Disclaimer: GG does not belong to me. If it did, there's no way that Paris would not be "doing adult things" with her professor. However, I do put small claim on the plot. Lyrics: "At Last" Eva Cassidy's Time After Time.
To all of my beloved reviewers: Wow, can I tell you how much I love you? I was positively giddy after receiving so many kind words of encouragement and support. Thank you so much! I realize that I made you wait an extra long time for this chapter, and for that, I beg your apologizes.
This chapter is specially dedicated to the members of TsTsK (Too Stupid To Sleep Klub) and the Plethora. Without them, I would never know the downfalls of the Stupid Joint, or that coffee creamer burns fluorescent blue and Jorge the Evil Pinata would be ruling in unchecked dictatorship. I could only hint at the crazy fun we had, but wow, those were the years!
Chapter 8:
At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
At last, the skies above are blue
And my heart was wrapped in clover
The night I looked at you
Paris closed the door firmly behind her roommate, leaned against the doorframe and let out a breath, feeling strangely weary and elated. The hug was still recent memory, lingering on her consciousness-she couldn't even recall the last time someone had willingly touched her, embraced her as a token of friendship or love; even her nanny never touched her beyond the requirements of her duties.
And Rory had freely hugged her-tightly, not a timid, polite gesture. And as weird as it sounded, she felt changed by it. Years of old hurts, rejections, and ugliness that had tainted who she was, seemed to be lifted away. The thought was so unbelievably silly and sappy that she almost wondered if there was an alien version of herself thinking those things.
A smile stretched across her face, she felt so...happy she couldn't stop it. Who would have thought that this would happen-that they really would become friends?
She shook herself out of her reverie. She had so much work to do and the lure of the quiet, empty room was becoming irresistible. She so rarely had the room to herself, with its blissful, productive silence that it felt wrong, letting it go to waste. She crossed to her desk and turned on the lamp, settling down with the many papers.
Twenty minutes later, she threw down her pen in frustration. In that time, she had written one sentence and read one paragraph four times without comprehension. She hated being unproductive, more so when she was unproductive for no reason. The quiet in the room was becoming, she hated to admit it, oppressive... She hadn't realized how much the mere presence of Rory had given life to the room, and now it felt stifling and claustrophobic. She couldn't hear any noises outside either-apparently the girls down the hall had (finally!) ceased arguing.
The phone rang shrilly at the moment, shattering the silence and deeply startling Paris. She jumped, her heart pumping hard against her chest. It rang again, and her pulse slowed as recognition of the sound set in-oh how she hated that thing!
She hesitated briefly, wavering between irrational fears of serial killers stalking her through the phone and the loathing of actually resorting to being Rory's answering machine, before deciding that she was being absolutely ridiculous. And if she didn't answer it, most likely, they'd just continue calling every fifteen minutes, destroying any peace. She lifted it from the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Yo."
She had only heard that voice a few times before, but she recognized it instantly. Besides who else would be calling?
"That's how you answer the telephone?? Where'd all the vocabulary go from those big books you read?" She replied dryly.
He stopped. "Rory?"
"Paris." She informed him.
"Ah." A pause followed, a long pause. "Rory there?"
"No."
He coughed. "Know when she'll be back?"
"No."
"Take a message?"
"I'll tell her you called."
"Yeah."
Another pause. "Been fun. Have fun-"
She cut him off before he could hang up. "So, I hear you gave Rory an ultimatum," she said coolly, trying to disguise her eagerness to hear his side of events.
"She tell you that?" There was nothing that she could read from the even tone.
"Yeah." There was just a hint of pride in her voice-oh, she was still reeling from being made Rory's sole confidant in the matter.
Confidant. She felt a twinge of conscience. Rory hadn't said not to say anything to anybody, but she might not appreciate it. Might not. Change that to most definitely not, particularly if she said something to Jess. Especially Jess.
She knew that Rory would never forgive her if she let slip how Rory felt about the tries-too-hard Bad Boy. She regretted opening her mouth and keeping Jess on the phone, why did she always do things like that? And now she'd have to spend the rest of their (hopefully brief) conversation watching her words, making sure that she didn't reveal anything. And she was never good with hiding secrets.
"Did she also tell you that I gave her the 'ultimatum' over a month ago and she still hasn't done anything." He demanded, sharply, breaking into her guilt fest.
No." She admitted, slightly taken back. She had to give it to the guy; he had persistence. She couldn't imagine telling someone to make up their mind and still hanging around a month later. "She says that you're her best friend."
"Great. Now we can get matching charm bracelets." He let out a long sigh of frustration and continued in a softer tone. "She's mine too. Doesn't mean that I don't want..." He trailed off.
"You still like her." She insisted over his ramblings, carefully making sure she didn't divulge too much. Of all the things that she pictured doing this afternoon, playing matchmaker was not one of them. She had no patience for things like this-
"And Goldilocks has a brain under those curls."
For the first time in her life, Paris reigned in the angry retort that threatened to fly out. She could actually sense the hurt and frustration behind his words and she felt an unexpected surge of pity. It didn't last long.
"It doesn't matter. I gave up. Moved on." He replied firmly in defeat, as if it were the only logical conclusion to everything.
"What, you're just going to drop Rory for the first ditz to go strutting by?" She snapped back, anger for Rory raging inside. The irony was too much: he'd given up, right when Rory decided to go for it.
