Author’s apology: This is the longest short story in the history of the genre. For that I apologize. If you were expecting a huge proclamation of love from either Rory or Tristan, you have come to the wrong story. I’m about their age, and I can honestly say I don’t just going around saying “I love you” to everyone I date. I think it’s unrealistic, at least in my GG-world. Perhaps others can pull it off. I also apologize for the over-used plot device of Tristan and Rory being paired together for a school project. But I’m trite and predictable. It’s in my nature. Just ask my shrink.
My apologies also go out to any O-Town enthusiasts who may or may not be reading this. Sorry guys.
I. The Introduction
Friday night
The Gilmore home
She stood in the hallway, her body trembling and her calm wavering, “We broke up.”
Her mother immediately jumped off the couch and enveloped her broken-hearted daughter in a tight embrace. The daughter’s hair was being stroked softly by her mother’s hand; relaxing her and making her feel even younger and more immature than she already did.
But she didn’t care; it felt good.
“Honey, what happened?” Lorelai finally asked, pulling both she and her daughter to the couch. Lorelai sat her devastated daughter down on one end of the couch and wrapped a blanket around her. Lorelai sunk into the couch on the opposite side.
“I…don’t know. I mean, we were having fun one minute, and then the next…he was saying…saying that he…” Rory couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
“Saying that what? Saying that he…was leaving the country to join the Peace Corps? Saying that he found God and he starts his monk training on Monday? Saying that he was a lesbian before the sex change operation? What?”
Rory wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, “Saying that he loved me.”
“Whoa…stop the ride, I want to get off. He what?” Lorelai was shocked, but not at all surprised.
“We were sitting in this junkyard…it was romantic, don’t ask…I said something, and he just turned to me and spit it out. And then he got mad because I couldn’t say it back. I tried to explain to him that I didn’t know what I felt and that it was still early, but he didn’t care. He just got really mad and drove me home in silence. I messed everything up, Mom,” Rory sniffled and buried her head in her arms, her elbows perched on her knees and her hair, sad and brown, making a curtain around her face.
“Hey now, Rory listen, you didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, imagine how you’d feel if you had just said you loved him without really meaning it. He might be upset now, but I think eventually he’ll realize what a favor you did for him. You can’t build a real relationship, especially not one with love involved, when you’re lying just to spare the other’s feelings,” Lorelai’s confident, reassuring voice soothed Rory’s frazzled nerves.
“I blew it. Dean was great. He was making me a car and everything,” Rory groaned.
Lorelai shook her head, as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, did you say he was making you a car?”
“Yeah, he…he had all these parts that he was putting together. He said he didn’t want me to take the bus anymore,” Rory explained the story slowly, like she was remembering it inside her head.
“And you let that man get away? That’s another $400 out of my pocket…”
“Mom…”
Lorelai put a hand on Rory’s knee. “Oh honey, you know I’m kidding.” She paused for a moment of contemplation and then asked, “Okay, Super Chocolate Chunk or Tangy Toffee-Strawberry Delight?”
“What?” Rory was honestly confused.
“What ice cream flavor do you want? This, your first ice cream binging pity party, is your induction into womanhood, Rory Gilmore,” Lorelai announced before slapping her knees and standing up.
“Funny, I thought that induction was back in the sixth grade when blood started coming out of places it really didn’t belong,” Rory sassed before letting her mother pull her off the couch.
Monday morning
Chilton Prep
Rory sat in her Advanced Placement European History class, her pen tapping incessantly on the desktop, her eyes focused on the clock.
“Miss Gilmore,” Rory’s head jerked to look at her teacher, “While I appreciate the little drum solo you’re giving us, we do have a school band for that kind of activity.”
The pen stopped tapping. “Sorry.”
The teacher nodded and then continued speaking in her monotonous drone. “Hitler attacked Poland for the first time on what date…Miss Gilmore?”
Rory’s eyes grew wide and her cheeks grew red. “Umm, could you repeat the question?”
The teacher ignored her plea, instead calling on, “Miss Gellar?”
“September 1, 1939,” Paris answered easily.
When Rory heard the answer, she immediately knew what the question was, which frustrated her even more. Her brain just wouldn’t cooperate with her, and her mind wouldn’t focus, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t manage to pay attention in any class more than five minutes before losing herself in her own thoughts again.
And, of course, all her thoughts revolved around Dean. She missed him, she did. It had only been a few days, but if felt like so much more because she knew that he wouldn’t be meeting her at the bus stop and he wouldn’t call her up to ask her for help on his Algebra homework and he wouldn’t walk with her hand in hand down the streets of Stars Hollow to argue about the merits of Tolstoy.
“Miss Gilmore, what has gotten into you today?”
Rory once again jumped at the sound of her teacher’s voice. She hated that the teachers at Chilton never gave you the time you needed to…space, sometimes. She just wanted to go home and listen to her mother complain about Michel hanging up on some customer or Sookie setting her hair on fire.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Petterson. I…had a bad weekend. I’ll pay attention.”
“Well, good thing. Your parents are paying a lot of money for you to be sitting in that chair, so you should try.”
“Yes,
Ms. Petterson, I understand,” Rory nodded obediently and turned her notebook to
a fresh page. World War II, focus on
World War II…Hitler, Germany, Roosevelt, Poland…ohh…Dean’s half Polish. Please, focus. There’s only 20 minutes left in the class period. I’m being such a girl about this whole
thing. I just have to relax. Imagine Jews being tortured in concentration
camps, what you’re going through is nothing compared to what they had to
face. Jews probably didn’t even think
about boyfriends. Well, maybe except Anne
Frank, but she really wasn’t in a concentration camp in that book, so that
doesn’t count.
Oh
God, I’m going to cry, aren’t I? I’m
such a girl! What would Dorothy Parker
do? Write a poem about how
ex-boyfriends annoy her. Ohh…Dorothy
Parker, that’s what Dean and I read that night at Miss Patty’s.
Why
does everything remind me of him?
Because I’m SUCH A GIRL!
She shook herself mentally once before taking the forgotten pen once again into her hand to take notes. When the damned black pen produced no black ink, she disdainfully shook it with all her might. She watched as the pen flew out of her hand and landed on the ground next her.
As she bent down to retrieve it, she was surprised that another hand had beaten her to it. Already offered her pen back graciously. She slowly brought her gaze up
past the giver’s hand to his jacketed arm, higher until Rory noticed the top button of the obligatory Chilton uniform unbuttoned to reveal a white choker necklace accentuating his defined collarbone. She pushed her eyes past that to the strong, chiseled, sun-dripped jaw and slightly upturned and glistening lips, until finally reaching his smoldering, charcoal blue eyes and intentionally sloppy blonde hair.
Tristan.
She snatched her pen from his hand quickly, trying her best to avoid the mischievous look in his eye.
His voice was barely perceptible when he spoke, his face turned toward the teacher at the front of the room. “Were you checking me out, Mary?”
It took her a moment to answer. She, too, used the guise of staring straight ahead to cover her talking. “Just biding my time until I had to look at your face,” Rory retorted.
Tristan shrugged his shoulders, an action that seemed to acknowledge her rebuttal without really showing it the respect it deserved. Any time she joked with Dean, he’d always…
Why am I comparing them? And why am I still thinking about Dean? Ah! I am such a girl!
Monday afternoon
Chilton Prep
Rory half-walk half-jogged to the nearest bathroom. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose was runny. She wasn’t the least bit attractive at that moment. So it was only kismet then, that Rory run head- first right into a hard body. Two hands immediately went out to grasp her forearms and steady them both.
