"How can you not appreciate Puddle of Mudd?"

"Well, maybe some girls just aren't born with the grunge-lauding gene, Lane."

"Scary."

The blue moon was out. Pigs were soaring through the night air. Mrs. Kim was at an antique fair in Woodbury, strong-arming unsuspecting table-buffers into giving up the best deals on East Coast. For one long, glorious weekend, Lane's mother would be out of town, leaving her virtually unsupervised because her grandmother on her father's side was usually drooling into the only armchair without a price tag by six o'clock every evening. It was heaven on earth.

Rory had joined her upstairs after Friday night dinner with grandparents who apparently moonlighted at Rich Industries. For two and a half blissful hours, they'd gotten through every Elvis Costello reissue underneath the floorboards. Now Come Clean was getting them through the last of their homework, and they didn't even have to squeeze into her closet together. Tonight, life was better than it had been in months.

Rory put down her pencil. After a moment, she said in a voice that was weirdly chill and totally contrasting Come Clean, "Hey—are you hungry?"

Lane glanced up. "Are you? Didn't you just come from dinner?"

"Well, yeah, but—" Rory let out a little puff of laughter. It was plastic. Polyester. Forced. "Grandma's coq au vin isn't really dinner. I mean, the rolls were good, it's just…" She pursed her lips and seemed to drop the food thought completely. "And—didn't we say we were gonna sneak out to Luke's tonight?"

"We said we were thinking about sneaking out to Luke's." Lane closed her science textbook. "Are we moving from thinking to doing?"

"I say let's do."

"Okay then." Lane slid off the bed and went to her closet to retrieve her Elephant Man sweatshirt. It was a faded-purple kind of night—a night to celebrate rare snatches of freedom. An Elephant Man sweatshirt night. "But just so you know, I think coming back smelling like something sweeter than rice cakes is pushing our luck."

Rory was already at the door, grinning. Backpack on, blue eyes bright. "So we don't order hot fudge sundaes."

"No hot fudge anythings. Just to be safe."

"Got it."

When they got outside, Lane closing the door like it was made of stacked-up playing cards and she was nearing some kind of record, Rory took the lead. She started walking so quickly, it might even have qualified as a power walk. Uncharacteristic unless there was a book sale ahead. Or doughnuts. Picking up the pace, Lane peeked around to try and catch her friend's eye.

"Are we meeting Dean?"

"What?"

"Dean, is he there?" Lane subconsciously avoided cracks in the sidewalk, matching rhythm with Rory. "Because you're about to break a sweat."

Immediately, Rory slowed down. "No."

"Okay." Lane tilted her head further, but Rory was staring at the next lamppost. Hard. "You just seem excited."

"I like burgers."

"And nervous."

"I have high cholesterol."

"Rory?"

"What?"

"Is something going on?" Lane stopped, and Rory stopped with her. "Bad grades?"

"No."

"Bad dinner?"

"No, Lane—"

"Did you have a fight with Lorelai? Or Dean, is it Dean?"

"No," scoffed Rory. "Everything's fine, everything's—normal. You're being weird."

"You're being weird," Lane corrected her. "I'm being your best friend, and I can tell when something's up with you."

"Nothing is up," Rory said, and there was that artificial puff again. "I just—wanna get to Luke's before they close."

"Since when does that matter?" They resumed walking. "I mean, your whole life, nobody around here's never known Luke to lock the door on you or your mom. Even after visiting hours are over." She smiled. "Especially your mom."

"I know," Rory chortled. That one sounded real. She turned and looked Lane full in the face as they crossed the street. "When are they gonna get a clue?"

"When Mama Kim decides we wear denim on Sundays."

"Or when Kirk finally learns how to swim without holding his nose the whole time."

"When Morey takes off the fedora."

"When Miss Patty forgets her lip gloss!"

"Ooh, when Sissy Wright stops blowing her allowance every time the town gets a L'oreal shipment!"

"No—no—when Taylor gets a motorcycle!"

"This is depressing!"