"Why not?" He replied coolly. "She's interested."
"You're such a guy. So you've got a bimbo who's ready and willing to put out and it's been a long time since you've been laid, is that it?"
Jess laughed, a sharp, biting laugh. Laughing at her, his voice turned mocking and bitter. "Don't do slang, Paris, especially preppy slang. You barely know what half of it means."
She bristled. "Then let me spell it out for you. Sex? That's the only thing you care about? What would you have done if you had gotten Rory? It's not like she was going to be sleeping-"
"Yeah, already figured that one out. But thanks for the prying into my...what's it called... oh, yes, personal life."
She ignored him. Sure, he sounded furious, but she had spent enough of her life putting up facades to read behind them. All the same, she was rather glad that there was many miles between them. She reminded herself never to get on his bad side-he could certainly give her a run for the money on scariness. "You want my advice?"
"No."
"Too bad." She waved away his refusal airily. She really should stop asking that question, everybody always answered wrong.
"Then, why'd you ask?"
"Politeness, which you know I don't do. So shut up." She growled back. " You kissed her and then did the whole fall back, retreat routine. I never thought you were the coward type."
"You have it backwards." He muttered.
"No. She initiated it, but then you just let her go. What were you going to do, wallow all summer, then complain when she didn't write?" She hoped she didn't sound quite as idiotic as she thought she did.
"As you said, she's the one who started it. She fled, not me." He replied, but he seemed to be actually listening to her and the heated anger had died from his words.
"And she's the one with a boyfriend-she's got conflicted emotions! And now, you're making it even worse, going the friend route. You're now Jess the Buddy rather than Jess the Mysterious, Jess the Sexy-"
"Aww. You're making me blush." He laughed slightly, this time more relaxed and devoid of sarcasm. "I'm just the friend now, why-"
"Because that's not what you want and I'm willing to bet it's not what she wants, either. She's confused. Stop playing the resigned martyr and go get her." She encouraged. Sometimes it absolutely amazed her that people managed to get together, what with their pathetic abilities to actually do something productive and get the ball rolling.
"Thanks for the pep talk, coach."
She laughed. "Somehow had to do it. Do you know how pathetic it is that you guys are coming to me for love advice?"
"Rory too?" There was no denying the current of curiosity that ran underneath the casual tone.
Oh crap. She let more than she should have slip. She tried to keep her voice calm. "Um. Not really. No. We weren't even talking until a few days ago." Was it just to her ears that her voice sounded higher than normal. She prayed he didn't pick up on that... She was horrible at lying and sounding realistic.
"Yeah, I know." A pause, and thankfully he did not pursue that line of thought. "Why are you doing this?"
This wasn't that much better. She snorted. "Because Dean's a jerk? No, that's too strong. He's nothing. Maybe nice, but he's boring, blasŽ. He's a jock," which was explanation enough, "with Rory, they're like a white bread with butter sandwich. And Rory's not usually that bland, it's all Dean. She'd taste pretty good, but she needs some spices. But you, you're fresh cilantro... Served alone, you're overwhelming, but you bring out the best in her."
"Food metaphor, with cannibalistic overtones. I'd say Rory's rubbing off on you." That deprecating tone infused his voice, but he continued with deep intensity, "You think I'm good for her?" He sounded almost wistful, hopeful. She stifled a laugh. He was so love's slave.
"Maybe. You could be. And vice versa. Or maybe, there's just this morbid streak in me that wants to see how your freakish town reacts to the two of you dating."
"It's not my town." He growled.
"They seriously think that you're the bad boy. Please. Maybe you are trying for the James Dean look-alike contest, but really? You're not even close. Maybe Jason Priestly, with the leather jacket and brood."
"I resent that. I'm at least on The Outsiders level of bad."
"Maybe Ponyboy. But you're not even close to a Sodapop or...what's the name of the kid played by Matt Dillon?"
"Dallas."
"Him. You don't have the muscles, don't have the anger issues."
"You've only seen the movie?" He sounded affronted.
"Don't get all twisted. S.E. Hilton. Wrote it when she was 16, published in 1967, the first of her 'misunderstood rebel' teen novels. I bet you read her a lot, get tips on how to comb your hair and get the right slouch."
"And folks say you don't have a sense of humor."
"I don't. Who says I was being funny?" But she couldn't keep the twinkle out of her voice.
"Gotta go. Luke's calling. Tell Rory that... um, I'll talk to her in a few days."
"Fine. Just do me a favor. No Shannon, or whatever Slutty's name is."
"Shane?" He supplied, amused.
"Yes. Don't...go for her. Give things with Rory another chance."
"Maybe." But she could tell he was smiling thoughtfully. The phone went dead.
She hung it up, the blood pumping in her veins. She felt more exhilarated and alive than she had in a long time. She loved this-the bantering, the witty repartee. That was the Jess that Rory talked to, and she could see why Rory found him attractive. Heck, even she found him attractive-the right mix of atypical good looks, blunt and articulate at the same time, and not afraid of an argument. She could leave the "tall, dark and handsome" to the cheerleaders, they annoyed her as much as the pathetically shy and awkward. Which, she reflected, was probably the reason why she and Brad had gotten along so dreadfully at first, until he had finally opened up and exposed those hidden brains behind the stutter.
