Lizzie walked up to the concession area, fighting the urge to cry with all her might. She sat down at one of the plastic tables with no intention of eating at all. Tears slid quietly down her exhausted face. She pulled a paper napkin out of the dispenser and wiped her cheeks. Just when she thought she had it all figured out, her parents and friends were making every thing complicated. They made it sound like it was so easy to give up the things she'd been doing. They made it sound like quitting was the right thing to do.

But it wasn't. At least, she didn't think it was. What was more important, her mind or her body? Why did she even have to choose? It was all so unfair. She felt confused. More tears continued to pour, and she pulled out more napkins to dry them.

She thought back to her dream of Aunt Laura and the melting paints. "Paint what's inside your head," Laura had told her. When Lizzie replied that she couldn't do that, Laura asked her to paint the outside instead. But Lizzie could that, either. Both mind and body were painful to express. She tried to pinpoint the exact moment in her mind when she'd suddenly become so unsure of her identity. Was it when high school started? No, she thought, it must have started much sooner than then. Was it on the last day of middle school, when Ethan broke up with her? No, things didn't start to go crazy until long after she'd gotten over that. It seemed impossible to mark the change that had happened in her. In her mind, it felt as though she'd always been this way: lost and unhappy. But surely that wasn't right. Surely there had been a time when Lizzie was herself, when she was happy. If only things could go back to the way they'd once been.

Her head dropped to the table, and she buried her face in her arms and cried. She suddenly became aware of someone else sitting beside her at the table, but she did not look up. She was in no mood to talk to Gordo or Miranda just then. "I told you guys not to follow me," she said loudly, her voice muffled by her arms.

"I didn't follow you, dawg," said a familiar voice. "I just saw you sitting here."

Lizzie immediately lifted her head. "Ethan? What are you doing here?"

Ethan stared blankly. "I'm bowling, dude. I came to get some Mega-Nachos." He looked around at all the wadded up napkins on the table and scratched his head. "That's a lot of napkins for someone who's not eating anything."

Lizzie laughed softly at Ethan's naiveté; it was the first time she'd laughed in a long time. "I guess you're right." She wiped her cheek.

A light bulb came on above Ethan's head. "Have you been crying, dawg?"

Lizzie looked over at Ethan, whose eyes were vast with unknowingness but warm with concern at the same time. She thought vaguely of how he was one of the people who had made her feel so insecure. What was it about him, she wondered, that she was so afraid of facing? He seemed almost harmless now. She nodded slowly.

Ethan frowned. "I heard you got sick yesterday at the Digital Bean and passed out. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine now." She paused and sniffled. "Actually... No. I'm not okay, not really. But there's not anything I can do about it."

"You should eat saltine crackers."

"Huh?"

"That's what my mom always gives me when I'm sick, man. Saltine crackers. They settle your stomach and all that."

Lizzie shook her head. "I don't think crackers are going to settle anything for me. I'm a different kind of sick."

"Really? Like how?"

Lizzie took in a deep breath. Ethan was the last person she wanted to discuss her problems with, except maybe Kate. But for some reason, she found herself pouring everything out. She told him about her summer vacation, and gaining weight, and getting lost in the sea of high school, and throwing up, and over-exerting, and being confused, and sitting with Jill Stokes, and the dream she had after she'd passed out. She told him about her parents, and Gordo and Miranda, and how she didn't know what to do with herself. She spilled out the whole sad story for him, stopping only occasionally for air. By the time she'd finished, she noticed that tears had been pouring down her face and she hadn't even noticed.

Ethan's brow was curled in confusion as he tried to soak everything in. "That doesn't sound like you, Lizzie. I always thought you were smart and stuff."

This didn't make Lizzie feel any better. She whimpered and more tears fell. "Yeah, well, it's not that simple. You don't get it."

"I guess not. I've always fit in, so I guess I can't really symp-- symphony? Er, symp--"

"Sympathize?" she said coldly. Could he be any more insensitive? thought Lizzie. She found herself crying even louder.

"Yeah, that's it. Sympathize. Lizzie, did you become bulexic or whatever just coz you wanted to be popular?"

She sniffled and yanked more napkins out of the dispenser. "No. I mean, sort of... I didn't really care about being popular. I just wanted to be me."

At this comment, Ethan nearly went cross-eyed. He seemed to be genuinely confused. "Well, you are you, aren't you?"

"I don't know any more."

"Hmmmm..." There seemed to be nothing else to say between the two former friends and partners. Ethan stared off into space for a moment, and Lizzie figured she'd lost him. His short attention span had probably caused him to tune into something completely different, like a fly buzzing around someone's nachos on the other side of the room. Oh, well. It wasn't like she'd asked for his company, anyway. Furthermore, he was only being rude. Where did he get the audacity to try and analyze her problems, to try and make sense of it all, when even she and her closest friends and parents weren't able to do it? *Everyone thinks they know,* she thought. *But they don't. It's hopeless.*

Ethan snapped back suddenly, and Lizzie found herself staring him in the eye. "You know what I think, Lizzie?" His eyes were intense, and she felt subdued under their gaze. She shook her head distractedly. "I think maybe... Maybe you're just such an awesome person, and you never gave yourself credit for it, so you just couldn't accept how awesome you were. And that's why you don't know who you are."

