Current music:

Tell Me What the Rain Knows (Wolf's Rain Soundtrack)

Chapter Three: Chew Ear Thin Ooze<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

-

"This, boys and girls, is the story of true love: a beautiful girl from one county, a handsome boy from another; they meet and they fall in love. Separated by distance and by parents who did not approve of the union, the young couple dreamed of a day that they could be together. They wrote each other beautiful letters: letters of longing and passion, letters full of promises and plans for the future. Soon the separation proved too much for either one of them to bear. So, one night, cold and black with no light to guide them, they both snuck out of their homes and ran away as fast as they could. It was so dark out that they were both soon lost and it seemed as if they would never find each other. Finally, the girl dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her lovely face. 'Oh, my love, where are you? How will I find you?'"

From one pocket, Jess pulled out a lighter, from another pocket, a round, lumpy ball with a wick.

"Suddenly, a band of stars appeared in the sky. These stars shone so brightly they lit up the entire countryside. The girl jumped to her feet and followed the path of the stars until finally she found herself standing right where the town gazebo is today. And there waiting for her was her one true love, who had also been led here by the blanket of friendly stars."

Jess lit the ball’s fuse and stealthily rolled it across the steps in front of Miss Patty’s studio door.

"And that, my friends, is the story of how Stars Hollow came to be, and why we celebrate that fateful night every year at about this time," Miss Patty concluded dramatically. "Now, we still – oh, what is that dreadful smell?"

Jess took off through the park, through the bushes, through several backyards and emerged on the sidewalk a block away. He pulled a novel out of his back pocket, read it on his stroll back to the diner, continued reading it in the diner because all of the customer’s had already been served – except for Taylor, who was sitting alone in the corner by the door. A minute later Miss Patty came in and joined <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Taylor at the table.

"Ugh. What is that awful smell?" he asked.

"Someone dropped a stink bomb at my door. Oh, it was terrible. I had to walk the children through it to get them outside. I hope this smell washes off. It would be unbearable if I smelled like this at the Firelight Festival tonight."

"Did you get a look at the perpetrator?" Taylor asked, his gaze sliding towards Jess. "Get a good look at him while he ran off? Did he maybe have dark hair? Black shirt? Look like a juvenile delinquent?"

"Oh I didn’t see who did it, Taylor."

Luke stared at Jess.

"Hey, where’d you say you went again?" he asked.

"Bookstore." Jess held up the book he was reading.

"Pretty far along in it."

"Yeah, well, I’ve been reading it in the store. Finally remembered to bring money this time," he said.

The bell clanged above the door. Lorelei dropped her purse on the counter and her butt on a stool.

"I was almost crushed by a paper machete star," she announced. "How's your day?"

"Well, it's looking pretty good now," he said sarcastically, eyeing Jess.

Their banter continued, carrying on in a particularly cynical tone today, and Jess tuned out the chatter until an argument spurted from Taylor’s table.

"No, no, Patty, you're wrong. They built the fire to throw themselves on it when their families found them!"

"Taylor you're crazy! They built the fire so that they could stay warm their first night here."

"Patty, I am the recording secretary for the Stars Hollow City Council, I think I know how my town was founded!"

"Ugh!" Lorelei groaned. "Can nobody talk about anything else but this stupid festival?" She paused, looked around. "That came out a lot louder then it was supposed to, didn't it?"

"Yup," Luke nodded.

"Yup," she echoed.

"This festival is commemorating the founding of our town, young lady," Taylor said.

"Whoop-dee-do," Jess muttered.

"I know Taylor. I'm sorry."

An elderly couple, finished with their brunch, waved a hand in the air for their check. Jess saw the motion from the edge of his peripheral vision, yet Luke didn’t and he was actually looking up. He gave his uncle another second to notice, but he was focused on Lorelei and sapping up the extra attention she gave him today. Jess threw down his book, found the old couple’s receipt and took it over to them.

Someone else came into the diner as he was clearing the dirty plates, someone new, who Luke knew personally and who caused his discomfort to permeate through the room and settle thickly as a clumsy kind of awkwardness. It spread over Lorelei too, who stumbled constantly as she babbled until, finally, she excused herself to "go sit in a closet or something."

"So… hi," this mystery woman said, setting her bags in the middle of the floor.

"Hi," Luke breathed uncomfortably.

Jess dropped the dishes into the sink in back and returned to the silent film, all directed, produced and acted out by Luke Danes. Luke caught him by the shoulder and dragged him over.

