flitter
In blast zone around you, that you like to litter.
From look at the way the stack on your knees
So rapidly dwindles, you also kill trees!"

So shrewd were the words the stranger had flung,
Surprise did arrest him and held fast his tongue.
He looked up to see a self-assured blonde
Who strode towards Jess ere he could respond.

And when she arrived she plunked down right by him,
Crossing her legs so closely beside him.
Unlike most the others in snooty small town,
She seemed like a friend when first she sat down.

And, had this strange girl not looked so damn cute,
Then Jess would have gored her with anger acute
To see she, at once, would be scared away
And not there, beside him, be tempted to stay.

But Jess held his tongue and she didn't grovel.
"You writing the great American novel?"
She asked of him then and Jess kind of snorted.
His hatred of her then, kind of, aborted.

An answer he had, to Jess's surprise.
With smirk on his lips and laughing bright eyes,
Though tempting it sounded, young Jess had to say,
"Though maybe tomorrow, I've not been today."

"So crown of Mark Twain is safe for a day,"
She said with a smirk to humour relay
And Jess lost his breath at mention of Twain.
"Who are you?" he asked. Said, "Hi there. I'm Shane.

"I hang in this park. I've seen you around,
As often you haunt the bridge, or this ground.
You always appear to be reading or writing
Whenever, of you, I make a new sighting.

"And, one time, I saw you outside of the school.
You told off Chuck Presby, which I thought was cool.
I heard that, last winter, the two of you fought.
The way that he acts, he deserved what he got."

"You're watching me now? You some kind of freak?"
He asked as her monologue earned his critique.
But, then, the strange girl unexpectedly laughed
As though she thought Jess were suddenly daft.

"I'm not watching you, you silly punk ass!
It's just, by each other, our paths sometimes pass.
I've got as much right as you damn-well do
To be in this park and witness the view!

"With sketchpad I sit and sometimes I draw
Whatever it was that, that day, I saw.
I usually sit, up there, in that tree."
She pointed so Jess could location see.

"One day I was sitting up there, in tree's limbs,
Happily drawing what tickled my whims,
When, there on the ground, below both my feet,
At base of the tree, you claimed your own seat.

"You sat for an hour and constantly wrote.
I've never seen someone write such a long note!
And that's when I figured you must be a writer,
A lit'rature buff, a lover and fighter."

"You don't even know me," he, laughing, accused
But Shane pushed his shoulder and made him confused.
She laughed and then said, "You're right, Jess. I don't.
But that doesn't mean I evermore won't."

'Twas maybe the way her laughter had pealed
Or maybe her manner. Poor Jess's head reeled.
He still felt the pressure she'd placed on his arm.
'Twas strange how a touch could so easily charm.

"I thought we could hang and take in the sights,
One of these days, or one of these nights.
I'm new to this town. I live down the block."
And, at her rapport, Jess felt a keen shock.

She seemed to be asking him out on a date!
To such an occurrence, he couldn't relate
As never had such a thing happened before!
The girls weren't exactly attacking his door.

He stared at the girl and tried to think straight.
So far, he'd not thought her as someone to date
But, with her one touch and sweet peal of laughter,
He suddenly thought of her, that way, thereafter.

"So, what are you writing?" she finally asked.
With search for a meaning then Jess had been tasked.
"I thought it was something... but now I don't know..."
The double entendre was lost on her though.

He'd tried seven times but words wouldn't come.
The more that he'd written, the more it seemed dumb.
The goal that he'd sought was rather obscure
And why he kept trying he wasn't quite sure.

Since Rory had given him nothing of late,
No letters nor contact to tensions negate,
Then maybe he shouldn't be wasting his time
Attempting to make such a steep uphill climb.

"Perhaps I could help," she subtly pried.
His pages he tossed right off to the side,
As Jess felt his heart now slathered in salve.
He turned then from Rory. "You already have."

Lachesis and Clotho high-fived for this Shane
And Clotho dug 'round and pulled out her skein
Which Lachesis unwound and tied in slipknot,
To fix, to his thread, this little side-plot.

A rant did Atropos cry out with a gloom,
Addressing her sisters with soul-crushing doom.
"For Jess and this Shane there's something amiss.
It sure is distressing to fix them like this!

"And won't it be hard to make this undone
When Jess's and Rory's right time has begun?"
Unleashed she her worries that she'd kept pent up
Until, with concern, did Clotho speak up.

"Fear not of the match of Jess and this Shane.
When time becomes right, they'll part without pain.
I suspect they'll be done by fall or late summer.
They never will last. She's all the wrong colour."

Lachesis agreed, as calmness she fed.
"At which time we'll find another new thread.
And keep the cords light and happy go lucky
'Til Jess graduates and travels the country.

"There's more of this world that Jess needs to see
And once he has seen it, content he will be.
He'll fashion a feeling of new confidence,
That hadn't been fostered in his provenance.

"He'll find a new worth where now there is none.
Inspire him to write of all 'neath the sun.
He needs this adventure to confident be.
My Sisters, it's obvious. Don't you agree?"

I hemmed and hawed about this chapter for a while. The first draft had a good flow but then I felt compelled to intersperse scenes with the Fates and other parenthetical, explanatory stuff which I think kind of disrupted the flow. But ah well. I hope it all made sense.

Also, I have no idea how people are going to react to this concept of Shane. In Haunted Leg, we saw her monosyllabic ("an entire conversation in ten words or less") but then she seemed kind of like a blathering chatterbox during the "bloaty" telephone call in One Has Class. I went with that interpretation here.

I don't know how people are going to react to this vision of Jess either. So many people paint him as an experienced Casanova. To me, he seems so standoffish and he puts up such walls, seemingly a by-product of serious insecurities, I don't picture him having the opportunity or confidence to date much. Even the advances he's made towards Rory by this point in the series have been disguised as other things. He brought over the care package because "it was Luke's idea" and he ate it with her because "the diner was noisy." He bought her basket because "it was fun to mess around with Dean." When Rory gets inklings of the truth, he backpedals and tries to throw her off the track. Even in my story here, he hasn't out and out admitted to her how he feels about her. He's teased her about her liking him and he's told her that he misses her when he doesn't see her, but these are all things that he can explain away later if he chooses to deny his feelings later.

I am kind of nervous about what the reaction to this chapter will be. Please send me a review, even if it is just to say "I like it. Please continue." Although those short, sweet reviews admittedly aren't as exciting as more in-depth ones, they're still pretty cool nonetheless.