They swung into Luke's full of laughter. Nobody looked up from their late dinners; Rory's smile was about as consistent a sight in that place as the Good Chop sign. Lane was never out this late, but she knew no one dining tonight would care—or tell her mother. Luke's was the town sanctuary, full of tantalizing, forbidden smells, endless chatter, and the bliss of remembering that even if Mrs. Kim did find out her daughter been there after nine, this was one of her few truly approved-of destinations in Stars Hollow. Lane probably wouldn't even need to fend off a warning glare.

Rory chose the table closest to the counter, which was completely empty itself. Lane watched her shrug out of her jacket and fuss with it on the back of the chair, watched her pick minuscule pieces of lint off her fancy, Friday-night-dinner top. She still seemed nervous. What did she have to be wigged about? She could stay out till midnight if she wanted to; Lorelai would only have something to say if she didn't bring back a milkshake.

"You know," Lane said as they sat down, "we could call Dean. Isn't he done with work at eight?"

"Nine," Rory mumbled. "And—no. He's probably already asleep."

"On a Friday night?" Lane chuckled, but Rory didn't join in.

"He's been working longer hours lately," Rory said. "Plus school."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Because you know how obsessive that Dean can get with his GPA." Lane scoffed. They have to be fighting. Rory wouldn't just be making excuses like this—and such lame excuses at that. Something else was happening. She just needed a good nudge. Rory had seemed a little testy with the town beanpole earlier that day. "You should call him! I bet he'd want to see you; you guys haven't gone on an actual date in like three days, right?"

"It's just three days." Rory's eyes scanned the room, flicking from one elderly couple to Reverend Nichols to a kid stuffing his face with pudding in the corner.

"That's three weeks in teen—"

"We don't have to be together all the time. Besides, he says Luke's always giving him the stink-eye."

Lane tried for a nonchalant grin. "Okay, but—"

"I can see him tomorrow. It's no big deal, Lane. Really."

But for some reason, it seemed like a big deal. And Lane couldn't put her finger on why. Not with Rory going right back to avoiding eye contact, chin in hand across from her. Clearly the subject was a sore one.

"Where is Luke, anyway?" Lane glanced around. Not a baseball cap in sight. "He's not usually in bed by now, is he? I mean, I know he's health-conscious, but not even my mom is that in touch with her circadian rhythm."

"No, um, sometimes Caesar closes on Fridays," Rory replied. "Or…"

Her voice trailed off, and Lane followed her gaze. Jess had just come out of the back room, eyes glazed over and carrying a dish rag. When he saw them, the glaze fell off. One hand sprang into his hair, using movements that were practically in harmony with Rory's lint-picking seconds ago. He grabbed two mugs and the coffee pot and made a beeline for their table.

"Hi," Rory said quickly, pursing her lips in a smile and lifting a hand. Two of her fingers were half-bent. She almost knocked into the salt shaker.

"Hey." Jess's voice was muted, almost sleepy. But his eyes hadn't stopped moving since he'd come into view, and they were moving all over the brunette in the red sweater. "Burger?"

"Yeah," Rory smiled wider. "Thanks."

Syllables were rapidly going extinct in this corner of the diner. Lane waited. As quickly as those big brown orbs were darting around, they hadn't once rested on her. The air around them had suddenly gotten thick with something intangible, like at weddings when the march started. Or Babette's front yard on Halloween morning, with Morey rigging up the decorations and humming Sinatra. Rory's fingers were twiddling together against nothing in the center of the table.

"Hey, did you ever finish Roots?" she asked, looking up again.

At once, Jess's shoulders relaxed. He snorted. "Please, it's been gathering dust since Tuesday."

"It's a hundred and twenty chapters!" Rory's hands stopped twiddling and she slouched a little further, grin making her eyes rounder.

Jess shrugged. "Next time gimme a real challenge."

"War and Peace, coming right up," said Rory, eyebrows rising.

"Read it."

"No way!"

"What else you got?"

Lane cleared her throat loudly.

Rory's head jerked like someone had hit her. "Oh—sorry—make that two burgers," she said quickly. "Hold the hot fudge."

"Hot fudge?" Jess smirked.