Jess had intrigued her since she had first met him at the medieval dinner last Christmas, although she highly doubted that he remembered their conversation-even then, the attraction and sparks had been obvious, he and Rory could barely take their eyes off of each other. It was no wonder that Dean had been his usual charmingly possessive and grumpy self.
The complete lack of desire to recreate the Tristan situation had been more than enough to prevent Paris from even considering pursuing Jess. Even now, had Rory decided to be safe and stupid and stay with Dean, she still wouldn't try (even if Jess had shown some interest, which was so unlikely, it was laughable. Jess had pretty much proven himself to be a one-girl guy).
But there was no harm in admitting to herself that she completely understood why Rory liked him. No, if it had been her deciding between Dean and Jess, there would have been no question about the outcome. And honestly, she couldn't completely understand why it took Rory so long to figure that out-if she had had that kind of hotness...
She laughed, the sound echoing uneasily in the room. She was starting to sound as boy-crazy as Louise and Madeline.
No, the truth was, when it came down to it, she could also see how right the two of them were for each other, which helped reign in the few small feelings of attraction that she might have. They balanced each other and connected...it hadn't taken that many overheard three hour long conversations to figure that out.
And strangely, she enjoyed this aspect of things, playing Yente to the misguided, being the best friend. She had never been on this side, she had never been on any side of the dating thing, and it was fascinating, watching the attraction and romance deepen. Now, if only Jess didn't do something idiotic...
She shifted on the bed, papers slipping over the edge onto the floor, reminding her abruptly of her project. There was no way she was going to get any more studying done tonight, not with her frantic and disorderly thoughts. It probably didn't even matter-scattered-brain Ms. Black probably wouldn't even notice that her paper was late-how she had gotten elected still baffled Paris. The woman barely knew what day it was, much less noticing her protŽgŽ. It had only been her strong sense of work ethic that had encouraged her to do anything in the first place.
It was getting late, anyway, past her routine 10:15 bedtime-she had discovered long ago that the best way to get rid of an endless day was to go to bed early. At least her dreams were interesting. But tonight... She wished that Rory was there-she wanted to talk. The silence was becoming oppressive again, an almost itching sensation.
She stood up abruptly. She had to get out of here-get a soda or run a marathon. Her eyes fell to the remaining pizza lying forgotten on the floor. She paused, a sudden idea seizing her. She grabbed the box and walked out the door.
Brad answered on the second knock, a smile stretching across his face. "Hey!"
"Rory and I got pizza, " she announced abruptly. "And there's leftovers. Do you want it? Otherwise, it's going to spoil and if I put it in the fridge, somebody will just steal it and it would have been a lot of effort for nothing." She stopped herself. For some reason, she always seemed to ramble more around him. She thrust the box towards him.
He took it, the smile widening. "I think I can get rid of it for you. You wanna come in?"
She trailed after him. Tad was there, playing something on his computer. He glanced up briefly to grab a slice of pizza and grunted a hello at her, before returning to his game.
She sat down on Brad's bed-once again, neatly made; he apparently wanted to defy the "men are slobs" stereotype. Tad's side, of course, was the end result of a hurricane.
Brad plopped down on his computer chair and swiveled towards her, stretching out his legs. She was suddenly struck with how... good he looked, wearing a well-fitted pair of jeans and a hazy blue shirt that seemed to bring out red highlights in his hair, not to mention the effects on his eyes. She had never noticed them before, but now, she was shocked by how blue and clear they looked, even under the fluorescent light. She had always considered him rather nerdy looking, maybe not as bad as the nerds from the eighties flicks, but definitely somebody who'd look right at home in a chemistry lab and the Chilton uniform accentuated that. And now.... well handsome might never describe him, but there was something definitely almost appealing about him. She studied him, her hands becoming slightly moist and an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in her stomach.
He waved a hand in front of her face and she started, heat spreading across her cheeks and ears. She shook her head at his slightly puzzled look and the blush intensified. She must be redder than a house on fire. What was wrong with her-first she had been slightly coveting Jess and now, she was positively swooning over Brad?
"How's your day?" she asked hastily, before he started asking her what was wrong. Her voice sounded high-pitched and semi-wobbly to her ears and she inwardly cringed. She had never asked anybody how their day was... he'd read through that in an instant.
If he had noticed her sudden bout of weirdness, he showed little sign of it. "Eh. Boring. Played go fetch for the big dawg, came back, finally got the wiring done and challenged Tad to a match on Age of Empires."
"Asian what?"
"Age of Empires." He corrected with a gesture toward the computer screen. "It's a game, where you lead an army into a new territory and try to take over. It's a little bit like a computerized version of Risk."
"Sounds like... fun."
'Spoken by one who has never discovered the joy of wasting away an entire afternoon in front of a computer."
"And one who never will."
"Never say never, Paris, or some might take it on as a bet." His eyes twinkled. Twinkled. She inexplicably felt like swearing. Twinkling eyes was supposed to be some kind of cheesy description that bad writers fell back on when the art of the craft failed them. But his had a definite light that sparked and danced across his irises when he smiled. Why on earth was she noticing all of this now??
"...So, whatcha say?" He broke into her thoughts, continuing a conversation that she could not recall one word of.
"What?" She barked, embarrassed at being caught once again pondering about him.
He didn't notice her aggressive tone. "I can teach you how to play, if you'd like. We're trying to get a tournament going, beginners welcome."
