--Summer Skin—
By cka3ka-13
Rated: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Lizzie McGuire. Do not sue me, because I have no money
Notes: I do not know Miranda's sister's name. one of the readers in this site told me that her name is Stevie. She's about 7 in this story. Also, please review. Please. I will give you cheesecake. And maybe a llama if you are lucky. So please, just humor me.
I leaned against the railing of my porch, squinting in the darkness and feeling the beats of a Lifehouse song pulse through me, wishing desperately I had never decided to throw a Sweet Sixteen party.
Gordo had told me not to, several times. As usual, I followed my own stubborn ideas and as usual he was right. "You'll regret it Miranda." He'd said seriously at lunch, eating sushi with his fingers while Lizzie and I discussed the finer points of punch bowl shapes. I had scowled, and Lizzie had fidgeted, braiding her hair between her fingers.
"My party." I said darkly, my eyebrows becoming a unibrow I frowned so hard. "My party will be the social event of the season."
Gordo had sighed in that aggravating I'm-smarter-than-you-are way and calmly interlaced his fingers, looking every bit the psychiatrist's child.
"Miranda." He'd said gently, but truthfully, "You have no boyfriend, no crushes, and you said so yourself that the entire sophomore class was a bunch of, and I quote, sniveling retards on crack. Sure, your party will be great, but you'll hate it."
I chucked my sandwich at him, regretting my words.
"I didn't mean it Gordo." I had said quickly, folding my arms across my chest stubbornly. Of course I had meant it. The entire male population of the sophomore class was retarded, and a fair amount of them were really on some sort of mental stimulant.
I certainly wasn't about to let Gordo win, however.
"I'm going to have a party." I said sweetly, baring my teeth at him. "And I will like it."
And then Lizzie and I moved from punch bowls to what music to play.
And now I was here, wearing a white dress at my sixteenth birthday with no one to dance with.
At least the decorations are nice I thought sarcastically as I idly scratched a mosquito bite on my left ankle. And indeed they were. The small backyard of my house was strung with blue and white Christmas lights and tiki torches burned in the grass, letting the smoky smell of incense drift through the air. Happy Birthday Miranda was strung over the porch railing, the red letters twirling in the hot summer breeze. Pale lanterns hung from the trees, bright against the velvety sky.
The yard was crowded, to say the least. My tiny backyard was crammed with so many people that I half expected the fence to fall apart. The crowd pulsed in the same rhythm, blending into a single body.
The screen door of my house opened and Mrs. McGuire walked out onto the porch and stood next to me, her arms cradling a refill of punch. She had come to help my mother with the party and cleanup, something I was grateful for. I was in no mood to pick crap up off of my lawn.
"Hey Miranda." She said brightly, surveying the dancers happily, watching her daughter dancing with a nameless boy. Did I know him? I desperately hoped that my mom didn't get wind that more than just the sophomore class had attended my sixteenth birthday party. I hoped even more strongly that whoever else was crashing my party hadn't decided to slip a little bit of alcohol into people's drinks for fun.
If that happened, I would be babysitting Stevie until I died, and then my mother would probably send me to burn in hell forever.
"Hi Mrs. McGuire." I answered smiling at her. I'd always held a certain fondness for Lizzie's mom, even if she drove her daughter crazy.
"What a beautiful party Miranda." She breathed, patting my bare shoulder gently and adjusting a stray lock of my black hair. "Lizzie is so jealous you know." She said, laughter in her voice. "She can't wait until her party. She keeps saying 'Mom, I want my party to be just like Miranda's'."
Jo paused, shifting the pitcher of red liquid from her arms onto the wood of the deck. "Miranda, I can't believe you are so grown up."
"I can't either Mrs. McGuire." I said, looking down at her and smiling. Somewhere between eighth grade and freshman year I had a sudden growth spurt, sending me up from 5'5" to 5'9". I towered over both Lizzie and her mother; Lizzie at 5'6 and her mom a petite 5'4".
"Well, enjoy your dancing. I must warn you, Matt is quite taken with you. You seem to have jump started his hormones." She picked up the pitcher and called, "Remind me to kill you for that, by the way.", before heading down the stairs and over to the flower shaped punch bowl.
Lizzie and Gordo sauntered over to me, sweating and happy, each holding an icy can of soda.
"Oh my god, Miranda, who is that guy? He is so hot!" Lizzie squealed as she grabbed onto my arm, the hem of her pink dress brushing gently against my leg. Even at my sixteenth birthday party, Lizzie stole the show. It was no big secret that when she looked god, she really looked good. Her blonde hair was curled; a tiny pink lily nestled in the golden blonde strands of silk. Her dress was short and a light pink, her ballet flats sparkling in the darkness. It irked me the way she did that; how did she look so great all the time?