"It's a precautionary measure." Rory smirked back in a way that was so Lorelai, Lane almost got up to shout for Luke.

"This town's rituals just keep gettin' weirder." Jess tapped the tabletop once, bounced his eyebrows with the tap, and headed back into the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight, Lane squinted at her companion.

Rory blinked, smirk slipping off. "What?"

"What was that?" Lane demanded, leaning in.

But Rory didn't lean with her. Instead, she moved slightly backward. "What do you mean? Nothing."

Her hand flicking up to drop back down on the table, one knuckle colliding with the napkin dispenser, Lane grunted. "He didn't even say hello!"

"Yes he did."

"Not to me."

"Okay," Rory huffed, rolling her eyes, "but he's not great with the small-talk stuff, you know? He's like Luke."

"Yes, but Luke usually notices both parties at a table. Even when one of them is Taylor. And he seemed plenty small-talky with someone here—"

"Well, he just doesn't know you that well, that's all. He's not comfortable with everyone, he's—still getting used to it here." Rory's fist went to her mouth, gaze drifting right off of Lane and fixing resolutely on the kitchen doorway.

The coffee pot made little popping sounds on its burner, clearly having been left too long. Lane's mug was untouched in front of her, and she sat back. If Rory was going to stare at the kitchen, she was going to stare at Rory. It was a free country. Especially when Mrs. Kim was away in Woodbury.

He just doesn't know you that well. Unless you counted after-dark CD drops and Goldfish and Chuck Presby wrangling. And Metallica debates. And tiny smiles out of a mouth that only seemed to work on one side—smiles that were rare and special and genuine. Lane dropped her stare, suddenly sick of the way Rory was watching past the counter, the way her nails were just shy of being gnawed. The way the sweater totally matched her skin tone.

When Jess came back with two orders of burgers and fries, so did the tension clogging up their table. To the untrained eye, he was the same as ever. But Lane's eyes had been trained. Lane's eyes had been Mister Miyagi-ed for nearly a year. And Jess was on high-alert.

As he discussed more of whatever Roots was with Rory, switching to one-word teasing responses and chastising her for her taste in burgers (sesame seeds bad, vinegar good), Lane ate her fries and transformed into a birdwatcher. Stealthy. Badly dressed. Completely overlooked. Able to pick up on every subtle movement.

Jess's voice changed when he was with Rory. It got slower, slurred. Like he'd taken too much Tylenol or something. His hands moved more, and he seemed to be straining not to touch his hair, arms never coming up past his collarbone for anything. He almost never blinked; it was like looking at a possum caught in the glare of a flashlight. He did a lot of leaning and his eyebrows must have been getting paid overtime.

He was nervous. It was exactly what walking with Rory on the streets outside had been half an hour earlier. When Rory was freaking out, she got fast. Words and phrases whizzed by; her feet moved like they were in high heels at the airport instead of firmly-tied sneakers. When Jess was freaking out, he went into slow-motion. He got too casual, too cool. At least around a girl he wanted.

Lane chewed and kept waiting. Jess didn't acknowledge her, not even when she stole one of Rory's fries after finishing her own. She could have pushed back her chair and done the Cha Cha Slide and they wouldn't notice. From the moment Jess had come into the diner and seen Rory, he hadn't focused on anything or anyone else.

"Well, you have to tell me how it is, because I haven't even started it," Rory was saying, head tilted up and hands wrapped around her mug.

"We'll see." Jess topped off her coffee.

"We'll see?"

"Depends on how you tip."

"Hey, did you know she copied the Victor Hugo method for publishing?"

"What method; he only did it once."

"She wouldn't've had to, but it was getting too long."

"And this is the book you want me to SparkNotes you on?"

"You said you wanted a challenge!"

"Yeah, a challenge, not Sisyphus-level torture."

The doorbell jingled and Luke came in. A blast of warm air came in behind him and he stopped, eyeing the burnt coffee in its pot. Sighing. He was carrying a box full of something and paused beside Jess, using his elbow to nudge his nephew.

"Hey, start a new pot, willya?"

Jess glowered. "It's after ten, who wants fresh coffee?"

"We do," Rory offered, waving.

