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It is 2 a.m. and Paris is infuriated by the neat handwriting scrawled on a post-it note.
I know you enjoyed this book, Paris. And sometimes Becky Sharp reminds me of you.
Paris has spent all night reading Vanity Fair, and while she was immersed in the Becky Sharp’s world, she can’t help but notice that Rory hasn’t left notes in between the book’s pages. But just as she reached the very last page, the note tucked in the back cover ignited a fire in her.
How dare she compare me to Becky Sharp, Paris thinks to herself, but she seems to fail to stifle a smile as she throws the library book across the bedroom.
On the nightstand beside her, she picks up another book, having no idea what it’s about, and being completely certain that Rory has not read it yet. She scans the book for any colorful post-it notes and cheers in triumph when nothing falls out between the pages.
Take that, Rory Gilmore. Paris grins as she flips open the book and points at the very first word of the first chapter. I’ve read that pointing at the words while reading can increase one’s reading speed by nearly twenty-five percent. And she’s going to do just that. She moves her finger from left to right as she takes in every single word written on the page. Her fingers don’t never stop moving as she flips the page every few seconds.
Paris creeps up behind the door to Rory’s locker, waiting and waiting for her to finally close it and notice that Paris is standing there.
And she gets the results she expected: a cute little scream that resembles a piglet’s screech, an exclamation of “Jeez, Paris! You startled me”, and an unconscious hand movement as Rory pushes her hair away form her face.
“That’s very cunning of you to do that to me, Gilmore,” Paris blurts out as she trails Rory around the hallway, “very Sun Tzu of you. But keep in mind that this psychological warfare has not ended. This is just the start. I normally detest cliches, but this occasion definitely deserves one. You may have won the battle, but you will lose the war.”
Rory stops in her tracks, turning around to flash a confused smile at Paris. And though Paris is still annoyed by Rory’s messing with her with the last page of Vanity Fair last night, she can’t help but feel her insides melt a little at Rory’s doe-eyed gaze.
“What are you talking about, Paris?”
“The library war,” Paris states, like it’s something well known that everyone’s supposed to be aware about, “The one where you read books and leave those snarky notes behind, and I read other books and leave my own snarky notes behind to mess with you, hoping that you didn’t get there first—”
“Wait, Paris. Did you call it a war?” Rory chuckles, flashing a toothy smile that rarely comes up in conversations with Paris.
“Of course. It’s a war. And I seem to be winning,” Paris blurts out, holding her head high, but still unable to stand as tall as Rory Gilmore whose height towers over Paris, “Get ready to break down amidst the battlefield, Gilmore, because I am not going easy on you.”
“It’s…it’s not a competition, Paris!” Rory bursts out laughing, lifting her hand up to tuck her hair behind her ears.
“What?”
“It’s obviously not a war if I’m not even aware about it,” Rory grins as she reaches out and gently pinches her cheek, “Paris.”
That is unnecessary, mentioning Paris’ name again just for the sake of saying it out loud. But Paris blushes, and Rory’s fingers are frigid as they come into contact with Paris’ red, burning cheeks.
“Wait, it’s not a war?” Paris says her voice getting softer, resembling a whisper as she continues to tag along as Rory walks through the hallways to her next class.
“Of course not, Paris!” Rory laughs again. Her big blue eyes gaze down at her, nearly brimming with tears of laughter.
“But…But during this war I’ve read way more books than I’ve ever read before. I’ve made a graph. I’ll show it to you tomorrow. Maybe we can even compare each of our graphs to see who’s a more avid reader.”
“You have a graph, Paris?” Rory sounds genuine interested in Paris’ documentation of the books she read.
“Of course! You don’t? People as smart as you often need an physical outlet to organize one’s thoughts and remember one’s records. After all, our brains are only capable of so much.”
Rory’s eyes sparkle, and she flashes another toothy grin which makes Paris almost melt into a warm puddle on the floor, “You think I’m smart?”
“What kind of animal are you, not recording your reading statistics?” Paris frowns, trying to put a facade over her insides squirming over how adorable Rory’s grin is.
“Well, I would say I’m a chimpanzee or a bottlenose dolphin—”
“That was rhetorical, Rory,” Paris interrupts her. But a voice in her head is lauding Rory for the interesting choice of animals, especially the smartest animals known to man.
God, she’s confused. Paris never has to fight of an urge to kiss Rory, especially a desire this strong. Rory’s pink lips shine of chapstick, and she flashes her Disney Princess smile that’s bright enough to make a whole nation grin from ear to ear.
But before Paris can continue describing Rory’s features like a two-century-old portrait, she realizes she has been gawking at Rory with her mouth wide open for a period long enough to earn her 72 hours in the psych ward.
“Uh…” Usually Paris is never lost for words. She’s a very eloquent person, and she’s able to prove that to herself. But she’s trying to scour the whole library of infinite dictionaries in her brain, trying to find a snarky comment to dial down the awkwardness.
But this is all she can think of. “So Gilmore, are you up for the challenge?”
“Well, if you want it to be a war,” Rory smirks, “It’s on, Geller.”
That night, Paris opens a brand new book from the library, shaking it up and down to check for any notes Rory has left there. Inside, she secretly hopes she will get to see a tiny post-it fall out because it never fails to make her grin like an idiot (which Paris is definitely not).
But after about a hundred page turns, Paris can’t seem to recall what has happened in the course of the events the characters went through because her mind is unfocused from the book. Only, her mind can’t seem to stop drifting to Rory’s gorgeous smile or her adorable toothy grin.
Paris grabs a pile of post-its from her nightstand and scribbles a note.
Damn you, Gilmore, for distracting me for the last hundred pages. Now, I have to waste another hour reading the whole thing over again. If I lose because of this, it’s your fault.
She signs off the note with a huge smile on her face and a lot of pressure from her pen. After all, Rory is going to always be the first thing that pops up in her mind. She might as well get used to it.