𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 . . . 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩-𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘈 𝘉𝘢𝘳. . .
❝ What's a girl like you doing in a place like this all alone? ❞

  LORELAI GILMORE WAS acting strange. Like, stranger than normal kind of strange. Charlie had been sitting at the kitchen table for thirteen minutes, pretending like she hadn't seen her mother walk by twenty-two times while downing a cup of coffee and attempting to finish her homework from the night prior.

  "Aren't you ever going to acknowledge me?"

  "I share a room with Rory, I've mastered the art of ignoring drama queens," Charlie muttered into her cup of caffeine, only making her mother whine and slump into a seat. "Okay, fine, what is with you this morning?"

  "Well, since you asked," Lorelai said, sitting up fully, "Are you seeing Jess?"

  "Am I seeing Jess?" Charlie repeated, "Like, today? Yes, he goes to school with me—"

  "No, hon, are you seeing Jess?"

  "Oh, for Pete's sake."

  "Oh, come on," The woman tried as Charlie stood abruptly, shoving her things in her backpack, "When are you going to start talking to me about these things?"

  "There's nothing to talk about, Jess and I are just friends."

  "Just friends hang out in Luke's supply closet?"

  "It was a staff meeting."

  "Oh yeah, why wasn't Luke there?"

  "This is why I don't talk to you about anything," Charlie pointed, "You pry and pry and don't believe me."

  "You don't have a good reputation with telling the truth."

  "You do realize this is about Jess, right? That's what you're arguing with me about—" 

  "There is no arguing here, we are not arguing," Lorelai said, gesturing between herself and her daughter who was now walking towards the door, "Hey, missy, don't you walk away from me—!"

  "Sorry, Mom, but I should probably get to school— maybe Rory will be home earlier than I will and you can overstep into her life and stay out of mine."

  Charlie felt the horrendous bubble of guilt hit her stomach when she slammed the front door shut, but pride propelled her down the steps and towards Stars Hollow High. She'd never admit it, and Lorelai would never realize it, but Charlie Gilmore wasn't a fan of arguing.

  She loathed it.

  For her heart was too big for her body and guilt was a monster that slept beneath her bed, but Charlie was also a Gilmore. A Gilmore that didn't admit to these feelings and refused to let herself be vulnerable around even, and perhaps especially, her own family.

↬

  "You know, Headmaster Charles had the guidance counselor talk to me because I'm too isolated."

  "That's b.s., you do the paper," Charlie muttered with her sister, rubbing the soft fabric of her quilt between her fingers absent-mindedly, "And you have a healthy, long-standing rivalry with Paris Geller, and a boyfriend, and a best friend— granted he can't see your life here, I feel like that's overstepping."

  "I'm not a loner."  

  "Not, like, duffle-bag-loner," The girl nodded, "Just, like, 'I read lots of books and listen to music, WowWee, look at me, loner'."

  Rory glared, and let out a long, frustrated noise when Charlie smiled.

  "Rory, you know you're not a loner," Charlie laughed, "And, if Headmaster Charles wants you more involved, then just suck it up and make some friends with the first people you see."

  Charlie waited for a response, but Rory seemed to be sulking so she simply returned her eyes to her homework in front of her. In minutes, Charlie grew bored of the silence and leaned over to her bedside table, hitting 'play' on her CD-player-slash-radio-slash-alarm-clock, and soaking up the tunes that spilled out.

  "I will never understand how you work in anything other than silence."

  "I will never understand how you go through life not soundtracked by the musical brilliance of Jimmy Eat World!"

  Rory pulled a pillow over her face as Charlie turned up the volume, attempting to drown out the lyrics of 'Bleed American' with the soft feathers in her pillow.

↬

  It was the first night in a long time that the Gilmore house wasn't as daunting as it had always been. Perhaps it was the early morning argument that made it feel like all drama was out of the way already, but Charlie didn't seem riddled with nerves as she stepped out of her mother's Jeep, or as the trio approached the doorstep.

  Perhaps it had something to do with Rory's chatter about a secret society at Chilton called 'The Puffs'.

  "Who the hell names their kid Lemon?" 

  "Someone really into citrus," Rory answered.

  "Ugh, crazy, crazy people."

  "Hm. It's just so weird that the one table I sit down at is home to the secret society."

  "It's weird, but not really when you consider your life," Charlie spoke as her mother rung the doorbell, "Come on, Rory, if anyone's going to accidentally join a society, it's you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Just that most things fall into your lap."