Luke raised his eyebrows. "You and the usual Friday night lunatic posse. Jess. Coffee."

Jess rolled his eyes and shook his head, and probably didn't realize how like his uncle he looked when he did. Danes and Mariano both went behind the counter, and Lane saw Luke taking out multiple rolls of pre-wrapped paper towel from the box. Working there must be easier than it seemed, she decided. If you ever ran out of anything, Dose's was right across the street. People loved to eat, and you never had to decorate for any holidays or wait for someone to hang up a phone call so you could take their order.

"I wonder if Mama Kim would ever loosen the reins long enough for me to get a real job," Lane mumbled, stealing another of Rory's fries.

Rory looked like someone coming out of a movie theater. She blinked. "What?"

"Not a real real job. Just part-time. You never know, someday I might actually need the money."

"For what?"

"A plane ticket to somewhere not here? Somewhere cool. Like England. Or Vancouver. I'd even settle for Manhattan."

Rory was always quick to catch up, at least. "You'd wanna work at Luke's?"

"Hey, we have long since established that I look good in aprons."

"Luke doesn't even wear an apron." Rory seemed to notice her burger for the first time and picked it up. "Neither does Jess. I don't think you'll need to grace the masses with your apron affinity."

"They don't know they want it yet, that's the thing. But once they see it, we're talking high demand." After a few more seconds of munching, and more stolen fries, Lane dove in. "Speaking of Jess."

At first, Rory didn't look at her. She hid behind her burger and tried to pretend she hadn't heard. But Lane chewed a fry, swallowed, stole and chewed some more, and let the silence linger a few seconds longer. Just enough to get her BFF to squirm.

Rory didn't last more than a few heartbeats, really. "What about Jess?"

"Nothing. It's just." Lane shrugged too hard, shoulders nearly touching her earlobes. "He seems comfortable around you."

"Not really."

"Oh, come on, you guys were talking for like twenty minutes straight!"

"Lane—"

"Rory," Lane said, firmer. "Nothing's going on?"

"Of course not." Rory smiled, and it was worse than the fake laughing. "Why would you think something's going on?"

"Because."

"Because why?" Rory turned her whole head and finally met Lane's eyes. Smile still there, but way too thin. Blue gaze a little too focused now.

Lane remembered pom-poms and herbal tea and snapped her mouth shut.

"Lane?" Rory put down her burger. Now she was leaning in. "Why would you think—"

"Oh my god," Lane's mouth fell open, just slightly. She ignored Rory's irritated look. "There is something."

"What?"

Rory wanted information. No—Rory wanted confirmation. She wanted Lane to say something. It was in the way she was sitting and the careful expression she was wearing. What is going on right now? Suddenly everything seemed out-of-place. Jess wasn't talking to her at all. She was out on a Friday night with zero chance of Mrs. Kim catching her. And now Rory was staring and fidgeting and smirking and it was, apparently, because of someone who was very much not Dean Forrester.

That's it. I'm dreaming. I'm asleep.

Rory's eyes still drilled into the side of her face.

"You and Jess," Lane said, lowering her voice. Practically hissing.

"Lane, stop it," huffed Rory. "That's crazy. You know I'm with Dean."

"Not right now," Lane countered, spreading her hands. "Not here. Or earlier, remember, he wanted you to come to his baseball game? Or for the last three days—"

"Lane."

"You didn't want to call him over." Lane pointed.

Rory batted her hand away. "Because it's late!"

"Because Jess is here."

"So?" Rory went back to her burger, scowling. "They don't exactly get along."

"Is that why you're keeping him from coming?"

"I am not keeping anyone from anything," Rory insisted, burger stopping halfway to her mouth. "I'm protecting him. And—having teenage boy blood all over the seats wouldn't exactly be good for Luke's clientele, right?"

"Appetizing."

