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Chapter Twelve: Hand Down the Cookie Jar, Caught With Her Shirt Down (part 1)

I'm definitely not known as a troublemaker.

That statement defines who I am and how I feel I need to come off. I don't mean it in the academic sense however, that's probably what you're thinking, given the history I have of trying to stay atop Chilton's pecking order and keep Rory from overtaking me. I mean in general, I try to stay away from trouble and the consequences that come with it. That means staying away from the gossip circles and behaving like the good girl Sharon has expected me to be, ever since the first hint she had of me as a toddler having advanced motor and critical thinking skills.

Besides that, being bothersome has one major side effect, and that's spending time away from the books and falling behind on my schoolwork. You know that one day I fall behind I'm sure to have an aneurism from getting off track.

There's also the matter of my mother's punishments when I was child. I got in Daddy's study once when I was four for example. Dog days of summer, not much to do because Sharon was too paranoid to let me near a pool despite the begging and pleading of my father and Francisca. "What if she has an ear infection?" she'd whine at them, and even if their response was they'd have a lifeguard on staff ready to jump in when I struggled, I couldn't swim because of her. So I was left to wander the mansion during a relieving 'recess' from a tutor Sharon had hired for me over the summer, and I snuck away from Nanny when she wasn't looking. I made a beeline for the study and his desk, where a $1000 Montblanc desk set sat at the edge, two pens, calling to me to use them for expressing myself.

"I'm gonna draw a doggie!" I said to myself excitedly (making my inner adult at the time cringe), running into the room and then taking a spin on the big leather chair where he sat. I grabbed one of the pens from the set, and started to draw on the first piece of paper that I could find.

Being four however, how was I supposed to know that the paper I used to draw my malformed canine was a national Parke-Davis distributor's contract that had been hard fought by my father to win and took four days of wining and dining to convince the owner to sign? It was paper, paper was meant to be drawn on, and draw I did. First on the paper, and then when I got bored, on myself. I drew my name on one arm, and then some squiggles all over the expensive blouse Mother bought me for an outing we would have later on in the evening. Once I found out the pen could be disassembled and there was a lot of ink contained within the cartridge, I was gone. I broke it open, played with the ink inside and spread it all over the place, the contract, the blotter, along the sides of my skirt and blouse, and into my hair and all over my face. I never admitted it, but I liked being messy playing with that pen. Dare I say it, drawing the picture and being all inky was fun.

However, Mother saw it a completely different way. She was walking around the Manor looking for me after trying to tear Fran up because she wasn't paying full attention to me, and when she passed the door and saw me inside with pen ink all over me, she was livid.

"PARIS EUSTACHIA GELLAR! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her eyes popped out and she sneered at me like the wicked stepmother in Cinderella.

Even then, I was a wise-ass, playing cute and coy. "Daddy and I don't believe in Hell Mommy, we're Jewish, remember?"

Angry, she whipped across the room, and started giving me a lesson I'd never forget. "I'll teach you to give me lip young lady, you don't play with your father's office supplies."

"But I drew you a doggie picture--"

SLAP! Right across my face as I tried to give her a gift of my love. I can still feel the sting of that first slap to this day, her sharp-tipped nails scraping across my cheek and the impact of the heel of her hand burning through the skin to make me wail in pain. She then grabbed at my wrist, leaving me little time to react between that slap and the start of my crying.

"I thought I told you that you would study today," she reminded me, her hand wrapped around my wrist so tight I thought I could feel the bone curve unnaturally. "You aren't supposed to be drawing, that's not for kids like you. Go read Ivanhoe, you have Mr. Cullen testing you on that Friday."

"But I wanna go swimming!" I cried as I was forcibly dragged from the room.

"You can't swim!"

"You don't know that Mommy!" I held the contract tight in my hand, and when she saw it, she got even more livid.

"What the fuck is this you little whippersnapper?" She grabbed it out of my hand and looked at the formerly legal document. "I hope you know what you've just done."

Of course I didn't know, hello, four-year-old. I was crying, the pain from her gripping my wrist numbing my hand because of cut-off circulation. "I'm sorry, I'll make it good, don't hit me--"

She slaps me again, this time on the other cheek. "Your father is going to kill me, thanks a lot. You know he can't get this contract resigned without another meeting!" She dragged me kicking and screaming into my bedroom, and then threw me hard against the footboard of the bed. "Get on the bed and lift your skirt. NOW!"

Please don't, please, pretty please? I knew what she was about to do, seeing as I heard about it from Louise after she got into her mom's Chanel No. 5. Only Mrs. Grant didn't spank Louise very hard and she did it with the pants or skirt on. I was mortified, embarrassed, but still defiant. I flopped onto the bed and crossed my arms over my chest, lowering my lip and pouting.

"NO!" I said through my tears, "You can't make me!"

"I most certainly can. I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it!" I think you should probably know at this point there was a half-liter of Stoli, along with 3 rum-and-Tabs in her. Yeah, big shocker there, my mom an alcoholic.

"Get your ass out here now and take your lickin'!" I pushed even deeper on the bed, trying to stay away from her and sighing in relief that her precious heirloom breakables surrounded it. We eyed each other up like boxers, my face stung on both sides, a deep bruise muddied by the ink of the pen at the wrist-hand junction. I wasn't going down without a fight. I hid beneath my blankets, keeping up a struggle as she tore the sheets away from me and onto the floor. She tugged hard at my leg, so hard that she got my shoe and sock off in one try. I screamed out loud for Daddy and Fran, desperate to get out of the situation. "MOMMY'S HURTING ME! HELLLP!" Another swipe at me that just barely missed.

"You're gonna be grounded if you don't let me punish you," she screamed like a banshee. She found herself on the other side of the bed, it was time to make my move. I jumped off the bed and slid under, starting to hear the pitter-patter of Allen Edmonds wingtips and work shoes coming towards my bedroom. Both Daddy and Nanny arrived at the same time, wondering what the ruckus was.

"Sharon, what on Earth are you doing terrorizing Paris?" Daddy asked, his voice seething.

"She was playing with your stuff on the desk, she needs to be punished. You should look at her, she's covered up in pen."

"So?"

"That was my Passover gift to you dear, that cost me a pretty penny."

Yeah, his pennies, I thought, already onto the fact of her 'snuck loans' from Harold's bank account. "That's no cause to punish her, she's a kid--"

"She ruined your contract, look at this!" Peeking out from under the bedskirt scared for my life, I watched her hand the paper to him. I was expecting them to tag-team me on a spanking.

Instead, he laughed. "Aww, look Francisca, she drew a dog. Not much of a dog, sort of a Dalmatian from the smudges, but it's very cute." He handed the paper to the woman who was really raising me, and she smiled too. "Your daughter is very creative, sir," she said in her then heavy Portuguese accent.

Mother looked at them incredulously. "She broke your pen, you shouldn't be rewarding this Harold. She needs to learn a lesson that it's not OK to play around with other people's things."

"Nonsense, she's fine. It's a pen, I can always get another one, and we can always get another outfit for her. A bath and a refrigerator magnet holding this up on the fridge, and little Par will be good as new." I watch him seem to roll his eyes at her. "As for the contract, this was my own personal copy; you haven't heard of carbon paper? The office has the original, I'd never bring that home myself."

"Still, the principle of the matter--"

"Is that Paris is creative, better that than drilled to death in those ridiculously boring sessions you force her in." Smiling, he bent down and began to overrule all the punishment Mother had tried to dole out. "Dear, you can come out, no one will hurt you anymore."

