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Chapter Eighteen: The Heart is the Guide, The Heart Knows What it Wants, The Heart is True (part 1)

Rory's POV, 8:00-8:10pm

So, I have to admit, I feel so strange at the end of this week. Not from it first week of December, the limbo between the holidays where Mom and I have taken advantage of a couple of sales to check off our Christmas lists more. Nor is it from the fact that I'm feeling lethargic with each new thing to learn in each new class. So much for the senior slump, because Chilton isn't making it easy for me to forget one thing. A couple of students have gotten a new wind behind Paris and I and are beginning to fight us to get to the top, so I have to keep myself focused, at least in that department.

I guess this week was, odd. Not in the weird kind of way, just in the sense that I expected more to happen on the relationship front with Paris.

Now I'm not talking about what you think, that we've hit a sexual slump. Truth be told, after the rush of emotions and urges we had at the Manor and near that pond, I expected that I wouldn't feel anymore the rest of the week, getting everything out that I wanted to against Paris's hand.

Oh, God, her hands...her fingers...mmm...oh, if I could feel them caressing me right now...

Whoa, whoa! Sorry about that. Seriously, I know how to keep things like that under control, usually. OK, concentrate, focus, tell. I can do this without interference from thinking about her. I know I can.

Good, I'm settled again. Anyways, this week. Yeah. You'd think after a first time you're currently keeping your mouth shut about like it's a state secret I'd feel my inner vixen shy off for a few days, letting me relax and go back into my usual studious guise, and the same with Par. We are normal, studious and sane teenagers. Sex doesn't define us in any way, shape or form.

It doesn't, right?

Then why can't I get my mind off her? Is there something wrong with me that I can't stand that she's a half-hour away from me? When she arrives at Luke's each morning, my eyes immediately wander from my eggs towards her, standing there in her Chilton trenchcoat with her good morning smile and a greeting directed towards Miss Patty's way which is veiled with thanks for her support of us. She sits down elegantly on the stool next to me as she orders her tea and a English muffin with grape jelly. I'm shocked that Lorelai is none the wiser as her right shin brushes against my left leg, her way of starting the morning off with a secret and intimate moment.

Then her looks at me in class, out in the halls, or in the gym playing lacrosse, they've been so intense to me so lately. Those warm brown eyes, staring at me from across a room, the neutral look on her face definitely hidden behind a lustful façade.

I haven't even mentioned her during biology class, what with her right hand 'leaning' against my stool on the side. She's grown to enjoy wandering her fingers along the bottom of my skirt, taking advantage of her non-writing hand to keep perfect notes, yet drive me crazy in nothing more than a three-inch space that has not been noticed by Dr. Eure as she paces the aisles of the classroom. She gives me an occasional glance, just to let me know she's thinking about me, and goes back to regarding her notes as I do mine.

But what really gets me in a twist is her leg-crossing. Where she used to maybe do it perhaps twice in an hour (don't ask how I know this), now it's about eight or nine times where she switches one leg to be on top of another. Paris lifts her leg up a couple more inches more than she had in the past, then settles it down against the other knee. As I stare her down, I can see her skirt sliding up her leg, baring each one of those lovely thighs. And if she does it just right, well...you can just say that my legs get shaky, and I feel myself wanting to do that thing I occasionally do to release stress.

I'm kind of regretting telling her what I did under her influence; it's in her arsenal of teasing material lately.

Beyond that though, there has been an obvious change with how she comes off to Madeline and Louise, where she's less abrasive or ready to jump on them for a mistake of theirs in the newsroom. Really, she's nicer to Mads though, who we both are beginning to sense isn't happy with her friendship with Louise.

Lately, she's not coming in with her into school, and when Paris asked for what happened when we skipped first period on Monday in a text, she didn't dawdle with it, sending an answer back as soon as she could (and also relief to the both of us; it had just been reading, so we didn't miss a pop quiz, which he even joked about with the class after the bell rung about expecting). Around Louise, she's becoming less enthused with jumping into conversations, not into the gossip or the appraisal of the guys. She's actually concerned with us, but more importantly, she's been concerned with her grades. That became clear in a dining hall conversation we had Thursday at lunch. Louise wasn't in school, having an appointment with her dermatologist about lasering off moles, so Madeline was there alone with us, and allowed herself to open up about things.

As we kept ourselves well-behaved beneath the table, she filled the expected silence with a question about where she should go for college. Paris, expecting her to prefer anything on the 'party schools' list, asked where she was specifically looking.

"Preferably in the Seattle area," she responded.

"Seattle?" Needless to say, a specific place where Madeline wanted to attend school was a shock to my girl. "What about fashion design in San Francisco; you were considering Mills across the Bay."

"I was, but I changed my mind." She then explained things. "I could do something easy that could get me a reality show on a Viacom network and fifteen minutes of fame, sure. But you keep telling me, the both of you, I'm in this school, I get good grades, I have all this potential. Why should I let this education go to waste, when I can make a difference to someone beyond telling them pink isn't their color?"

"What are you thinking then?" I question. "Not to be mean, Madeline, but you seem to slide by."