"Jess, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is my nephew."

"Hi. I remember Luke mentioning you a while ago. You’re Liz’s son, right?"

"Not by choice." And he took up his former seat and resumed reading.

"Wow, I really should have called, huh?" she asked.

"Nah, you never did before. I’d be surprised if you started now."

"Luke."

"No, really, it’s fine."

"So," Rachel paused. "How have you been?"

An uncomfortable, forced conversation followed. They danced, sometimes tripped, around something important, something that made it preferable for them to keep dancing and tripping rather than moving in sync. As the lunch rush began to arrive, Luke took her bags upstairs to "get them out of the way."

Right.

-

The Firelight Festival was a legitimate town celebration, a remarkable fete that did not occur often – ever, actually – but Stars Hollow still managed to make even a legitimate celebration asinine. Jess stood away from the crowd, on the other side of the street, too distanced to hear the majority of the speech. The crowd simultaneously patted themselves down. Detachedly, he thought they were insane: one big, uniform Bedlam.

A couple people ran off; the crowd began to move and disperse, leaving the giant woodpile relatively unobserved. He didn’t question the opportunity, just went with it. He walked across the street, hands in his jacket pockets, fingers wrapped around two imperfectly round objects, thumbs fiddling with the fuses. When he reached the outskirts of the crowd, he spotted Rory and Dean, holding hands as they approached the festival. He altered his course. They both saw him coming; Dean shook his head, Rory smiled.

"Now where have you two been? You could have missed the big event," he said, exaggerating with a gesture of his hands.

"Not a chance," Rory said. "We’ve still got fifteen minutes before Miss Patty brings back some matches."

Dean wrapped an arm around Rory’s waist. "What are you doing here, Jess?"

"Here right now? Right here? Or here at this festival? Or maybe here in Stars Hollow? All of which have very different answers."

"You don’t even like this town and now you’re suddenly participating in –"

"Spectating," Jess corrected.

"–in it. What was your prank gonna be for this one?"

Rory pulled out of her boyfriend’s one-armed embrace and looked up at him. "Dean."

He fingered one of the stink bombs in his pocket.

"What? He never goes to any town events, never goes to town meetings. Just seems a little suspicious to me."

"This is the oldest tradition in Stars Hallow, and one of the prettiest traditions, and I don’t think Jess would do anything to sabotage it," Rory half-chuckled at the absurdity of the notion. She switched her gaze over to him. "Right?"

It wasn’t the suspecting, I’m-on-to-you version of the question. Something in her tone – honesty, innocence, naiveté – confirmed that she actually believed what she said.

Jess took his hand out of his pocket. He didn’t really want to plant a stink bomb in the fire anyway. The smell would probably drift over to Luke’s and he would have to fall asleep with that stench in his nose. He would rather have Dean fall asleep with that stench in his nose – and his supplies wouldn’t be wasted.

"Right," he nodded to Rory. "I just came by to ask Dean about his Chilton application. Did you ever hear back from them?"

"Oh, you finally get your rejection letter?" Dean riposted.

"Can’t say that I did," Jess dismissed. "But I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"What application?" Rory asked, tugging on Dean’s elbow. "Did you apply to Chilton?"

"It’s no big deal," he said.

"Guess that means you didn’t get in, huh?" Jess heckled.

"Yeah, well, I don’t think you’re gonna get in either, so I wouldn’t get too cocky."

"Wait," Rory said, turning to Jess. "You applied to Chilton too?"

"Chilton? Don’t you go to Chilton?" he adopted a puzzled countenance, tapped his chin as if trying to remember.

"Jess. Did you get in?"

He grinned, partly because Rory put on a stern face, partly because Dean’s face had all scrunched together and met in the middle, partly because he had the answer but wasn’t going to part with it.

“Goodnight, Rory.”

Later that night, two smoke bombs were lit and left on Dean’s doorstep. However, before that incident, almost right after Jess turned away, actually, Luke approached him.

“Hey, Jess.” Luke paused, waited for him to return the greeting. He didn’t. “Okay. So listen, Rachel – the woman you met earlier – Rachel’s thinking about staying. Which doesn’t mean a whole lot since she comes and goes like that crazy, grinning cat in that equally crazy book.”

“The Cheshire Cat?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. And who knows how long she’ll actually stick around this time, but she’s my ex-girlfriend–”

Jess hid his amazement with an unenthusiastic, “Huh.”

