Touch of Hellfire (Pocket's Version)

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"Dinner was lovely tonight, Emily," Grandpa told her. "Well, Mira makes a perfect cassoulet."

"It wasn't Heidi?" Mom frowned. "No, we fired her months ago," Grandma explained. "Then it was Trina, Sophia, Anton."

"Thank you, Mira," Mom thanked the maid as she brought the cake out. "It's Sarah," the maid grumbled. "Sorry," Mom turned red, a little embarrassed. I whistled the dun dun dun theme. "These plates are really pretty," Rory attempted to change the subject. "They were your great grandmother's," Grandma told her. "Lorelai the first," Grandpa added.

"So, Mom wasn't the first?" I wondered. "I was, in many other things," Mom grinned at me and I started to laugh. "My mother was an extremely accomplished equestrian, a distinguished patron of the arts and world famous for masquerade balls. Quite a woman," Grandpa told us.

"She was," Grandma nodded. "Mira, come cut the cake please."

"Bring Sarah," Mom piped up. "Still can't believe you're going to play lacrosse," Rory muttered. "Well, Andrea's gonna help me," I told her. "Andrea?" Grandma turned her head. "Yeah, she's my friend in Chilton, she plays lacrosse, so, she's giving me a few pointers."

"Andrea Swarbrick...isn't it?" Grandma asked me. "Oh, her mother is a wonderful interior designer, her father is actually a filmmaker, for some kind of film festival."

"Yeah, she was telling me," I smiled. "Meanwhile, Rory hasn't chosen a sport."

"Well, I'm not doing lacrosse," Rory murmured. "There's also track, swimming, golf..."

"Your grandfather is a golf player," Grandma told Rory. "He plays every week, he can teach you, this Sunday."

"Emily, it's not something you can teach in an afternoon," Grandpa told her. "Rory can pick something else then," Mom cut in. "Why should she? She needs to learn a sport and Richard can teach her. Rory, you can use your mother's clubs, upstairs, gathering dust with the rest of her potential."

Ouch.

***

"Son of a...." I was on the ground, out of breath. "Jesus, what's the violence for?"

"You think they're going to take it easy on you, you got another thing coming," a sweaty Andrea laughed. "So, your sister's learning golf, the most boring sport in the world."

"Rude!" Andrea's dad called from the kitchen. "Sorry, Dad," Andrea called back but I knew she wasn't sorry. "How's the catch up for bio?"

"Getting there, about eighty seven percent," I mumbled, standing up. "Think you'll go for law in the end?"

"I don't know, I mean I have to make my final decision by senior year," Andrea explained to me. "You seem dead set on film, you want to be in a studio?"

"Writing the scripts," I told her. "I've got some cola for you, girls," Andrea's mom brought out the drinks and we breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom," Andrea smiled. "So, what was your other school like?"

"All the cheerleaders hated me, all the jocks were scared of me...a lot of kids were scared of me, some were nice but the principal liked me, freshmen year, there were these guys who kept drawing butts with spray paint. I found them and snitched on them," I told her.

"In the good books then, nice," she grinned.

She picked up her lacrosse stick and I picked up mine, attempting to pick up the ball. "Ready?"

The ball slipped into the net and I ran towards the shed, where the hypothetical goal was. I ducked Andrea's attack and I hurled the ball and it bounced off the shed and ricocheted into Andrea's back.