She shrugged, swirling the water around in her bottle. "It isn't mean, really. But do I want to look back and think I didn't do enough? Should I only be known as the 'girl most likely to marry young and rich' and that's it?" She shyly smiles. "I guess that's why I'm thinking that some kind of science is in my future."

I could tell from that exact moment that Paris was knocked over with a feather, and her voice showed it. "Science?" She was so surprised, thinking that she was in a reverse world. "You might get bored with it though. You're flighty, what If you decide it's not the right career track?"

"Paris," Madeline shared candidly, "I'm not just saying this as a probable maybe, that I might lose interest in it. But let's face it; I enjoy the subjects and the sense of discovery, and science is cool! I'm not like an Einstein, but to be able to do something that I naturally enjoy and want to do, I can't let that go. The field is wide open and I can find something I'm sure to love."

"I guess I can understand." Paris looked over her friend carefully, hopeful she was making the decision with her heart, rather because of a phase she might be in. "I've been set on a medical track my whole life, but I'm really enjoying journalism more than I ever expected to. In the medical classes I've taken I just keep thinking that maybe I'm not right to be a doctor. It's expected, part of my bloodline, but I just can't seem to think of myself next to someone, informing them that they're leaving the mortal coil in a few months."

Everything began to come full circle within the conversation, as I was surprised to hear her think she might not pursue being a cancer researcher. I always thought it was her dream, but maybe it was just expected of her. Madeline and her talked a little longer, and I watched as I finally realized why these two girls had been friends for nine years. When I first met them both, I surmised that they were only together through an odd bond and the connections between their mothers. That thought stayed with me for a long time, especially as Madeline dawdled around during community service, Paris keeping her in line.

They couldn't be more apart, but I saw that Paris, no matter the annoyance she might carry for the girl, does treasure her friendship, and has said as such to me. I remember her telling me exactly that once. "She might be a follower now, but I know her, Gilmore: people will see her lead, one day. It's a gut feeling that she's waiting in the wings for her moment to shine, without Louise." At the time, I thought Paris was crazy.

But as she asked for a recommendation of whether to put in an app with Washington or another university in the area, I couldn't help but wonder if the black-haired girl across from us was still that absent-minded girl with three forms of 'Lynn' in her name (yes, her middle name is Linda. Blame her mother's Dynasty addiction of the time for that).

I'm surprised to say that she is changing for the better, however. I don't know exactly what it is yet, but as she described how she might want to get into botany, or otherwise some kind of worthwhile science where she could make a difference, I have to say that Paris's aptness to be short with her may end up paying off. And I have to admit, no matter how 'ditzy' she might come off usually, Madeline is in the top 60 of our class, but she doesn't feel a need to crow about it. She pursues her happiness, and thankfully her father lets her do so. That lunch went so well, and the three of us came out of the conversation feeling much more in tune about each other than before, although we had to hold back the obvious secret we were keeping.

And what a secret it is! Thinking about this week, how much we've flirted in the halls and within the newspaper, to an outside observer they can't see that anything is amiss. Paris has been so secretive about when she wants to touch, and she brings it out at just the right time, when no one notices. For instance, while I was going through pictures on my monitor to crop and put in the paper, she came up behind me, and I didn't even notice until she was right near my ear, lightly flittering her fingertips along my back while she went on with business as usual.

"I would check the next roll," she hinted. "These kind of look like they were taken in a bad light."

I stumbled over my response. "But cross-country isn't known for good lighting, they were taken in the woods."

"Then find one with the runner coming out of the clearing," she suggested, her cheek brushing mine. "You know my policy is that Photoshop is an emergency tool, not a crutch; take a good picture the first time, or trash it."

"Why am I doing this in the first place?" I questioned. "I'm more into writing than photo layout."

"Because Melanie DeVos is more experienced during crunch times with ad layouts and we have the social season coming up, which packs in the paper with ads. I'm actually doing you a favor here, Gilmore."

"Oh, you are." I smiled, coding the flirt carefully within my words. "Didn't you already do so this week?"

Oh, that got her flustered, and she pushed herself closer. "You're just lucky you're so good at what you do, Gilmore."

"Well I am the best at doing it in a parking lot." Now note that six other people surrounded us on each side, and to everyone else is thinking this conversation is so mundane. Except for one thing; newspaper talks don't usually consist of your editor-in-chief sniffing your hair, or making a massage look asexual. "I proved myself, didn't I?"

A wall of hidden sarcasm was put up. "Oh, beyond my wildest dreams." She looked over towards the screen again, looking at my browsing of the files. "Now if you can find the perfect picture for this story, you deserve much more than a gold star." I scrolled through the file menu, looking at the small thumbnails included in the photo files until I found a perfect one with the runner coming up from a small valley.

"How about this one?" I pointed it out and double-clicked it into the photo window. "I may have to do some adjustments, but just to brighten and sharpen." Poking her tongue in her mouth, she looked it over, trying to judge it in her mental layout.

"Um, I'd crop out some of the side stuff, crop to up to the numbers, and just a bit of color adjustment, her shirt seems a bit more dark blue than Chilton blue." She grabbed my mousing hand, guiding the device within, and used the cursor to point out where I should crop. "I think I'd probably just have this inset within the story, rather than below the headline, it works better that way."

