Title: Between Stars
Author: Faith Kiamn
Rating: PG-13 (for the safe side of a tiny bit of language)
Category: L/G
Spoilers: a little of everything; the movie, but no rooftop scene; I started this before it came out
Disclaimer: don't own, no 'fringe intended
Distribution: sure, just keep my name attached and drop me a line so I can visit
Feedback: please; review or email, I'd be delighted

Summary: Sometimes we just need a little distance to see the things that matter. Lizzie gets distance. Lots of it. Like a universe-away, distance.

Author's Notes: I've been wanting to write fanfic since I first discovered its X-Files incarnation years ago. This is my first truly successful attempt, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure how I ended up writing LM fanfic, of all things. I rather suspect my little sister had a lot to do with it, though. This is dedicated to her and to my other younger sister whose knowledge of so many interesting things scientific was a lot of the inspiration for this story's Lizzie.

Just a warning: this thing is gonna be long. And a little odd. (What can I say, I'm an aspiring fantasy novelist.) Over half of it is written already, and I'm gonna try and get it posted as quickly as possible...but no promises. I've only just convinced myself to try the post-as-you-go deal. We'll see how it works out.

Anyway. These notes are huge. Go. Read. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: Opisthaptors and Workshops

"Have I ever mentioned how much I absolutely hate Mr. Dawson?" Lizzie McGuire asked, dropping a chin-high stack of books to the lunch table. Clenching her fists to bring the circulation back to her fingers, she looked up to see David Gordon and Am Smith sitting opposite her. Gordo smiled at her comment, but Am's pale blue eyes only narrowed in a glare.

"Thanks, McGuire. I was gonna eat that." Confused, Lizzie frowned, following the glaring eyes as they darted down to a jiggling pile of green jello. "Of all the things on this tray, that was the only edible part," Am announced and, sure enough, the other spaces on the plate were filled with some indistinguishable brown squares and a gravity-defying tower of white lumps. "Now, of course, with all your bumping and thumping, it looks too much like Swamp Thing to stomach." Pale hands shoved the tray away. "Once again, no lunch for me," she lamented, heaving a long, dramatic sigh.

Lizzie didn't even try to hide her smile. "Sorry, Am. You can have half my lunch, if you want."

"Oh, no, no, no." Am shook her head, hands rising in protest. "I couldn't eat your lunch, Mig. You need your strength. I wouldn't want you to faint in the hallways, drop those books on your head, and end up in the hospital with a concussion and two black eyes, all because I ate half your lunch."

Lizzie met Am's wide, earnest eyes and raised them a shivering bottom lip. "Oh, Am," she sighed, one hand spread against her chest, "what would I do without a friend like you?"

"Probably spend a lot less time complaining about the cafeteria food," came Gordo's answer. Both Lizzie and Am turned to see a dry smirk curling his mouth. "And yes, Lizzie, you have mentioned how much you hate Mr. Dawson."

"Several times," chimed Am.

"Not that I can blame you," Gordo admitted. "What's the library for?" He ducked his chin at her books.

Lizzie groaned. "I'm going to debunk the theory of evolution," she sighed, sitting down.

Gordo's eyebrows rose. "Ambitious."

"Yeah." Lizzie unrolled the top of her lunch bag. "And, you know, I don't really even care about the theory of evolution. It's just," her lips thinned, the words snapping crisp between them, "Dawson's so...arrogant...and, and cocky...and he never lets anyone have an opinion different from his own. Like just because he's the teacher he automatically knows everything when, really, he can't even pronounce opisthaptor."

She pulled a sandwich from the bag, plopped it on the table, reached in again, pulled out another sandwich, plopped it in front of Am. "And today, argh, he kept going on and on about how wonderful the theory of evolution is and so, of course, when he told us to pick our paper topics, I decided, enough. Lizzie McGuire has her own mind and that mind is going to debunk the theory of evolution if it kills her." She snapped the sandwich bag open, tore off a corner of peanut butter and jelly and popped it in her mouth, muttering, "He can shove that up his opisthaptor."

Silence. Lizzie looked up from her sandwich to find both Gordo and Am staring at her. What? She hadn't been shouting, had she? No, she was sure she hadn't been shouting. "What?" she asked.

