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And she wonders is this real

Or does she just want to be Queen

And he fights the way he feels

Is this the end of the dream

~~~Stevie Nicks, "Highwayman"

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Two weeks later, I'm set to work as a substitute teacher. Not the best job in the world, but it pays. It pays enough for me to live on, at least.

Gordo has a job at a men's business magazine called "The Inform". Now, at first I was quite surprised at this, for Gordo had never expressed wanting to be any kind of journalist. Then I found out that this was the photographer job he was talking about. That made a lot more sense, since he majored in directing with a minor in photography.

Miranda currently works at the local mall, in different clothing stores part time. She's in the same situation I'm in; trying to get into the part of the work world we like. She wants to be a fashion designer. I use to want to be a designer, until I realized I enjoyed writing much more. Who would have thought?

Miranda and I share the largest room, and Gordo has the smaller one. Actually, his room could be a walk in closet, since its void of windows and is quite small. He usually leaves his door open so he won't feel trapped.

I've set up a little makeup mirror by the kitchen sink so I won't take up so much time in the bathroom. Miranda takes the longest. Gordo, of course, takes the shortest time. Good for him, and us.

I sold my car. I figured, hey! It's New York! It's much faster to walk! Besides, Gordo still has his. Sure, its an old Ranger with barely room for two let alone three, but that's okay. Miranda never had a car. She did have a mo-ped once, though. After an incident involving a skirt, a large hill, and an audience, she sold it.

You know what I like best about living with my two best friends? We're all single! Yep, we live in a regular bachelor pad.

At least, that's the way it was for awhile.

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"Let me get this straight. You've been here two weeks, and you already have a girlfriend?" Miranda questions Gordo.

"Yeah. Well, we went to college together. It's not like she's some random hot girl I found walking down the street."

"Oh, so you think she's hot? Do you like her for any other reason?" I pipe in, sitting on the couch, legs and arms crossed.

"Calm down, Lizzie. It's nothing serious."

"Maybe not for you!" I stand up, marching toward him. "It's serious to her, though." I poke my finger into his chest. "It's serious to every girl who really likes a guy!"

I spin around and head to my room, taking a box of Kleenex with me.

A minute later I hear a knock at the door. "Yeah?"

"Can we talk?"

Before I can respond, he enters the room. "Look, Lizzie, you've really got to get over Ronnie. You're better than this." After a long silence of me refusing to answer, he continues. "You know me. You know I won't purposely hurt this girl."

"Oh no, it's never on purpose. That's what he said! 'I didn't mean to hurt you, Elizabeth. I didn't want to hurt you.' Men say they don't want to hurt us, but really, that's what they want! You like seeing pain! Why else was wrestling invented?"

"Lizzie, I don't like seeing your pain," he whispers softly, kneeling down by my bed and wrapping me in a hug.

"Leave me alone," I say, more sharply than intended.

He removes his arms from around me and stands up, his jaw clenching. "You know, Lizzie, I'm your best friend. Not your boyfriend."

He leaves the room, and I cry harder. Poor girl. Gordo is such a great guy, but still, that girl doesn't know what she is getting into. Men never fail to do what's in their nature to do, and Gordo is no exception.