“Whoa, whoa…” His fingers tightened around her arms before she roughly and unsteadily pulled away from him.
She looked up at his curious face a moment before taking another jump back. “Sor…sorry, Tristan. I have to get past you.”
Rory attempted to walk around him, but he once again stepped into her path. “No running in the halls.”
“Please, let me through.” Her tone was pleading, and Tristan seemed to notice that.
He ducked his head down so he could meet her lowered eyes. “Hey, are you okay, Rory?”
She turned her head from him and bit her lip, willing her tears not to fall. Her grip tightened around the straps of her backpack. “Why do you care? Just let me past you.”
She moved to the other side, and once again, Tristan was there. “Did Paris say something to you?”
She sniffled, “Shoot me if Paris ever affects me enough to make me cry.”
“Hey, hey, come on,” he touched his finger to right under her ear, letting it follow down her jaw line until he reached her chin, then softly tugged her face up, “What’s wrong?”
The gentleness of his touch made the dams inside her burst, and Tristan watched as two sloppy tears slid down her cheeks. Her anger and surprise and Tristan’s behavior caused her to push brusquely past him and run the remaining yards to finally reach the bathroom. “Leave me alone!”
She
threw herself into the first stall and locked it behind her. Why did they have to serve tiramisu for
dessert? Of all things, why did it have
to be the dessert Dean bought me on Friday?
She cursed herself for being so stupid as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
Then she cursed Tristan for being so arrogant and for touching her like they were…friends or something. Because she and Tristan DuGrey would never, ever…even if the he was the only person left on this planet except the members of O-Town…EVER be friends. Ever, she added, for good measure.
She walked out of the bathroom stall a moment later, splashed some cold water on her face, pinched her cheeks to mix the red of her eyes with her whole face, and left. She decided she couldn’t go back into that horrible excuse for a cafeteria, instead opting to go into the library and read some more of her book.
She walked calmly down the hallway, holding her head up and retaining the most dignity she possibly could. She arrived in the library some moments later, placing her backpack on one of the tables and pulling out her book, The Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingston.
She opened up to where she had left off, somewhere in the second chapter, amidst talk of the narrator’s dream of becoming a Chinese swordswoman.
“So I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Rory’s eyes slowly appeared above her book.
“You were upset and I didn’t mean to make it worse,” Tristan went on.
She laid her book on the table gently, making sure not to lose her page. “How did you know I was here?”
He gave her a look before answering, “It seemed a reasonable assumption considering you read a book a day.”
She crossed her arms defensively and corrected, “A book every two days.”
He raised his hands in surrender and smiled, “Fine, you win.”
“Was there something you wanted, Tristan?” Rory asked, she really wasn’t in the mood to look at him.
He shook his head, his smile waning, but still there. “Nope, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about not letting you get passed me today. And…for whatever happened to you.”
She sighed and picked up her book. “It’s not about you, Tristan. Not everything is, I know that’s hard to believe.”
He took a step back, “Now, now Mary, no need to break out the claws. I’m going.”
And he did. Leaving Rory staring at his back in confusion.
II. The Catalyst
Monday afternoon
Chilton Prep
The last period of the day. Rory thanked whatever deity was looking down on her.
She was in Art Studio, a class she was required to take in order to fulfill her Fine Arts credit. She wasn’t at all artistic, but she enjoyed learning about the various different styles and techniques of painting, as well as the history of artists like Van Gogh and Monet.
But right then, it was the longest class period of her entire life.
“All right,” Mr Klein, her teacher, and ex-hippie, was saying, “I am assigning a project for you guys to be completed by next Monday. That gives you this whole weekend. We’re going to break apart into pairs. And since I’m the nice, free-spirited guy I am, I’m going to let you write down anyone you want to be paired with. Just please, no more than one or two.”
Rory felt incredibly uncomfortable as everyone shifted around, clawing through their bags for a piece of paper. She didn’t know anyone in that class well enough to actually want to partner up with them. The only person she’d ever even talked to was…Tristan.
She stared down at her paper before writing “Rory Gilmore---No preference.” She folded it into a tiny square and passed it up.
Once all the papers had been collected, Mr.Klein put them on the side of his desk and faced the class. “All right,” he said, as he had a tendency to start all his sentences that way, “As you guys know, the quarter is going to be ending in a few weeks, and this project will be a huge chunk of your whole grade. We’re talking 400 points here guys, that’s 30% of your quarter grade.”
He began passing out papers that described the activity in detail. Rory took her paper and scanned it.
“All right,” he said, once again, “You and your partner will be expected to paint a portrait of one of the two of you. That is to say, one of you will the subject and one of you, the artist. The picture has to describe the subject. I have to understand everything about the subject through the painting. The artist has to communicate, to their best ability, the essence of the subject. It could be by the facial expressions of the subject, the colors the artist chooses to use, the background, the canvas itself, brush stroke, but preferably all of the above. When that’s done, I need a 5 page typed essay on what your portrait is trying to say and the technique you used to create it. On Monday, you will each come up here and present your portrait to the class.”
He paused for a moment until the sounds of pens on paper and people scribbling extra side notes subsided.
“And people, if I get 10 Mona Lisa’s, I will be one angry teacher. And anger does not help your grades.” Mr. Klein smiled and clapped his hands together once. “All right,” seriously, he said that a lot, “You can all organize your portfolios a little bit while I look through your requests here and pair you off.”
Rory went up to the counter where they stored their portfolios and rooted around in the bin full of them until retrieving her own. She took it and went back to her seat.
Opening it up, she leafed through all the drawings and pictures she had stored in there. There was a limit of 5 pieces due in their portfolios by the end of the quarter, so they had to begin to narrow down the choices of all the projects they had made throughout the past nine weeks.
Rory smiled faintly at her favorite picture. It was a charcoal sketch of the front of her house. She had drawn it sitting across in Babette’s front yard. It showed her mother outside on the grass, fixing the hinges on the front door. Rory had thought it was really good, but she had only received a B on it.
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Klein called the class to attention and began reading off the list of partners.
“All right,” he started, no—really, “We’ve got…Arlene with Reagan, Webber with Polly, Rory with Tristan, Dan with Colleen, Adam with Nancy…” Mr. Klein rolled his eyes and the class snickered at the couple of Adam and Nancy, Nancy and Adam, holding hands in the back of the classroom.
Everyone except Rory, whose head was dropped into her hands as she rubbed her temples. She and Tristan. Because that Monday just couldn’t get any worse.
Monday afternoon
Chilton Prep
The final bell
Rory tucked her hair behind her ears and swung her backpack onto her back as she, and the other 20 or so students in the class, filed out of the room. Once she was in the hall, she leaned back against a group of lockers and kept an eye on the door.
When she saw Tristan walk out, she approached him. “You asked to be partners with me?”
He smiled teasingly at her and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so.”
“Why would you do that?” Rory demanded.
Tristan took a moment to ponder that, and then answered, “Well, you’re probably the hardest working person in that whole class. And I want a good grade on this assignment.”
Rory opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again when she realized she couldn’t argue with that. She let out a resigned sigh. “Whose house are we going to?”
“Since I’m the one with the car, why don’t I just go over to your house?” He suggested reasonably.
She eyed him. “We’re going to need a lot of time to this done, we’re probably going to have to meet all week. Is six okay?”
His grin was wide and arrogant. “Sounds good to me.”