“–and I told her whatever.”

“Okay…”

“That means she would stay at the apartment. Not tonight,” he added quickly, “because I told her I had to run the idea by you, so Lorelei gave her a room at the inn, and…” he exhaled. “Would you be okay with that?”

“It’s your apartment. Do whatever you want.”

He tried to walk away. Luke blocked his path.

“Jess, you live there too. If you’re not okay with it, tell me, and I tell her no.”

“Luke, I don’t care,” he huffed.

“Okay. Okay, maybe I can, uh, get Tom over to put up a divider or build a wall or somethin’. You can have your privacy.”

 

“Was never a problem before,” he said, moving around Luke.

 

“C’mon, Jess, I’m just trying to make this easy on you.”

 

“Then make sure there’s a door,” he called over his shoulder.

 

“What?”

 

“In the wall. Make sure there’s a door.”

 

“Right,” Luke mumbled.

 

-

 

The next morning Jess spent in the storage room putting food condiments on the shelves. Chilton popped into his thoughts erratically, always fiercely shoved out as soon as it entered. But he couldn’t shut his thoughts off to it. It kept showing up, knocking at the door, peering in through the window, calling on the phone, leaving messages on the answering machine. Finally, his patience melted, he grudgingly let it in.  

 

He was going to Chilton.

 

Big whoop.

 

Schoolwork had become routine. It was as easy as not doing it, but with the added perk of getting Luke off his back. Except… how long could he really do this? His mother was a drug addict, his father a deadbeat and a deserter. Failure was hereditary. He accepted that and gave up on success. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that an acceptance to Chilton was a success, but he stuffed that reality away, into the back of the closet, under unwanted memories he never tossed out, under piles of unwashed memories he had thrown in because he never got around to doing the laundry. Chilton was intangible, an unreality, in his mind. Chilton was a school of success; Jess was a man of failure. Suddenly

 

A feeling of satisfaction, of superiority, to the kids who attended Chilton impressed him. If he really tried he could be more than any of them. But he didn’t try – never tried – because he didn’t want to fail. A person can’t fail something they don’t try to succeed at.

 

He flattened the last box and stashed it behind one of the shelves. Back in the customer zone, Rachel wore an apron and weaved through the tables with plates and drinks, unobtrusively, skillfully, being there without the customer’s really knowing she was there.

 

There was no reason to be more than them.

 

Rory was there with her mother.

 

There might have been a reason for him to be better than them.

 

He snagged the coffeepot off the machine and refilled their mugs. Rory murmured her thanks.

 

There was a reason to try. He could fail – probably would – but he accepted it, expected it, was used to it.

 

“Luke, please notice that Jess does not lecture on the many ways coffee is slowly rotting my insides, nor does he ask how many cups I’ve had. He just serves. You should do that too,” Lorelei said.

 

Luke didn’t even look up from the table he was wiping off. “Jess can contribute all he wants to killing you, but I choose not to.”

 

“That’s heinous, Luke. If I say kill me, then kill me, damnit!” She pounded her first on the table. Jess turned. “Wait. Come back.” Slowly, reluctantly, he did. “Rory said you applied to Chilton.”

 

“Chilton? Chilton,” he repeated several more times, pondering. “Nope, never heard of it.”

 

“Jess, tell us. Please,” Rory pouted. “Did you get in or not?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Lorelei giggled and grabbed Rory’s arm. “Oh my god. Imagine him in the uniform.”

 

“My uniform?”

 

She pondered, smiled, laughed. “Even funnier, but no. The guys’ uniform. And the tie!”

 

They laughed. Jess rolled his eyes and left.

 

“No, wait, Jess! Tell me if you got in!” Rory begged.

 

“Yeah, and bring back the coffee!” her mother added.

 

Jess did neither.

 

From New York to Stars Hollow, from apartment to apartment, from alcoholic/druggie mother to cranky-but-clean uncle, from 3.8 in middle school to 4.0 in high school, from drug runners to unicorn peddlers, from friends who cut class to smoke and smash car windows to friendless, Jess headed down a blatantly different path; Jess headed down an inconspicuously similar path. He marched indifferently down the way of the Artful Dodger; he wandered ditheringly down the way of Oliver Twist.

 

-

 

Monday afternoon-going-on-evening, Jess’s fist hovered, hesitate, before knocking on the door. Rory opened it.

 

“Hey,” she greeted as if he visited regularly, and then noticed something on his shoulder. “I didn’t know you owned a back pack.”

