High School Farewell

Gordo was now a senior in high school, and he had just received a letter from Columbia University. He was sitting around a table at Lizzie's house. Amy Barklett was there as well.

"Open it!" Lizzie said excitedly. She knew Columbia couldn't possibly reject Gordo.

On her encouragement, Gordo at last decided to do so. He read it with a grim face. "I didn't get in," he said at last.

"Let me see," Lizzie said, frowning, as she reached for the letter. "No! There must be some mistake."

Amy requested to read it as well. Finally, both girls had confirmed that Gordo was not accepted to Columbia.

"They are just a bunch of snobs, Gordo. Don't let this bring you down."

"Lizzie, this is a major disappointment. I've always dreamed of Columbia—the intellectual atmosphere, the challenging coursework, and the prestige from saying you are a Columbian graduate. Now what shall I do?"

"Oh, has Gordo had a de casibus moment?" fourteen-year-old Matt asked, as he walked into the room and noted Gordo's downcast expression. Matt had become very studious when he turned twelve, to the point where it began to vex Lizzie. He was always eager to show off his knowledge.

"Go away, brother."

"Show some respect, sister." But he left without complaint.

Amy was a slim brunette, with tiny curls in her hair. She was Lizzie's best friend, now that Miranda had moved to Spain to live with relatives. That happened in their sophomore year. "So, Gordo, what is your back-up plan?" she wondered.

"Amy, I'm afraid that I don't have a back-up plan."

"But surely you've got to go to college somewhere! You're the valedictorian of our class! How would it look if you just stayed home and moped all day?"

"Columbia was my only option. It's already April, and it's too late to apply to any worthwhile colleges."

"You could go to a subpar college for a year, and then transfer to a better one in 2008," Lizzie suggested.

"I'll think about it."

Things had changed a lot since middle school. Kate Sanders was no longer a cheerleader; she was on the drama team, and Mr. Hancock said that she was destined to become the next Anne Hathaway.

Most of the other girls moved away, and new ones came in. Gloria Hopkins, a Hispanic, was Gordo's greatest rival for valedictorian. She was so involved with her work that nobody ever heard her speak a syllable that was not related to school. Gloria hated Gordo for being the number one student, and it was rumored that she had made a voodoo representation of him, which she constantly stuck pins in.

Larry Tudgman had committed suicide in November. He had jumped out of a two-story window, with Stephenie Meyer's Twilight in hand. He desired for the book to be buried with him.

Nobody understood why Larry had killed himself. He never gave any explanation, nor any signs. He just did it.

Few people cried. He was a nerd who got on everybody's nerves, and they would've felt the same had Steve Urkel died. Although Ms. Honey, the biology teacher, had had a seizure that was attributed to "severe psychological loss," immediately following Larry's death.

Ethan was still as much of a brain-dead hottie as ever. His steady girlfriend, Nichole Washington, was blond and lived up to the reputation of her hair color. She was at least smarter than Ethan, but that's not saying much.

Then there was another pest, much worse than Larry. Samuel Perton. He professed to be in love with Amy, and brought her roses every Monday, which she was too modest to refuse. However, she always threw them in the garbage can first chance she got.

Some people wished that Samuel had killed himself instead of Larry. But that, unfortunately, was never going to happen. Samuel was too much in love with life, and he seriously believed Amy had a tiny interest in him, because of all the roses she had accepted.

On the thirtieth of April, Samuel brought Amy another bouquet of flowers. "Will you go to the prom with me?" he asked her.

Amy was tongue-tied. She didn't want to hurt Samuel's feelings, but she also didn't wish to accept. Lizzie nudged her, and she finally got the courage to say a weak but effective, "No."

"But—all the roses I've given you! I thought you had an interest in me!"

"She never did," Lizzie supplied, when Amy once again found herself speechless. "She always throws away your precious gifts, but she never had the heart to tell you."

"What do you know? Heart-Breaker Lizzie is informing me that I have girlfriend problems."

"What did you call me?" Lizzie demanded.

"Heart-Breaker. First, you rejected Gordo, then you dumped Danny Hemlich, then you broke it off with Ken Taper. I also heard that Larry killed himself because of you!"

This last rumor was news to Lizzie. It was true that Larry had asked for a private conversation the day before his death. He said to meet him by a certain tree, but she had stood him up. She didn't see any significance in it. By the time he had died, she had forgotten completely about it, but now it soared in front of her eyes like a cormorant above the sea.

"Don't listen to him," Amy advised later that day, when Samuel wasn't around. "He's just bitter because I turned him down."

"He may be right. What if I'm the reason for his suicide?" Lizzie moaned.

"That's a ridiculous notion, and you must banish it from your head. His death was inevitable; he felt neglected and just couldn't take life anymore. Nobody was responsible, least of all you."

"But Amy, I stood him up! Samuel's right. I am a Heart Breaker. What have I done?"

"You don't know that he had anything serious to say; it might've just been rubbish."

"Maybe. But, then again, perhaps he left a clue at the place we were supposed to meet. Tomorrow I'm going to see."

Lizzie knew that it was highly improbable that anything of Larry's could still be around the sycamore tree six months later. However, she went to that spot in the hopes of finding something.

There were squirrels playing in the boughs of the tree, and one fell flat on the ground. Lizzie observed the ground assiduously, looking for any trace Larry might have left behind.

There was a crevice in the ground, and something white was sticking out of it. Lizzie picked it up for examination. It was a letter folded into eight squares.

Unfolding it, Lizzie discovered that it was addressed to her. She pocketed the missive, believing it to be dangerous to read it out in the open air. Then she went home.

Safe in her room, with the door fastened as much as possible, Lizzie began to read the letter.