  The twins participated in a serious staring contest— broken only by the Gilmore front door being opened.

  "Your mother would like you to head out to the patio," The newest maid informed with a smile, "We're barbecuing tonight."

  "Thanks," Lorelai said reluctantly, ushering both of her shell-shocked daughters inside.

  "Does grandma have a barbecue?"

  "I don't know. Maybe she keeps it in a secret room with paper napkins and mismatch sheets," Lorelai joked, before coming to the patio, "Wow! She really is barbecuing!"

  "Hey, cool."

  Charlie thought it was all too weird. That, this time, her mother didn't have to wrestle her into the car and this guttural, calm feeling hadn't been wrong quite yet as this looked (and smelled) like something Charlie would actually find edible.

  She wasn't hating Friday night dinner, for once.

  "What's up, Poppin fresh?" Lorelai greeted the chef before Rory exclaimed about grilled corn

  "Wait, this is scary good," Charlie mumbled, joining her mother and sister in chowing down on the corn cobs.

  Until Emily Gilmore, hurricane in woman form, stormed out onto the patio.

  "What is this, a refugee camp?" Emily questioned, "Come inside and eat at the table."

  "That's no fun," Charlie mumbled, making Emily scoff.

  "Mom, the whole point of barbecuing is to eat outside," Lorelai backed the teen up, making Emily feel like there was a clone of her daughter.

  "Animals eat outside. Human beings eat inside with napkins and utensils. If you want to eat outside go hunt down a gazelle. Make your decision, I'll be inside."

  "She must be a blast at picnics," Charlie muttered, her appetite for the buttery corn slowly disappearing.

  "What are the odds of finding a gazelle around here?"

  "Slim to none."

  "Okay, let's go." 

  It seemed upon entering the dining room, Charlie was reminded why she detested the uptightness of her grandmother and therefore, Friday night dinners. 

  There was always certain guilt within Charlie when a maid took her coat or handed her a napkin when the woman didn't utter a 'you're welcome' to her 'thank you' because it was her job to help out and take jackets. She didn't like the chandelier that hung right over the table, or how the glasses were all crystal. 

  Charlie always felt just out of place. Lorelai could adapt and overcome, but Charlie sought out validation like a child and without it, felt like disappearing into dark corners.

  "I'm extremely disappointed in you, Lorelai."

  "Hold on, Mom."

  Charlie shuffled in her seat, watching her mother flick her napkin into her lap dramatically before settling down.

  "Okay, go ahead."

  "I had lunch with Bitty Charleston today, and she told me what happened with the headmaster," Emily spoke stoically.

  "What? Jeez, did someone do nothing all day but hide under his desk with a tape recorder?"

  "After all we've gone through to get Rory in that school, and then you humiliate all of us by not being involved? That is just incomprehensible."

  "Hey, she wasn't involved either!" Lorelai pointed to Rory.

  "Wow! Just sitting here!"

  "You are a grown-up, you have to set an example. If she's not involved with school, she learned it from you."

  "Yeah."

  "How hard is it to help out just once in a while?" Emily asked, "Join a group, attend a meeting and all for the sake of—"

  "Mom, stop already. I have joined a group, okay?"

  "You have?"

  "You have?"

  Charlie shook her head, attempting to conceal an amused smirk behind her wild locks.

  "Yes."

  "Which one?"

  "I'm gonna join the. . . Booster Club. Okay? The. . . Booster Club. I'm going to Boost."

  "Well," Emily said with an eerily sudden smile, "The Boosters are a very fine organization."

  "That's why I picked 'em."

  "They do very good work for the school."

  "All went into the picking process."

  "And the matching sweatshirts they wear are just darling."

  The four fell into silence at this, mulling over their salads before Emily cleared her throat and decided it was time to take interest in the most detached Gilmore.

  "So, what about you?" Emily said, pulling her eyes from her salad to a wide-eyed Charlie, "Well? Has anything interesting happened at school?"

  "Oh, uh, Emma is starting a petition to get Luke's served at school," Charlie sputtered, setting her fork down, "And, uh, I'm tutoring Jess— he's a new kid, and Luke's nephew— for some extra credit."

  "That's great," Lorelai filled the silence her mother left, "If anyone'll get Luke's served for lunch, it'll be Emma."

  "Right?"

  "So, that's all?"

  "That's all?"

