Inbetween Days (Jess Mariano x Reader)

Chapter 3

I hate myself for loving you

Can't break free from the things that you do

I wanna walk but I run back to you

That's why I hate myself for loving you

Slowly, Jess seemed to settle into the routine of Stars Hollow. Soon he was pouring coffees with very little attitude (for him) and actually answering about half of the people who spoke to him. I hadn't tried another conversation since the last time I had attempted contact. Instead, when he took my order or glanced at me from behind the counter, I fumed at him. I didn't like him any less than I did before, and he wasn't doing anything particularly irritating at the time, so I felt a little stupid for doing it. Maybe it was residual anger from the last few times we'd spoken, or maybe it was just the right time of the month for me to be irritable, but either way I felt like a little freezing out would be good for him. At least this way I wasn't staring, doe-eyed, or blushing vapidly like before. Somewhat unexpectedly, he was the one to speak first. Bold of him, in the middle of my silent treatment, but I allowed it. The diner was dead, Luke had gone out for supplies, and Jess was discreetly reassembling the broken toaster. I stabbed at my bowl of soft serve with unnecessary force, and he looked up. Stepping closer, he reached across the table toward my right ear and I pulled away quickly.

"Sorry, you had a bit of smoke coming out of there. You need to borrow this?" He offered me the screwdriver he was using.

"You're not the first one to suggest that I have a screw loose, but no. Thank you."

"Okay," he said under his breath. He was smiling, the bastard. It was very nearly contagious.

After a long while he had, it seemed, successfully repaired the faulty toaster. He put it back in its place on the counter, plugged it in, and put in two slices of white bread to test it. Turning back to clean up the mess of burnt toast crumbs and tools, he muttered. "I'm kind of into punk, too."

"What?" I asked.

"You asked if I was into anything other than metal." He looked at me with watchful eyes and the beginnings of a smirk.

"Well, I'm glad you took some time to think through that answer. Wouldn't want you to be too hasty."

"That's what I figured, yeah." He nodded, and continued staring at me, even though he was holding a rag full of crumbs and would have to get rid of it eventually. After a minute, the toast popped up from the newly repaired toaster, and he stashed the tools and threw the rag somewhere under the counter. Grabbing a plate, he put one of the slices on it, wrapping the other in a napkin and giving the plate to me. "On the house," he muttered conspiratorially.

"Really? The whole dollar?" I quirked an eyebrow and he smiled bigger than I had seen him do. Grabbing a grape jelly packet from the rack by the register, he took his toast upstairs with him.

I buttered my own slice before it got too cold from the plate, and finished my soft serve in silence before the door opened and Luke came in with a brown bag full of groceries.

"Where's Jess?" he asked.

"Upstairs," I answered, pointing a finger vaguely.

"I tell ya, that kid. . ." he didn't finish, not that I expected him to, and instead set about putting away his purchases. Finally, waving a box of wrapped plastic straws in my direction, he asked how I was doing.

"Fine."

"You need anything else?"

"Nope. I'll get out of your hair in a second." I finished my toast, which he didn't seem to notice I had, left a dollar and a quarter on the counter, and left.

I went straight across the square to Kim's Antiques. I had a study date with Lane anyway, and it was the perfect excuse to get some other research done. Though, thanks to her mother, Lane Kim had never dated a boy she actually liked, she was an absolute guru when it came to the opposite sex - and music. Navigating my way through piles of wooden furniture, I managed to find Lane before I found Mrs. Kim, thank God, and we headed upstairs to her room. As we pulled our history books out of our backpacks, I very un-coyly dropped my question: "So, what do you think of the new kid?" I handed her a Snickers bar as I did so, like a bribe. I knew her mother didn't allow sweets in the house.

"Luke's nephew?" she unwrapped the candy bar and cocked her head curiously.

"Yeah, Jess. What do you make of him?"

"I dunno, he seems kinda jaded," she wrinkled her nose.

"Not unjustified. He said he's into punk."

"The rebel's choice. What else?"

"He likes Metallica."

"Unironically?"

"I think so. He has a t-shirt."

"Hm. Not totally immature, but still potentially worrying. What kind of punk?"

"He didn't say."

"Because the Pogues, Violent Femmes kind of punk and the Ramones, Sex Pistols kind of punk are at two very different maturity levels."

"Hey, I like The Sex Pistols."

"Yes, but you're a girl. Liking the Sex Pistols is like wearing one of those 'up with skirts, down with pants' buttons or doing your makeup like one of the guys from The Cure. On a boy, it can be cause for concern. You have to get an idea of what they mean by that, the kind of world they want to build when the old one burns down, that kind of thing."

"Terrified of that analogy, but go on."

"Nevermind, we're off topic. Point is, find out what bands he likes. Be more specific in your questions if you want to gain an insight into his character."

"You're like if Jane Austen wrote a spy novel."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you."

We got to work quickly. While the Cold War wasn't the pleasantest of subjects, I happily listened to Lane describe its impact on the German music scene and the resulting effect on British pop. She'd gotten all the way to David Bowie's last studio album by the time Mrs. Kim rapped firmly on the door to call Lane down to dinner. I had made some strong headway on my essay, somehow managing not to write down my classmate's enthusiastic rants instead, and had even managed to pocket the Snickers wrapper before the door was fully open. We said goodbye and I hefted my backpack over my shoulder to head home. Once there, I popped my Sonic Youth CD into my portable player and finished my homework in peace. 

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If you don't know this, I worry for you, but the song at the beginning is "I Hate Myself (For Loving You)" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

All opinions expressed by Lane Kim do not accurately represent the beliefs of the author. For instance, I do not consider Fleetwood Mac to be a guilty pleasure.