[Disclaimer: I don't own the episode , I don't own Lizzie McGuire, I don't own this plot and I don't own most of the dialogue. But I own Gordo's thoughts, and that's not ssomething everyone can say, now is it? Heh, heh, heh.]

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I sat there in my suit in Lizzie's backyard. I was bored. Real bored. The only people around were Veruca, Kate, Amy...a bunch of people I didn't care for. Was coming even worth it? I could've made up some excuse, like...like...

Okay, maybe I couldn't have come up with an excuse. If only I'd picked a better part...like Clive McGuffin. Then I could be married to Lizzie.

But I'd go through with my plan. So maybe it wasn't foolproof, but it was close. I knew what I was doing. I was smart, right? Figuring out this murder mystery wouldn't be too hard, right?

I needed to calm down. My plan would work. I'd make it. I get so worked up about these things sometimes, but I guess rightfully so. Nothing's ever what it seems with Lizzie. I used to think she was really naive, and there was a period of time in 7th grade in which I questioned my friendship with her--whether she was really the type of person I wanted to be spending my time with. I never questioned things with Miranda, because I knew we thought alike and really had that deeper connection, but that's exactly what my friendship with Lizzie was lacking--a deeper meaning. I heard the other kids at school. They wondered why this smart, non-conforming guy was still hanging out with this ditzy, clumsy Kate wannabe. The truth was, we never really chose to be friends. Our parents were friends and we just kind of got, in a way, stuck together, and as we grew up, being around each other was habit, almost instinctual.

Don't get me wrong. If we really clashed way back when, we could've gone our separate ways, found other friends, and gone about our lives as normal. And there were times, even at age 3, that I wondered why I was spending all my time with a girl, and tried to detach myself from her. But she was always so persistent in making our friendship work. She was the peacemaker in all situations, especially after we met Miranda--because let's face it, Miranda's always been a little rebelliious instigator. (One time in 1st grade, our teacher, Mrs. Lill, set down crayons on everyone's desk and said, We're going to color, children! But I guess Miranda Sanchez had different plans, because she started chucking her crayons at the teacher and shrieking, I don't want to color! I don't want to color! The other kids in the class stared on in disbelief, but I just got a good kick out of it.)

Lizzie, Miranda, and Gordo. The Three Musketeers. We were inseparable, and while other kids were having fights over trivial things, we never fought. Well, there was this one time in 3rd grade where I got really mad at Lizzie, but that only lasted until the bus ride home. I regret that feud, too.

I guess I should mention Kate. We met her in 1st grade, but obviously our friendships with her didn't mean much. Besides, three was already a crowd, and Kate wasn't the nicest of people (even during her pre-cheerleader days). I didn't like her much. Miranda didn't like her much. But Lizzie did. So we hung out with her...sometimes.

In a way, junior high broke us. The complications of it made everything that seemed so simple before go completely awry. We suddenly didn't know who our friends were, why we hung out with them, or even who we were. I went through that with Lizzie and Miranda. I know they went through that with me. And that's when my feelings for Lizzie started changing. I wanted to blame it on hormones, but I knew that wasn't right. I knew I was falling in love with my best friend, Lizzie McGuire.

Ah, buenos tardes, mon amigo, Larry said in his fake Brazilian accent, approaching me. Is this seat taken?

Larry seemed to be getting really into this murder mystery thing. I should've known...he's not exactly unfamiliar with role-playing games.

'Course, old boy, do help yourself, I said, also getting into my character, English accent and all. Good show, old chap. So this could be fun.

And to this astounding creature, I can only say... he said, turning around to the face the woman behind us, Hello. I am Guy Gaviota. Oh man, Tudgeman's putting the moves on Ethan's stepmom. This was classic, but I'm not that mean.

I coughed into my fist with the words ETHAN'S STEPMOM' protruding from my mouth.

Larry asked.

It's Ethan's stepmom, I whispered back.

Holy Mizoli, he said, in a state of shock. Are you sure that Ethan's stepmom?

I said, quietly, nodding and trying hard not to laugh. Ah...Tudgeman.

My ears perked up at the sound of a thick Cockney accent. Was that...Mrs. McGuire?! Wow, I never thought she'd get deep into character, too.