  "That's all that is going on at school?" Emily repeated irritably.

  "I, uh, I got an A on my Chem test," The girl combed her brain for anything that would impress her grandmother, "We won our last football game, Liam's definitely going to get scouted—uh, oh! I've been working on some new songs I'm really proud of, and I think I might take photography next year, since, you know, Rachel showed me how to use a camera and—"

  "So, you're still clearly putting art above school," Emily cut off, "You know, if you put half as much effort into your schoolwork as you do into your silly music, perhaps you'd be at Chilton with your sister."

  "I put work into school," Charlie defended.

  "Clearly not enough," Emily scoffed, "You want to be some artsy nomad, running around the country? At this rate that's all you'll be able to do."

  "No, they're just hobbies," The girl mumbled more so to her spinach than her grandmother. "I'm not talented enough to make a living—"

  "Not unless you're the next Whitney Houston, you can't."

  "I know, and I'm actually on a path for college, not just—"

  "And what college would that be? You've got to pull up your grades and get more involved, screw your head on correctly, Charlotte. No college worth mention will want an average girl from a smudge of a town."

  "I get straight A's," Charlie informed, no longer staring at her plate. "I'm more involved than Rory; I'm the football team manager and student council treasurer. I work a job most days and have been saving money from it since I was 13. I taught myself how to play guitar because we couldn't afford lessons— do you know how hard it is to tune a guitar with no help? No, you don't. And how much I had to grit through the callouses forming— my fingers have bled from how much I practiced. So, even though I don't go to some fancy, tight-laced, rich school with fancy, tight-laced, rich kids, I can still get into Yale or any other college I wanted."

  "You want to go to Yale?" Emily faintly smiled, but it went as quick as it came.

  "Yes, not that you've ever cared enough to figure that out," Charlie snapped, unable to handle the drastic highs and lows of her grandmother, "I'm sorry, Mom, I can't do this— I tried, honestly, but Rory's the one going to Chilton and we both know they only want to see you two, so count me out of these stupid dinners from now on."

  And, yes, Charlie heard her mother's worried calls. And, yes, she heard her grandmother's high-pitched ranting. But, no, she did not stop. She did not turn back or hope to rewind time.

  She was sick of excusing how she was treated simply because the behavior came from those related to her.

↬

  "Charls, funny you called, Lee was literally just—"

  "Can you come pick me up?" Charlie sighed out, pressing a hand to her forehead, "Just you, I can't— I am not in the right mindset to see Liam."

  "What's up?" Emma asked concerned, background noise telling Charlie she was already out the door.

  "Friday night dinner," Charlie sighed, "I'll, uh, tell you when you get here."

  "Okay," Emma laughed, her car door shutting loudly, "Can we go somewhere?"

  "Absolutely," Charlie sighed, "I. . . cannot go back to Stars Hollow right now."

  "You won't hear me complaining."

  Emma made it to Emily and Richard Gilmore's in an impressive time. Charlie had claimed a seat on one of the small stone walls out front in waiting— and she'd be lying if she said she was surprised no one came to check on her.

  "There she is, the girl of the night," Emma cheered with a pitiful smile as Charlie climbed into the car, "I brought you a change of clothes."

  "You are a lifesaver."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know," Emma waved, "So, there's this bar that doesn't I.D. not far from here, I'm thinking we go, pick up some guys, maybe?"

  "One of us has to drive."

  "Party pooper," Emma blew raspberries that made Charlie laugh, "You offered."

  "Yeah, yeah," Charlie waved, "It'll still be fun."

  "Whatever you say, Charls."

  It was not still fun.

  Emma was right, the bar didn't card. Charlie had her reservations about this until the girl sauntered up and proudly downed a vodka soda without an issue— worrying, since, despite her confidence, Emma very much looked the part of a teenager.

  And their high-school laughter lasted all of an hour, Charlie forgot her worries and found herself quite amused at her easily-drunk best friend's rambling. But, the girl branched off, found a boy, and with Charlie's assurance that she would be fine, Emma was off.

  The Gilmore girl was quite good at that kind of thing. Making others comfortable with leaving her. Like she was a professional abandee— and she couldn't even blame Emma this time as Charlie put more effort into convincing her she would be fine than the Government quiz earlier in the week.

  But poor Charlie Gilmore wasn't ready to run home with her tail tucked between her legs, admit that words had cut her skin, and face her mother's pitying. So she requested a Shirley Temple— the bartender did, in fact, chuckle at her request but seemed more than happy to make the appropriate drink for a clearly underage girl.