When she saw the familiar smile, the twinkle in his eye and the mischief simply oozing from his body, she sighed again. “I’ll give you directions.”
III. The Diner
Monday evening
The Gilmore home
“This day just could not get any worse,” Rory whined, plopping down on the couch.
“Well sure it could,” Lorelai countered, sitting down next her and passing the bowl of popcorn.
Rory shot her a sideways glance. “How?”
“Well, Armageddon could strike, and existence as we know it could be blinked out,” she answered.
“Good riddance,” Rory countered.
“Umm…you could be strapped to one of those torture chamber things with the spikes and the leather.”
“Was that your inner-Dominatrix speaking?” Rory asked sarcastically.
Her mother thought for a moment before pointing her finger at Rory and smiling in victory, “Kevin Williamson could announce that he’s making a Scream 4 starring post-Party of Five Jennifer Love Hewitt, and the entire world will be forced to watch it over and over and over again,” Lorelai said.
“Now that’s just wrong,” Rory responded.
“Just putting things into perspective,” Lorelai defended herself, “We should get caramel popcorn.” She stared down at the yellow, buttery kernels in her hand.
“I’ll add it to the shopping list,” Rory said.
“Thanks, Mom,” Lorelai smiled and laid her head on Rory’s shoulder briefly.
“No problem, honey, just clean your room once in a while.”
“What time is he supposed to get here?” Lorelai asked.
“We said six, but I wouldn’t put it past him to show up late.”
“Ohh, a rebel, huh?”
“Definitely without a cause,” Rory agreed.
“Does he have a motorcycle?” Lorelai asked, her eyes lighting up.
Rory rolled her eyes and passed the popcorn back to her mother. “I don’t know…does Mercedes make motorcycles?”
Lorelai put a handful of kernels into her mouth and mumbled, “Point taken.”
At 6:15, the doorbell rang and Rory pushed herself off the couch to answer it. As she was walking, she turned around and saw Lorelai right on her heels.
“Mom,” she hissed.
“Sorry, sorry,” her mother stopped walking.
Rory continued toward the door and stopped abruptly, causing her mother to slam into her back. “Mom!”
“I’m
just curious,” she whispered loudly.
“You’ll see him when he gets in the house,” Rory called back.
“I want to see his motorcycle,” she whined.
Rory rolled her eyes and opened the door. Tristan stood in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against it, the other supporting his backpack.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Did your motorcycle breakdown?” Lorelai asked sagely behind Rory.
“I…got lost. Motorcycle?” Tristan was confused.
Rory backed up to let him walk into the house. “Ignore her. She’s consumed enough coffee to make a mono patient an insomniac.”
“Good to know,” Tristan said, then turned to Lorelai, “Tristan DuGrey, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Lorelai stared at his outstretched hand a moment before glancing at Rory in shock and then shaking his hand. “Lorelai Gilmore, Rory’s mom.”
“So we’ve all met. We can work in the living room, Tristan.”
Tristan pushed himself off the wall and followed Rory into the house. Rory had all her work already set up in the living room. There were extra paper, pens, the sheet the assignment was written on, her portfolio of work and all the materials they received in the class throughout the year.
She sat down on one end of the couch while Tristan sat next to her. A little too close. Rory moved away from him.
“Do you have any ideas about what we’re going to do?” Rory asked. She clenched and unclenched her hands, the proximity of Tristan to her making her incredibly nervous and uncomfortable.
“I thought we could…maybe have you pose like Rose in Titanic. You know, arm above the head, lips all pouty,” he grinned lasciviously, “Topless.”
“Tristan, take this seriously! I need a good grade on this assignment in order to keep an A in this class,” Rory admitted.
“I know I’d a give a picture of you like that a good grade,” Tristan answered.
“God, Tristan, can you pretend to care about this? We have to get started. Who’s going to be the artist and who’s going to be the subject?”
“I’ll paint the picture and you can pose for it,” Tristan said.
“It sounds so dirty,” Rory grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “You remind me of one of those nude photographers.”
“You’ve had experience with nude photographers?” Tristan leered, moving even closer to Rory.
When their shoulders touched, Rory jumped off the couch and nearly tripped over the coffee table in a hurry to get away from him. “Don’t touch me. God! You make me sick!”
It was that moment that Lorelai burst in from the kitchen. “Who’s hungry?”
Both teenagers turned to look at her.
“Come on, we’ll go to Luke’s, get a cheeseburger and fries, relax, and then you can come back and work. What do you say?” Lorelai asked.
Rory looked skeptical, “I don’t know…”
“I could use some food,” Tristan answered after her. It seemed obvious to both women that he was just trying to disagree with Rory. Rory cared, Lorelai didn’t.
“See, Tristan’s hungry. I can’t have guests in our house starving. What kind of a hostess would I be?” Lorelai asked.
“The kind that loves her daughter?” Rory suggested.
Lorelai waved her hand dismissively. “Daughter, Shmaughter. I want coffee.”
Monday evening
Luke’s Diner
They sat down at a table, making them the second party in the little diner. Luke walked over to them, a pot of coffee in his hand.
He eyed Tristan speculatively a moment before demanding, “Who are you?” He looked at Lorelai for assistance, nodding his head at the blonde boy, “Who’s he?”
“Luke, this is Rory’s partner for a school project, Tristan. Tristan, meet Luke, King of all that is Subtle,” Lorelai introduced.
Tristan held out his hand, “Nice to meet you.”
Luke returned his handshake, but he did it with a scowl on his face. “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”
“Cup of coffee, please. Now,” Lorelai demanded, smiling.
Luke went back to the counter a grabbed a cup. While he was there, he called, “Rory, you want one too?”
“Yes please,” she said.
“What about your friend?” Rory flinched at the implications of the word ‘friend.’
“Do you want coffee?” She asked Tristan.
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he answered.
Luke walked back with three cups and filled them each with the regular coffee. As almost an afterthought, he added, “Oh, the…uhh…price on the coffee went up fifty cents.”
Lorelai’s eyes widened and she looked at Luke like she was looking at a traitor. “How could you do that to me?”
He got defensive. “I can’t help it, the manufacturer is upping the price.”
Rory and Lorelai spoke at the same time. “Damn capitalists.”
Tristan furrowed his brow. “You’re anti-capitalist?”
Picking up the coffee pot and shaking his head, Luke looked at Tristan. “Don’t encourage them. Please.”
He quickly exited to the kitchen.
“We’re anti-capitalist,” Lorelai confirmed.
Tristan gave them a long look. “Does that make you…socialist?”
Both women shook their heads.
He licked his lips. “So you’re…communist?” The word came out red.
They shook their heads again.
“So…what are you then? Anarchists? I don’t understand,” Tristan said, and then rubbed the back of his neck.
Lorelai looked thoughtful for a moment before answering, “I think, as for as politics go, I’m more of an agnostic.”
“I really didn’t know that term applied to politics,” Tristan responded.
“Oh sure, ‘agnostic’ is a universal word,” Lorelai told him helpfully.
“Well that’s…good to know,” Tristan said slowly.
“What do you want to eat?” Luke called from behind the counter, effectively ending the conversation.
“Cheeseburger and fries for Rory and I,” she yelled, “What say you, Tristan?”
“Same thing,” he said quickly.
“You eat cheeseburgers?” Rory asked, genuinely surprised.
Tristan gave her an amused look. “Yeah, I eat cheeseburgers.”