Oh, her hand, it's so soft. I couldn't take it, she felt so wonderful behind me. You could say I was enjoying this hands-on editing style very much, the torture...

But if I thought she wasn't the type to invoke sexual thoughts in public under everyone's nose, I was sorely mistaken moments later as she continued to talk while I manipulated the picture.

"I wanted to let you know that I met your new friend at Westfarms last night." Talking as if it was mundane, I felt my throat catch as I reminded myself of how I ended up at her door Sunday evening.

I decided to play dumb, hopeful she'd cool down if I feigned that I didn't know what she was talking about. "I don't know anyone from Farmington."

"Of course not, because she's from Granby; I checked." OK, let it go, let it go, this is so not appropriate paper conversation. "When I went in, she was very friendly, knowledgeable, not like the women in Wallingford. I mentioned you by description, and she had the other clerks take care of everyone else while she helped me with my problems."

I bit down on my lip, trying to hold back the images of Friday morning when the clerk measured things out and got an idea of what would go with my body type and my personal style. "Truthfully, I never really considered more than their basics and skimmed the catalog, but as she described everything, I was intrigued, and she gave me an idea that I didn't have to think the way I usually do about myself, and that with the right stuff, I could stand out."

Great, just what I needed, to think about her like that! I tried to push the chair back, but she kept her shoes firmly grounded into the floor, disallowing movement. "You helped me out, gave me a basic idea of where to go, and I really appreciate you doing that for me. You'll be glad to know that your friend has a nice holiday bonus check to be drafted to her under my father's secret account in the next week, because when you spend $579, you should really give thanks to whoever helped you out."

She slid her hand across my bra strap beneath my blouse and rose up, leaving me stunned silent. Never had she hurled around those big money numbers, since she always thought as wealth as something to be careful with. But when she threw that figure towards me, I knew then that there wasn't going back anymore. Paris was flirting with me, at the newspaper, and with not even mentioning one word, drove me crazy, and all up the wall.

"Damn you," I whispered under my breath, which she caught. She quirked her eyebrow, and looked me over dead-on.

"Not until Saturday night," she hinted, and she turned and walked away, leaving me to think about her sans the skirt, even more so than I had since the start of the weekend and her first call.

I was left stunned, speechless. I went back to work, the taste of her along my tongue as I thought about her in that shop with my new 'friend', trying on things for three hours straight and giving her that bonus. I know I couldn't do that, but between the both of us, that woman must think we're crazy to ask her advice on what to wear beneath our clothes. Thank God she gets paid to deal with my girlfriend fretting over something that doesn't give her enough cleavage.

I know she was probably thinking about that as she got ready tonight for the Winter Formal. We both didn't want to go and would have preferred to go out on a date someplace special, remembering the embarrassment of the last Formal we attended, when I found out about her 'close date', and of course, Dean and Tristan's cock-measuring contest. We both skipped last year because of calculus exam study. This year we can't get out of it though, since it's organized by student government and we lead it. Both of us had to be in attendance, even if we just sat at the punch table doling out drinks and watched for someone sneaking in to spike the punch.

Thankfully, Paris saw that I wouldn't be happy about that assignment, and when she doled out responsibilities, I had something pretty simple to do, and that was to coordinate the music with the hired DJ so that NWA and Snoop Dogg didn't sneak into the playlist. We all wanted the dance to be a nice calm event, and I also didn't want the DJ to be playing music last loved in 1994. Pretty much all I had to do was check his discs, make sure nothing offensive or lame was in there, and the rest of the night, I can catch up on my reading in the corner. Meanwhile, Par would be at the door, greeting others and welcoming them on behalf of student gov, and then moving on to the mic to announce basic things like Oxfam and United Way donation pleas, along with 'your lights are on' queries. Pretty simple gig, and Paris agreed with me Thursday night, glad to at least have some time with me tonight.

Still, no matter how much I wanted to just come in a t-shirt and jeans, we were required to dress fancy, no matter our duties. I put a bit of effort into it, having Mom alter an off-the-shelf grey dress a bit, add a bit of a slit, adjust the bodice, things I knew would tease Paris, but at the same time show that I didn't want to put much effort into attending the Winter Formal. I looked pretty enough, and as we got within a half-mile of the Armory, Mom gave me some ground rules to follow.

"You'll call me if there's any problem or you have to stay out later than expected. I don't want to have you freezing your ass outside for an hour because you forgot to call."

"Don't worry, I won't." I rolled my eyes up. "Trust me, I'm planning on going with Par's plan to be out by ten, we just need to be there two hours."

"They'll drag you into more, trust me," Mom warned, remembering back to her younger days. "I know you don't think you're dancing, but I know you will."

"I won't," I insisted. "I brought a good book, I'll be buried in it!"

Mom shook her head, denying my theory. "Trust me, kiddo, bribe the DJ into keeping you in the seats. He's going to beg you to dance at least once."

"With who?"

"Oh, I don't know," she teased, then teased my call before Friday night dinner. "Paris kind of wanted you to dance Thursday night when I turned on the music."

"She was not! She was telling you to turn it down."

