The Chilton hallways buzzed with the usual morning energy—shoes clicking against polished floors, books snapping shut, the hum of students rushing to their next class. But when Tristan Dugray strolled down the corridor, everything seemed to slow. He leaned casually against his locker, tie loosened just enough to irritate the faculty but make the girls swoon. His brown hair fell perfectly into place, his blazer open in deliberate defiance of Chilton’s uniform code. A smirk curved his lips as he scanned the hall, his eyes finally landing on Rory Gilmore making her way through the crowd. Immediately, whispers broke out. “Tristan looks so good today.” “Do you think he’s going to say something to me?” “God, that smile—”

Two girls standing nearby giggled when he brushed past them, one pretending to fumble her books just to catch his attention. He shot them a grin—easy, practiced—and they flushed instantly, whispering louder. Paris, watching from the sidelines, rolled her eyes hard enough to strain something. “Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath, though her gaze lingered just a little too long. Tristan didn’t stop for any of them. His smirk deepened as he stepped directly into Rory’s path, blocking her cleanly. “Mary,” he greeted smoothly, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of arrogance and charm. Rory shifted her stack of books, blinking at him. “It’s Rory. Still Rory.” “Sure,” Tristan said, leaning in just slightly, brown eyes glinting. “But ‘Mary’ suits you. Sweet. Innocent. Untouchable. Perfect for Chilton’s golden girl.” A ripple of giggles broke out from a group of girls behind them, hanging on every word. Rory glanced around at the stares, then back at Tristan with a frown. “Are you done, or do you plan on making this a full performance?” Tristan smirked wider and plucked the top book from her stack without asking.

“Shakespeare,” he mused, flipping it open. “You know, I’d make a great Romeo. Got the smirk—” he flashed it, dimple and all—“got the tragic depth. You’d make a decent Juliet. Stubborn, but you’d sell it.” More whispers fluttered down the hall. A girl actually sighed. Even Paris muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Please.” Rory crossed her arms. “Romeo dies. Not exactly a dream role.” Tristan chuckled, eyes locked on hers. “Maybe. But he gets the girl first.” She reached for her book, annoyed, and for a moment—just a moment—his grin faltered. His eyes softened, revealing a flicker of something vulnerable before he snapped the mask back into place. He handed the book back with a lazy grin. “Relax, Gilmore. Wouldn’t want you reporting me for theft. Can’t risk my spotless reputation.” Rory rolled her eyes, stepping around him. “Spotless isn’t the word I’d use.”

He turned as she passed, sliding his hands into his pockets, walking backward just so he could keep her in sight. “See you in class, Mary. Try not to think about me too much.” Behind him, the girls who’d been whispering broke into giggles again, eyes following him down the hall. But Rory only shook her head, unimpressed—her lack of reaction the very thing that made Tristan’s grin linger longer than it should.