“Like real, greasy cheeseburgers? With ketchup and mustard and onions?” Rory was hard-pressed to believe this new information. It made Tristan seem too normal.
“Yeah, real cheeseburgers. Why is that so hard to believe?” He knew exactly why it was, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“Because…of the…money,” she stuttered, “And, you know, you having it.”
“So naturally all I eat is caviar and sushi?” He asked.
“No, you weren’t…necessarily…limited to seafood. I mean, there’s steak tar-tar and lamb and things like that too,” she said meekly, looking down at her hands.
Luke and Lorelai were perceptive enough to notice the look of adoration that passed over Tristan’s features briefly as he watched Rory squirm.
“I’m actually a hotdog person, myself. Mina, our cook, makes them for me and my sister when my parents are out of…” he trailed off when he noticed the look the women at the table were giving him. He felt the class difference weigh down on them. “I can…make my own hotdogs too, though.”
“No, no, I believe you,” Lorelai said, “Who can’t make hotdogs?”
“You?” Rory suggested, causing both she and Tristan to laugh.
IV. The Pictures
Tuesday evening
The Gilmore home
When Tristan arrived the next day, on time, he and Rory again went directly into the living room and tried to work.
“I really can’t paint.”
“What?” Tristan looked up from the paper had been reading.
“I can’t paint. Not at all, really. I’m not artistic, I just…thought you should know that now.” Rory said.
“You’re getting an A, right? How bad could you be if you’re getting an A?” Tristan asked.
“Almost a B,” Rory corrected, “And I’m not really bad, I’m just not good.”
Tristan put down the paper all together and turned to her. “Do you have anything I could see?”
“What?”
“Any sketches or paintings from class or anything? I mean, the best way to figure out who’s going to do what is to see who would be better at what part. Do you have any extra pieces lying around anywhere?” It was a sound reasoning, but Rory was still reluctant to show Tristan her work.
“I…uhh…I have my portfolio with me,” she said, reaching for her backpack, “Do you have yours?”
“Yeah, I brought it so we could look over some of the other assignments. For techniques and stuff like that. I still have the papers he gave us explaining each assignment paper clipped to the corresponding piece. You know, for future reference.”
He handed her his portfolio as she handed him hers.
Rory slowly opened it up and looked at the first pair of papers. The assignment was to sketch something that made you comfortable. The picture was of a giant Lazy-Boy chair. Rory almost laughed at how literally he had taken the assignment. But when she studied the picture, it made more sense to her.
The chair was big and fluffy, a soft material. He had taken the time to outline the whole figure in a light, plush blue. She saw that the chair had a hole on one armrest and the seat and back were indented from being so frequently used. It really did look comfortable, but not in the purely superficial sense.
She continued to leaf through the portfolio and discovered Tristan really could paint. He could actually draw and sketch and paint very well. Rory knew that in order to get a good grade on their assignment, she’d have to be the subject. She kept scanning the pictures, but finally stopped short at an assignment she remembered from a few weeks before.
It was to draw something that made someone feel pain.
Tristan’s picture was of a little girl, her hair long and blonde, bangs falling into her eyes. She was wearing a nightgown that kissed the ground, completely curtaining her feet, and there was a little teddy bear clutched in her right arm. She looked forlorn, her head drooped and her shoulders sagging. She wasn’t crying, but it seemed like she was about to. She stood in a doorway, the light behind her from the hall burning her skin in its yellow glow, while the darkness of the room she faced seemed to call to her, offering her protection from the harsh light.
“Who…who is this?” She asked, turning the picture to Tristan. He looked at it briefly before turning back to her portfolio.
He cleared his throat before saying, “Oh, umm, that’s my little sister.”
Rory knew it probably wasn’t her business to ask, but she did anyway. “What’s wrong with her in this picture?”
Tristan looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes at night she comes into my room. When our parents are fighting. It’s no big deal, really.”
“Oh,” it was barely perceptible.
“Yeah, but hey, check this out,” he said, grabbing the portfolio from her grasp and flipped through it until he arrived at the right one. “She’s hot.”
It was a picture of a bikini clad model lying on the beach holding a beach ball.
“I copied this out of a magazine. The woman’s name is Persephone. Isn’t that great?” Tristan practically purred.
Rory turned her head and rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You’re such a guy.”
Tristan shrugged. “Yeah, so? That’s what I am. I accept that.”
She quickly changed the subject. “Okay, so I guess you’ll be painting me.”
“I like this,” he said suddenly, and Rory looked to see what he was talking about. He was holding up one of her pictures. It was the charcoal sketch of her house.
“That’s your mom fixing the door, right?” He waited until she nodded to continue. “I like that. It’s really domestic and calm, but at the same time, it’s different, because it’s a woman that’s fixing the house, you know?”
Rory was almost proud that he saw that much in her little sketch. But she quickly shook the feeling away. “What you don’t know is that she actually ended up breaking the door completely off the hinges, and we had to call Luke to fix it again.”
He laughed lightly. “Well, the intentions were good, anyway. You guys really are a small town, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we’re quirky.”
“I mean, the guy that owns the diner fixes your door, your mom knew the pizza guy by name today when she ordered, it’s interesting. There’s nothing like that in Hartford,” Tristan said.
“I don’t think there’s anything like this place anywhere,” Rory intoned.
V. The Doting
Wednesday morning
Chilton Prep
Rory was tired. Simply put, she was worn out. She and her mother celebrated “Hump Day” that morning over a breakfast of Poptarts and coffee before they both left.
But Rory felt the weight of the end of the quarter weighing down on her. The fatigue was killing her. Teachers always chose those last few weeks to pile on any tests or quizzes or projects to be counted for that grading period. She had a Spanish exam she was sure she was going to get a B on if she didn’t find time to go over her infinitives, and then she had to write an essay on Mussolini for European History.
Plus, there was that Art Studio project. She and Tristan had gotten nearly nothing accomplished in the past two days, aside from deciding he was going to paint the picture of her. The clock was winding down, and she was getting scared.
And Dean, of course Dean. She hadn’t seen him since they broke up, finding it easy to avoid him when she needed to. She didn’t go with her mother when she went grocery shopping and she was never around the school when they let out. It was easy. But it didn’t help. She always thought about him, and she still wore the bracelet he made for her on her birthday. There were even times she was tempted just to pick the phone up and call him. Until she remembered.
He didn’t want to hear from her anymore.
Wednesday morning
Chilton Prep
He wasn’t in class yet, and Rory was worried that he was sick. She couldn’t afford to you lose a day.
But just as the final bell was about to ring, he strutted into the room; he books under one arm and the other hand stuffed leisurely into the pocket of his pants.
Rory’s eyes followed him as she took in his confident stride and the ever-present Cheshire cat smile spread across his face. She wanted to look away, look down at her paper, but for some reason she couldn’t. Instead, she watched with rapt attention, taking in his unbelievably blue eyes and long eyes lashes.
When he turned and saw her, she quickly averted her eyes, focusing on the chalkboard just behind him. But curiosity got the better of her, and she snuck another look in his direction.
He had actually stopped in the middle of the room, the eyes she’d been thinking about just a few moments before staring right into her. When she finally met his gaze, he simply winked at her once to let her know had, indeed, noticed her watching him, and then walked to his seat.
Rory felt her cheeks warm to an uncomfortable shade of red, which she tried to hide under her hair and behind her book. It was ridiculous. She could look at someone, it’s not like she was licking her lips and swinging her hips. She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about. She did not think of Tristan Dugray as a friend, and definitely not anything more than that. They were NOT friends.