She shook her head, vigorously. "No...no, that's okay. Um, I'm interrupting and you, you should finish your game. It's late, I have a paper due tomorrow and I need to check on a resource-" She babbled as she moved from the bed.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. "No, stay. No computer games. We can do something else."
She stilled, completely forgetting why she had been leaving, the flutters in her stomach returning at his touch, his slightly rough and calloused fingers, sensitizing her skin. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He released her arm, seemingly relieved and a little anxious-her mood must have been contagious, for although he was (hopefully) unaware of the feelings that were darting around in Paris's mind, his eyes were darting around more, avoiding hers. "Okay."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Um, I-I don't know." He shuttered slightly. "I guess, we could watch a movie. I've got a DVD player on my computer."
"Okay."
"Lame idea, I know, but I can't think of anything better. I'm on the spot here... Charades? Ice Cream Sundaes?"
"A movie is fine." She answered quickly. That feeling was still there, lodged somewhere between her ribs and diaphragm. She couldn't look at him... She should just leave, get some sleep so that in the morning, everything would be normal. Normal. Right. Since this summer started, she wasn't even sure what normal was.
Brad was shuffling through a pile on OblivoBoy Tad's desk. "Um, we've got Gattaca, Men In Black, Fellowship of the Ring, season 3 of Red Dwarf, which is the by far the best, a couple of MST3K episodes-"
A snort interrupted him. He looked up to find her laughing on the verge of hysteria. "What?"
"Are there...any movies that... you own that aren't branded...geek??" She managed to choke.
He looked affronted and more flustered. "Gee, thanks, Paris."
She tried to reign in her laughter. "I didn't mean to insult you. But, seriously, do you own one movie that's not sci-fi?"
"There's The Princess Bride." He checked through the movie pile again.
"Fantasy. Doesn't count. You are a geek." She teased.
The offended look was still on his face. "Hey, I resemble that remark." The slow grin crept up his face, as he watched to see if she got the joke. "What's that old cliched saying? Something about a black kettle?"
"I'm not the one who just admitted that he knew the best season of Red Dwarf. Where's your Star Trek collection?"
"Okay, that's it. You asked for it. Just for that, we're watching Pod People."
"Pod People? Let me guess, it's about people from pods?"
"You jest, my lady, but before the evening is over, I shall have you singing the praises of Mystery Science Theater."
"Sounds like fun. Do you have any aluminum? I need to make sure that there aren't any aliens probing around in my mind." She couldn't resist getting in one more mocking comment.
"Ha ha. Keep that out and we'll be making it a double feature with Manos, the Hands of Fate." He threatened, loading the disk into his computer.
"I'm just so scared. I mean, I'll be hopeless, completely unable to get up and just leave."
"But you won't." He smirked in satisfaction as he sat down beside her. The bed sank as he shifted close to her, bringing the laptop between them.
She glanced down at his knees perched so close to hers. "No." she stated firmly, as if she were trying to convince herself. "No, I won't."
"Let Operation-Paris-Embraces-Her-Geeky-Side commence." He commanded in a deep voice, opening his arms wide.
"Just what I need." She laughed back. "You know this mission is destined for failure."
His eyes twinkled again, and this time...this time, she let herself be absorbed in them. Blue. She had always liked blue eyes.
"Chief."
"No."
"Aw, come on. Just once. Chief."
"No. The movie was bad enough without personally reliving it."
'Fine, if I can't get one McCloud out of you, I'm pulling out the big guns... It's quote time! 'Trumpy, you can do stupid things!'"
"I'm serious, Brad, if you quote one more line from that movie..."
"You'll what?" He taunted, a green gleam appearing in his eyes. "Do nothing? 'She's zestfully dead.' Come on, Paris, make good on your threat-o-nothin'. 'Bambi, humans are basically good.'" He mimicked in a high-pitched voice.
She reached across and slugged him. He fell against the statue, looking affronted. "Hey, you messed my performance! I was just getting started."
"You just ended. Do you know how wrong it is that you can quote that whole movie?"
"It's funny."
"It's unbelievably stupid."
"And you laughed through most of it. So hard, I thought you were going to fall off the bed." He poked her arm.
That feeling at his touch still lingered, but the intensity of it had faded. She shook it off. "That's unprovoked slander. You can't prove it." She hedged, a smile sneaking across her face.
She shifted, settling back into a more comfortable crevice of Albert Einstein's arm. At least it was no longer broiling hot, although the humidity hadn't lessened and the metal statue retained the heat of the sun. "I like it here," she stated abruptly.
"I knew you would. Despite your protests you're a nerd at heart." He teased. She grimaced at him, and turned away. Saying anything would only encourage him.
Tad had gotten off his computer near the end of the movie and had fallen promptly asleep. The rest of the show had been punctuated with his murmurs-he apparently talked in his sleep, a fact that Brad had ruthlessly taken advantaged of by the time the credits rolled. Tad awoke, irritated and grumpy, mid-sentence about his stuffed animals that he slept with at home and the two had fled the room in gut-breaking giggles.
Ignoring that voice of reason that suggested sleep might be a good and wise idea, she had readily agreed to his suggestion for a walk around campus. The awkwardness had disappeared, she was wide-awake and she hadn't really spent much time on campus.