Lizzie exhaled and rolled her eyes. *And for a minute there I almost thought he was going to say something profound,* she thought cynically. She spoke curtly. "Well, thanks for that Ethan, but I don't think that covers it by a long shot."

"No, wait." He rubbed his temple, as if this were requiring much more thought than he was used to. "I said that wrong. I know I'm not smart like you, Lizzie, but I know what I'm talking about. I've never known anyone like you before. You're so on it, man. You can take anyone, no matter who they are, and fix their problems or make them feel better."

Lizzie choked on tears yet again. For a long time now she would have given anything to hear Ethan Craft compliment her, but she knew she shouldn't let herself listen. He was just saying things to make her feel better, that was all. He didn't mean it. "I can't fix anyone's problems, Ethan. I'm just one big problem myself."

"But why? Maybe there's something I'm not getting, but it seems to me like you just need to get over it and be happy with who you are. It's like in that book, James and the Giant Peach. James had these two really evil aunts that were mean to him, but he never stood up to them because they always told him how lame he was. But once he got that peach, he realized it didn't matter what anyone else said as long as he had confidence in who he was. He stopped listening to what other people said."

Lizzie let out an exasperated sigh. What did she ever see in this guy? He was obviously dumber than she thought, if he was giving out lifestyle philosophies based on children's books. "Listen, Ethan, I'd better get back to my friends, they're waiting on me..."

"Okay," said Ethan. "But, uh, don't go and hurt yourself anymore. All right?"

*Yeah, right,* thought Lizzie. *If only it was that easy.* "What does it matter if I do, Ethan?"

"All I'm saying is... You don't need that. You can have everything you want, as long as you have confidence in who you are. It doesn't matter who you are, as long you're something. I know what you are, Lizzie McGuire. You're a great person. It's not like life is going to be easy or anything, but if you try to be someone else, it's only going to make things harder. Just, don't listen to the evil aunts out there. Take charge of the giant peach, man."

She wanted to scream. She was so tired of everyone else having the answers. Her parents had their way of making her feel miserable about everything she did; they flipped things around to make it their problem instead of hers. Gordo had his all-knowing scientific reasoning; Miranda had her "first-hand" experience. Jill Stokes gave everything the "suck it up and screw the world" approach. Aunt Laura's philosophy was always that everything would be okay, and to have another cookie.

And now, Ethan Craft? She could barely follow a word he was saying. What on earth was he getting at, talking about peaches and fixing everyone's problems? The whole world seemed to think that problems always have solutions, and that once you found the solution everything was easy after that. What did you do if there was a problem that didn't have a solution? What if the solution just wasn't as easy as everyone wanted it to be?

Ethan told her she could be anyone she wanted to be. The question was, who DID she want to be? She didn't want to be a Kate, she didn't want to be Ethan Craft's girlfriend or be popular. That had gotten her nowhere before. She didn't want to be Chubby McGuire, and wear baggy clothes and sit with Jill Stokes. It wasn't in her to be so moody all the time. She decided that all she really wanted to be was Lizzie McGuire: advice-giver to all, best friend of Gordo and Miranda, lover of chocolate chip cookies. When everything was said and done, she wanted to be right back where she started. But was that even possible now? She had fallen into a routine of pain and self-hate, and as much as she wanted it to end, she knew it wouldn't be easy to let go of her comfort-methods.

For reasons unknown to her, Lizzie threw her arms around Ethan and pulled him into an embrace. She had cried so much that day she thought she couldn't shed another tear, but sure enough she found herself soaking Ethan's shoulder with tears. He didn't say anything while she let her emotions pour out, and she was grateful for that. It could have been anyone's arms she was in, not necessarily Ethan's; all she wanted was to have someone hold her. She needed someone who didn't have all the answers to tell her that she was "awesome" and that she needed to just be happy with who she was. In his blunt naiveté, Ethan had reminded her of things she once knew so well. It doesn't matter what you look like. It doesn't matter who you eat lunch with. It doesn't matter what anyone says or does, as long as you stay true to who you are.

"Lizzie, are you okay?" said a concerned voice. Lizzie broke away from Ethan and saw Miranda and Gordo standing by the table. They had apparently gotten worried she'd gone off and done something to herself.

"I'm fine," Lizzie replied, wiping her raw face. The corner of her mouth formed a half-smile, and it seemed as though this time she just might have meant what she said.

"You're parents are here to pick us up," said Miranda quietly, pointing in the direction of the door. Lizzie looked over and saw her mom and dad standing in the lobby of the bowling alley, expectant looks upon their faces. Glancing over at her two best friends, she saw the same look of uncertainty. They were all wondering, waiting for Lizzie to give them answers.

"Thanks, Ethan," she said to the boy beside her. "I think I'm going to, uh, take charge of the peach now."

Ethan grinned goofily. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, dawg."

She looked over at Gordo and Miranda, who seemed confused. She ran to them and hugged them. They were both taken aback. They had no idea what had come over her, but at that point it didn't seem to matter. They were just glad that she was finally responding.

Lizzie walked, arms wrapped around her two best friends, over to her parents. There would have to be more talking. There would probably be more tears and hurting, too. Her disease would probably bring many more obstacles to overcome. It wasn't going to be easy; it never had been. But maybe, she thought, just maybe... If she could just be Lizzie, maybe she could make things right again.