Besides, if she needed to…she could grow to like O-Town.
VI. The Display
Thursday night
The Gilmore home
A painting easel was set up in the middle of Rory’s living room. Rory sat on the couch, trying to get comfortable as Tristan scrutinized her face.
“How can we do this…” it was more of a verbalized thought to himself, and she knew not to answer, “Maybe we could…make some sketches of some ideas first, and then see which one we like the best?”
Rory tugged her skirt down as close to her knees as she could. “So…so you’re just going to draw a bunch of pictures of me?”
“Well, I was thinking of using charcoal…it gives a better texture,” he corrected.
“Umm, I…guess that would be okay.”
“Oh stop being so self-conscious. If it makes you feel better, I stopped undressing you with my eyes at least twenty minutes ago,” he slouched down in the chair he was sitting on and continued looking her over.
“That’s not funny,” Rory said, wringing her hands together.
“Wow, this is the wackiest staring contest I’ve ever seen,” Lorelai commented as she walked into the room.
“He’s trying to figure out how to sketch me,” Rory explained.
“Well if he stares at you any harder, lasers are going to shoot out of his eyes, and there will be one less Lorelai in the Gilmore family,” she went over to stand behind Tristan.
“Hmm…Rory, maybe you should sit on that side of the couch,” he pointed to the side closest to the window.
“That’s a good idea,” Lorelai said, “Then she’ll have more light on her.”
“Un-clench your hands Rory,” she let her hands go, “And then just lay them in your lap…no, not like that…here…can I show you?”
Rory acquiesced and Tristan got off his chair and approached her. Kneeling down in front of her, he took her hands and placed them strategically in her lap. Then, he took her face in his hands and tilted in slightly to the left. “There you go, just stay like that.” A wisp of hair had tumbled out of the beret she was wearing, and Tristan tucked it behind her ear.
“There,” he whispered and moved away.
Rory was left with her mouth slightly agape and her hands shaking in her lap.
When Tristan was back in his seat, Lorelai began wiggling her eyebrows to Rory where Tristan couldn’t see. Rory attempted not to look at her and instead to focus on Tristan and their grade.
“Oh, by the way honey, Sookie’s gonna be coming over here in a little while,” Lorelai announced.
Rory eyed her mother suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because…for inn reasons. Inn issues,” she stumbled on the words.
Translation—to talk about and analyze Tristan. Really, sometimes, her mother was such a simple creature. And so very transparent.
“Hi Lorelai,” Rory heard from in the foyer. The greeting was followed by the sound of the coat rack falling over. Sookie had indeed arrived.
10 seconds later, Rory saw from the corner of her eye, her mother and Sookie peeking their heads in the doorway.
“You can come in, you know,” Rory said, causing them both to jump into the room.
“Yes,” Lorelai said while fixing her hair, “It is my house, I know I can come in, thank you very much.”
Sookie was wearing a tasteful, ankle length red skirt and matching sweater. She smiled, her dimples shining through, making her seem much younger than she actually was. “Hi Rory,” she greeted.
She turned to Tristan who had stopped sketching to look at her. “Hi, I’m Sookie,” she introduced, and accentuated the remark with a little giggle as she smoothed her skirt with her hands. Rory used to think that was a nervous gesture, but eventually figured out that it was simply unconscious on Sookie’s part.
“Tristan DuGrey, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, returning the introduction.
“It’s nice to meet you too. Well aren’t you a little gentleman?” She looked pointedly at Lorelai, who then led her into the kitchen.
When they were gone, Rory explained, “Sookie is the cook at the inn, and she’s my mom’s best friend.”
“She seems…eccentric,” Tristan said slowly.
“Oh, she is,” Rory agreed, “But she’s great.”
They were just getting back to work when the front door opened and closed loudly again. Lane’s voice carried throughout the house.
“Rory, Lorelai, you will not believe this. Not only do I have to go to church every week, but now, my mother’s saying I’m not “involved” enough, so she signed me up to be in the Easter pageant! Can you imagine? Me as Mary Magdal…” Lane stopped in mid-sentence, her hands stilling in the hair she was trying to take down from the ‘do she had in for her mother’s benefit.
She pulled the last of the berets out of her short black bob and shoved them into her pockets.
Rory cleared her throat. “Umm, Lane, this is Tristan. Tristan, this is my best friend, Lane Kim.”
Tristan looked over the perky Korean girl who was so close to Rory. They both nodded a hello.
Lane looked at Rory and said cheerily, “Rory? Do you think I could see you in the kitchen a second?”
“Uhh, sure. Can you hold on a second, Tristan?”
She got off the couch and followed Lane into the kitchen, where her mother and Sookie were also sitting, sharing a bag of Doritos. “What’s up?”
“That’s Tristan?” Lane asked in disbelief.
“No, it’s his stunt double.”
“You never told me he was so hot!” She exclaimed.
“Who cares if he’s hot? He was a complete jerk to me!” Rory shot back.
“Notice Rory didn’t disagree with Lane,” Sookie pointed out.
Lorelai nodded sagely, “As well as the use of the past tense in that last sentence.” They continued to watch the girls talk animatedly.
“You should have mentioned that he has great hair and those amazing blue eyes,” Lane said. She almost sounded offended that Rory hadn’t supplied that information.
“He does have nice eyes,” Sookie agreed.
“I’ve noticed that too. Although, she forgot to mention the definition of his jaw,” Lorelai added.
“It shouldn’t matter what he looks like. If I hate him, you’re supposed to too.”
“I do hate him. It’s just, now that I know what he looks like, it adds a whole new dynamic to your relationship with him,” Lane told her.
“And what’s that?” Rory asked.
“Sexual tension,” Lane educated her intelligent friend.
“WHAT?” Rory cried.
“Lane makes a good point,” Sookie said.
Lorelai shook her head. “There’d better not be anything sexual going on there.”
Rory put her hands on her head in exasperation. “Okay, where was I when Doose’s Market had a sale on the crazy pills this morning!”
“Probably in the line for complete denial,” Lane shot back.
“Okay, I’m going back in there now. We have work to do.”
Rory walked back into the living room and sat down, getting back into position.
“What were you guys arguing about?” Tristan asked.
Rory looked down. “Nothing important.”
That seemed to appease him. He picked up the charcoal and continued what he was doing. “Did your friend leave?”
She shook her head. “No, she’s in the kitchen talking to my mom and Sookie.”
“Your friends talk to your mom?” He asked incredulously.
“Well, my mother always has appealed to the more immature set. She dated the paper boy once.”
Tristan stopped drawing and looked up at Rory in shock. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, his father anyway. It lasted a few months, but ended badly. For the next three weeks, all of our newspapers came without the comics section,” Rory informed him.
Tristan laughed loudly. “Yeah?”
She nodded, “Yes, and I learned something very important from that little debacle.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Never break up with the guy supplying you Calvin and Hobbes.”
“Fair enough.”
VII. The Confrontation
Friday evening
The Gilmore home
Rory gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. She was getting tired of posing on the couch. It was the last sketch Tristan was doing and he had been going at it for the past hour. The position she was in was very uncomfortable, but Tristan wouldn’t let her move.
“Are you almost done?” Rory ground out.
“You know, Mary, if you’d stop whining this would go a lot faster,” he shot back.
Rory was shocked that he had actually called her ‘Mary.’ It was the first time he had that whole week. But it shut her up, which, in retrospect, was probably what he was trying to do anyway.