The campus has gotten boring quickly...a lot of locked buildings. But their conversation, which varied from talking politics-his arguments, contrary to what prior debate matches had suggested, were well-thought out (even at one in the morning) and fact-based, which impressed her-to philosophical questions on what their thoughts appeared like, (although thinking about thinking had pretty much induced a headache), had certainly left her entertained-especially as the hour grew later and their conversation grew exponentially more silly. Who would have thought that Paris Gellar would be arguing that Buttercup was the best of the Powerpuff Girls? At three in the morning?
She wasn't tired, not yet. Oh no, she felt alive, exuberant, liberated, as if the steamy DC weather had loosened her rigorous nature that defined her, as if she drank wine with each laughing breath. How else to explain her childish behavior of engaging Brad in a water fight...in the middle of a fountain on campus? It turned into a tsunami-she was drenched, he was worse, and she had never had such fun. She thought that she was going to make herself sick from laughing.
Afterwards, their path had meandered through campus, veering towards the National Mall, and ended up in the small grove that housed the Albert Einstein Memorial, the one monument she had overlooked in her days playing tourist. They had walked around the statue, reading the quotes (Brad recited in a Donald Duck voice, destroying any sense of reverence that remained), connecting the stars on the ground-Brad swore that he could make out Homer Simpson, which led to another round of teasing him about his nerd status.
She leaned against Albert's arm, tracing out the "E=mc2 equation on the bronzed paper. "I hate him, you know," she suddenly admitted.
"Who?"
"Them. Einstein. Newton. Stephen Hawkins."
"You hate dead guys and one who's in a wheelchair?" He cocked an eyebrow, amusement playing across his face.
"I used to dream of becoming a great scientist, a researcher like Marie Curie. Or Rosalind Franklin. Finding the cure to cancer, or something else. Something great that I would be remembered for. And then one day, I woke up and realized that it would never happen. Not to me. I may be the smartest person ever at Chilton-and don't you dare let Rory's name pass your lips-but that just means I'm aware, very aware of how mediocre I'll be once I leave. I'm not an Einstein. Maybe I'm Rosalind, the tight unhappy woman who watched while some other know-it-all swept in and made it all look easy and walked away with the Nobel prize and all I'll get from it is a bad case of radiation exposure. When it comes down to it, I'm destined for a life of nothing."
Brad had remained quiet through her tirade, staring down at the stars, one leg dangling from his perch on Albert's lap. "That...that's not going to happen." His voice was deep, his eyes intent and serious. She felt his hand touch hers, then wrap around her fingers. "You are the most capable person I know, with determination that has never been seen before. You amaze me, the way that you know exactly what you want and how to get it. By the time you're finished making your mark, Paris, no one will remember that city in France."
She barely heard him. She stared down at their joined hands, aware of every point his skin pressed against hers. His hand was warm, slightly damp. Icy, little prickles shot down her wrist and the butterflies in her stomach turned into hummingbirds.
She knew that she should let go, gently remove her hand from his, somehow doing it without offending him. And this gesture meant nothing...a comforting move, nothing more. Brad was probably thinking of ways to take his hand away without hurting her feelings. There was no reason that she should keep her hand in his, or ever so slightly increase the grip of her fingers. No reason.
The conversation lulled, an uncomfortable pause pushing between them.
"You got plans for the we-weekend?" He tried to sound casual, the break in his voice betraying him.
She shook her head, not looking at him. "No, not really. Rory's gone."
"Um, well, then, I've got..."
"Oh crap." She interrupted. "I forgot. I'm going on that date with Jamie."
"Jamie?" His voice didn't change, but his hand was suddenly gone. Her hand felt cold, the print of his fingers burned into her skin. She snatched it to her chest.
"The intern that works with Rory. She set me up with him."
"I know. I th-thought you weren't going to go."
"So did I. But Rory wanted me to meet him, and I promised."
"Oh."
"It's just coffee. I'm bringing pepper spray in case he turns homicidal... It's nothing, really." She defended, trying to explain. Was he disappointed in her? For being soft and giving in to Rory's persuasion? "Why? This weekend, why do you want to know?"
His fingers fiddled with the edge of his shirt. "I...I have tickets to the Kennedy Center and wondered if you wanted to go."
"Tickets?"
"Yeah... they're putting on La Boheme. It's an opera."
"I know that."
"It's not a big deal. I can find someone else."
She shrugged her shoulders, thinking about it. She had never been to the opera; worse case scenario, she could just sleep through it. Rory would still be gone and she didn't want to spend the evening alone in that tiny room. "Sure. Coffee is only in the afternoon."
He looked up, hopeful. "Really?"
"Yes. I've wanted to see the Kennedy Center, it's one of the last places on my to-see list."
"Then I'll pick you up at 7, is that okay?"
"Pick me up?"
"Meet you at your room, I guess." He laughed nervously. She didn't, comprehension dawning a minute too late.
"This is...you just...you just asked me on a...date?" She squeaked.
The laugh died. "Um...something like that...I mean..." He sighed deeply, and fidgeted more with his shirt. "Look, you don't have to... Don't do something that you don't want to. You still have your get out of jail free card." His voice hardened to steel.
"That's not what I meant." She protested. "I said yes, didn't I? I just didn't realize..."
"Well, now you do. Yes or no, Paris? It's your choice. Don't feel like you need to accept."
