A/N: I got the poem from the book "Crystal" by Walter Dean Myers (pg. 70). I don't own the book, nor the poem. And I don't own Lizzie McGuire, in case you didn't already guess. =)

GORDO

The next morning I was surprised to find another note already. So soon? I'd just gotten one at the end of yesterday. I hoped this girl wasn't going to leave me notes every period. That would get really old really fast.

I took out the note, glad that Lizzie and Miranda weren't around to see it, and threw it by the other one. I didn't bother reading it at first while I took my books out, but soon my curiosity got the best of me. I pulled it out and read:

Dear David,

I hope you slept well. I'm afraid I didn't, but I still had a refreshing night thinking about you just the same. I stayed up late thinking about my feelings, hoping about yours, and I eventually decided to write a poem for you. I hope you like it:

My Love for You Is Like a Fire Hydrant

My love for you is like a fire hydrant,

Gushing out to save you from the fire of time.

It is steady, despite the dogs of war.

And will last, now and forevermore.

Yours truly,

Your secret admirer

"Oh, brother," I muttered as I rolled it into a ball and threw it in my locker. "That was worse than I'd imagined."

"Hey, Gordo!"

I inwardly sighed. I knew by the voice that Miranda was right beside me, even without looking. If I'm lucky, I thought, she didn't see the note.

"Did you get another letter?"

Obviously I have very bad luck.

"Nope."

"Then what's this?"

Miranda shoved her hand into the back of my locker and grabbed the crumpled up piece of paper. "That's so sweet!" she said after reading it. "She wrote you a poem!"

"She obviously doesn't know anything about poetry," I said. "The stanzas are almost equal length and the last two verses rhyme. The best poetry usually doesn't do that. It's free verse."

"You just don't want to admit that it's cute," she said smiling. "I have to tell Lizzie!"

"No! Miranda, wait!" I called. Too late. She'd already run off.

I groaned, slammed my locker, and took off after her. All I wanted to do was forget about this girl, ignore her, and get on with life. But with Miranda and Lizzie holding the note hostage, chances were the entire school would know I had an "admirer" by lunch.

I ran after her and caught up at Lizzie's locker. Lizzie was reading the note when I snatched it away.

"Hey! I was looking at that!"

"It's pretty dry reading and doesn't have much of a plot," I answered. "I don't think you want to read this."

"Miranda said it had a cute poem."

"It doesn't have a cute poem," I replied, looking at Miranda. "Guys, c'mon. I don't want this thing advertised. Can we just forget about it?"

"Forget about it?" Lizzie demanded. "Oh, nononono! This is exciting! This is great! Honestly, Gordo, how many girlfriends have you had?"

"None, and I don't intend to start now."

"You're no fun!" she wined.

"That's right. I don't shop, do sports, or obsess about my hair. Or have a girlfriend. No fun for me. Actually, I'm on a fun diet."

"Get real. What if she's pretty?" Miranda tried. "We're talking supermodel pretty. What if it's Tyra Banks's cousin?"

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"Think about it," Lizzie begged. "Please? You'd have fun with a girlfriend. She'd be just like me and Miranda, only…"

"Only we'd swap spit every now and then?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, brother. That's what I was afraid of."

"Just think about it for awhile," she repeated. "You could use a girlfriend. And if nothing else, you'd make her really happy, not necessarily at your expense, either. And you could go to dances with her, and parties. And you wouldn't have to kiss if you don't want to, and if you're nervous I could always give you some advice…"

This was stupid. I had no reason to get a girlfriend. I'd been just fine with my normal life. Just fine. I didn't need another girl messing it up. "Fine, I'll think about it," I said for one reason: make Lizzie be quiet.

"Thanks, Gordo!" She smiled. "I have to get to class." She quickly grabbed the note out of my hand before I could stop her and rushed off.

"Hey!" I sighed and looked at Miranda. "Great."

~*~

Maybe Lizzie was right. Having a girlfriend was no big deal. I'd hang out with her just like I do with my friends, only… only it'd be a little different. But still not a big deal.

Why didn't I want one in the first place? Well, I thought. First of all, not this girl. If I'm getting a girlfriend, it isn't going to be my "secret admirer." Second… I paused. Did I have another reason? Gordo the Boyfriend. It didn't sound right. I couldn't see myself kissing someone, or even putting my arm around her. Watching a late-night movie on the couch at my house…

The idea made me shiver.

But then, what did I have to lose? Time maybe, but I had plenty of that. Money from taking her on dates. But maybe we wouldn't even go out. I knew some couples who just said they were "going out" but they never actually went on a date. I could do that. Start small and work my way up. And my secret admirer would be a good start, since she was head over heels for me.