"I don't know." I answered truthfully, tugging nervously at the neckline of my gown. "Looks like someone decided to crash my party. I hope to God my mother doesn't find out. She'll make me baby sit and then she'll kill me."
Lizzie leaned into me conspiratorially, her perfume surrounding me. "Your secret is safe with me." She said, giggling at the secret that she'd been entrusted with.
"Enjoying your party?" Gordo asked, smirking.
"Yes." I said stiffly, tossing my head. "I am."
"Doesn't look like it." He said gloatingly, taking a sip from his Coke.
"Well, she'll never have fun if she doesn't dance!" Lizzie said laughingly and pulled me into the group. I immediately fell into the rhythm, my limbs shaking with the synthesized beat. Dancing was one of the skills I held over Lizzie.
People crowded over to our group, someone hands were on my back, my hands were around another person's neck. Was it a girl I was dancing with? A guy? None of it mattered when you danced.
Sweat ran down my arms, the oxygen in the air was disintegrating, and all of a sudden the unfamiliar hands on my hips felt like rocks.
"I'm gonna take a breather." I yelled to Lizzie as I stepped away from the song. People looked at me, faintly annoyed at the fact that I had thrown off the dance. I pushed past familiar and unfamiliar faces as I took sanctuary in the cool shade by the gate to my yard.
My hair clung to my back, long black and shining. I fingered it, the smooth quality caressing my fingers, the two pink streaks standing out. It was the first time I had seen my hair's true colors in a few years. My hair usually had something crazy going on- but in light of the new policy of uniforms at Hillridge High, it was the only way I could protect my individuality.
A car pulled up in front of my house, the gate opened and Kate Sanders walked in, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders.
"Hey Kate." I said, waving at her as she stalked past me.
"Please, Sanchez." She scoffed airily as she breezed past me, shoving an envelope into my hands. "Happy birthday." She called over her shoulder as she found Lizzie and embraced her warmly.
After Rome was over and I came home from Mexico, Gordo and Lizzie had made it clear that Kate was ok again, and that she was a member of our trio. How she had redeemed herself was beyond me, for they never told me. I suspect it had something to do with their fleeting three month relationship, but they denied this. I hadn't liked Kate to begin with, but I put up with her for Lizzie's sake, just as she did with me.
A slow song poured through the speakers, and I watched as Lizzie and Gordo looked at each other before nervously edging onto the dance floor. The failure at their first attempt at dating had led to the promised the vow that never again would they attempt to be anything but best friends. And yet, over a year after their breakup, rumors were once again circulating that David Gordon liked Lizzie McGuire. As more than a friend.
The even worse rumor was that Lizzie McGuire didn't like Jacques Poilin anymore, and that she liked David Gordon back.
As Gordo awkwardly placed his hands on Lizzie's hips, I sighed in defeat. Not to be cynical or unsupportive, but I hoped that they would hurry up and realize that they were never going to be more than friends so I could live in peace.
I was sick and tired of their games of hide and seek: crush style.
I smoothed the white silk of my dress and opened the envelope that Kate had thrust unceremoniously into my hands.
The birthday card was on plain white stationary, Kate's monogram scrawled across the top.
Happy birthday Miranda. The present is on the inside of the card, you idiot.
Kate
I rolled my eyes and opened the card, my eyes widening at the presence of two one hundred dollar bills taped to the white paper. It was more money than I had seen in two years, and I made a mental note to be nice to Kate when we came back to school, not just for Lizzie's sake, either. Lizzie and Gordo were still dancing together, her head on his shoulder, his scrawny arms around her waist.
I sighed, hoping against hope that they didn't decide to give dating another go tonight.
Headlights coming up the street caused me to blink hard, and I turned my attention to the car that was passing slowly outside my house. A black stretch limousine crawled up the street, pop music blaring from the opened windows. I smiled and turned back to surveying my party.
I miss middle school. I know it's lame to say, but I do. Things were so simple back then: life was just as easy as finding the perfect skirt and the right shoes to go with it. There was an easy way out for everything. It was just Lizzie, Gordo, and me back then: us against the world. Something changed between middle school and high school. Maybe it was the distance: I was in Mexico, they were in Rome. Lizzie and Gordo had adventures that didn't include me, I did things that they didn't even know about. Lizzie was, (dare I say it?) popular for quite awhile when we began Hillridge High School. I guess being on the cover of every tabloid from here to kingdom come could help anyone be popular, but it was more than that. Lizzie had had an adventure, something that very few people in the sleepy suburbs of Los Angeles had ever experienced. She had appeal, and mystery, and people were drawn to that. It was almost as if they hoped that some would rub off on them, and they would find themselves performing at the biggest award show in the world.
It's not as though Lizzie and I aren't friends, or not as close. It's just that sometimes I get this feeling that whatever magic we had shared together in second through eighth grade was gone. Or hiding.