"What, she doesn't like AC/DC?" Lorelai pouted as she made the last turn towards the venue. "Tough breaks! She knew what the deal was for Thursdays, I can do and play whatever I want when she's there."

"Mom, next time she's over, do not taunt her by putting in the Wizard of Oz disguised as Troop Beverly Hills!" I was annoyed as I went on. "She has nightmares about flying monkeys. Monkeys with wings!"

"But it's the best movie ever!"

"No!" I stuck my finger out. "Never, ever again! You will lose your movie choice if you mock her like you do."

"Your girlfriend is no fun," she whined. "Dean mocked with me."

"Dean would mock Saving Private Ryan." Yes, I totally said that. "Seriously, she's much better than Dean; she even bought the food for us. You loved that, right?"

"Well...yeah."

"And she was on her best behavior," I noted.

"Sure she was," Mom said wryly. "I know you two were having fun before I came home from work, so she got her energy out before then."

I tried to deny her allegation, but well...it didn't work. "Yeah, having fun studying." I said that with a dreamy look on my face.

"Studying the fly on your jeans?" Oh, crap! "Trust me, kiddo, I know all the tricks, you and her were doing things I need not know about that I did with your father once."

"We were not!" I continued to argue for my non-existent innocence. "Maybe we made out a little, but the door was open! We weren't going to do anything too wild, and we followed the rules, Mom."

"Honey, calm down. I'm just teasing you, and whatever you're doing with her, as long as it's not interfering with your education or dangerous, it's fine." Stopping at the last light before the Formal venue, she turned around and attempted to quell my panicking. "It's going to take me awhile to get used to this, but she's a good girl. She knows what she's doing, and with this, she's becoming less intense. Frankly, I'm glad you hooked up, since it gets her off our backs during PTO meetings!"

"Mom!" I was smiling again.

"She was going to make some big presentation about a front lawn LCD sign Tuesday night, but she never appeared. I think Ava and Aubrey drank to that after the meeting and actually had a party!" Oh, if I could tell her what she was presenting that night in reality, which involved the two of us in iChat, misusing the technology of instant messaging after ending discussion on an essay topic...

Finally, we arrived at the front entrance, and I felt so strange not having a date on such a date night. But as long as she was there, I could handle the problems and pressures of having to attend the Formal as a single girl, rather as a newly devirginized lesbian with my lover at the door.

"So, this is it. Your final Formal." Mom smiled at me. "I can tell you right now, Paris is going to have a dry mouth."

"She doesn't drool." I blushed, wondering if I was showing off too much cleavage. "She'll look, shrug, and say I look nice."

"She has blood, right?" Far be it for me to deny that Mom and I share an odd kinship. "Paris will drool."

"I guess." I still doubted myself about my looks as I got out of the car and said goodbye to her, climbing out of the Jeep as gracefully as I could. Gathering my purse and making sure that my book and wallet were secure, I felt around until I found my staff ticket to get in. Looking up at the big doors of the neo-Gothic building, I felt a shudder at going into the huge hall, alone.

Thank God Paris would greet me at the inside door as I went into the hall. Opening the outside door, the decorations were spare, fitting a Chilton-sponsored dance within the corridor. A crowd of other students was in the hall as I went through, trying to find which door Paris was guarding. I prepared myself for the visceral reaction of how she looked. Instead of the green dress of last time though, I pictured her more in the sweater dress she wore to my 16th birthday party at Grandma's, not going for looks, just for comfort.

I wanted her to look conservative, boring, dull, so I could see the way she usually presented herself. I felt so odd, wanting her to dress down, just so that no other person in that hall could eye her up. I was the one making her hot, but I needed her to cool down in public, for my own sake.

Looking towards the inner doors, paired in three sections, I couldn't find her though. That's odd, I thought. Maybe she had changed assignments with someone else. I did see Chip from one of our projects last year at a door instead, along with a couple of other students I didn't know at the other two. Maybe Chip would know something, so I went towards that line to dig out information. I patiently waited in line for my place to give him the ticket, and after five minutes, I was at the head of the queue.

Greeting him, I asked him if he knew where she was.

"She should be in there, I'm not sure where though," he explained. "She called me just before she left home, said I had line duty."

"Did she say why?"

"No idea, I guess she didn't want to do it. But she was in a rush so I couldn't really question it. I think she just came in through the side door."

"OK, thanks."

"Enjoy the evening." He took the ticket, and I was puzzled by what he said. Was she even here? Why would she ditch the true opportunity to make sure everyone knew she was the queen of the school? I know how excited she was about it, texting me all day as I got ready about how she was glad to have line duty. Why would she change her mind so abruptly?

I guess I feel so protective of her, that I'm scared when she goes off-plan, like she did Monday morning with us being late. I have to get used to that. Maybe once I consult with the DJ, things will be much calmer and I'll realize that she's probably at the food table--

Uh, wait a second. Why is she mingling in the middle of the crowd? I see her over towards the middle, and I know she never mingles, ever. She is always on the side, no matter what.