"Are you sure?" I asked timidly.

"The only thing you need to do is change into your robe, bring your clothes downstairs, and then head for the bathtub. I just want you to know that if you need to draw again, Fran can provide you paper, pencils, pens or crayons, Daddy's desk in his office is his drawing table and he needs it clean."

"Mommy won't bruise me anymore?" I was freaked out at her getting back at me. I pushed out from under the bed, and the dark red slap marks and bruises were very clear as he tenderly brought me out to try to keep the pain from flaring up.

"She certainly won't or else, will she Nanny?" His voice was gruff and demanding, accusatory against my mother. She reeled back, knowing that causing me any more harm was on the level of her cheating on him. It would be an unforgivable offense, something that would make him give up his love for her.

"I will not let her, I know how to keep little Par well-behaved without this violence sir. Mistress Gellar, I'm appalled by your handling of the situation, you know much better than that." They both took a look at me and tried to keep some built up laughing to themselves at my dog picture, which was annoying Mother to no end. This was supposed to be her chance to shine and make a difference, but I couldn't look her in the eye anymore. She had harmed me, and it would take a couple of months for her to get back into my good graces.

"Can't I ground her? She destroyed your office set!" she whined. My father shook his head and asked me to take Nanny's hand.

"Honey, just let it go, it's a pen." I brought my gaze to Mother, who actually seemed disappointed that she couldn't punish me. Her stature was strained, face neutral, but more curved towards thinking of me as a pain in the ass. I still wanted to make things right though.

"I'm sorry Mommy, I won't do it ever, ever again." I meant every word of my apology, because I certainly never wanted to be hurt like that in the future.

Her hazel eyes were cold towards me, and for the first time I saw that I had disappointed her, that she was angry because she couldn't play the mother role she never knew well.

"God, whatever, do what you want. I have to call the florist for the Jaycees ball next week." She began to stomp out of the room and I asked her what was happening with the outing from later.

"You should've thought of that before you got all messy dear." She left the room, and a collective sigh could be heard from Daddy and Fran, though I was sad because she was abandoning me.

"Paris, chip up," Daddy said, lifting me into his arms and putting a kiss on the top of my head. "She's just a little mad right now, she'll be over it soon. You can call Lou over and watch Care Bears and Jem videos after your bath if you'd like."

"Really?" Just like that the trouble I was in was forgotten. "Nanny, can we have popcorn and juice too?"

"Anything you'd like dear, now let's get you cleaned up." With that, the pen incident became but yet another anomaly in the history of my life.

At this point though, it became hammered into my head to expect the worse possible punishment when it came to getting into trouble, so I did my best to stay out of it. Here and there Sharon managed to catch me doing something bad and doled out her own sentence with her words and her hands, until that point when I was ten and my father caught her in the act of slapping my hand with a backscratcher because Louise and I got into her vanity and makeup. It's gone down considerably since then, but I'm still scared to death to get myself into a pickle, lest Sharon find out and tell me I don't deserve my last name and that I'm a shame to her family.

Why do I bring this entire tale of a pen and a mess up here at this point? I'm mortified to say anything, but thus I will, confession is said to be good for the soul, no matter how much you want to keep what you have to say inside.

It's just too bad that confession had to come so suddenly. I'm still trying to wrap myself around the fact that what Rory and I have is no longer a covenant between only the two of us, with vague details going to Ms. LaCosta here and there to keep her posted. What happened has only given me a better respect for the safeguard that is the locked door.

For as of now, Rory's mother knows that we are romantically involved. I'm in their living room, sitting next to Rory with a stinging swoon in my stomach, the both of us looking at Lorelai as she tries to summon up the strength to accept us for who we are, and Rory for who she now is in general. Ninety minutes before I felt like I did once Mother discovered me playing with that pen in the study thirteen years ago, guilty and scared for my life, freaked because with just a few well-placed words, Lorelai could decide she doesn't want me anywhere near her daughter and forbid me from seeing her ever again. Sure, the talk before this was soothing, but you don't know...

Actually, you don't. I better start describing what led to this point, it's quite a tale that you cannot accept without filled in blanks in quite a few places.

* * * * *

The relationship I had with Rory has been doing about as good as it can be under the hidden circumstances and mountains of excuses used to be close together. After the successful date last Saturday night, Sunday was spent on both our ends catching up on schoolwork and Franklin stories. We both decided to trade notes via instant messaging, thinking phone-to-phone would stress out our anytime minutes, and that our private thoughts would remain just that, hers contained in the blue shell of her iBook, mine inaccessible through 128-bit PGP encryption.

We ended up talking online until about eleven o'clock, when I had to force myself away from the keyboard because of tired eyes. All of our work was finished, and after nine we were chatting about just things, the vague things that excite the both of us, public television documentaries, opera and the like. It felt good to be able to know she wouldn't roll her eyes if I ever took her on a day outing up to Boston for a museum tour. I also loved how much she wanted the IMAX dome format to stay in the domain in documentaries and stay away from big box office films being shown on the tall, 72 foot screen. It wasn't one of those Madeline-like conversations where every other word was just one letter and in a rebus code that I could barely make out (CU L8r? Coup labor? What on earth was she trying to say?), the lines just kept filling up and up, and about the only thing that would tip the log from being academic were the occasional kiss smilies and 'roses' she'd send my way in a moment here and there. I know nothing of this net-talk, so I'd type out 'accepts rose' and feel like a weirdo typing it out. Somehow I think a trip to the bookstore for a book specializing in this new foreign language will be needed.

The last week in school also wasn't that easy. I showed some more caution throughout the week, while at the same time trying to ramp up the innuendo to a higher level, the both of us. There was something involving her putting the chopsticks she ate with at Lady Sing's Monday morning in her hair, and my making a detour to a forest preserve near Chilton so I could play with her hair and make out with her before school. God, I should be slapping myself for being so off-focus lately, especially because the first thought when I walked into Luke's and saw her hair in a bun wrapped around the sticks was I want to leave a mark on that pale neck of hers. Remembering how I ran my fingers against her neck, and her moans of approval drove me further into a funk that's getting harder to crawl out of every day.

Then we cut to Wednesday afternoon in the student government meeting, when Francie wanted to have all of us sell fashion magazines instead of chocolate and candy for fundraising. "Seventeen and Primedia offered us a double match on each subscription contract we can get," she would tell us, and for a moment I actually thought of going ahead with the plan.

"Alright Jarvis." Rory started her argument sweetly, and I thought nothing about it, this is complacent Rory we're talking about here. No way would she hit below the belt.

"I guess you can be the one to ask all the men of Chilton, and the football, baseball, basketball, soccer teams 'Hi, I'm with Chilton's student government and I'd like to offer you America's #1 magazine for the best in fashion, shopping, and sex tips for the teenage girl, along with the occasional real-life drama piece. You'll only pay $9.95 for a year of the best photoshoots of your favorite male celebrities, like Brad Pitt, Orlando Bloom, and Andy Roddick.' Because you know, guys find other guys and the best savings on a peasant blouse and the reddest lipstick so dreamy." Her voice went from kind in the beginning to a rough snarl. Her look towards Francie was like something I never saw before, a fiery hate, one that was totally different from when her and I ended up in an argument together. She then went on to say there were quite a few girls in the school that would take offense to being offered such a magazine, like the jockettes and the cliques into darker things like Gothism or cars.