She never really talked about the thing with Paolo and Isabella when we were all together. Lizzie didn't like to talk about Paolo, but I could tell she was in love with him, and I could tell he had broken her heart. I met Isabella once though; she stopped in Hillridge on the way to LA and paid a visit to Lizzie. It's true what they all said- Isabella is almost Lizzie's twin. Her cheekbones are more prominent, her lips a little bit fuller, her hair like a chestnut curtain down her back. It's probably what Lizzie will look like in a year or two, Malibu Barbie hair added.
The gate swung open and I turned around, wondering who had shown up so late. A young man stood awkwardly in my yard, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes combing the dancers.
I sighed and turned to walk toward him before my mouth dropped open. He was older, obviously, and definitely not from Hillridge. I didn't even think that he was from LA. His hair was shining, the sweet, slightly pungent scent of expensive cologne mixed with sweat filling my nostrils as I neared him. His collared shirt was open a few buttons, showing off a toned chest, and I could tell that it too was expensive.
But no matter who he was, if my mother caught him here, I was screwed over.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder and marched up to him. Tapping him on his Versace clothed shoulder; I asked "Do I know you?"
The words sounded more petulant than I had meant them to, and I regretted what I had said.
"Oh, hello." He said courteously, a lilting Italian accent elegantly reaching my ears. His voice held an undertone of arrogance, the voice of someone who had done well in life, and was sure they would continue to do so. "I was just wondering, is Lizzie McGuire here, by any chance?" he addressed me but craned his neck, searching for my friend. I should have known: people were always looking for Lizzie.
"I don't know where she is." I answered truthfully, peering into his face. I had the distinct feeling that I had seen him somewhere before, though where was beyond me.
He smiled, his lips revealing perfectly straight, white teeth.
"You must be Miranda." He said, his accent more pronounced as he said my name. "Is it your birthday? Lizzie used to talk about you all the time."
"Yeah, that's me." I said wearily. Then, a sudden spark of inspiration came to me and I knew who I was talking to.
"Hang on, are you Paolo?" I asked, my hand rising to my mouth in surprise.
"Si." He said smoothly, taking my hand and kissing it. "Paolo Valasari. I heard that she would be here tonight. I was hoping you could tell me where Lizzie is. I would so like to speak to her."
I sighed, my eyes picking her out of the crowd. She was talking to Kate and Ethan, her pretty curls blowing softly in the wind.
I pointed him in the right direction. "There. There she is."
Paolo watched Lizzie, obviously transfixed at the sight of her. It suddenly dawned on me how different Lizzie looked from when Paolo had last seen her. A year is a long time, and subject to many changes.
"She has gotten quite beautiful." He said softly, looking on her with tenderness. "I will go speak to her." He started down the hill and I grabbed his arm. Maybe I didn't like Paolo all that much, but the sight of him would no doubt make Lizzie angry and when Lizzie was mad, she really got mad.
"I don't think that's such a good idea." I said coldly, tugging him out of her line of vision.
Paolo looked at me, a hint of annoyance showing in his dark eyes. He was obviously used to getting his way.
"Are you always this, how do you say it? Forward?" he asked blankly.
I matched his stare evenly. "That depends. Are you always so clueless? Or is that just reserved for situations where women are concerned?"
I could tell that I had stung him, and I felt a brief pang of remorse for hurting his pride.
"Touché" he said, laughing good naturedly. "You have a quick wit Miranda."
I liked the way he said my name, the "r" slightly rolled, sexy sounding.
"So I'm told." I said dryly, watching Lizzie, making sure she could see neither me, nor the man standing near me.
"So, why am I not allowed to talk to Lizzie, Miranda?" he asked, just as I knew he would. Lizzie's description of him proved to be surprisingly accurate: he was spoiled, and clueless, but utterly charming and captivating.
"Just come with me." I said, grabbing his arm. I led him in the shadows around the dance floor. We passed by Lizzie, so close that if Paolo stepped one step too far right, he could brush against her shoulder. I opened the gate at the far end of the yard, stepping into the back of our neighbor's lot. I technically wasn't supposed be back here, but if Mr. Thompson wasn't going to use his gazebo, I certainly could.
The thick cover of cedar trees blocked the rap music emanating from my stereo and the soft chatter and laughter of the guests silenced. I inhaled deeply, the soft smell of cedar tickling my nose. It was cooler here, and I no longer felt as if I was melting.
Paolo touched the skirt of my dress, the material flowing through his hands.
"You're dress is very pretty." He said politely. "Is it Franca?"
What the hell?
"Franca is one of the top designers in Europe." He clarified. "It was she who made Lizzie's clothing for the IMVAS."