Besides that though, uhh, she certainly hasn't shrugged off dressing up for the dance at all. Her dress is a sort of a lighter green, and has a satiny look to it, it makes her look thinner than she seems. Um, and her breasts are coming out to play tonight, did our friend at the Secret sell her this dress? I mean, wow, she still looks like Paris, really.

But she's standing there in that dress...uh, she has a slit up the right side of her dress. A nice, long, leg-bearing slit.

Oh, damn. For someone who shops petite, she's making me seem so small all the sudden. My heart is palpitating, and I'm undressing her here, in the middle of this room, with my eyes. I want her so bad, and here I am, ready to just...

Ready to just...

Uhh, what in the hell is Jamie doing there, approaching her with some punch? I can recognize him any time, what with his dull Brock Squarejaw preppy look. My fists are clenching; there is no way in hell that Paris invited him here, did she? Or that she's pleased to see him at all...

Oh, maybe she is, since she's smiling at him. Why is she smiling at him?

What the fuck is going on here, is she going to call me out right here and now?

God, I hate Jamie. I hate him so much...damn it, they're getting into a dancing position! She hasn't even seen me yet and I am boiling mad. Why is she with Jamie, why, why, why?

I'm just going to turn away and stew in a fucking corner, and I'm going to get Louise to do all that DJ crap. I can't believe her! After all that she's shared with me, and all that I've shared with her, she's dancing with Jamie Pratt! He came all the way up from Princeton, likely with flowers and candy, and got her to date him, and then fuck me over! Sorry for getting all salty with my language here, but I'm pissed off! Why didn't she tell me at all? What is wrong with me?

She told me I wasn't a phase, that she wanted us to be as close to each other as possible. She promised me, and now...

Paris is looking right towards me, smiling, saying hi, asking how I'm doing.

I turn away from her, coldly. She will not see what she has done, that I'm on the verge of exploding in tears. I should have known I was just the filler before Jamie kissed up to her, and that's it, we're done. To everyone else, it's just another night, another stage in the combative story of the two of us, publicly.

To me though, I feel my heart shattering. I don't need any kind of explanation at all, because no matter what she says, she's holding Jamie's hand. She's got a guy. She doesn't need me anymore.

I feel empty inside, and suddenly, I know how she felt when Tristan told her they weren't right for each other. Dirty and wrong, wanting to lash out.

Suddenly, I feel so used. A month, down the drain, because she's found someone appropriate for her to love. I know she may say she hates Jamie, but when you're surprised, you can't help but fall in love.

If you'll excuse me, I kind of feel like Miss Haversham right now. I need to cope before I end up living the rest of my life in my bedroom wearing this same dress...

Paris's POV, 8:25pm-8:35pm

I've been watching her all night, when I can. From a seat along the sides, she sits on a folding chair, near the corner, reading Madam Bovary. I can't help but notice how beautiful she looks, the way her hair is tied back, how the grey dress she wears accentuates the beautiful paleness of her skin, and falls just above her knee. Tonight, Rory Gilmore isn't a Disney princess at all; she's gone far and above those homely ladies and become a beauty of her own, in my eyes.

But if you look under the façade, you see that her blue eyes, usually so full of life and bright, are instead darkened. Full of rage and betrayal. She's angry, bitter, hiding it all under her usual cherry disposition to anyone else.

Except for me. And I must take full responsibility for ruining her night.

Probably her life if I don't fix things very, very quickly. She hasn't even said a word to me, walking towards Louise to ask her to take DJ duty, then sitting down shortly after, and she hasn't moved from her chair since except for her 'clearing the air' before this moment.

Obviously, I fucked up, horribly. This is all my fault. I had opportunities to make it clear to her that the situation I was in wasn't the culmination of some sick joke where I'd take her virginity and reveal her as a dyke at the end of the night. Mind you I'm saying that in the guise of a Chilton student with the humor of Jimmy Kimmel, And not myself.

Maybe I should say your average member of a Princeton fraternity, also.

I suppose I should tell you how I got hoodwinked into the situation in the first place. Trust me when I say, this night did not need to happen. It should have never happened.

I should not be with Jamie Pratt, who I could barely tolerate when I went out with him in August. I should be joking about slutty girls with my girlfriend and giving her wide-eyed stares and inflaming her with a bit of leg in this hot little number.

But then my mother found out that I had gone out with him, no matter how much I tried to hide it. For the last month, she's been conspiring with this yutz to give me a surprise for Winter Formal. Mind you, I've been telling her 'I am going alone' since the start of October, and any dates would be rejected.

Next time this happens, I will just get ready at Maddy's.

If there is a next time, that is. For all I know, Rory is planning my demise while reading that book, and I'm living my last hours because she's going to stab me in my bed hours from now. Probably with knitting needles.

Maybe a little macabre, but please, get the point. Rory hates me, and she has every reason to do so. But she doesn't know the facts.

After I was finished getting ready, I decided to do my usual duck from my room and through the kitchen stairs, hoping that I could just shout to my mother I was going to leave and dodge out without exchanging more than four words. I thought I had a pretty good chance of it this time, seeing as she had her own night out with Mohegan Man. What they were going to do, I don't really know. All I knew is I didn't want to know, and to get out of there quickly was my main goal. I wouldn't let anything get in my way.