Gordo and Am exchanged a glance across the table.

"You should talk to Larry," Am said finally, nodding sagely as she opened her own sandwich.

"Tudgeman? Why?"

"Oh, just 'cuz he's always saying he knows this fellow, uh, Cleatus. I bet Larry can arrange a hit for you." Lizzie's forehead folded. "And failing that, there's always the ICBMs."

"What?" Am was fun, and funny, but sometimes...

"Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles," Am explained nonchalantly.

Lizzie opened her mouth to demand an even more confused what? when Gordo stepped in. "I think what Ms Smith's trying to say, Lizzie, is that, well, if you really hate Mr. Dawson so much, perhaps you should, er, assassinate him." A smile lurked on the corner of his mouth.

Am shrugged and nodded. "Sure beats debunking the theory of evolution." She gestured at the pile of books at Lizzie's elbow. "Just one quick phone call and Larry can have it all taken care of for ya."

Lizzie sat there a long moment, eyes flicking back and forth between her two friends. Gordo was fully smiling now and a little grin had crept onto Am's face. Finally, Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Where's Miranda when I need her?" she moaned. "Stuck here at lunch with two people who can't tell fantasy from reality."

"Hey!" Gordo objected.

"Eh, get over it, Davy," Am chuckled, butting her shoulder into his. "That's what makes us so good at what we do."

"That's what comes of hanging out with Tudgeman too much, you mean," Lizzie said.

"Hey, now." Am shook a finger at Lizzie. "There's no need for that, Mig. He may be a little odd, and prone to flights of fantasy, but Larry Tudgeman is very nearly a creative genius. Davy and I do well to let as much of that rub off on us as possible." She sniffed and tipped her nose into the air. "Which you will someday be forced to admit when Larry has cured cancer and created true virtual reality...and when Davy and I are famous Hollywood directors."

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. "Well, I concede you two's creative genius anyway." Her own nose tipped into the air. "But I believe I'm going to be the one curing cancer, thank you very much."

Gordo snorted. "Oh, where's Miranda when I need her?" he mocked in a high-pitched voice. "Stuck here at lunch with my delusional best friend."

"Hey!" Lizzie cried, "no fair copying." Her foot found his shin beneath the table.

Gordo winced, then turned to Am. "That's what I've been telling her about my homework for years," he said, affecting a mournful, pitying expression. Am burst into laughter, Gordo joining in, leaving Lizzie to send another kick at his shin.

"You-you...directors!" she sputtered, crossing indignant arms over her chest. Slowly, though, she couldn't help grinning herself.

"Speaking of directors," Gordo said at last, after the laughter had stopped and all three had returned to their lunches. "Look what I have." Wiping chip-greased fingers on Lizzie's napkin, he bent down to rummage through his backpack. When he straightened, a sheet of paper was in his hand. Lizzie leaned forward to get a better look, barely making out the words UCLA and Media before Am was yanking the paper from Gordo's grip.

"Oh my gosh, is this what I think it is?" she squeaked.

Gordo's grin looked wide enough to split his face. "Yep. I got in."

"That's awesome!" Am cried, even as Lizzie asked, "Got in? In what? Where?"

Am was the one to answer. "Davy here applied for a directing and film workshop that UCLA runs every summer. It's for students aged 14-24 and it's basically a bunch of seminars and hands-on experience for anyone who wants to go into the film industry. It's really, really competitive and Davy got in!" Her voice rose to a squeak again as she shook the paper. "I'm so excited for you, Davy! Wish I could have gone this year."

"Wow." Lizzie tried for a smile. "That's really great, Gordo." It was just too bad she hadn't known anything about this beforehand. Weren't they supposed to be best friends? She wondered if Miranda knew.

Gordo's grin had transformed into a pleased, shy curve of the lips at her words. "Thanks," he shrugged. "I'm kinda surprised I got in, really."

Am swatted him on the head with the paper. "I'm not."

Lizzie licked suddenly dry lips. "Me neither. You're truly talented, Gordo."

"But of course," Am chuckled, handing the paper across to Lizzie. "Wanna see?" Lizzie folded chilled fingers around an edge. Nice paper, thick, smooth with just a little texture. The program logo was printed along the top in light blue and she skimmed down to the text. Dear Mr. Gordon...Congratulations on being accepted...your session will begin July 15th... Am was talking again. "I would never have agreed to partner up with anyone untalented."