After ten more minutes, he finally put the charcoal down. “There. Last one done.”
Rory immediately let her body relaxed and groaned. “Thank God. I thought my legs were going to be permanently contorted into that position.”
“You’re such a baby,” he said, and then looked down at his watch. It was almost ten ‘o clock. “We can pick out which ones we like the best tomorrow and start the actual painting then, okay? I think I’d better…”
“Do want Pez?” Rory interrupted suddenly.
Tristan stared at her for several moments, then said a single word. “What?”
“Pez, I just have this taste for Pez.”
Tristan spoke slowly, “You mean like the candy you eat out of those dispensers with the heads of Elvis and Disney characters on them?”
“Yeah, there’s this store like two blocks from here that has every variation of Pez ever made. They even have the Marilyn Monroe dispenser. It’s a classic. I keep trying to get Casey, the owner, to sell it to me, but he won’t give it up,” she said.
“You know…I don’t think I’ve ever had Pez,” Tristan said thoughtfully.
“Wow, you rich people really are different. I can’t imagine a childhood without Pez. It would be like life without sunshine,” Rory said in awe.
“You make it sound like your family isn’t just a rich as mine. Your grandparents are loaded. I remember what their house looked like. Don’t pretend like money is foreign to you,” Tristan chastised.
Rory raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, but my grandparents? Not really Pez people.”
“I can imagine. Although, can you picture your grandfather with a Donald Duck Pez dispenser?”
“I would love to be the heir to the Pez fortune,” Rory grinned.
“You’re so strange, you know that, Rory?” Tristan asked.
She nodded, still smiling. “I’m aware.”
Friday evening
Casey’s Candy
“Is there an entire Pez aisle in this place, or what?” Tristan asked, walking beside Rory.
“In my dreams,” she responded, leading him to a small section of the store. She opened her arms and showed off the multitudes of Pez.
“So…where do we start?” Tristan asked.
“I need to bring some for my mom too, remind me. She’ll be excited when she gets home from Sookie’s. Let’s see, do you have a preference? You’ve got…your cherry Dumbo, your grape Goofy, your orange…generic witch-like thing, your bubblegum Minnie…”
“That was fast.”
Rory swung around when she heard his voice. Her heart leapt in her throat when she saw him standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and his head cocked to the side.
“De…Dean. Hi.”
“It hasn’t even been a week,” he said angrily.
“What are you talking about?” She demanded.
“What are you doing with him, Rory?” He pointed to Tristan, who looked terribly out of place.
“Nothing! We’re just…doing a project together, that’s it!” She swore.
Now Tristan just looked confused. “Why haven’t you told him about that yet?”
Dean looked back and forth between them. “I could ask you the same thing, Rory. Why haven’t you told your new friend about us?”
“I…it didn’t come up.”
“Because you don’t care. You don’t care about me,” he finished her sentence.
“No! That’s not it at all! It’s just…this was schoolwork, Dean. I wanted to concentrate on getting an A in that class.”
Dean looked around at their surroundings; “It doesn’t seem like you’re concentrating on school now.”
“We were just taking a break from our work. It’s not…at all what you think,” Rory said softly when she saw other people in the store looking at them in interest.
“Do you have any consideration? Any at all? Why would you come out? With him?”
Rory began to get angry. “You know, you were the one that broke up with me, Dean. Nothing is going on with Tristan and I, but if there was, you wouldn’t have a right to be mad about it.”
A horrible sort of indignation set on his face. “Right now,” he whispered, “Right now you have just really, really hurt me.”
He turned around and walked out of the store without looking back.
“Dean, no…” she whispered sadly, watching him walk farther and farther out of sight.
Tristan watched helplessly as Rory’s eyes filled to the brim with weary tears. He felt totally out of place, and he didn’t know what to say. Timidly, he touched a hand to her arm. “Rory, I’m…”
“Don’t touch me,” she demanded, pulling herself away from him and running out the door.
“Rory, Rory hold on…” Tristan said, following behind her, not letting her get out of his range. He caught up with her easily running along side her as she raced home.
“Rory, come on, just stop a second. Rory…” She didn’t even hear him as she ran passed the nameless faces, ignoring Tristan as well as the other people on the street voicing their concerns.
She didn’t stop running, she didn’t slow down, as she ran up her porch stairs, burst into her house and flew into her bedroom. Tristan boldly trailed after her and was there to catch her as she sank bonelessly to the ground. He gathered her up in his arms on the floor and hugged her tightly to him.
Rory grabbed onto the material of his dark blue shirt and buried her face in his chest.
He began making whatever soothing sounds came to his mind as she shook, her sobs soundless.
After a few minutes, he heard her whisper something, but didn’t catch what it was. He moved her hair away from her face and looked down at her. “What did you say?”
She took a deep breath and answered, “I’m such a girl.”
He stroked her hair and laughed lightly. “Good observation.”
“He was my first…” she whispered and trailed off.
“Yeah, I know,” was all Tristan said.
“What time is it?” Rory asked wearily, rubbing her eyes.
“About 10:30,” he answered.
She looked up at him, her eyes glassy and dull. “I think that I’m going to go to sleep. You can come over tomorrow, okay?” She was already out of his arms and heading toward the bed.
Tristan stood up and dusted his pants off. “Tomorrow sounds good. Sleep now.”
“Thank you,” she said as coherently as anyone who was between consciousness and slumber could have.
He stood above her, watching how her hair fanned over her pillow and the child-like way she tucked her knees close to her chest and snuggled her hand against her cheek on the pillow. After a moment, he grabbed the blanket on the other side of the bed and draped it softly over her small body, tucking her in.
“Good night, Rory,” he said, taking one last lingering look in her direction and finally walking out of the Gilmore home.
VIII. The Inspiration
Saturday evening
The Gilmore home
Rory sat on the Lazy-Boy chair perpendicularly, her legs dangling over one of its arms, and stared unseeing out the window. Laying across her stomach was the book she was attempting to read; A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. And her mind was on the events of the night before. The way Dean looked at her before he walked out of the store. His gaze was so full of scorn and embarrassment. She had felt awful even though she knew that it wasn’t really her fault.
But she could see his point of view too. Here she had not been able to tell him she loved him, and then a week later, she had showed up in town with someone she knew he hated. It did seem pretty heartless. But then again, he didn’t know the situation. He didn’t know that she and Tristan weren’t even…friends.
She had a hard time even thinking the words that time, remembering the way he had caught her in his arms the night before. Remembering the soothing way he had stroked her hair and how he had ran with her all the way back to her house.
And she had to admit…no matter how…much…she wanted desperately to deny it, she had enjoyed being comforted by him last night. She had enjoyed being in his arms.
Come
on, Rory thought, how hard is it for O-Town to release one good song?
Rory crossed her ankles and sighed, pulling the quilt higher onto her chest and readjusting the book on her stomach. Outside the window, she saw Babette running around, her little legs going as fast as they could, chasing her new kitten. It was a little darker than Cinnamon was, that’s why Rory had suggested they name it Spice. When the kitten made a hairpin turn, Babette tripped over her own feet and fell right into the grass.
Rory smiled in amusement, her smile turning to a light laugh when the kitten went up and licked Babette’s cheek.
She stretched then, putting her arms above her head and stretching her head back over the arm of the chair. When she did, she saw an upside down Tristan watching her, his hands in his pockets and his head cocked in curiosity.
She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Tristan! How long have you been standing there?”