Francie bit her tongue, and struggled for something to say; how do you exactly respond to being dressed down by Miss Nice like that? "Well, uh, er...I don't know. I just thought..."

"That's your problem, you didn't think over the idea at all. We'd lose half of our fundraising if we went with it!"

"What about if we offered Maxim or a comic book, Sports Illustrated--" Again, Rory was ready to cut her down.

"Nice job, cutting down guys to wanting only two things, sex and sports. Why don't you just offer Playboy and cut out the middleman?" My thought at that moment? Anger and Rory make a good combination, fuck. Nice job dressing down Jarvis, that is just, whoa! The boys sitting at the table laughed, one of them making an off-hand comment that they would buy if Francie was the centerfold. No, not a thought I needed in my head. Though it did make me think of Rory on the bearskin rug pouting at the camera...

"But I was just suggesting--"

"Suggest better next time, the idea needs much more work, wouldn't you agree Paris?" She moved her gaze towards me, and she smiled at me in the way that melted my heart. Just what I didn't need, being reduced to a lovesick pile of goo in my most important Chilton chairmanship, my heart is definitely softening around her.

I nodded and gave the lamest agreement ever in my student government career. "Yeah, needs more work."

Francie looked defeated, and slumped down into her seat, embarrassed by being outwitted by Rory. "Uh, just table it then, I didn't do enough research on the idea obviously. Sorry for wasting your time on this." She shirked down in her seat and for the rest of the meeting, Francie and Rory exchanged dirty looks, sighing whenever one had the opportunity to speak up. I couldn't seem to get the reason for this sudden antagonism against her out of Rory at all on the way home, no matter the tactic I used to get an answer out.

"It's nothing, she's just being Francie, you know she gets off on flustering those she could never beat. Anyways I was right about the idea cutting out half our revenue from fundraising, wasn't I?"

"Yes," I agreed, "but you don't usually tell someone their idea is dumb because they didn't think it out."

"My mom taught me to speak my mind, and that's how I called it. I'm sorry if you hated it hon."

"I didn't hate it," I admitted. "I like it when Francie gets taken down a peg, I just never expected it from someone other than me or Charleston."

I watched her smile as she placed her hand along my knee, something which soothed me. "I'm just trying to defend your agenda, trying to give you a break once in awhile. I'm learning from you and I just can't help it, Francie blamed the both of us for her undoing when it was her stupidity of leaving a note next to her locker a janitor found on the ground tipping the administration off to the bell ceremony. That and I can't understand how she got the senior chair, I chose Thomas Hammond and you did too."

"You don't know?" After five months you think she would've known. "Hammond gave his votes to Francie after they had a meeting of the minds." I'm such a prudish gossip, I know, but I don't even want to imagine what that redhead does to maintain her popularity.

"A meeting?" Rory seemed innocent at first, and it took a sly nod of my head for her to get it. "Oh, that kind of meeting." Cringing, she shuddered at the thought of those two 'meeting'. "Now I know why she seemed a little glowy in her thank you speech."

"Wasn't from the sun, that's for sure."

"How'd you find out, you don't usually gossip."

"Madeline let me know with a promise not to reveal and embarrass Tom."

"Oh, then I won't tell," she promised, relaxing into the seat. "I have a better secret to keep anyways."

Funny she would say that, because keeping our secret was starting to get tougher. Later that evening was an early visit with Dr. Birnbaum (she's pretty much on call if I feel the need to talk as long as she has 48 hours notice, and I really needed to talk), and like I promised Rory when I freaked out last week in Russian Novels, I decided to confess, though through a tougher track full of leading questions that made my therapist understand deeply why I was falling for a girl. It took two hours to get through the session, an hour longer than usual, and several times I actually ended up breaking down as I let the trusted woman advise me on what to do next, begging her not to say anything. She said she wouldn't, and the poor woman is such a dear for having to put up with my worst ever since I fell into a deep funk after the abrupt end of my dance career.

Dr. Birmbaum gave me her word that what is said in her office stays in her office, and I know from experience she doesn't even talk about work at all when she's off the clock. She really understood where I was coming from, and it was one of the most intense sessions that I've ever had with her as I voiced doubts about Mother cottoning to me being a lesbian. It's always been tough talking about my mother, but suddenly with that influence suddenly gone because of Mohegan Man and his distractions, I feel freer to talk things out, be it with Rory or Birmbaum. It's better knowing they won't say anything than to go to Louise and pray it stays between us.

I couldn't talk to Rory over the weekend because the Inn had a rare Saturday/Sunday two wedding combo she had to help Lorelai out with, while I had a Daughters of the Civil War commitment to fulfill on both Saturday and Sunday. I hate DCW, not the actual organization, but how my mother has turned it from philanthropy and service, into her own personal clique that froze out the older and more respected members of the organization in Hartford, and brought it into a shadow of what it used to be. There have been rumors of the branch having to declare bankruptcy because my mother is spending more money than they're bringing in from all the events they sponsor because they're in this lame competition with the DAR for society page supremacy.

It was hard to get through those two days; Vance Beardsley III was helping me out and kept looking at my chest like my eyes were actually there each time he passed. I ignored him the best I could and took comfort in the few texts Rory sent to my cell saying she was still thinking of me through the chaos of her weddings. I could only grin and bear it through it all, thinking of Rory in the purple gown she was wearing for the Sunday wedding, and how beautiful in my thoughts she would look wearing it. Several times one of the DCW ladies had to get my attention to fall out of my daydreaming, and the activities of the weekend because a slow drudge to today, when finally I would have my Rory back again.

* * * * *

Thank goodness for Harvard, for it brought us back together again this afternoon after Franklin work. The Academic Trinity is coming up; the three things that will define where Rory and I will be in August. The SAT, the ACT, and all the various interviews for each college, they're all important, and after having a dream where I bombed during my Harvard interview last night, I thought it a good idea to ask Rory for some help with some rehearsed questioning lines I had written out.

"I've been thinking the same," she admitted, turned on to the great idea of us comparing and toning our answers to be appropriate. "When I was with the Springsteens they suggested I make sure my questions were tuned to the admissions director, and someone should help me out. I tried it with Mom, and well, you can only imagine how that went." She half-smiled and sighed.

"Three minutes before her James Lipton impression came in?" I guessed.

"I really can't see the AD asking what my favorite curse word is."

"Me either." I smiled, able to have a familiar face besides Fran (or Louise's lame Basic Instinct strategy) to help me out with the interview practice. "So the house is all yours?"

Rory nodded, and though my first thoughts were of how we could use that alone time in other ways other than rehearsal, I pushed them back in my head. Stop you, I told my inner self, you can handle a situation like this, it's completely academic. Just focus, you have to get into Harvard, so do this without thinking of her in that way at all. No matter what, I had to go into Rory's house thinking like Paris Gellar, classmate and Harvard valedictorian of 2007, and not Par-Bear, the girl who's letting herself go because this girl likes me in more than a normal way.

Keeping on the tracks was easier said than done. We stopped at my house so I could change clothes on the way, and I noticed that Rory was more of a flirt than she usually has been when I changed clothes in my bedroom from my uniform and into a loose pair of jeans and a sweater. I went into my closet to change, being a little uncomfortable with her watching me undress.

"Come on, why do you have to wear a sweater hon?" she whined as she checked her email on my Mac. "It's not like anyone else will notice, we're just going to my house."