"Ah, yes," Gordo replied, "can't forget about good ole Gordon-Smith Productions. I know you're just using me for my brilliance. Then you'll buy me out when I'm sucked dry and it'll just be Smith Productions."

Am pursed her lips. "I doubt it." She shook her head. "After all, Smith is such an uninspiring name for a company." She cast a teasing grin in Gordo's direction.

"You could always call it Amaryllis Productions," Gordo teased back.

"Ick. Amaryllis. That always makes me think of some sort of exotic alcoholic drink. I don't know why my parents thought saddling me with a weird first name would make up for my singularly unspectacular last name."

"Maybe we just ought to come up with some symbolic name for our company. Something obscure. Something with deep meaning."

Am laughed. "Yeah. Inflamed Hippo or Sublime Fraction o-or maybe something in Latin."

Gordo was laughing too and Lizzie rubbed the letter between her fingers, trying to make it look like she was still reading. Am and Gordo had been teasing about starting a production company for three years now, from almost the first moment that Lizzie had introduced Am to her best friends the second semester of freshman year. Lizzie had always enjoyed listening to them plan everything out, but now... Well, it didn't even feel like either of them knew she was sitting there. And what was up with Am knowing about this UCLA thing and not Lizzie?

"What was it again, Lizzie?"

Gordo was asking her something. She shook free of her thoughts and looked up. "What?"

"What's that thing that Mr. Dawson can't pronounce? I was thinking maybe we could name our production company after that."

"Uh, opisthaptor." She managed a half-smile. "But I don't think you want to name it that. An opisthaptor is the posterior holdfast of a monogenetic trematode parasite." At the blankness in their eyes, she shrugged. "Sorry. Sometimes once I've memorized these things, I can't shake 'em loose. It's, uh, basically the sucker thingy on a parasite's rear end."

Both Gordo and Am drew back with identical looks of disgust on their faces. "Nope," Am said after a beat of silence. "Don't want to name it that." Gordo shook his head in agreement.

"Ah, well," he said, "it doesn't matter, does it? I mean it'll be years before we know the film world enough to start a production company. Maybe we'll have an idea by then."

Am nodded. "True. There's this summer, next year, college—College! So since you're doing this program, are you maybe thinking of going to UCLA when you graduate?"

Gordo shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, it's a great film school, but I don't have to apply for colleges until next year. I've still got plenty of time to check out a few other options. You know, New York University, Columbia University, USC. I like the idea of going to college on the East Coast, just for the experience, but I guess we'll see."

"Yeah, I have to say I feel kind of the same way. Having lived here in Hillridge all my life, New York would certainly be a change." Am winked. "Maybe we'll end up going together. Get a head start on that company."

Lizzie found herself on her feet before she even realized she wanted to stand up. Gordo and Am both looked at her, puzzled.

"I, uh, I should probably go put these, um, books away before my next class," she stammered. "I'm just gonna go."

"What about your lunch?" Am pointed to the bits of sandwich and the still half-full paper bag sitting in front of Lizzie.

"I'm not as hungry as I thought I'd be." Lizzie nudged the bag in the other girl's direction. "You can have it if you want."

"Um, thanks." Am reached out a finger, snagged the top of the bag, and dragged it slowly to the spot beside her sandwich crumbs.

"Oh, and here's your letter, Gordo." She handed the paper over and began gathering the mountain of books into her arms again.

"Thanks." There was a frown wrinkling his voice, but Lizzie was too busy stacking the books against her elbow to look up. Just as she murmured a farewell and turned to go, Gordo called, "Hey, Lizzie?"

Lizzie just looked over her shoulder, hummed.

"Are you okay?"

She looked away, pretended to shake a strand of hair out of her eyes, and when she glanced back, plastered a smile to her face. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Okay." Gordo nodded a little. "No reason. Just asking."

"Oh." Lizzie dipped her head, smiled again, then turned to go. The clock above the exit said she had twenty minutes until the end of the period. Twenty minutes to take her books to her locker.

Yeah. Sure. She was fine.