 

He shrugged, watched her, waited.

 

“So,” she said.

 

“You gonna invite me in?”

 

“You haven’t told me why you’re here yet.”

 

“I need a computer,” he said.

 

“Better start saving,” she suggested.

 

“I also need a place to study,” he said and presented his ready-made excuse. “Luke’s got Tom up in the apartment building a wall.”

 

“A wall?”

 

“To separate my room from the kitchen, the living room and Luke’s bedroom. There’s nothing but banging and words that are very inappropriate for me to hear.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure.”

 

Jess raised his brow. “So?”

 

“So what?”

 

“Can I come in?” he asked.

 

“Oh. Yeah.” She moved out of the way, then suddenly jumped back into the doorway, spreading her arms to either side of the frame. “Wait! You have to tell me if you got into Chilton or not.”

 

“Okay,” he said and walked into her arm, stood close enough to feel her body heat. He cocked his head and threw her a bewildered look. “Thought you said I could come in?”

 

“You haven’t told me yet.”

 

“You didn’t say when I had to tell you.”

 

His shoulder rested against her outstretched arm, but he didn’t make a move. Usually he thoughtlessly moved his game piece, rarely thinking a turn in advance, because none of the games were ever finished. This opponent, though, made him want to plan out his next move, analyze every possible countermove, every gain and loss to be had, made him want to finish the game. At the same time, he didn’t want to finish the game – not if he could lose.

”Right now,” Rory clarified nervously.

 

“Nope, that’s not what I agreed to.” When she didn’t stand down, Jess switched his game strategy. “All right. Fine. I’ll just go. Fail my English exam tomorrow because I didn’t have my paper typed. Fail school. I won’t have a future, and you’ll have to live knowing that you could have saved me from my horrible fate.”

 

“Fine. You can use my computer, but no studying. You can’t study here until you tell me,” she said, pointing her index finger at him.

 

Temporary victory. He contained a smirk.

 

She led him in, to the computer in her room, turned it on for him. There was an open notebook on Rory’s bed, along with a couple loose leaf pieces of notebook paper. She bent down and gathered it all up in her arms.

 

“You don’t have to go,” he told her, standing so close behind her that she bumped into him when she stood up. A splotch of glorious heat warmed his stomach. He was trying to ruin her concentration and force a premature move, trying to make it his move again. However, he also wanted Rory to keep her turn. He didn’t want her to witness him doing anything that could be construed as work to the ignorant observer.

 

“I know, but I’ve got some studying to do too and I don’t want to bother you. It’s no problem. Oh, and there’s soda in the fridge.”

 

He dropped his backpack on the floor next to the computer chair.

 

“I’m not allowed in your fridge. Your mom forbade me last time I was here.”

 

“Because you took a beer. There’s no beer this time so I’m not worried.” And she disappeared into the living room.

 

She wasn’t worried. He stole lawn gnomes, drew chalk outlines, set off stink bombs, but she wasn’t worried. Had anyone else said that he would have been determined to prove them wrong, show them that their faith in him was misplaced, that he absolutely did not live up to expectations – anyone’s expectations. Instead, he was determined to prove Rory Gilmore right.

 

From his back pack he pulled out an all-purpose spiral notebook, the front pocket stuffed with returned tests and quizzes, with homework and class assignments that had accumulated into a hefty stack of proof that he tried – and was still trying. He flipped through to his written final copy, folded the previous pages back; he set the notebook down next to the keyboard, opened Word, and typed his paper. Once complete, he proofread, tweaked, and hit print.

 

The front door opened and closed.

 

“Rory, I have movies!” Lorelei called.

 

“I have finals!” Rory returned.

 

“I have chocolate and assorted junk food.”

 

“Chocolate is a form of junk food.”

 

“No, no. Chocolate is a food group unto itself and– where is my couch? Rory? Oh no, my daughter has been buried in a paperslide. Rory, where are you?” Lorelei cried dramatically. 

 

“Ha ha,” she said. “Now what are you doing with junk food and movies?”

 

Jess reorganized the papers into sequential order, though the teacher had never said anything about putting them in the right order before turning it in. He hunted the desk for a stapler.

 

“Movie night,” Lorelei stated. “I’m giving you a break from Chilton.”

 

“I can’t take a break!”

 

“But you’re at the end of the book.”

 

“And then I have to review my notes,” Rory said.

 

“The ones you reviewed last night?”