"I'm just saying. It's better if they're not in the same room together, at least outside of school." At last, Rory bit into her burger and spoke around it, which was also appetizing. "I just wanna avoid any kind of unnecessary drama. You heard how he was with that whole Tristan debacle, and he and Jess are always seconds away from reenacting that one scene in They Live, it's some guy thing, I guess. Dean will blow the whole thing out of proportion, and—there's nothing to blow." She sighed. "I don't know. It's late. It's Friday, I don't wanna start anything. And it's better this way, I swear. There's nothing happening with me and Jess. If this whole…whatever between them could just settle down, it would all be—"

"Better."

"Better," Rory repeated, nodding exaggeratedly. "Exactly."

And she went on eating her burger. She didn't even refuel on oxygen before chowing down. Lane's concession must have been a convincing one.

A feeling in Lane's chest kept her from pushing any farther. It was sort of like having chalk dust on your hands and not being allowed to get it off. Something settling on the surface of her mind when she looked at the other girl and the sesame seeds.

Rory was nervous around Jess, but they could talk together like they were one person. Jess slowed down around Rory, got careful around Rory. And Rory had to see it; she was the smartest person Lane knew. All that smiling and power-walking—if Lane could depend on one thing in her life, it was her best friend. She could forever count on Rory being Rory.

And right now, from years of being as close to Lorelai the Second as she could be to anyone else on the planet, save her own mother—right now, if Lane didn't know any better, she'd say Jess's feelings weren't so unrequited. She'd say Rory was into Jess.

Which was the least-Rory thing Lane could think of. Rory's not Daisy. Rory Gilmore already had a boyfriend—and it was not the moussed-up gremlin leaning his head against the kitchen doorway like every little dripping sound the coffee made was sucking the life out of his body.

So why was that gremlin able to evoke lint-plucking and Lorelai smirks? The way Dean had done once?

Lane ran a finger along the outline of the nearest napkin. If Rory was uncomfortable with the sudden silence, she didn't show it. She was done with the burger and inhaling what was left of her fries, happy as a clam. As a lark. As a girl who was sure her best friend wasn't second-guessing her. And Lane so totally was.

Dean's your friend too.

So is Jess.

Lane's mouth tightened. Why the cold shoulder from that so-called friend, anyway? His Pogues CD was underneath her floorboards at that very moment, and he had the nerve to act like she was no more than Korean dust in the air. Yes, Rory was pretty, yes, Rory was interesting, yes, Rory was funny and Rory was wearing red, which always looked good on girls with pale skin and big blue eyes. No one knew better than Lane Kim how fantastic Rory Gilmore was, and she'd tell any boy who had the wisdom to notice.

But just because Rory was here with her existing didn't mean Lane hadn't earned at least a grunt of greeting. Was this how it had to be? She'd never found the right moment herself to tell Rory she and Jess weren't just classmates—it had never come up. It was weird. It was difficult to explain even to herself.

Actually, Lane had never thought about telling Rory. Not once. This may even have been the first time they'd even discussed Luke's nephew—ever. She wouldn't know where to begin.

Especially not now. Not after the goo that was clearly soaking the atmosphere between those two, whatever Rory kept saying. But why would she lie?

At that moment, Lane happened to glance up. Jess's head was still leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tight like he was cold. But he wasn't looking at Rory—he was looking at her. Houston, they had contact.

Lane raised both eyebrows.

Jess mimicked the expression, but his eyes flicked down at her burger and back up again.

Rory was still focused on her fries, two or three remained on her plate, fully seasoned. The burger sitting in front of Lane was now lukewarm, and she picked it up gingerly, inspecting it. She lifted the top bun, the way she always did when she had the opportunity to eat this particular wonderful, horrible, deadly food without her mother watching.

No pickles, no onions, two tomatoes. Extra ketchup. Exactly how she liked it.

Not just Korean air after all. Lane shot Jess a small, genuine grin that showed all her teeth and reached her eyeballs. And lasted only two seconds. His mouth twisted, his eyebrows bounced again, and he looked pointedly out the window. Also two seconds.

Biting into her burger (which was cooked just to her liking too) Lane kicked her feet once or twice. If he wanted to play it secret for now, well, she could handle that. She could more than handle it, really. Nothing if not an expert at covert ops.

And maybe that was better, too. Maybe that was best.