"Mother, I'm leaving!" I shouted from the top of the landing.

"All right!" OK, home free, nothing said, she couldn't stop me as I rushed down the stairs towards the kitchen...

And ended up being met with someone at the bottom of the landing, blocking my way with a dozen blue roses and a gift.

"Hello, Paris," the person said, and as I caught my breath from looking at my feet while I went down the stairs, I looked up towards the speaker.

Who immediately brought me into a very unwanted hug on my end. "I've missed you, how have you been?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God...no, this is not happening! I remembered the voice from its boastful drone during the dinner in Washington as he talked about McCain being his idol and such, and immediately, I felt myself wanting to be sick.

It was Jamie. The freshman from Princeton who was a good debate partner, but I couldn't muster a sexual thought about, which finally brought me out of my delusion that my feelings for Rory were from a lack of any boy I wanted. Mainly because beyond Tristan, I didn't want a guy.

If this was Vance Beardsley, it would be so much easier. But this guy, he likes me. Likes me! He thinks my anger is a turn-on, so I couldn't threaten him and expect him to clear away.

"Ahh, Paris." There was my mother, coming towards the two of us and probably already up to a .11. "I see you're very surprised."

"Um, yes." No, I was shanghaied! Looking him over, nothing got me all hot. He looked just as non-threateningly cute as he did four months before, wearing a dull suit with a silver tie.

I couldn't believe this. How the hell had Jamie got my number, and more importantly, on my mom's side? This was a nightmare. I knew exactly why he was there, so I tried to play dumb to misdirect.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I'm greeting people at the door of my school's Winter Formal--"

"No you're not!" Sharon cut me off immediately. "Paris, enjoy a night out, I'm really impressed with this boy."

"Mother, I'm the greeter! I'm not going to have time to dance!"

"You will if you call someone to take over. What about that Chip boy, he seems to somewhat enjoy you in student government."

"No, I'm not calling anyone." I brought my focus towards Jamie, hoping to dissuade him with a future pity date. "Look, Jamie, you can call me next week." I tried to walk off towards the garage.

And then, he stopped me.

"I came all this way to see you," he said, smiling. "I really do miss you."

I tried letting him off easy again, doing all I could to get out of the house, but my path continued to be blocked. "Jamie, it was a nice date, but--"

"Paris!!" Mother stomped her foot down on the ground. "Into the dining room, now!" She grabbed me by my arm forcefully, and yanked me towards the other room, definitely angry with me. Locking me in, she unfortunately used the soundproof sliding oak doors to my disadvantage.

"Mother, I--"

Now let's examine why Sharon isn't Mother of the Year with this conversation, shall we? "Shut up, you will not embarrass yourself in front of one of the most eligible bachelors in all of Philadelphia!" She stomped around me, standing straight, her voice weakening my resolves. "Now why you are not going out with this boy, is beyond me. You never told me about him at all, and frankly, young lady, I'm very disappointed in you! How dare you not let anything develop with him, after one date!"

"That's because it was a dull one," I said, meekly. "I didn't have fun."

She sneered her mouth, growling at me, her flesh and blood, verbally abusing me. "Oh, fuck fun! For once in your life, think about more than fun. You're not allowed to have fun on a date, you learn about each other and go from there!" I felt myself wanting to cry, but knew if I did, she would slap me in the face. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking in that head of yours, but you are my daughter, and you will do what I say. And tonight, you will be on Jamie's arm and enjoy your night, dancing."

Rory, if you were here now...I felt scared, really, truly scared. I tried to raise my voice. "What if I don't? Let's say I walk out this door without him and go to the dance, what will you do?"

My mother stood still, letting her words speak for any action she might take. "Then I guess I'll have to tell the Pratts that you refused to date him, and they can use their influence to shut down any Harvard contacts you might have, since one of their family members happens to work in the dean's office." My face was pale, and I felt sick as she attacked my future. As I began to look down, she threw more sickening attacks in my direction. "Look up here, you sniveling bitch!" She took her finger and propped up my chin up sharply, her nail digging into the soft skin and almost drawing blood. "Let's get things straight, Paris. I don't care about your future, as long as it's filled with grandchildren and you being a loyal wife to your husband. I'm tired of your idiotic attitude towards being independent, and you will get in line, or else I will ruin your life. I realized I was losing control of you when that bastard spawn of Lorelai Gilmore's visited here overnight last week."

My jaw clenched, and I tried to defend Rory. "Excuse me!" I felt so hostile towards her. "Rory is my best friend and does not deserve your hate! Don't you dare belittle her or Lorelai!"

"I could give a shit about who you keep as a buddy; besides, she'll probably meet the same fate as her mother sooner or later and ruin her life." This was becoming the first time in my life I was willing to go to jail and punch Sharon out. Yet I held back, remembering how long until I no longer had to abide by the shitty ruling of Hartford County's divorce court. "Now you are not going to ruin this for me, or your father. You have a guy who likes you out there, and you will enjoy him, no matter what. I don't expect you home before one, and if I hear anything about you doing your stupid volunteer work, you're going to be sorry you disobeyed me. You understand?"

I nodded silently, hoping the room's oxygen went away.