I managed to restrain myself from mentioning how tacky I thought those clothes were for the sake of politeness.
"What happened to Isabella?" I asked him as we entered the gazebo and took seats on the moth eaten, leaf covered couch that sat in the middle of the floor.
"Oh, Isabella." Paolo said dismissively, waving his hands. "We do not speak anymore. I think that she is living somewhere is Greece, but I do not care really."
We sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the crickets and the muted sounds from my party.
"Tell me, Miranda." He said suddenly, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Are you really as sarcastic as Lizzie says you are?"
I scowled, displeased that Lizzie had been discussing my problem with what my father called "lip".
"Maybe I am. Are you really as bad a singer as you were at that show?"
"I take lessons, for my singing. I sound much nicer." He said, leaning gingerly back against the sofa.
"Well, that's certainly good to know." I said sarcastically, wrapping a strand of my pink streaked black hair around my finger.
"Why do you not want me to talk to Lizzie?" he asked again, staring straight at me. "Is she still angry about the award show?"
"Do you really want to know?" I asked, smoothing my skirt nervously. His presence made me nervous.
"Si, carina." He said simply, swatting at a mosquito that landed on his leg.
"Lizzie was really in love with you." I said softly, resting my chin in my hand. I waited for a moment, but he was silent.
"You broke her heart. I don't think she ever forgave you. If she saw you, she'd be very sad. And very angry." I continued quietly, not daring to look him in the eye.
"I did not mean to hurt Lizzie. I came to find her tonight. I just wanted to say that I was sorry. She is a very beautiful girl."
At those words, that old resentment knotted into my stomach. As hard as it was for me to accept, Lizzie was a beautiful girl, the average boy's dream. I had never been the type of girl that boys liked. I had nice skin, and pretty hair, but I wasn't cute like my best friend was. I was too tall, too cynical, and too Miranda. I had never really resented Lizzie for it: but just once, just once I wanted someone like Paolo to want me like he wanted Lizzie.
"Miranda? Are you alright?" he asked gently, his fingers brushing the faint line of my jaw. Traveling slowly up my face, they tucked some of my heavy hair behind my ears. Then they were gone, leaving only a faint tingle where I had been touched.
"You're about a year too late Paolo." I said, keeping all hints of sarcasm out of my voice.
"I know." He said with a sigh. "I just felt guilty. Isabella called me, and we fought about that. She cannot let it go. I felt so guilty, Lizzie is a nice girl. She deserves a nice man."
A strange energy was pulsing through me, much like the energy I felt when I danced or sang. I knew that it was hot, and yet goose bumps appeared along my arms. He was so close I could feel the silk of his shirt against my bare arm. His hand was on my face again, and I could smell his cologne.
"Miranda?" he asked, his accent eloquent and smooth in my ears.
But he never got any farther than that. Paolo's lips found mine gently, his body pressed against me, his heart beating against my chest.
Finally we broke apart, breathing hard, my head spinning. He gazed at me, and I was kissing him again, his hands traveling down the back of my gown, where they rested on my hips. I couldn't breathe, and all the time his heart thudded steadily against my breasts.
Before I can stop to think about the situation, I'm refastening my dress, running my hands through my hair. I didn't know how much time has passed, but I think it was a great deal. My body is shaking, the summer heat settling like a second skin across my being. Paolo kisses me, and I can still taste him on my lips.
"I should get back." I said reluctantly, my hand resting on his cheek.
"Yes, you should." He said softly, intertwining my fingers with his. "Don't worry about me, I'll find a way out. Ciao, Miranda." He said, kissing me gently before I hurried back to my own yard.
I entered my yard as the guests began leaving. "Happy birthday" "See you on Monday" and "Great Party!" chorused over and over again in my head as I was hugged. Random gifts were stuffed into my hands.
As Veruca and Larry left, Lizzie squealed behind me. "Miranda!" she yelled, "I've been looking all over for you!"
"Really? I've been looking for you." I lied. Gordo patted my shoulder.
"Looks like I was wrong Sanchez." He said, "You had fun at your party after all."
"Yes." I said with a wide smile. "I did have a very nice time."
o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Later that night I stood in the backyard with a garbage bag, helping my mom and Mrs. McGuire shovel paper plates and pizza boxes into the trash. The yard look deflated, like one of those Moon Walks after you pull the plug.
"Did you have a nice party Miranda?" Mrs. McGuire asked me as she emptied the bowls of chips into a black garbage bags. My mother shot me a dirty look. She had discovered the presence of eighteen year old boys at my party, and had sentenced me to a month of whenever, free babysitting for Stevie.
I smiled at her. "Yes. Thanks, Mrs. McG."
Paolo had left with the promise to 'give me a call', and I looked forward to speaking to him with a fervor that frightened me.
After all, when it came to love, there was no easy way out.