He walked forward into the room. “Uhh…about 10 minutes. I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked peaceful.”
Rory blushed at the idea of him staring at her that long, and of the things she was thinking about him while he was right behind her.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “Let’s start working then.”
“Okay,” Tristan agreed, sitting down on the couch, while Rory moved off her chair and sat down next to him. He spread all the pictures he had drawn of Rory on the coffee table and gestured to them. “Which one?”
Rory looked at all the pictures one at a time, each one making her more awestruck than the last. Finally, after studying all of them, she turned her surprised face to him. “What did you do to me?”
“What do you mean?” He answered back.
“In all these pictures I look so…so…”
“Beautiful?” He supplied.
“Exactly,” she breathed, “That can’t be right.”
He shook his head. “I just drew what I saw, Rory.”
“Wow…” she said, “These…you did a really great job, Tristan.”
He shrugged modestly, “I…uhh…I think that the couch doesn’t look right in this one. And over here, this one? Your head is a little too big. Sorry about that.”
Rory wasn’t listening to him. She was too busy looking at his hands. She had never noticed them before, but he really had artist’s hands. They were strong with lean fingers and tattered cuticles. They were even smudged with the black charcoal he used to draw with.
When Tristan saw were her eyes were fixed, he stopped pointing at the pictures and brought his hands to his lap. “What?”
“Your hands…” she started to say.
“Yeah, they’re dirty. I made some finishing touches on some of the pictures before I got here and didn’t get a chance to wash my hands.”
Rory hurried to correct herself. “No…I like it,” when she saw his eyebrows raise, she went on, “I mean, you have artist’s hands.”
He brought his hands out in front of his face to look at them. Rory took that opportunity to take his wrist in her hand and pull his arm to her.
“See? The smudges? It makes it look like you’ve stayed up all night…a slave to your work,” she let go of his wrist, “I don’t know, that’s what I think anyway.”
He took his hand back and grinned at her. Rory narrowed her eyes when she saw his smile turn mischievous.
“So you…you like the smudges, right?”
“I guess…”
He gave her an innocent look. “Well, my mother always did say sharing is caring.”
With that, he trailed a finger down her cheek, making long black mark. She gave a surprised yelp and put her hand over the mark.
“I think you’re confusing your mother with Mr. Rogers, Tristan,” she remarked.
He stopped to think about that. “You know, they do kind of look the same, and my mother has always been incredibly friendly to the mailman. I don’t even want to know what that’s about.”
“Well if you ever find out, I won’t mind it if you never told me.”
Tristan laughed. “Noted.”
“You know, you might not be…quite as horrible as I thought you were. I just had to tell you that,” Rory said quickly.
“Well, thank you then. And if care, you’re just as great as I thought you’d be,” he told her.
Tristan watched her cheeks change three shades of red. “Thanks,” she said quietly
“I’d have to say I like this pose the best,” Rory said, changing the subject.
“But you look so fat in that one! No offense.”
IX. The Mistake
Sunday evening
The Gilmore home
It was the last day of their assignment. Tristan had gone over to Rory’s house earlier than usual to finish the painting they had begun the night before so that Rory could see the painting and write the paper. It was about eight at night by that time, and they were almost completely finished with the painting. They were right on schedule, as Rory had already planned to have a late night writing the paper.
Rory was on her couch, lying on her side, with one hand placed on her stomach and the other rested languidly under her head on the arm of the couch. Tristan diligently focused his eyes from Rory to the canvas propped on the easel he’d brought from home, and back again.
She shifted uncomfortably on the couch, willing herself, as she had been for the past half an hour, to tell him what she had been trying to say since the night before. She coughed slightly to get his attention, but he was too engrossed in what he was doing to notice her.
She sighed deeply and coughed louder. Still, he didn’t stop painting.
Finally, she mustered a small, “Tristan?”
He looked up at her immediately. “Hmm?”
“I, umm, I just wanted to…since yesterday…I’ve wanted to…”
He gave her an expectant look. “You wanted to…stutter at me for five minutes until finally spitting out whatever ever it is you’re trying to say?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. For what?” He asked.
“For Friday, when you stayed with me. It didn’t have anything to do with you, and Dean was rude and…I was really rude to you. There was no reason for you to stay, but you did anyway, and I’m glad you did. I just…had to tell you that. Thanks.”
He placed the paintbrush back on the easel and rested his hands on his thighs. “You were upset, what was I supposed to do?”
“Leave me alone? Gone home? I gave you every reason to do either,” Rory replied honestly.
He sighed at walked over to sit next to her on the couch. “Nah, you were just upset. I can understand that. You said some stuff you didn’t mean…we all do it sometimes. It’s no big deal.”
She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. “How is it you can be a complete jerk one minute and then this sensitive guy the next?”
He shrugged. “Well, my mother’s shrink says she’s bipolar. Maybe it’s hereditary.”
“My mother is probably somewhere bordering on tripolar, so I better invest in the vaccine.”
“Right, because they have one for personality disorders,” Tristan said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“We live in the Medicine Era, Tristan. It’s all ‘Ritalin this’ and ‘Viagra that.’ There has to be some kind of vaccine or pill I can take now to stop the disease from spreading.”
He put his hand on her knee, and inched closer to her. Rory felt the familiar butterflies begin to awaken in her stomach. They had a long nap, having last been used back in the early days of her relationship with Dean. Their little wings were rested and ready for a work out.
But it was obligatory. Once the butterflies started, the babbling was sure to follow.
Rory swallowed thickly. “I read in this medical journal a little while ago that in five years, knowledge of medicine and viruses will have increased so greatly, that it may be possible for doctors to find a cure-all for every strain of the cold virus. Not that I really need to worry, because I don’t get colds. Not usually anyway. My doctor says I have a strong immune system. There was this one time, back in grade school, though, when I got so sick I threw up all over this girl’s…oh my God, how did the conversation make it’s way around to this obscure 6th grade memory?”
“Is it actually considered a conversation if you’re the only one talking?” Tristan teased.
“I…don’t know. I could look it up,” she suggested.
Tristan placed a hand on her cheek. “Rory, I was joking.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with…”
Her sentence was cut off when Tristan placed his mouth over hers lightly. After a moment, he gently increased the pressure until he felt Rory begin to run her fingers through his hair. After several more moments, both teenagers broke apart, each taking panting breaths. Tristan began to play with the long strands of her hair, and Rory willingly leaned into his touch.
It took until they each moved in close to one another again for Rory to jump back. “Whoa, what am I doing? This isn’t right.”
Tristan looked hurt. “Thanks.”
Rory rushed to clarify. “I just mean…me…kissing you. It’s not fair to you. It would only be, just this rebound thing, to get over Dean.”
That time, it was Tristan who moved away from her. “Thanks again.”
“I don’t mean that it was…I mean…maybe it was. But it wasn’t, was it? I mean…I’m so confused.” That point was emphasized when she dropped her head into her hands.
“Don’t you like me, Rory?” He asked.
“Well, you’ve been nicer since we’ve started this project. And you paint and let your sister sleep in your bed. And you have nice hands.”
“See?” He said, “There must be something there. Some reason why you kissed me. A person doesn’t just accidentally kiss another person. There’s got to be some reason, some feeling…”
Rory stood up and crossed her arms. “Tristan, you are now, officially, the second person I’ve ever kissed, okay? This isn’t some stupid every occurrence to me. I’m not like you, I can’t just kiss anyone of the opposite gender who just happens down my path.”