Dearest Lizzie, November 8, 2006

By the time you discover this letter, I will be long dead. I hope you will find it. You stood me up, and probably have forgotten all about our rendezvous by the sycamore tree.

You were the only one who could have prevented me from killing myself. If you had just shown up, I would've been able to tell you something very significant. You were my akora. This is a tradition I invented for an alien race in a science fiction novel I was writing.

The akora is chosen on a male's nineteenth birthday. I never told anybody this, but I was born in 1987. Therefore, I was nineteen long before my death. Anyhow, the akora is a girl that the man loves. He swears that he will never marry anyone but her, whether she likes him or not. I had chosen you for this honor.

Remember in eighth grade when we went to the science museum and spent a day together? Over the course of the next three years, I couldn't get you out of my mind. I tried, Lizzie, seriously I tried. Even as I watched you dump boy after boy, I still yearned for your love. It is just one of those inexplicable mysteries of life.

Lizzie, I promise that I had no intention of threatening you, had you kept our appointment. I did not want your pity. I just wanted you to be aware of the torment I have gone through for you! But don't misunderstand me: it was worth every moment.

Perhaps I have committed suicide to make you feel pain. If so, I'm very selfish. More than likely, you shed not a tear. I was never important to you.

Sometimes I think I'm maudlin and sentimental. I've placed Lizzie McGuire on a high pedestal, and she exists merely to crush my heart! There is no way I can avoid killing myself; it is inevitable. Written in stone.

Lizzie, I have one request of you. If you understand a trifle of what I've been telling you, go to my house and tell my mother that you are my akora. She has a present to give you, if she believes.

Your lover,

Larry Tudgman

This letter wracked Lizzie's nerves, and she went to show it to her mother.

Mrs. McGuire read it with pursed lips. It was the most disturbing letter she had ever read, and it seemed to have an aura of darkness about it.

"Lizzie, I want you to think for a moment. Have you ever given Larry the impression that you liked him romantically?"

"No."

"I said, think! Don't just blurt out an answer."

Lizzie pretended to ruminate over this matter. Yet she knew she had never ever shown Larry an inclination to spend time with him.

After she had repeated her no, Mrs. McGuire spoke. "This Larry was very passionate, to write a letter like this. Either that, or it's a forgery. Lizzie, is there anybody at your school who might hold a grudge against you?"

"Well, there's Danny, and Ken, my ex-boyfriends. And also Samuel."

"Why would Samuel be out to deceive you?"

"Oh, he's in love with Amy, and she has spurned him, with my encouragement. He probably blames me for making her prejudiced against him."

"Well, there's one way to find out whether this was a real letter or not. Go and see Mrs. Tudgman, show her the missive, and ask her if she believes the handwriting to be Larry's. They say that no one knows your calligraphy more than your mother."

"I'll do that. Thanks, Mom!" Lizzie hugged her, which she had rarely done of her own volition.

On Cinco de Mayo, Lizzie went to the Tudgman's house. It had a tiny portico that was reminiscent of the bathhouses in ancient Rome. She rang the doorbell.

A portly woman with short hair answered. She was wearing a purple blouse and a shark tooth's necklace, and she had just finished her ablutions.

"Yes?"

"Are you Larry's mother?"

The woman eyed Lizzie suspiciously. "I'm his aunt. Or was, before he committed suicide."

"Is his mother home?"

"Aryna? Yes, she's here. I'll run and get her." The woman shut the door in Lizzie's face.

This was going to be more trouble than she had thought. Just when she was about ready to give up, the door opened again, by a slim hand. Larry's mother had a red face, with splotches all over it, as if she had been gardening. She was emaciated and appeared to not have had a decent meal in months.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Lizzie McGuire, ma'am."

"Now, where have I heard that name before? Oh, yes, Larry used to speak ceaselessly of you! How much of a better student you were. How people liked you better. How he was unworthy of you. He would highlight your pictures in the yearbook, and affix your name to his surname. Lizzie Tudgman! I often told him that that was the most beautiful name in the world."

"There's no mistake about it, then. He must've written the letter," Lizzie said, more to herself than to Mrs. Tudgman.

"What's that? Did you say something about a letter?"

"Well, Larry wrote it just before his death, but I did not discover it until very recently. I had come to seek your opinion on whether it really is his or not."

Mrs. Tudgman stared at Lizzie, as if she had answered her prayers. "Oh, come in, come in!" the woman said, opening the door wide and standing aside. "To think, a letter from Larry! This I got to see."

She led Lizzie to the dining room, and told her to have a seat. Going to the kitchen, she returned with some tea.

"Now, where is this letter?"

"Right here," Lizzie said, pulling it out of her pocket.

Mrs. Tudgman looked greedy as she grabbed the missive from Lizzie's hands. Her first contact with Larry in half a year! And probably the last she would ever receive.

As her eyes progressed further and further along the note, she began to frown. At last, when she read the final paragraph, she was livid.

Lizzie was sipping her cup of tea, and Mrs. Tudgman knocked it out of her hands. "How dare you bring a mother false hopes?" she yelled in indignation. "Larry never wrote this: it's not his handwriting. To think that you could be so malicious, you witch, you hoyden of the first water! Out, out of my house, with all your trickery and deceit! Shoo!"

The teenage girl ran away from the madwoman, out the door, past the portico. She ran all the way home, without once pausing to catch her breath.

When she was in her room again, she sat on her bed and cried. She was supposed to go meet Amy at the mall, but her spirits were dampened. How could Mrs. Tudgman attack her so? Calling her a witch, and all that. All she had wanted to do was find out whether Larry was the author of that letter or not, and his mother had vilified her! Well, at least she had the answer.

Later that night, when she got in bed, she realized that someone was out to hoodwink her into making a fool of herself. That someone was most likely Samuel Perton.