  And about halfway through the sugary cherry drink, when Charlie began to think home wasn't a bad place to be, a boy looking like bad news sauntered up to her.

  Perhaps not like Jess Mariano bad news— but he had a half-smirk and messy hair that screamed poor decisions, the drink in his hand opposed his age— clearly whiskey or some drink far too fancy for a boy like this. He was the kind of person Charlie found herself intrigued by, in the simplest ways, and had any amount of alcohol slipped into her cup she may have had a friskier response to his attempt at flirting.

  "Hello, Doll-Face," He slipped into the seat beside hers, the Australian accent only intriguing Charlie more, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this all alone?"

  She raised her bubbly beverage with a sarcastic expression, making the boy's smirk melt into what appeared to be a genuine smile. "A friend brought me, but she's found entertainment elsewhere."

  "Well, I suppose it is your lucky night," He stated, leaning closer to the girl.

  "How's that?"

  "You have the ever-exclusive opportunity to spend the night with yours truly," He popped up an eyebrow, sipping on the amber beverage cluttered with ice-cubes.

  "Mm, something tells me that opportunity is not so exclusive," Charlie teased, propping her chin upon her hand.

  "You've got fire, I like that," He wagged his index finger in a circle at the teen, "What's your name, love?"

  "Charlotte Gilmore."

  "Charlotte," The boy tested her name like it was a sample he'd politely asked for, tutting his tongue to the top of his mouth for a few seconds, "It's a little long. I'll call you Lottie, I'm Finn and I do believe this is the beginning of something wonderful."

  "Actually—"

  "Finn!" Another boy, who despite lacking an accent, did seem quite similar to Finn, approached the duo rapidly, "Stop bothering every unfortunate girl in this place."

  "We were merely chatting, dear Colin," Finn smiled lazily, hooking an arm around his friend's shoulders, "This is Lottie."

  "Actually, I go by Charlie," The girl managed to squeeze the correction in this time, though neither seemed to acknowledge it in the slightest.

  "For the record, Lottie," Finn's lips upturned again as he purposefully dragged out the nickname, "It's exclusive because this is our last night in America."

  "For a couple of months," Colin said, and Charlie wasn't quite sure if he was attempting to help Finn's case or hurt it.

  Either way, Charlie smiled.

  "Well, in that case," She flirted, leaning even further towards Finn— whose face lit up with glee.

  "Really?"

  "No," Charlie laughed, scrunching her brows, "I literally just met you."

  "She's got fire," Colin pointed with an amused smile.

  "Exactly what I said!"

  "I like it."

  "Can we keep her?" Finn begged, "Oh, Colin, please? I promise I'll look after her."

  "Hello?" Charlie waved a hand, "Sitting right here."

  "Here," Colin leaned over the bar, plucking a napkin from a disorganized stack. He pulled a pen, magically, from his back pocket and quickly scrawled two phone numbers down, "Just in case."

  "In case of what?" Charlie asked with a sly smile, "In case I want to hear a cool accent again?"

  "Call Finn if you just want to listen— he knows how to talk forever," Colin smiled, "We'll call if we happen to drop by, before the big years in University."

  "Are you telling me you aren't old enough to be drinking scotch on the rocks?" 

  "Well, not in America we aren't," Colin shrugged, "Nice drink of choice, by the way."

  "Ah, I do take pride in my sparse sobriety," Charlie sighed, sipping the now watered down Shirley Temple— she smiled from behind the straw when she saw Finn staring.

  "You're quite the character, Charlotte Gilmore."

  "I am?" She pointed to herself, eyeing Finn who was now attempting to blow bubbles in his drink, "That says something, doesn't it?"

  "Something wonderful."

  "Right," She laughed, "Well, I'll see you around."

  "Oh, I certainly hope so," Finn flirted.

  And Charlie simply laughed, shaking her head as she collected her things. She bid Colin a regular farewell while Finn's attempts at flirting refused to die down— eventually she blocked it out and sauntered towards the exit— all while Finn watched her, goofy smile on his face, most due to the napkin she held quite tightly in her right hand.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
the BOYS are BACK;
I re-wrote the bar scene
but kept the key elements
the same, and boy do I love
this version SO MUCH more.
from em to charlie to
finn and colin; I'm so much 
happier and SO FUCKING 
glad I decided to re-write
this book