 

“Um…”

 

“Face it, kid, you’re ahead of schedule.”

 

“Fine. One more look over, then a movie. One,” she emphasized.

 

Jess found the stapler, stuck the corner of his papers in and pressed.

 

“What was that noise?” he heard Lorelei ask.

 

“Oh, Jess is here. He needed to type up something for English,” Rory explained.

 

Footsteps headed his way. He kept his back to the door, kept acting natural, calm, like he was commonly found in Rory’s bedroom, like there was no hidden hostility between her mom and him.

 

“Jess?”

 

He grabbed his notebook, turned to her as he tucked his essay away behind the cover.

 

“Huh?”

She glanced at the chair. “I didn’t know you owned a book bag.”

 

The instinct to run ignited immediately. He automatically scouted his exits, his escape routes, all which ran past Lorelei Gilmore, who blocked the doorway. He planted his feet, raised his brows, waited for her to continue so he could scram. She, too, seemed to be waiting, as her eyes searched him for intent, sought out an ulterior motive. Tired of her scrutinizing, Jess looked down to slip his notebook into his bag.

 

By going to school Jess had become well acquainted with quizzes, both pop and planned, and he sullenly realized that the quiz had already been handed out, he was already taking it, and he had forgotten to put his name at the top of the paper. There were two main types of quizzes: multiple choice and fill in the blank. Multiple choice left room for the slacker to guess; fill in the blank proved that, not only did the student do the work, but paid attention too.

 

“What’d you have to do for English?” she asked, falsely curious.

 

Jess filled in the blank. “Research paper.”

 

“What was the topic?”

 

Rory came up behind her mom, a late student finding she would have to make up the quiz another time.

 

There was no place for smartass answers on a quiz. Wrong was wrong, and wrong meant points off. (On that same note, right was right, no matter if the tone was sarcastic, disdainful or derisive.) Depending on the length of the quiz, he could miss one question and still manage an A. But this felt like a short quiz, one where one wrong answer dropped him a letter grade. A perfect score was still possible and, even as he questioned it, went for it.

 

“Fallibility of literature.”

 

“Explain.”

 

An essay question: for the student who neglected the assignment it was a guaranteed lower grade; for the student who completed the assignment, it was a comprehensive assessment to prove that they understood it too.

 

Jess went on emotional shut down, didn’t think, just answered, and didn’t care. “Once it’s assigned, no one wants to read it. So basically the school system is responsible for the uneducated, illiterate youth of America.”

 

“And you’re finished now?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Okay,” she drawled, studying him again, but this time perplexedly. “We’re not exactly having a Lean Cuisine meal, but I guess you can help yourself.”

 

And, like his teachers did when he went from zero attendance to, not only showing up but, partaking in class assignments, he was given, somewhat amazed and reluctant, an A.

 

Jess acknowledged her offer with a nod, but Rory shook her head. His feet had sprouted deep roots, averse to be deracinated.

 

“Nope. Not part of our agreement. No studying and definitely no dinner until you hold up your part of the deal, buster.” She folded her arms, fixed him with an impatient stare, tried to look intimidating.

 

“Babs, that can hardly be considered dinner,” he said, motioning toward Lorelei, who was now busy dumping a bag of marshmallows into a bowl.

 

Before he spoke he knew that there was no way to escape this time; all exits had been locked, barred and sealed. He was right: Rory didn’t budge.

 

“Okay, so I did hear back from Chilton,” he admitted.

 

Rory pursed her lips, still waiting. A small smile flitted over his lips as he thought of the letter: the letter that should have weighed him down, tied him down, but instead brought a vague, fleeting sense of accomplishment. Jess twisted the smile into a look of annoyance, but he was stalling. Apparently, Rory knew that too, because she began tapping her foot.

 

“The letter just went on and on about goals and expectations. Then at the bottom they threw in a cost and a couple dates.”

 

“A cost?” Confusion, then clarity. “Yes? You got in?”

 

Jess nodded, externally blank, internally savoring Rory’s excitement. Excitement because of something he’d done. It was no big deal.

 

“Are you gonna go?”

 

The look on her face – eyes wide, corners of her mouth ready to explode into a grin – almost tempted him to answer. But, while he didn’t find an exit, he found a hiding spot.

 

“I’m afraid that wasn’t part of the bargain, Miss Gilmore.” He pulled a textbook out of his bag, notebook paper sticking out from various locations between the pages. He waved the book at her. “I’ve got studying to do.”