Mrs. McGuire asked Ethan's stepmom, holding out the platter of shrimp.

Uh-uh. I'm five ten in heels, the woman responded, dumbly. Larry and I tried not to laugh too loud.

Must be something in the water at Ethan's house, I said, unconspiciously.

Larry laughed, agreeing. So, who do you think the murderer is?

Uh, Larry? No one's been murdered yet.

I knew that, he said quickly, to save his own butt.

Just then, a wedding march began to play softly, yet loud enough so that we knew to talk no longer. I turned around to see Lizzie in a beautiful white wedding dress, smiling as she processed down the aisle. She was so beautiful that for a second, I imagined it was our wedding day. Not Penelope Featherstone and Aubrey Carstairs. Us, Lizzie McGuire and David Gordon. I'll just keep on dreaming, though. Because it was Ethan who greeted Lizzie near the front, murdering my fantasy. Just as we were about to begin, an ear-shattering scream came from inside. Mrs. McGuire came running down the aisle towards Lizzie and Ethan.

Heaven help us! Heaven help us! she yelled, once again in the same Cockney accent as before. His Lordship's been murdered! Come quick! She moaned in agony.

We all rushed out of our seats and into the house. On the wooden floor of Lizzie's kitchen laid Lord McGuffin (Mr. McGuire, actually), dead, with a fancy wine glass in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

The poor dear, what happened to him? Kate said in her English accent, which was sort of...awkward.

I think we can rule out trampled to death by elephants, I said, trying to make light of a serious situation.

Well, I know one's thing for sure. He bloody well ruined my wedding, Lizzie complained.

It looks to me that poison is the thing that sent this unhappy man unto his reward, Larry said, gravely.

But...who would do such a thing? Veruca asked. Mrs. McGuire backed up from the circle surrounding the body.

You all had motive. And you all had oppurtunity, she said, accusingly. Somebody in this house is a murderer.

I, among others, backed away from Mrs. McGuire, as not to be accused too early in the game. At that second, Mr. McGuire stood up.

Well, if anybody needs me, I'll be watching TV, he said.

Sam, you're supposed to be a corpse, Mrs. McGuire, in her normal voice, whined.

There's no reason a corpse can't watch Iron Chef', he said as he began to leave.

she said, giving up. And she returned to her accent. And I say again! Somebody in this room is a murderer. Somebody's poisoned my Lord and Master! She began to sob like no other.

My father's dead, Ethan said, he, too, beginning to cry.

Yes! I inherit everything! Ethan's stepmom exclaimed giddily.

Uh, Tawny? Not my real dad. The one in the murder mystery, Ethan stated. Tawny chuckled nervously.

I was glad the murder mystery had finally begun. Now all I had to do was figure it out, and then Lizzie would notice me. And then maybe I could...well, we'll crose that bridge when we come to it.

My, my, I shudder at the very thought of murder, Kate said, sitting. Maybe the poor dear just...choked.

That's what somebody would've liked us to think, Lizzie said, kneeling down. She picked up the sandwich that Lord McGuffin had been holding. But this is a liverwurst sandwich. And I know for a fact that the Lordship would've never eaten liverwurst.

Here was my big chance. I could get in there, show off what I knew, and begin my way towards victory. I knelt down next to Lizzie.

Well, apparently, that someone was a woman. Lipstick on the bread, don't you know? The look on her face at that moment was priceless. Perhaps you...overlooked it, I said, cynically.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and placed the sandwich back on the ground, slowly and despondently.

I was on my way.

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[A/N: I wrote 1380+ words of this chapter between last night and now. It only probably took me about an HOUR to write this. And that's a dang world record, I swear, because it usually takes me almost 3. Not that I know exactly, because I never work straight hours. It's always split up across the week.

Anyway, I've got one story on FictionPress.net. And I checked that site last night, and I have to say, it looks pretty snazzy! I like the red. They should make FF.net that pretty. :)

I'm amazed at the positive turn-out of reviews on this thing. 18 reviews on ONE chapter..that's bloody amazing. I love writing this (as apparent by the page-long string of paragraphs containing all of Gordo's thoughts) and I'm so happy people like it.

Did you like this chapter? Pleaseee, lemme know. Please review. Thanks!]