"I'm adverse to cold," I replied, telling the truth...somewhat. Truth was I knew what would happen if I came out in something flattering to my body, I'd end up distracted because Rory's eye contact wouldn't be focused on my face, it would be elsewhere. I had to keep the night innocent, no matter how much it pained me. This is our futures we're practicing for, and you wouldn't want the AD to interview you to have more notes about your attire than personality, would you?

I came out, and she smiled as she wrapped herself around me for a kiss. It's still a shock to know that Rory isn't looking at me as just competition anymore. She nuzzled her nose against my forehead, beckoning me onto tip-toe to kiss her. I blush, her hand brushing a stray hair in front of my left eye, tangled between eyelashes.

"No hairspray for you," she noted, her hands threading through my locks in a soothing manner. "That's just so luxurious." She kisses me again.

"Rory, we have to get going," I beg, flattered by her attention but wanting to get into the fake interview frame of mind. The cute tone of voice I use betrayed my conveyance that I needed to focus. "Stop it, we have time for that later."

"But you look so good," she complimented. "and cute, and...frustrating. God, I wish we had a study hall together, I just had an urge this afternoon to..." she wrung her hands and gritted her teeth. "...just spend time alone with you."

"You can forget it Gilmore, I'm not a broom closet kind of gal." I smirked and pulled myself away from her, trying to tease and snap her back to attention. "No one ever uses the elevator though except the crutches kids, but I have key privileges."

"Aw man, just my luck that I have a fear of being scared of being stuck in the elevator." Souring her face, Rory shook her head. "But you're right, we focus on Harvard. Crimson runs through our veins, we have to ace our interviews and prove those seminar idiots wrong." She got serious finally and helped me with my messenger bag. "This is me not distracted by you and 100 hyperfocused, let's go."

I rolled my eyes at her, wondering how she could turn it on and off so fast. "Peculiar girl from a peculiar town," I rattled off beneath my breath, meaning it more as a compliment than a wisecrack. We left my bedroom and headed downstairs for the Jag for the rest of the journey back to the Hollow.

The focus was on our interview scripts as we set up in the Gilmore kitchen, her on one side, with me on the other. Her script wasn't in the style I expected, it was more of a crib notes style than written out with focused answers. I thought this would detract from a clear and concise response to whatever I did ask playing AD, but I was surprised to see her think on her feet with each question and do an ad-lib on almost all I tested her on. For example, when I asked her opinion on why her slot should go to someone in a public school with all AP classes and most grades being double Honors credit, she thought on her feet and came up with a monologue about how her experiences in a small town high school with limited curriculum and fewer opportunities to build up her grades helped her work on more extra credit projects than a normal student would do. She then pointed out that to this day she continues to do all extra credit, test aced or no, and does her best to find opportunities for extra work wherever she can find it.

"OK," I acknowledged. "Let's say that your admissions director doesn't think that a good enough response. What are you going to tell me to change my mind about this? For all I know you're just doing this extra credit mechanically, without heart."

"I would point you to my references, and my list of achievements within Stars Hollow," she pointed out. "I've been helping this town with almost everything for years and years, from decorations for town events, I was Trick or Treat for UNICEF leader for my zip code, at age eleven I might mention. My many suggestions through the Gazette about how the town could be improved to be cooler for kids, like taking out the director of the youth center who still thinks it's 1972 and all teens want to do is play ping-pong and air hockey. I would add video games, a paint job to hip up the place, and maybe ask for donations from several town organizations, more dances, maybe some new sports equipment. A student taking all AP's and Honors is trying way too hard and just exhausting themselves by doing nothing but that and extra credit. I need to take the occasional regular class because I need to be a well-rounded student and know everything that I can possibly know. I want to be flexible if I get a position on the Crimson, who wants to be stuck doing the crime blotter and calendar of events because all they know is what the school gossip tells them? I want to be out there reporting on a student protest, not a lame feature on bracelets and the form of sexual activity the color you wear denotes."

I was blown away and impressed; ever since that dumbass of an AD told her Hillary Clinton was overdone, she's worked on her answers to make them perfect. She's a shoo-in at this point based on this practice alone.

"Gilmore," I ask, "do you ever breathe? I swear that WPM is faster than mine these days. John Moschitta just called, he's putting out a Mob hit on you because of your word speed."

We looked at each other longingly, and she was glad I had noticed that her words were coming out faster than they were last year. She had taken my rough advice to heart and without so much as one beat, explained why she should get into Harvard. The simpatico shared was becoming overwhelming, and a flash in my mind of her in the Times newsroom setting her fellow colleagues straight as she helps breaks a story that might bring down a corrupt government or renew the drive of a moribund head of state. Her shyness is long gone, in its place that of a strong leader, ready to question instead of keeping her complacency.

I want her to be strong, not only for me, but for herself. No matter the Amanpour prestige she dreams of, she's not going anywhere except the ET newsroom as the replacement for when Mary Hart's million dollar legs finally show varicose veins if she keeps her question lines light, her reports uncritical, giving concessions to the interview subject just to get the story. It would be a failure to see her as any less from the Franklin than a perfect writer, and a perfect student in addition.

After another fifteen minutes drilling her in the questions she wanted me to ask her, we moved on to her being the interviewer as I answered the usual battery of interview questions. I was quick on my feet with the first ten or twenty, able to rattle off my opinion or party line with each response like I had a psychic connection into Rory's psyche. It wasn't challenging, which surprised me. I made the questions so that I could be challenged by what my own brain brought up, and it felt so dull and tedious. After the nineteenth rote answer, I felt like my answers were average, neither too exciting, nor too awful.

I didn't want that, I'm more than average. I should be orating like Stephen Douglas and Abraham Lincoln combined, but in this questioning I was barely up to the level of a Warren G. Harding. How would Harvard be impressed by these boring answers? There was no fire starting beneath me, and because of Rory's kind voice, I felt taken out of the usual cultured and strict authoritarianism that would come from an average AD.

Somehow I felt out of my element, and held back on stronger answers so Rory wouldn't become mad at me. When she asked me what my opinion on school vouchers was, I weakly responded by arguing the church/state connection between them was tenuous at best and the fact that the religious school accepting the vouchers could always make a promise not to put any of their beliefs within curriculum.

I pissed myself off when she asked the important Darwinism/Creationism debate question that formed many a quandary. I believe in Darwinism myself (and it is taught in Chilton), but there is a higher power up there that could've given the world a little nudge towards life and such. But I couldn't apply that to a religious school in my argument, and I tried constructing an argument from it that would sound impressive to him or her.

Instead, I ended up stressed, forgetting what I had to say. Not by Rory's cause I must note, her clothes weren't that distracting and she was quite neutral as she asked me the questions. That became the pattern, and I felt like I was totally off my game. A theory on one thing that might have sounded good on paper or a digital recording of myself wouldn't pass muster with the one man or woman I needed to continue my pre-destined future.

"Come on," Rory asked when I got stuck on a question about Harvard traditions. "You know this Par."

"I don't," I said desperately. "I guess I'm overstressed right now, my mind hasn't been on all Harvard lately and it's thrown off my track."

Bless her heart, instead of being offended, she noticed how stressed I was feeling, with my shoulders tight, posture straight-arrow, my eyes strained from reading. I had looked at these questions 2,000 times, and the answers started blurring into my head.

"Are you OK?" she asked, her voice light.

I nodded that I was, but admitted to wanting to lie down on the cursed couch to recharge my batteries for a few minutes.