"I said..." she repeated with a growl, "do you understand, Paris?"

"Yes, Moth--"

She grabbed my hand tightly, like she did when I was younger, in a way that hurt. "You show him a good time, or else!"

"Yes, Mother." I was weak, and quiet as I shirked out of the room after Sharon's rant towards me, feeling like crying, angry at her, angry at Jamie, feeling so violated. I ran for a corner of the hall, away from Jamie, where I called Chip to let him know he had door duty. I knew if I kept my original plans I'd get a whiny Jamie, and Sharon doing much more than screaming at me. The call was quick and to the point, and with that, I moved on to informing Rory. I tried to call, but got her voice mail, so I left a quick message.

"Rory, it's Par. I'm out with Jamie against my will, sorry."

Then, thanks to Madeline's knowledge of speedy text messaging language, I made sure cover myself completely, although the vocabulary portion of my brain was screaming out corrections as I typed swift characters on the tiny cell phone keypad;

R,

911, Sharon forced me on Jamie 4 formal date! dont kill me, sorry :(. b thinking of u all nite.

Par

I had a feeling she would get it, and I'd be well-covered enough. At least I hoped so. Shortly after, I departed with Jamie in the town car, and I could tell Henrico was not pleased at all to be called in by my mother on a day off he planned for months to launch his new indoor soccer league for kids down at the Y in his neighborhood. He actually used the term concha putrefacta to describe her as I apologized to him in Spanish before departing. He wasn't mad at me, but made it clear he would be screening from now on, and that if I needed his services that I would have to call him on my cell personally.

As much as I'd like to say that Jamie and I had a conversation on the ride over to the Armory, I'm not going to run it down for you, mainly because I didn't get to say all that much. Instead, I was able to recall why I never found him attractive beyond the surface, as he boasted about how much he was 'owning' debates (I thought they were owned by the schools, not him), and that he was the best pledge in his fraternity. He let me know how his boring family was, who made Dean and the Forresters seem like the fucking Osbournes in comparison. And then he went into detail about how much he missed me, including spending nights on the phone deciding whether to call me or not.

Yes, I'm serious, he acted like he was in a bad 60's movie when it came to his feelings for me! God, I mean come on, either call me or give up, but don't wait until I've completely forgotten about you to make your move!

But things got worse, and soon it was clear that my absent-mindedness during that luncheon had come back to bite me, hard. He went on and on about how I was the best thing to happen to him that summer, and that he couldn't think about anything else when he was alone at night.

"I even thought of coming up to your school and surprising you last month," he mentioned. "I called them to ask, but unfortunately your headmaster said I couldn't visit without your permission, something about security precautions."

Remind me to send Hanlan and Bitty a card showing their appreciation for rejecting that visit. I couldn't have imagined what he'd do, get down on his knees? Ask for my hand? Who does he I think I am, god damned Scarlett O'Hara?

No matter what, I would have been fucked one way or another, thanks to my mother's tenacity. When I asked him how he got my mother's number, he said that his grandmother was a member of the DCW, and since Sharon leads the Hartford branch, it didn't take long to get a hold of her.

I felt a headache coming on as he prodded me for information for how I was doing within the fifteen minute drive to the Formal venue. I rattled off a basic review of the last three months, filtering out anything to have to do with Rory, and tried to sound just barely interested in recounting to this stranger in my eyes how my life was. Frankly, I was surprised that he wasn't mad at me for not mentioning that by the time I got back to Hartford, I had forgotten all about him.

As much as I'd like to recount the full conversation with him, there was no ice broken between us, and I already knew that this would be our second and last date. He tried to inch closer, but I avoided it by claiming I needed to be next to the window because of being carsick.

And as much as I hate to say this, would it have killed him to offer dinner at the very least? Not that I was starving and would eat something at the hors d'oeuvres table, but it would have been much appreciated.

I did know that I would have to play along all night, lest I look less than enthused to him. As much as I didn't think Jamie dateable, I wasn't going to be completely bitchy and tell him to go find someone else to have fun with. Besides, what can go wrong, I asked myself. I thought I was pretty well-covered and Rory would understand.

Oh, but she didn't. The moment she turned away from me after I greeted her, she didn't see the surprised shock on my face, the anguish. I felt my stomach drop at that exact moment, and I could tell that if not for Jamie, I would have probably turned her on quite a bit. I went on dancing with him, which was a mistake in hindsight. But I was listening to him, because I didn't want trouble with Sharon, and no matter how much I wanted to go talk to Rory, Jamie was stuck to my side, and when I said I wanted to talk to her, he tried to interfere.

"Cool, I want to talk to her too," he said, eager to restore our Junior Leadership bonds. "I'm sure she's also missed me...though not as much as you did." He said the last part with a flirt, and brought himself closer, expecting a kiss.

I pushed him away in a nice manner. "Actually...um, it can wait, honestly. It's something you wouldn't understand." I looked up at him, feeling so strange to be in the arms of a guy who shadowed over me by a foot, rather than the comfortable few inches of Rory. "Maybe later?"

"Um, sure." We continued to dance, and I was thankful not to have anyone like Madeline or Louise come over to examine that I had a guy. Well, Madeline saw us, but didn't say anything, just waving, saying hi and eventually moving out of my line of sight.