Tristan jumped up off the couch also. He put his hands out in front of him, his face set in an angry scowl. “Hey! When did this become an attack on my character?”
“I didn’t mean that! I just meant that I don’t have as much experience as you do!”
“What am I now? Tristan DuGrey, Chilton pimp?”
Rory ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “See! I knew this would get complicated. We can’t be together for long periods of time without a fight exploding. There’s no way anything could happen between us.”
“So what, your goal in life is to find some little lap dog to marry who just agrees with everything you say?” He challenged.
“No! You’re twisting all my words, Tristan! I just mean that I can’t be with someone who’s so…so…”
“So much like yourself?” He finished her sentence.
She didn’t answer him, but the flush in her face told him he was exactly right.
“Why don’t we just finish this assignment?” Rory suggested.
“No, why don’t we talk about why you’re so stubborn that you won’t admit you actually might like me?” He countered, sidestepping her attempt to change the subject.
“I’m not stubborn! I just don’t want to you turn into some mistake I made just to get over Dean.”
“Mistake?”
“Yeah, I mean…can you see my side of it for just a moment? This is totally new and scary for me.”
“So now I’m a scary mistake. Well that’s good to know,” his tone was bitter.
Rory balled her hands into fits at her sides. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to do something I’ll regret, and I don’t want to mess up this new friendship between us.”
“Friendship? I don’t see any friendship. All I see is a mistake,” Tristan pointed to himself, “And a coward.” The Holy Judgment of his finger landed on her.
That stung. A lot. “Maybe we can talk about this…” she tried.
“I have to go,” he answered, picking up his easel and canvas and walking out the door.
“Oh God…” Rory whispered, her head throbbing and woozy from all the yelling.
She stumbled into her bed, and, without thinking, simply kicked off her shoes and fell asleep.
That’s how Lorelai found her when she arrived home from the inn that night, and that’s how she awoke on Monday morning. She was weary, in her clothes from the night before…and without an essay to turn in last period for Art Studio.
X. The End
Monday afternoon
Chilton Prep
Last period
Rory had insisted on going to school. Even after persuasion by her mother to “call in dead,” she knew she had to take responsibility for her own actions and face whatever consequences it came with.
Tristan, apparently, didn’t feel the same way. It was already last period, and he hadn’t been in any of the classes Rory shared with him.
Just thinking about facing Mr. Klein that day made her want to throw up. She had never, in her life, missed a homework assignment. And one that amounted to 1/3 of her grade was not a good place to start.
“All right class,” Mr. Klein began when the final bell rang, “Who would like to present their projects first?”
Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and a disheveled looking Tristan walked in carrying a painting canvas covered with a protective sheet and a backpack on his back.
Mr. Klein clasped a hand over his heart. “Why, Tristan, what good is it that I have done which has allowed God to bestow upon me the privilege of your presence?”
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Klein,” was his easy response.
“Well, since you’re already standing up, why don’t you and your partner present your project first?” He looked down at the paper in his hands. “Rory, would you come up and join Tristan in the front?”
Rory’s ‘deer in headlights’ look seemed to be lost on Mr. Klein as well as Tristan as she struggled to stand up on shaky legs. She tried to think of a way to signal to Tristan that she hadn’t done her end of the assignment without the teacher noticing.
Tristan didn’t even look at her as she approached. Instead, he busied himself with setting the painting on the easel set up in the front.
“Tristan,” she whispered, trying to get his attention. It didn’t work.
“For our project,” Tristan started, “I painted Rory Gilmore in a way I thought best reflected the person that she really is.” With that, he gently tugged the covering off the canvas to reveal a painting that was definitely not the one they had been working on before their fight.
It was a picture of Rory sitting perpendicularly on her Lazy Boy chair, her feet dangling freely over the arm, and a small smile on her face. Resting on her stomach was the book A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. She recognized the scene from that past Saturday when she had caught Tristan watching her stare out the window. The picture looked to have caught her in the middle of looking at Babette chase after Spice.
Rory turned to Tristan and gave him an incredulous look.
Tristan went on. “Umm, this is a reflection of everything that I’ve learned Rory is. The book represents her intelligence, the way she’s sitting shows she knows how to relax and be carefree, the smile on her face as she looks out the window an indication of her love for the town that she lives in, and the people that live around her…”
Tristan continued talking for some time explaining every aspect of the painting he had created, going into technique and brush stroke, color and shading. Rory contributed nothing to the presentation save her shocked expression.
When he finally finished talking, Mr. Klein smiled. “That was very good you two. Now, if you could give me the report.”
Rory gathered her strength. “Actually sir…”
“…I have it in my bag…” Tristan finished for her, picking up his backpack and fishing through it before pulling out the assignment, “Rory left it at my house yesterday.”
Mr. Klein took the paper and thanked them both again as they went back to their seats.
When the bell rang, Rory met up with Tristan in the hall. She looked at him and could say only one word.
“Wow.”
“I was thinking about the fight we had last night, and you were right about most of it. My pride was hurt that you didn’t fall at my feet after that kiss. I didn’t want to think that maybe it was you getting over Dean. So I yelled at you. And blew things way out of proportion. This was my way of saying I’m sorry,” he explained.
“Your apologies are very good for my grade,” Rory told him.
“Well, it was my fault the project didn’t get done, I was the one who left.”
“I don’t think you’re a pimp,” Rory told him, the shadow of a smile on her face.
Tristan laughed. “That’s good, thank you.”
They continued to walk down the hallway in silence until Tristan finally spoke. “So here’s the thing. I think you’re right about the whole rebound thing. But that maybe if we take things slowly, it won’t be so bad.”
“Slowly?” Rory asked.
“Yeah, slowly. Like, can I hold you hand?” He asked the question so timidly, Rory almost laughed.
“I guess so.”
They moved their hands to gently embrace the others.
With his other hand, Tristan snapped his fingers. “Oh! I got you a gift, it was the real reason I was late to class today.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and handed the Rory. When she saw what it was, she stopped in her tracks and gapped.
“You got me the Marilyn Monroe Pez dispenser!”
“It took a lot of finesse on my part. You’re right, Casey is very protective of it,” Tristan told her.
“How did you do this? Oh my God! This must have cost you a fortune!” She cried.
“Well let’s just say that I’ll never again be able to look at another Pez dispenser without instinctively grabbing my wallet,” he joked.
Rory’s smile was wide. “Thank you SO much, this is amazing! I think I am going to name it Tristan.”
“You’re going to name Marilyn Tristan?” He asked, slightly amused.
“Yes, as a reminder of who bought it for me.”
“That just seems wrong,” he admitted.
“You’re blonde, she’s blonde. Tomato, tomoto, I say.”
He chuckled, “Well, if you say so.”
“I do.”
“Can I drive you home?” Tristan asked suddenly.
Rory scoffed, “With the money this must have cost you, I’m surprised you still have a car.”
Tristan let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulder instead. “Rory, I like you,” he said, steering her body in the right direction, “But I don’t like you that much.”
When they finally arrived at his car, Rory buckled her seatbelt and nestled into the seat.
Tristan put the key in and started the ignition. The radio automatically went on. The song playing was familiar to Rory.
~~I dream about a girl whose a mix of
Destiny's Child
Just little touch of Madonna's wild style
With Janet Jackson's smile, throw in a body like Jennifer's
You got the star of my liquid dreams~~(Liquid Dreams sung by O-Town)
Rory turned to Tristan and said seriously,
“You know, I really hate this song.”