"I have a better idea," she said, and without revealing what exactly she had in mind. "Let's move into the bedroom and work on it, lying on my bed might be more relaxing than these chairs." Gathering up her books and supplies, Rory went to her bedroom, and my thinking was it really would be more relaxing in her warm, familiar bedroom. I followed her inside, bringing only the scripts and sitting next to her on the bed.

I was willing to try anything to get out of my drought, and she told me if I'd like I could get comfy and lay horizontal on the bed while she asked the questions from her desk chair. Figuring I would indeed have my ease level rise, I took off my shoes and left them at the side of the bed, crossing my feet together and feeling already that more at ease.

Once again, she got back to helping me rehearse, and like she promised the answers came much better to me in the more relaxed position. I had never considered it because I felt true-to-life training was better (i.e. sitting in the intimidating wood chair wearing a stiff power suit in front of the desk as the AD grills me), yet I could get used to it.

Laying down however, had several disadvantages (besides the obvious I-could-fall-asleep-mid-question problem), mainly that Rory was staring at me as I answered each question in a way not at all AD-like. Her lips were curled in this grin I can't quite describe, and she would look at the question just enough for some quick memorization so she could give me that hovering stare that felt like she was scanning over my features and trying to see through my clothing. Yet she stayed stubbornly scholastic, even after asking her a couple of times to stay neutral and not look at me like that.

I knew I should've gone for a longer sweater, I thought to myself after pushing the hem of it down for what seemed to be the seventh time. It kept riding up my waist, and that I was wearing a silk camisole beneath didn't help matters all that much, the wool just slid over the bottom shirt like a sheet of ice. It's not as if I'm ashamed of my body, I look fine. I just know that I'm not the current drug addict feminine ideal and that my figure isn't as demanded. No matter how much Rory might compliment me (or Mads and Lou say I look better without the pancake bra squashing me up), I still have many, many body issues to get over.

However, Rory was doing her best to dent them. The questions were becoming fewer and fewer, until the supply was exhausted and I couldn't come up with anymore for her to ask. It worked out perfectly, and by the end my defenses were more aware, able to turn around an answer as I heard the question like usual. I felt much more prepared for the interview, though I was sure a couple more dry runs would be needed before December 11th, I was prepared for anything they'd throw back at me.

"We're done?" Rory asked me as I propped myself and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Unless you think you could use more work..."

"I've had enough life and death questions for today, I think we can relax." She smiled and sat next to me, setting my papers on the nightstand, and I was able to relax for the first time in a bit. I still felt a bit stressed though because having to hide from Mother was really wearing me down. She had expected me home this afternoon, but I told her before I left the Franklin that I wouldn't be, which led to an argument, then an accusation from her that I didn't care about making a good first impression with anyone.

Anyone you might know who'll undermine me, I thought to myself; I knew if anyone she knew was able to get their words on a references list, they'd call me anti-social and abrasive, prone to outbursts, all that petty shit others use in order to get their own undeserving offspring into my slot and leave me out. Thank God my dad knows plenty about contract law, because there's a hidden statement within the divorce settlement that gives him and I, and only the both of us the final say about how I'm getting into Harvard, she cannot interfere or add her own two cents, period. I refuse to let her hold her custody of me as a crutch to keep me sealed to Kappa Phi Omega for the rest of my life, and dictate my career line.

I was still stressed from that and tried not to show it outside, but somehow my demeanor gave Rory a clue into the state of my mind. I looked down at my hands, trying to figure out my next move, be it going home or getting into debate with her over something to keep my arguments strong. I clasped two fingers to my temples, a headache rising from thinking about what my mother might be thinking of me right now, ignoring her to carry on with my own life. I know if it was up to Sharon I'd be in the Stepford template and only a high school graduate if her influence had been more than my thirst for learning was.

Rory looked down at me with concern, gauging my mood.

"Hey," she prompted, bringing my attention towards her. "Anything wrong? You did a good job on the answers." I grimaced and tried to brush it off.

"I'm fine, just thinking about other things."

"Like what?" she asked brightly, plopping down next to me on the bed.

"It's nothing, really. I'll probably take my mind off it in a few minutes."

"Look, it's OK, I won't tell anyone," she promised, trying to draw the worries out of me. "Come on, I'm your girlfriend, and as such it's my job to worry about you."

"It's just Sharon, she's a pain in the ass," I barked out, "nothing new there. She doesn't understand that I don't want to do the cocktail party circuit. I skipped out on her to be here and she'll probably be pissed when I get home."

She shook her head and put her hand on my thigh, rubbing it soothingly. "You'll be OK, I know it, she just knows you don't like going out and that you're more of a homegirl."

"Yeah, I know, but don't tell that to her." I groan, feeling overwhelmed. "Is it wrong, what I'm feeling about this? Even if refusing to do what she wants jeopardizes my admissions chances?"

I thought she'd tell me to buck up and listen to Sharon no matter what, but Rory took it in the other direction, saying that if I wasn't happy I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to do. She noted that she didn't really want to be a debutante and felt miserable through the whole experience, but she did it anyways because it would've disappointed everyone if she refused. She used a simple analogy of what may have happened if either she or I were ever asked by our mothers to become cheerleaders, and the hilarious image of both of us encouraging school spirit in the skirt and sweater as the guys wolf-whistled at us was enough to cheer me up. It made me cringe and thank God my mother had never asked me to get to the point of pushing down my IQ and turning on the slut to impress people.

I was finally able to laugh a little, especially after she rattled off (from memory) at least two pages of all of my achievements without a pause.

"And if you think you need a membership in the Rotary Club after all of that to impress Harvard, you my girlfriend, need an iron lung and a portable tank in tandem just to have enough oxygen to keep up." She moved a hand to my back, circling around the upper portion of it to get me unwound. "It's senior year, time to be just a little bit lazy. You can remain intense, but you don't have to say yes to everything. After you get into college you can ramp up the commitments again, but for now, just do what you need to. Trust me, you're fine."

I started to feel at ease as Rory brought herself closer to me, her compliments soothing me out of the funk. I felt much, much better than I had minutes ago, glad to have her in my corner to keep me sane.

Slowly, she eased herself behind me, continuing on a meandering convo trail about Francie's magazine idea, when suddenly I felt her two hands against the tips of my shoulders. The touch shocked me, though I should've expected it since her hand is the only thing keeping me from going all Network up on Mr. Mercurio in Russian Novels.

"Rory?" I questioned, wondering her intent.

"Ssshhh, just relax," she said softly, and proceeded to start a massage over my sweater that curved around from my shoulders and along my back. At first it felt really good, very nice. But the combination of wool and rubbing obviously made my body disagree and pretty soon I was itching, which presented a quandary. I was wearing that camisole beneath, but I didn't keep my bra on for the trip to Rory's house. Call it lazy, or my dislike of wearing the stifling article past six every night, but I went without, and now I was in a situation where I wanted the massage to continue, yet keep the hormones cooled down. Trouble was, it's harder now to keep my urges under control; trust me when tell you, before I left for DCW Saturday morning, I made one last call to Rory. I managed to keep myself in control, keeping to myself that I ended up having a very hot dream about her and I skipping both of our obligations, meeting in a motel off the beaten path and expending some of that sexual stress with her.

It would be clear, she would have to look at me like I didn't intend for her to during the AD rehearsals.