"I told you, yes, okay? You're the one who sounds like you're trying to find excuses." She retorted angrily, sliding down the statue. "It's late. I need sleep." She turned and headed back towards campus with long strides the tall grass slapping at her ankles, unexpectedly feeling tears smart her eyes.
The journey back was silent and long. Painfully long-the several blocks seemed to taken hours to transverse. She was all too aware of the shadow beside her, although she refused to look at him. He was quiet, the contrast to their jovial journey down all too apparent.
Finally, the sidewalk opened up to the familiar grounds of Lafette Hall. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wiggled her key into the outside lock, and her knees were shaking.
"Paris." Brad spoke softly, reaching out to grab her arm.
She didn't say anything, holding the door slightly open.
He exhaled deeply and dropped his hand. "Look, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He chewed on his bottom lip. "I want...the ticket is still yours, if you want it." He offered lamely.
She was prepared to tell him off. The whole walk back, she formulated exactly what she was going to tell him, how she was tired of being treated like she was a kid in need of entertainment, a burden. And now the words melted away at his intense look. Exhaustion crept into her mind...she just didn't want to deal with this tonight and she had already said yes.
"Pick me up at seven." She opened the door and walked down the hall, ever looking back at him.
She readied for bed in a daze, her mind swirling unhappily and those jitters taking residence in her stomach again as she grasped what she had done. She had just agreed to go on a date. With Brad. Those feelings of attraction and excitement had faded away, and all she was left with was a sensation that felt a lot like the stomach flu. With a groan, she stretched out on her bed and smothered her face with her pillow. Now what was she going to do?
Paris stood in front her of her closet. She considered the clothing that hung there, a pensive and rather disturbed look on her face. Her closet, like so much of her life, was the epitome of efficiency. Shirts were neatly hanging next to ironed skirts, next to smooth, evenly pressed slacks.
She had so often scoffed at the girls whose clothes were their lives, spending hours shopping and trying on various items, making sure each morning that their outfits were perfectly coordinated with their belly button rings and then complaining about how such-and-such made their hips fat. What a waste of a life. To be fair, there were clothes that she wore a little more frequently because she looked good in them, surprisingly most stuff her mother had picked out. He mother, she grudgingly admitted, had a good and tasteful eye, although that didn't making the shopping excursions any less intolerable or boring. But clothes were useful necessities and little else. She prided herself on how she had never stood in front of a closet, bemoaning the act that she had nothing to wear.
Until today. She lifted a hand and listlessly pulled out a shirt. Much too casual. That red looked putrid-what had possessed her to even bring it? She had brought some tailored suits for the formal dinners, but they were much too business-like and severe.
Nothing. There was positively nothing that she could wear to an opera.
She groaned, and stamped her foot. Why had she even agreed to this madness? She didn't even like opera! Part of her wanted nothing more than to call him up and bluntly him that the whole thing was off. But there was that other part, that now-not-so-foreign-but-way-too-active part that had been discovered these last few weeks, that fought against those desires and held her back. At this point, it would nothing less than inconsiderate and mean, and she couldn't do it to him.
No, she'd go through with it and go on the date. One date. An actual date. A real date, with a guy who had not been put up to it by Rory. Yes, there was excitement there in her gut, mingling with the anticipation and completely dwarfed by the sickening anxiety and fear that threatened to overcome her every time she thought about it.
And it was here. In a few short hours, too short, she'd be on an actual date. It was strange how time had positively crept by yesterday, while she attempted to avoid Brad-she blushed horribly when she passed him in the hall and could barely stammer out a hello at his smile... And now today, when she wished that she could just avoid the whole thing for another year or two, the time was just flying by.
She was obsessing about it, she knew. But she couldn't stop thinking about it and the feelings of agony intensified. If only she could find something to wear! At least it would be one less thing to think about.
The phone rang.
She lunged for it, a welcome distraction-she was desperate for any other thought to occupy her.
"Hello," she barked.
"Hey! Paris!" The melodic voice was infused with friendship, warmth and excitement.
'Rory." She almost shouted her name as she sagged to the floor in relief, many of the resident butterflies dissipating instantly. The one person that she had been doing to talk to, the one person who could help and fix and fix all of this mess. "I'm so glad you called," she continued, with unexpected fervor and meant every word.
'How are things? How was your date? I'm so excited to hear all about it!" Rory gushed. There was a faint squeak in the background; Paris could picture her roommate perched on her bed, bouncing in anticipation.
She smiled slightly. "I haven't gone yet. The opera's at eight. Can you wear slacked to the opera or do I have to wear a skirt?"
"The opera? I thought you were going out for coffee."
Coffee? Oh coffee. She had forgotten that Rory had been left out of some of the events that night. "Coffee with Jamie? Right. Yes, already did that."
"And? How did it go?"
"He's a nice guy, you were right." She admitted, distractedly. From her position on the floor, she spied Rory's closet across the room. Perhaps there was something there...
"What did you talk about?" Rory pried.
"College applications." Rory hadn't taken any laundry with her but there was a chance that there was something clean.
"College applications? That's it?" Rory repeated, an incredulous note in her voice.
"Pretty much. He told me about Princeton, I asked him how many schools he applied to and somehow we never found out way out of the conversation."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's wasn't bad for a blind date. I was expecting much worse. I wasn't too awkward and I managed not to make a fool of myself. I even refrained from asking him about his SAT scores."