I had my fingers crossed that maybe I could try to figure out why Rory wasn't being social and bitter to me, and I kept a vigil towards her seat, hoping to catch her leaving for something like a restroom break. In the meantime, I had to duck Jamie's feet trying to stomp me several times, along with his musical commentary. Let's just say our views on Mariah Carey as the finest songstress of our time are very divergent.

I knew Rory couldn't sit there and stew forever, and finally, forty minutes into the event, she got up from the chair. That was my signal to confront her.

The plan was put into effect quickly. "Uh, Jamie, would you mind if I used the restroom? I drank a little too much water before the Formal." I faked a nervous laugh and looked up at him.

"Sure, why not?" He nodded, letting me go. "I'm just going to wander the room."

"Take your time." With that, I found myself broken off from him, and rushed quickly towards the hallway, hoping that I could catch Rory in time. I just felt this night falling apart with each step, and hoped if I explained it all to her, she would have to understand that I had no intention at all of hurting her.

Did I mention that I cannot run in heels to save my life? I almost fell a couple of times and must have looked like Square Pegs-era Sarah Jessica Parker running down that hall, even if I was in a Sex in the City-era dress.

"Rory!" I called out her name once I was out in the hall. "Hey, Rory!" I raised my hand up as she turned to look at me.

She was immediately bitter towards me, standing up straight and staring me down as if she forgot that I used to really intimidate her. Strutting towards the restroom, she had an acidic venom to her words as I caught up with her. I felt a chill as we entered the room, thankfully alone.

"Rory," I started, "I wanted to explain--" I tried to talk as if nothing was amiss, but she stopped me by slamming the door shut, and turning the lock.

"Wanted to explain what?" Oh, fuck, she was pissed off! "Wanted to explain what you're doing with that idiot?" I felt my heart beat picking up as she stomped her heel down, leaving me to gape at my beautiful girlfriend turning into a Medusa before my very eyes. "Why is he here?"

"I don't know--"

"Wanted to embarrass me later, push me out of the closet, deny we have anything and leave me to the vultures?" OK, this wasn't the Rory Gilmore I knew at all. "You had this planned, didn't you? Get me right to that point, all buttered up, romantic, unpopped, and then BAM! Your ultimate mindfuck where you get the V slot, just like Mom said you were going for. I trusted you, I thought you were true."

I'm losing her. I was in an extreme panic, trying to make a comeback. I could usually keep up with her, word for word, but at that moment, I was failing, looking down at the octagonal tiles below, ashamed. Admittedly to anyone else, I probably had the upper hand. But I just couldn't grasp on.

"I am," I responded solemnly, hoping I could explain things, forgetting other details. "You really think I would be that low? That I'd date a guy who dropped off my radar the moment I came back to the dorm, then spend the last month of my life proving that I want you the way I do?" I wasn't going to be pushed into a fight with her, and if she wanted one, I'd take the punch.

She had spent the last forty-five minutes stewing, angry at me. I was powerless to stop her from using her words to cut me.

"Yeah, like I believe that now. Friend of Louise, whose picture is right next to the definition of one night stand, and daughter of a woman who gets wet from seeing others in pain." I felt her gaze burn into me, hateful and unyielding. "Seriously, you could've done a lot better than Jamie when it came to screwing with me; I know Vance would love to have you."

"Ror, please stop--" I had never felt so defeated before, never so down and out. I was losing my will to fight the accusations as I tried to beg and plead for her to check her messages.

"The name, is Rory. You just lost your right to shorten it." She backed me towards another part of the bathroom. "What you've done is low, you know that, right?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I screamed in desperation. "Jamie--"

"Look, just don't bother talking to me for now." She held up her hand. "You've done just about enough tonight, and I don't even want to look at you. I hope you have a nice, fun night out, Paris." I began to cry fully, knowing that my happiness was once again snatched just as I had a supposedly tight grasp on it.

"You really don't understand, I didn't mean to go out with--" Rory quickly left the room before I got my confession out, and when the door shut, I was in tears, not giving a damn about my makeup or anything else. I once again felt all alone in the world as my best friend, the love of my life, left me, without letting me convey how much I hated the current situation.

I eventually retreated into the stall I'm in, not giving a fuck about Jamie at all. I felt my stomach twist and turn, feeling so hurt and angry.

Angry at myself.

Angry, because I didn't push myself out of Jamie's way, make him tumble on his ass and tell Sharon if she liked Jamie so much, she could date him.

Angry, because I can't stand to hurt my girlfriend, and I have. Maybe forever.

Angry, because I did nothing to follow my heart, and complied the moment my mother called me a bitch.

I wish I had just called in sick and didn't do the Formal now, because this would have all never happened. I could be at home working on a project, and Rory would be fine with me, not hating my guts because I happened to have an unwanted escort.

As I sit in this stall, I wonder if things have changed between us. Or worse, she'll out me to everyone and tell them about Monday morning as if it was different, dark, and twisty.

Fuck. Thank God Jamie didn't take me to dinner; I'm beginning to truly feel sick...

To be continued...