But it's over now Paris, I was reminded rather excitedly by my giddy inner vixen. Come on, you have a chance here, don't let it blow by. Ms. Gilmore isn't coming home for quite awhile and what else is there to do tonight, you're caught up homework-wise until December 6th. You've seen Rory tonight, and you know she's playing with you herself, those jeans she's wearing, wrapping tightly around her thighs, come on, that's not innocence playing into her clothing styling.

Hesitating, I tried to think about the cons, trying to figure out what to do. We were close and intimate, and I didn't want to ruin that, especially because the massage felt good.

"Rory, uh, do you mind if I um, take off my sweater?" I asked nervously, not sure how she would exactly react. Hiding it under the excuse of a temperature might make it easier. "I'm feeling kind of hot with it on."

"Of course not, makes it easier," she said neutrally. "The boiler acts funny this time of year because it's between the heating and cooling seasons, so I usually wear a shirt beneath just in case." I stopped in my tracks upon hearing that. "You did wear a shirt, right?"

I nodded and then disclaimed. "Sort of." With that, I sucked it up and took off my sweater, wondering what was to happen next between us. It wasn't as if I dressed for seduction, it was for comfort's sake. I wanted to be comfortable around her, and what's wrong with that? And it sort of has a little support in the shelf, they're being held up. Really, if I don't want to wear a bra...never mind.

I took off the sweater, feeling weird just wearing the thin pink undershirt in front of Rory. Setting it off to the side, I could hear her breath shallow as more skin than she ever saw on me was revealed to her. She pushes the hair in back over my shoulder, and then starts the massage anew, wordlessly.

Shutting my eyes, I reveled in the feel of Rory's hands circling against my shoulders, the thin straps of the shirt no impediment to those magical fingers sending soothing tremors through me. I never actually had a massage like this before, the romantic kind. My nanny's younger son Enrique (who I totally think of as a brother and he thinks of as a sister, just killing that idea here and now) has given me the occasional rubdown, and of course my recharge sessions at the spa also help me out. I just haven't had one where at the same time someone is drooling over me. Figuratively of course.

Rory soothed me further by complimenting my back, and moving down occasionally to spread the relaxation through the entirety of my back. Her hands all over me, it was such an erotic thought to me. She even would scratch with her fingernails where I would indicate in a breathy moan where I itched.

"Mmm, that feels so nice Ror," I purred in a way unlike me. Her hands kneaded my skin, working out the knots that I usually kept no matter how tight I felt. It was deeper than the rubdown she gave along my neck taking off my marathon dress, and much more probing. I felt all the stresses I had melting away, and didn't care about anything else except Rory's thin hands having their way for me.

She continued to do exactly that for a few minutes, the feeling soothing and my defenses quickly falling. I had been denying my urges since I got up this morning, determined to get through the day in the usually non-attached way I had perfected before I fell for Rory. But I felt sensitized, and was thankful Rory was only looking at my back at that point. I can get through this without anything ensuing, I commanded to myself, trying to stay strong. I'm not going to do more than this, really, I'm not!

Then the unexpected happened. She could sense my relaxation, and I felt her eyes against me as she appraised my back. I felt my breath still as she stopped kneading, pulling her hand away from me. Suddenly my mind spun with what she might do next, but the cautious side had more pull, telling me she was about to try to cool things down, ask me to go with her to Luke's for food, trying to distract from what she knew she wanted.

I know she's been eyeing me up much more, my guard having to be put up in anticipation of something. This morning for example in RN, she went lower on my neck than usual, below the line of my necklace chain. I felt her finger run along the collar, and then into the space between the tie and the blouse, she inserted the finger between, pushing the nail against the back of my neck through the material. The sensuality of it really got to me, and I had to bite my lip in order to keep my mouth closed. Still I let out a barely detectable whinny that I tried my best not to vocalize through the classroom, and she kept her fingers beneath my collar and tie for the remainder of the class period, making my mind empty and unaware of the subject matter (not a bad thing considering but still). Suffice to say I had to flee to the restroom before lunch just to unbutton my tie and the top collar button and cool myself down because it felt just that good.

Everything was coming to a head now, the closeness we denied for the last few days coming back again. She brought her mouth to the back of my neck, and instigated a slow kiss over that started as innocent. Rory reminds me of that nipping she did while she undid the knot of the halter dress, and the allusion that she was enjoying every moment of the torture. It made my throat catch, the very insinuation that she derived pleasure from such a simple and routine act.

I remember what happened next, though because of the events later on, a few details I forget. My apologies, I thought I could recall, but you'll understand how that could've ensued later on. The neck kiss starts slow, her hand clasped inside of mine, and the other free one concentrating on drawing me into her. She kisses the back of my neck, then drags her mouth along the nape, the already sensitive skin beneath overcharged. I felt weird, but in general what she was doing drew me in. I protested that maybe she should pull back, just in case.

"She's not coming, I know it," she said to me, her voice soothing. Trying to assure me Lorelai always shouts she's home from the front door, she got up to ease the concern that Lorelai might butt in, shutting her door to give us more of a safety cushion. My mind tried to rationalize that Ms. Gilmore wouldn't interrupt us because of my acidic personality. She was scared that one time I came over for debate prep and blamed her for giving Rory dairy before we started, and surely that intimidation would put a cushion between catching us in the act.

Rory closed the door, turned around, and started a slow walk towards the bed, catching me off guard. Her eyes raked over me, sitting along the edge of her mattress.

"Lay back down on the bed," she asked me, then added an innocent "please?" to end the sentence.

"Why?"

"Because," she surmised, "I've never seen you that way before."

"What way?" I didn't understand at all.

"Casual," she pointed out. Which was true, even during the hottest days in the Howard dorm, I never wore such a scant top. "You have wonderful shoulders," she commented. "I've never really noticed them before."

Wow, awkward. How do I respond? "Thank you?" A question mark is safe, undefined, no need to bring the reasoning to further fruition. I find the silk top preserving my modesty riding up and untucking from my jeans as I slide from the sitting position and into a recline resting on the pillow.

She's smiling, the 'Rory has a plan' smile. Uh-oh, I think, my idea of stopping things before they could start falling away.

Ror sits down slowly, at the side of the bed, curling up and looking directly at me, from my face and down along my torso. I try to tuck the cami in to stop the ride-up, but she takes my hand and sets it at the side, shaking her head and telling me not to. She slides a finger along the waistband of my jeans, hinting at something sensual to come.

"Don't do anything," she whispers, and before I can even protest or refuse, she's atop of me, bringing me into a close embrace, then her mouth is on mine as she finally claims me in that slow seduction. We look at each other nose to nose, and I lower my eyelashes, dimming the surroundings naturally. Rory slides a hand behind my head, and with that my mind takes a smoking break in the back. My body is in full control, and it knows what I want.

She meanders a kiss, her other hand still at my waist soothingly rubbing her fingers along my bared side. I push my arms down to her waist and instigate further, totally lost in the moment. The location, setting, and the details of how I got there all gone. All that's there is her. All that's there is me.

All that's there is us, together, intimate, exploring.

One of her legs slides against mine, a perfect fit in the space between. She cautions me that she just wants to sink in, not to do anything more than that. I nod and agree, for I'm not ready for that step yet. First base is quite a comfy bag right now, thank you. We draw in closer, her index finger winding around a cluster of hair strands near the left side of my neck. She tugs at the tendrils, a push to increase the power of the kiss. It's not enough for her.

I'm already fargone enough, so I push further, our teeth clashing, my mouth desperate to wrap around. The Jewish Star dangling around my necks scrapes the skin in front, causing me to cry from the irritation. But it's just a minor scratch, nothing bad is happening. God, I like this girl, and I show her that by trying to force the kiss deeper.