"Well that's good then. And you're going out again tonight, so it must have been better than you're suggesting."
"No. Not with Jamie. With Brad. I am going with Brad." She confessed impatiently, for the first time saying the words aloud. They didn't sound as bad as she had feared they would. I am going out with Brad, she repeated silently, and the fluttery ache returned.
"That sounds nice. Wait, as a date?"
"Yes. I think so."
'With Brad?" And there was no mistaking the blatant disbelieve in her tone.
"Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?" She demanded harshly, wishing that she had never told the girl, if this was the response she was going to get. She should have known, that all of the words of friendship were just that-honeyed words and nothing else. In truth, Rory felt exactly the way she had before and her reaction now proved it.
"It's not," Rory spoke over her bitter thoughts, "It's great. Really. But I didn't think that you liked him like that."
"I don't," she admitted shortly. But some of that burst of anger drained away. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Rory really did mean it. She wondered if she would ever get to the point where she could completely trust that their friendship was real. "I mean... I don't think so. But we were talking last night, and he asked and I said yes, not thinking it was a date. But it is, and I don't know what to do. It was bad enough with Jamie, but Jamie was a fluke, he probably mistook me for someone else. But this, I was there, he asked me. On a date. To my face. I keep going over the conversation to see what his motives were. I don't think I looked desperate, but maybe I did and didn't know it. Likely, I sounded pathetic and lonely and he was just taking pity on me. Maybe-"
"Stop with the jumping, kangaroo." Rory broke into her rambles. "You know why, silly."
"No, I don't."
A long and frustrated sigh carried over the line. "Sometimes, it amazes me how you can be so smart and so dense at the same time. He likes you. As in likes you."
She couldn't overlook the emphasis that Rory put on the word. "That's... No."
"Fine. I tried the clueless thing for a while, guess it's your turn. But honestly, Paris, think about it. Would it really be that bad if he did?"
If it was possible, now she felt even more anxious about this evening. This was not helping. "How are things in Sleepy Hollow?"
Rory sobered instantly. "Hard. I told Mom everything. She didn't even talked to me until last night."
"She was that angry?" Paris replied in disbelief. Lorelai not talking was a form of livid she had never seen.
"She's not angry, exactly. I could deal with that, I think. We'd yell it out and things would be okay. She's...hurt and upset and a little angry on top of that."
"I don't understand why she's so upset. You didn't do anything that bad."
Rory yelped, "Um, I cheated on my boyfriend and lied to him and my mother about it."
"So? On the scale of evil, your wings may have lost some glow, but it's not like you did drugs or slept with Jess. I've lied to my mother about worse."
"I've never lied to Mom, ever. Once when I was six, I took some money from my piggy bank and bought a chocolate bar, even though she had told me that I couldn't have one. I felt so guilty that I threw it away and told her as soon as I could find her."
"And science has now confirmed that there exists a person with too much morality."
Rory didn't laugh. "Do I? That's what Lane says too, but she's got lying down to a cultured art. I don't think she's ever told her parents the complete truth. Mom never used to doubt me. Now, every time, she's going to be wondering if I'm hiding something."
"You should be! It's part of the teenage job description, along with shouting and slammed doors and pouring wounded secrets to 'Dear Diary' about how 'mom just doesn't understand me'." She mocked, continuing, "Better find a diary, Rory. Somehow, I don't think Lorelai wants to hear about your make-out marathons with Jess."
Rory grumbled, "She's not going to get the chance, the way things are going."
"What do you mean?" Paris questioned, her mind flashing to the previous conversation with Jess. He hadn't already gone after that floozy; if he had, she'd kill him.
"I haven't seen him! Luke's is closed."
"Closed? Why?"
"I don't know! Nobody knows. I went to yesterday and the doors were locked without a note. They're not in town, and I don't think it's a bonding fishing trip." She paused, a lingering note of hope vibrating in her voice. "Has he called?"
"Thursday, the night you left. Not since then. Sorry."
"Did he say anything? Where he was going? When he'd call?" She demanded breathlessly.
"No, not really. We really didn't talk about that."
"You talked to him? About what?"
There it was again, that feeling of panic for saying too much. This was one of the social graces that her mother had never even attempted to teach her. She hesitated for the briefest of moments before answering honestly. "Nothing much. SE Hilton. How much we hate Dean." Should she tell Rory the rest of the telephone exchange? Finding out that there was a remote (extremely remote, really) possibility of another girl would do nothing more than freak Rory out.
But she always didn't want to hide anything either. Things had been going so well with the honesty policy... She opened her mouth, but before she could continue, Rory sighed deeply. "Sounds like you bonded. I didn't know what to say anyway."
"What? Rory, you've never been able to shut up around him."
"I know, but it's different now..." She continued in a tiny voice. "Do you really think he likes me?"
"Yes." Thursday's dialogue had certainly proved that.
"But-"
"Yes, silly. You made up your mind, that's what he was waiting for. Next time you see him, just grab him and kiss him senseless and I think he'll get the idea. You seem to do pretty good with that." Paris replied, wryly.
Rory giggled. "I'd like that, but I think we're going to need to talk a little first this time."
"Spoilsport. Always thinking with that left brain matter."
"That's me."
They were quiet for a moment. 'Mom just got home." Rory broke in. "We're doing a Mel Brooks marathon. I'd better go and sure that The Bride of Frankenstein is not one of the choices."