When they left for the night, heading back to Kim's Antiques thirty minutes later, it was cooler out. One of the nicer things about living in Stars Hollow was that, in spite of all the twinkle lights, you could always see the actual stars. It was just another reminder of how far removed from the rest of the world they seemed to be, but Lane had grown up with a full sky. Manhattan probably couldn't boast that. It was nice to appreciate something about home for a minute.

As they walked, Rory slowed down a little until they were barely moving, nudging shoulders in the same pattern they had since the second grade.

"Lane?"

"Yeah?"

"This whole Jess and Dean thing," Rory began. "It's stupid."

"Totally stupid."

"I mean—I know Dean. I love Dean, right, and…nothing's changed. I will always love Dean!"

"Very nice haiku."

Rory rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm trying to say."

"That you love Dean."

"Right."

"But…" Lane bit her lip, turning to peer at her friend through her glasses. "Are you sure it's an always thing?"

"Yes." Rory answered too quickly. "Absolutely. It's an always, always kind of—type of thing, yes."

"Because you know," Lane said, sucking in through her nose, "when adults do the always thing, there's usually vows and cake involved. And at my house there's vows, noodles, and lots of bowing. And a wonsam."

"Lane."

"Sorry, but you're past the nightmare stage now, you've been to like seven Kim weddings already."

"I'm not saying I want to marry Dean," Rory puffed. "I'm saying—I'm sure. I may not be exactly an adult yet, but…I know what I'm doing."

Lane swung her arms. "Absolutely."

"And—even if Jess is—" Rory stuttered like a CD skipping, and her steps matched the stutter. Lane almost tripped over her left ankle. "Jess is—great, but—"

"Great?"

"Well—y-you know what I mean, he's nice. We get along."

"Like Simon and Garfunkel." Lane skipped a crack in the sidewalk, running her hand along the top of the fence around the antique store.

"Dean's been kind of clingy lately—I just needed some space, you know? And it's not like I can go to Luke's without running into Jess sometimes, can I? He does live there."

"You did sort of suggest it." Lane glanced at the windows. All lit. Grandma Kim was definitely still asleep in the armchair. "Going to Luke's."

"So?"

"So…"

Lane stopped and looked between Rory's eyes. They were big and round and worried. And a little bit sharp around the edges, like a plastic knife. Not going to do too much damage, but be careful all the same.

She wasn't in charge of Rory. She wasn't in charge of Dean, either, or of Jess. She might care about all three of them, heaven help her, but this wasn't her fight.

Lane's mouth moved, and in the seconds during which nothing was coming out, plenty was being caged in.

Somebody has to stand up for Dean.

Why does it have to be me? He can take care of himself.

It's really none of my business.

What about Jess?

Rory needs help.

I want her to be happy. Don't they both kind of make her happy?

Yeah, but she can't have both. She's not Nielson.

She's not supposed to be Daisy, either.

Rory's not Daisy!

What about Jess?

If I tell her she likes Jess, she'll just shut me down again.

If I tell her it should be Dean, I'll be pushing her headfirst into baseball-filled misery.

What should I do? And what about Jess?

You can't tell her. You promised.

She'll hate me if I make it sound like she's Daisy.

She's not Daisy!

It was no use. Trying to talk Rory down—or talk her into either boy—it was too risky. It could end in a different sort of fight, one that ruined everything for her and Rory—and her and Jess.

But she was just standing there at her own front gate. Dithering. She was useless.

"Sometimes I think…" Rory huffed, shifted her weight to her other foot, and tried again. "I mean, do you think I'm…"

"Rory," crooned Lane, smiling. She hated the look in those blue eyes. "You know you! And I know you. You'd never do anything to hurt anybody. You're like the Stars Hollow equivalent of a Care Bear. With better hair."

Rory snorted, and the moment was broken. "Thanks, I'll try to channel that less."

And she walked Lane to the door, changing the subject to her grandfather's new business venture.

Lane wasn't Mrs. Kim. She wasn't going to coerce her friend into whatever decision she thought was the right one. Rory should be choosing whatever made her happy—Lane didn't need to get involved. That was safest.

That was best. Definitely.