Finally, she opens up her mouth and we can take the kiss from horseplay to deep in seconds flat. I feel her slim weight against my body as we play around, trying to find just where the French kiss would be perfect for in the future. We settle on my left-her right and before I know it, I have to take a minute long oxygen break to recover my respiration.

No time for idleness, she keeps on touching me, one hand rubbing from the top of my head all the way to the line of my camisole, the other busy along my side with one hand inside the waistband of my pants, flirting with the thin elastic frills that made up the waistband of my panties.

This is where I start to lose track of things in the chaos that would ensue in the next few minutes. Somehow the kiss instigated even further than we had before, and the reservations I had about turning a night devoted to study into a makeout session had disappeared, to the point I ended up taking control and asking Rory to move her hand to one place or another. I couldn't stand it anymore, just having to ignore my urges to keep my modesty, they needed to be sated.

We ended up so close together that before you can say 'Eleanor Roosevelt was hiding something' (yes, I'm all X-Files on that conspiracy theory), I was atop, kissing her flush and without rhyme or reason. Her hands were gripped beneath my underarms tight, and I felt for the first time that tempting little nag that maybe she'd love to see me shirtless. I knew where this would lead, what the consequences were, that in the heat of everything we were about to take that first turn around the basepaths.

However, you forget that this is my life we're talking about here, and whenever something great is about to take place within it, like Sisyphus the weight of what happens becomes too much at the crest of the hill, you let it go, and you're back chasing that damn boulder back down.

I was just about to bring my thigh between Rory's legs at her pained urging to bring her off, when the silence of the evening, only our sounds interrupting the peace, was broken by the twisting of the doorknob. I heard the lockset slide against the plate, the footsteps of high heels in the path of the doorway.

"I see Paris is here babe, you want me to order pizza--" The door opens, and before I can react, I realize I'm lip-to-lip with Rory, and that our positioning tells the story more than words or excuses could ever do.

Like the stupid inexperienced lover that I am, I turn my head around, face whitened in fear and a large shot of adrenaline flowing through my heart. My hands are at Rory's side, and thankfully all of her clothing is still on. No matter though, for my eyes met Lorelai's.

"--for you both?" I don't think I'll ever forget the look of another mother, one moment smiling asking us we were hungry, and the next with her eyes, the same shade passed on to the daughter beneath me, widened in shock. Her mouth was dropped down, and all of the sudden having to deal with a revelation all three of us hadn't planned on by any means.

"Oh my God," she said numbly, looking down at the floor. Our original plan in three weeks of a dinner where we'd come out to Lorelai in comfortable circumstances, with a simple handhold telling her all she needed to know (and all we wanted her to know!), of a long convoluted explanation of the events that led us from enemies to lovers, it was now blown out of the water. This was a Japanese plane sneaking into Pearl Harbor and sinking the USS Arizona; now a day in infamy.

Rory and I were about to come out in the way we were least expecting. I felt a panic attack begin, Ms. Gilmore's gaze weighing down on me, a mix of shock and disappointment coloring her.

Still, she found an opportunity to say the absolute worst thing to say at the wrong time. Not in a bad way, just weird placement of her words.

"Well, it looks like you're already eating," she said, trying to use humor to numb herself from a lash-out. Rory got up from her laying position, her brain trying even now to reel back and react.

"Mom!" she shouted, her voice laced with worry and a hope these weren't the last moments of her life she would be living at this house. "I...well I...uggh, you're home...early...this is surprising."

"We hired a cleaning crew, work got to be too much for the staff," she explained rushingly. "Umm, wow. Hello kiddo." She then brought her gaze to me, her face looking very funny. "And a big hello to you too Paris, and I do mean...big."

I didn't know what she was going on about at first, still numb and trying to hold back the stroke I knew was about to come from mortal embarrassment. That's when she brought her eyes down and tried having me focus on something else.

I was definitely out of my body, out of my element, and way out of being able to have a normal reaction. I looked down at myself, and only then did I realize that when I turned around to face Lorelai, the right strap of my top, barely hanging on to my shoulder had slipped down, and the loose silk fabric that it was holding up went with it. The strap was now just below my elbow, and well, guess who got an unexpected and certainly unneeded glance at my right breast, nipple and all?

This is like a bad episode of Degrassi, this can't be happening! my mind screamed. As if watching her daughter's competition in bed with her wasn't enough, Lorelai also had to deal with my accidental exposure! Leave it to dysfunctional me to ratchet up the crazy more than I meant to.

I wanted to turn so fucking pale that I could become a ghost, the panic attack just growing from there. I tried to find a blanket surrounding me, but we were sitting on all of them, I found my head shaking and shaking, both Rory and I in the worst situation we had ever found ourselves in. I wanted to start crying, just get the fuck out and let Lorelai dress Rory down as she made it clear that this day was her last at Chilton.

"Umm, here, take this, geeze!" She held her hand to her eyes as she yanked at Rory's robe hanging on the door, then tossed it towards a very thankful me. I knew it certainly wouldn't fit, but I propped the still sliding cami strap back on my shoulder and draped the robe along my neck so at least I wouldn't have another Girls Gone Wild moment.

I was right in the middle of it all as Lorelai and Rory tried to make sense of this all, her discovering the both of us together. I was so scared, despite her demeanor as 'the cool mom', the one who let me come to the Bangles concert with them so we could bond together, and who always made jokes behind my back about how focused and serious I was about everything. We were both in the ultimate cookie jar moment, and all of the excuses and lies in the world couldn't cover up that Rory and I were on Rory's bed, we were kissing, and as Lorelai opened up the door Rory made a contented sigh as she seemed to want me to get off with her help.

Lorelai stood there for a minute, trying to gather her bearings and stop herself from saying anything that she might regret. I felt as if time had stopped, my world was off-axis, and there was a large fear that the next words out of her mouth were that she was going to call my mother and ask for an explanation for why their daughters were fornicating in her house.

"Mom?" Rory asked, her voice bare and worried. "Are you OK?"

She brought her gaze towards Rory, and decided that going witty and funny wasn't the best line; she had to be direct with her words. She breathed a couple of more times, and with her voice tight, responded. "Am I OK? I have no idea right now, because I never prepared for this."

"Oh." Rory's gaze dropped down, and the awkwardness had begun to peek up. "I didn't mean for you--"

"--to find out this way, I know," Lorelai said with some agitation. "No one ever does." She wrung her hands up, trying to focus. "I just...I don't know what to say right now. I'm at a loss for words, and I don't have a joke that would be at all appropriate for this situation. I mean one moment I'm asking for pizza toppings, and the next I'm walking in on you," she pointed at me, "on top of my darling daughter."

That did it for me, I couldn't dare stick around at all. I didn't want Lorelai to lose her temper with me, and blame me for dragging her daughter into a life that wasn't appropriate. For my own good, I had to leave. The faster I fled, the more that Rory could just excuse it as experimentation and the less trouble we'd be in.

"I think I should go--" I said, getting up from the bed and then being stopped by Lorelai's held out hand. Before she could say anything though, Rory decided to throw her heart on the floor.

"No honey, don't." She paused, looking up at her mom. "You're not going to go because I'm going to take this like a woman, I'm done lying." She pushed closer to me, and took my hand into hers, in her lap. "Mom, I'd like to introduce you to my new girlfriend."