Which led me to another question… why me? I wasn't popular, not very good-looking either. Not athletic, not some big-and-strong protector-type. What did this girl see in me?

I didn't think I'd like her, though. She wrote poetry, for crying out loud. I had nothing against poetry if it's well-written, but this? Ethan Craft himself could have done a better job writing a poem. And she was a romantic, that much was obvious from all of her "I've always loved you" and "I laid awake thinking about you" stuff. Yeah, she was a romantic, no doubt. Not my type at all.

"Mr. Gordon?"

I snapped back to class. "Um… yeah?"

"How did Mussolini differ from Hitler?" the teacher asked me, her tone showing her annoyance.

I don't think she expected to get an answer out of me, but I knew this. "Mussolini was a leader of the Italians, first of all. Hitler was German. Hitler committed suicide and Mussolini was shot in enemy territory by a shooting squad due to his stubbornness. He was too arrogant to turn around and admit defeat, so he trudged on into war when he didn't stand a chance."

Ms. Andrews blinked. "What about their rulings?"

"Well, Hitler persecuted the Jews, and…"

"And Mussolini?"

I called on every ounce of knowledge I had to answer the question. Did Mussolini persecute anyone in the first place? Of course he did. He was the Italian version of Hitler, and Hitler persecuted people. "I don't know," I admitted.

"I know that maybe you didn't get much sleep last night, but you're wasting our tax dollars by making me stop for you."

"Sorry," I said. I was embarrassed. When was the last time I'd been caught not paying attention in class? I couldn't remember it, that's how long ago it had been.

I tried to pay sharp attention from then on, but not more than 15 minutes later I found myself wondering if my secret admirer was in this class. Was she watching me? Where was she?

I casually turned my head a little, trying to see behind me. It was subtle enough that Ms. Andrews didn't seem to notice, which was very good. The last thing I wanted was to be caught again.

I saw a brunette in the corner. She looked pretty enough, I decided. She was accurately described as "kinda cute." She had hair that barely passed her shoulders and a metallic blue eyeshadow and lip-glossy lips.

She might have been half black… either that or incredibly tan. She wasn't thin, but not pleasantly plump, either. Normal. I did a quick clothes-check before turning back around. A jean jacket over a red T-shirt. Jean pants. She wasn't a gothic freak, at least.

Just as my head turned back, I caught her look at me. Maybe she was my admirer! I kept watching her out of the corner of my eye and she kept looking straight at me. She didn't know I was watching her. Or, I don't think so.

The chances that she's the first girl you pick are one in a million, I thought. The chances she was even in this class were slim. I decided that my admirer probably wasn't her.

I tried to look at some other girls. I saw a pretty redhead that glanced at me a few times. And another brunette. And a few blonds. And one black girl.

By the time I got out of there I was stark-raving mad. I had to know who it was. Had to! Once I got into the halls I studied each girl I passed wondering if I was studying someone who'd liked me for a long time. Someone who writes dumb poetry.

I hurried to my locker, switched books, and went straight to Lizzie's locker. I had to talk to her. I don't know why… I just felt like I had to tell her what I did in history.

"Lizzie," I said when I got to her locker.

"Oh, hey, Gordo," she said. She pulled out a note from her pocket. "Here you go. I read it. Way cute, I don't care what you say, I think you should give this girl a chance."

"I've been looking for her," I said as I took the note. "I found this one girl who seemed to look at me a lot during history, and I found a few other possibilities."

"You did this during history?"

"Yeah."

Lizzie smiled. "Gordo, I'm sorry, but don't you think that the chances she's in that class at the same time as you and not in one of the other 100 classes are a little small?"

"Yeah, but it could be. But I want you to help me, OK?"

"Help you what?"

"Find her."

Lizzie squealed. I hate it when she does that. "Really?! Oh, thank you so much! It'll be fun. And then Miranda and I can talk to her and-"

"No! No one's talking to anyone, OK? The only way you're gonna help me is if you do this my way."

Lizzie's excitement seemed to subdue a little. "OK. What's your way?"

"Well, first we find out who she is. Then we do a little watching ourselves. I want to know her better than just from a bunch of letters. Then, if I like her, I might ask her out. OK?"

"Really? That's so cute…"

"Yeah, yeah. But I don't want her to know we're trying to do this, OK? I don't want her to know that I know, if I know, who she is."

"What?"

I shook my head. "If you find out who she is, don't tell her you know. Just tell me. Don't talk to her, don't do anything. OK?"

"Thanks, Gordo!" Lizzie threw her arms around me and I hugged her back. I don't know why it meant so much to her, but… girls. What can I say?

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go. We'll be late for class."