"Why?"
"Gene Wilder is in it, playing the crazy scientist. Willy Wonka just ruined him for any other character."
"The logic of a Gilmore," Paris baited.
Rory ignored her. "And you need to finish getting ready. When do you leave?"
The date. "I completely forgot." Paris moaned, checking her watch in a panic. "He's going to be here in 22 minutes, and guess what? I still have nothing to wear."
"Dig in my closet, you're welcome to it all... I brought a couple of dressy skirts that I've never used. Try the light pink one, with the little frilly thingies on the bottom. It's my favorite."
"And maybe I can put flowers in my hair too!" She mocked.
Rory picked up on the tone. "Too girly?"
"Way too girly. I'd look like a Barbie doll. I don't wear pink." That had been one of her first acts against rebellion against her mother-refusing with cold eyes rather than tears to put a fluffy pink creation on. Her mother had backed down with crocodile tears of her own and moans of how she "just couldn't control the child." Paris smiled grimly; it was a rather good memory.
"But you could. You'd look good in pink."
"Yeah, sure." She scoffed with a shudder.
"No, I'm serious. Remember when we first came here, and you said that this summer was going to be different. Nobody knew you, it was going to be a fresh start."
"Yeah, that was stupid. It obviously didn't work."
"Yes, it did! I mean, look at you, you have two dates in one day. That didn't happen to the old Paris, did it?"
'I didn't change, Rory. You know that and Brad knows that too. If I dress up, we'll both know that it's just me playing make-believe. He'll see right through me."
"Maybe you didn't change, not really. Maybe that Paris was already there, just being overshadowed by the domineering Paris. And maybe even deeper than that is "I wear pink skirts with confidence" Paris. Layers! You've got layers like an onion! You're like Shrek!"
"You'd better leave the psychoanalyzing to the professionals, shall we?" She replied, dryly. That was a comparison she could have done without-just what her self-esteem needed, being told that she was like some green creature.
"Fine. Mom thought it was a great analogy. I'm just saying..."
"I get the picture. Maybe. I don't know." She waffled, not wanting to refuse off hand.
"In any case, I think you're down to 17 minutes, so I really have to go. And Paris?"
"Yeah?"
"Have fun. I mean it. Forget it's a date. It's Brad, and before anything else, he is your friend and just have fun with no worries or freak outs or anything. You deserve it."
She was touched. "I'll try."
The goodbyes were quick after that. Paris hung up the phone and moved towards Rory's closet, pulling out the outfit she had recommended. The thoughts lay thick and heavy in her mind, she couldn't even sort out how she was feeling or thinking. She slipped into the skirt, followed by a matching, soft shirt, and slide white sandals onto her feet. Pulled her hair back to hang loosely down her back. Touched a little mascara and shade to her eyes, smeared gloss on her lips. Stared at her reflection.
She looked...different. Definitely not her, and yet... Softer, a little more feminine, the blouse and skirt finding curves that she hadn't even known existed. Sure she had dressed up before-for the parties that her mother insisted that she attend, for her one-and-only date with Tristan, but then, the clothes had felt uncomfortable, fit wrong, and in general, she had looked ridiculous. A wooden puppet trying to pass off as a princess. But now... it almost felt right. And that, more than anything frightened her.
She reached down blindly, almost desperate to get rid of the clothing, when a knock sounded, stopping her fingers. Brad was early. Three minutes early.
Her knees shook and for a long moment, she couldn't move. Then, slowly, mechanically, she crossed to the door and opened it.
Brad stood there, a petrified look plastered on his pale face. He was dressed in a suit, hair slicked back, the same sort of attire that he wore every day at Chilton. He looked as ill at ease as she felt, which for some reason comforted her. At least, they could both be absurd together.
He smiled when he saw her, some of the nervousness draining from his face. "You look nice," he complimented, without a stutter, although his cheeks stained beet-red promptly after.
"Thanks," she replied shortly, unable to think of anything else to say.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, just let me grab my keys." She turned back to the room.
He stood awkwardly in the hall and as she closed the door and locked it, spoke softly. "I th-thought you were go-going to cancel."
Paris slowly took the key out of the lock as she contemplated how to respond. She met his eyes. "So did I."
He blushed brighter, and crooked an elbow towards her, an understanding look crossing his face. "Shall we?" He recovered, with a gallant dip of his head.
She slipped her arm through his, a giggle bubbling up inside where those flutters had so recently lived. Everything felt ordinary again. Brad was still just Brad and she was going to have fun. "Indeed."
Together they walked down the hall.
Technical A/N: You may not have noticed, but I completely edited and reorganized the first chapters of this story. Two chapters merged with two other chapters, Jess got a personality lift, etc. I'm not sure how much better the changes are, but they made me sleep a little better. Anyway, this may cause problems for those who previously signed reviews for 8 and 9. If ff.net tells you that you already reviewed, please send comments to me at [email protected].
Only two more chapters remain (sniff!) and I am working on them as hard and as fast as I can. Please be patient with me... My classes are extremely busy, and I have the Boards (the big tests in medical school that I have pass in order to go on...and they pretty much determine which kind of doctor I'll become) coming up shortly, for which I have to study. This story will be completed by July, but that's the best I can promise you. I really appreciate your patience.