The last word she said went through me, and swelled my heart. It was finally vocalized to someone else, the g-word. It put a hammer of finality that this wasn't just Rory testing the waters anymore, she was headed for the deep end. I felt myself calm a little, though prepared for the possibly of anything about to happen.

"G-g-girlfriend?" Ms. Gilmore stuttered, trying to get over all of this shock.

"For the last two weeks, one day, and four hours, that's what she's been to me," Rory said statistically. This is not the time to be turned on! I nagged myself, really liking the geek touch she was putting on this coming out.

"But that would mean..." Lorelai lost herself in thought for a moment, going over the chronology before she came to her conclusion. "...before I got home from Nashville? While I was still in the air towards Detroit?" Rory nodded.

"And before that?" Rory hastily explained that we weren't together, but were inching closer towards romance with each day.

"And Dean?"

"That was fractured long before the summer," she noted. "I should've broken it with him months ago." She looked down at herself, and all I wanted to do was take her into my arms and hug the hurt away from her.

"Oh, wow." Lorelai couldn't believe what was being thrown at her, she didn't expect this. I certainly didn't and I was now in the middle of it all. "So...does this mean you're...that you identify as a...are you mixed between the two?"

Rory looked up at her mother, and with power I didn't know she even had, finally confessed what she had been holding back since I said it would be nice to kiss each other all those days before.

"I am Mom. I...I like girls."

"Are you...you know, that word?"

"I wouldn't classify myself as so, but yeah, you could say that I am a lesbian."

Rory stops, and then pre-empts any attempt for Lorelai to ask if she was definite and sure that she liked the same sex more. "Dean never made me feel things that Paris has," she confessed, forlorn. "I can't like a boy, I really, really tried through the last year. He wasn't into me beyond simple lust, and I wanted more than that, I craved for closeness, a mental connection, someone who matched up with me." She then brought her gaze to me, her eyes starting to feel with tears, her voice sob-choked. "And to me, it didn't matter that who I felt those sparks with was missing an important part. We connect physically, mentally, and spiritually, and for the first time, I feel truly content going out with someone. I never did with Dean, but with Par..." she smiles at me. "I do."

There was a period of silence after that, tension hanging in the air despite the calmness of Rory's coming out. I had nothing I could say, for my mind was a empty blank. What could I really say, except that I liked Rory? This was between her and her mother, and if Lorelai wanted me to go, there was nothing I could do but comply. My fate was truly in her hands, and she could say whatever she wanted to me. I felt torn now, because all pretenses and excuses were out the window, we were now out to Lorelai.

She gestured at us, but nothing seemed to come from her. She lay back against the door, completely confused as to what to say. It was as awkward as the both of us feared, and I was mortally embarrassed it was all revealed this way. She kept looking at the both of us, trying to understand why her daughter, the one she gave up everything for back in 1984, was now throwing another curve in her life. It was almost as if Rory had just revealed she was pregnant; only this time all the preparations, lectures and warnings she gave over the years were all for nothing. Her mind had always been on Rory not having sex and ending up with a baby. Now though, she was completely on her own, there was no help in this.

Just as expected, she finally brought her line of questioning towards me. "I didn't know you had it in you," she accused. "I knew you were trying to outpace her for valedictorian, but I didn't expect that you would use her heart to try to soften her up--"

"Now wait a minute Mom!" Rory screamed.

"No, I know this is just a way for her to top you in grades, she's using you Rory, why can't you see that?"

"I am not," I said softly and sadly. Somehow I knew the first explanation for everything in her eyes would that I was trying to fuck my way to the top of the academic food chain. "I wanted this, but I didn't pursue her Ms. Gilmore, that's the truth."

"But you have ulterior motives--"

"MOM!" We were both stunned to see Rory get up from the bed and stand up straight, ready to defend me.

"Kiddo, I don't usually question your love life, but this doesn't look right to me."

"Well it doesn't if you go in and just accuse her of something she never did, damn it! Listen to me..." Rory stood with arms crossed over her chest, and then with the same precision she had earlier with the fake AD answer, went on to explain all she did to win me over, about how she knew about my insecurities and that I wouldn't ever make the first move. She defended every move she made in order to get into my closest circle, from the field hockey fiasco, the sense that she knew Jamie and I didn't work at all because she felt he wasn't my match, all the depression she felt the two months before having to watch me from the sidelines and how Dean just wasn't working for her anymore. She went on and on about how truly special the dance marathon was to her, and the night I crawled in begging forgiveness for my over-reaction to her compliment I didn't take. I just watched her on fire, hammering into each and every point, stifling down Ms. Gilmore with her every objection.

Her tearful description of our date last week just got me; she described my chivalry and how composed I managed to stay despite it falling apart in front of us with the movie and the restaurant not at all like expected. Rory just wasn't defending me; like the fortune said, she was being steady, strong and brave, defending my blossom from all attacks, not letting me inflict the thorns on others when she could shield me just as well.

She was certain; this was a definite, and Ms. Gilmore would have to learn to live with me as her girl from now on.

Bringing fingers to her temples, Lorelai knew that this was an issue that couldn't be solved with me in the room, she had to talk to Rory about this, alone. I knew they needed the privacy, but I just stayed silent so I could take Rory in defending us.

Ms. Gilmore held up her hand and stopped Rory mid-thought. "Hon, can we talk in the living room? I think we have some things to talk about without Paris here, like the fact you've been shielding me from your life for the last month or so."

Rory knew she was in trouble for that, no way to deny it, and knew there were some things she needed to clear up with her. "Sure, let's do that, I feel like I need to say a few things." She sighed and headed out, as Lorelai looked towards me.

"Uhh, you stay here, somehow I think you need to recover a little Paris," she asked, reminding me of only minutes before. "We're going to talk, me and you, after I get done with Rory. I just want to understand both sides of the story." I looked up at her, feeling shame and humiliation for the situation she caught us in. God, this was not the way she was supposed to find out at all! It was supposed be all happy, set up, around an I Married Joan mock-a-thon or whatever shows they watch...

I watched Rory leave the room, our eyes meeting and the care she showed still present despite what had just happened. She wasn't running away from me after Ms. Gilmore found out; that was a good sign, right?

Lorelai noticed my pain, and tried to reassure me before she left to have it out with Rory. She bent down and put on a weird smile.

"Hey, I promise you that I won't be like your mom, OK?" I nodded, still scared that she was about to tear me down and make sure I would never see her beautiful daughter again. She turned and left, shutting the door behind her, leaving me alone while mother and daughter had a talk that had been waiting for weeks to been had.

All I could do was try to block out the fact that I was found out a lesbian in a way I wouldn't wish on any girl. I got out War and Peace and decided to use the awful content to block out the fear building inside of me; anger always beat fear, and I was certainly pissed off at this book.

As much as I wanted to, I didn't eavesdrop, mainly because the thick walls of the house sucked up the speech within the room and Rory's door would definitely be heard if I opened it. I said a prayer, looking for guidance in the situation, and a hope that Ms. Gilmore would be benevolent, and not want me to leave forever.

I kept reminding myself it could've been a lot worse; it could've been a State Patrol officer watching us neck at a truck stop, a teacher at Chilton as we snuck a kiss before we got out of the car.

Or it could've been Sharon, at the Manor. Two words; blown gasket. Three more words; Rory in coma.

Yeah, better Lorelai found out than anyone else. She had to understand, she just had to. You can't help who you're attracted to, and I hope her of all people understand that...

To be continued...