*********#######*********

In the end, Lizzie decided to stop by her locker, get the books for her next two classes, and head to the library to finish up the last few math problems from the night before. But the trip took just over seven minutes and the math consumed approximately half that, which left her ten whole minutes to sit and stare at the walls. And think. Which, really, Lizzie wasn't altogether happy about.

Her mind kept spiraling around this UCLA workshop thing. Why hadn't Gordo told her about it? Not that he had to tell her everything, but this was big. Almost as long as she'd known him, Gordo had wanted to be a director. Here he was, mapping out his future and she didn't know a thing about it.

Well, maybe he'd just wanted to keep it to himself until he found out for sure.

But then why had Am known about it? Maybe she'd found out accidentally?

But Lizzie couldn't help wondering if maybe he'd told Am because he and Am were closer than he and Lizzie. After all, Am and Gordo had dated sophomore year, for just a few weeks. They'd split amicably, telling everyone they were better off as friends, and Lizzie, who knew both pretty well, had been convinced. But maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe they decided they really did like each other as more than that. Maybe they were dating again.

And who could blame them, really? Am was gorgeous, dark brown hair to her waist, slim with a petite dancer's build, a great smile, and those fantastic eyes—so pale they were almost white near the pupil, a dark China blue at the outside. She was funny—goofy, strange funny—and witty and smart and so nice. Gordo obviously enjoyed hanging out with her, and they both shared a love of film, not to mention a certain disregard for what everyone else thought of them. As for Gordo's qualities...well, what could Lizzie say? He was great, in every way. He wouldn't be her best friend, otherwise. And he was cute, not much taller than Lizzie but he'd settled into his wiry frame, built muscle to match it.

Lizzie shook her head, eyes dropping to trace the gold-edged "Trigonometry" at the top of her text book. What did it matter if Am and Gordo were dating? She just wished they'd told her. And if they weren't dating, well, how come Am knew about the summer program?

Maybe Gordo just shared it with her because they both wanted to be directors. Maybe he'd told her because they just talked about stuff like that, in a way that Lizzie didn't. Like how they were always planning Gordon-Smith Productions. Like how right now they might even be planning on going to the same college.

Geez, she thought with more venom than she expected, they might as well be dating.

Whoa, McGuire. She blew a breath through pursed lips, trying to turn away from the anger that rose abruptly. But it didn't fade away entirely, merely shifted to a kind of stomach-twisting panic. College. They'd all be applying for colleges next year. It wasn't a new thought, but most of the time she was able to ignore it in the face of papers or assignments or extracurricular stuff. Every once in a while, though, the idea would rise to the forefront of her mind. Usually, it made her a little nervous—she could just picture her friends going off to other schools, making new friends, coming back to Hillridge different—but now it made her physically ill.

Colleges next year. She swallowed at the hot, slick trembling in her chest. She didn't even know where to begin. Didn't she have to know what she wanted to do before looking at colleges? And Lizzie had no idea. She loved acting and singing—she'd been in at least one play every year in high school—but she also loved science, especially anatomy and biology. So should she go pre-med or should she go drama? Pre-med? Drama? Drama? Pre-med?

And Gordo and Am knew exactly what they wanted. They even seemed to know exactly where they wanted. New York. On the other side of the country from Hillridge.

Okay. So now she felt a little like throwing up.

"Trigonometry, trigonometry, trigonometry," she mouthed, over and over again until most of the flipping in her stomach had stopped. Enough of all that. She had all summer and half of next year's first semester to figure the college thing out. No need to panic about it now. Her eyes found the clock on the wall. At last, the period was almost over. Then she could head to her next class, gym. Not that she was altogether looking forward to tripping over the soccer ball as she did nearly every day, but Miranda would be there.

Miranda. Her stomach eased the rest of the way. She could talk to Miranda about everything. Miranda would make her feel better.

****
end of chapter 1

chapter notes:
Thanks to JS, who will never see this, but provided delightful inspiration for Am Smith. Thanks also to plainjane, whose Lizzie in her story, What Would Have Happened? made me want to write this. (which may very well be a bad thing…but it's a little late now ;) )
The UCLA Media Workshop did exist...and may again; info here: w w w (dot) mediaworkshops (dot) org