Things I'll Never Say
A/N: I don't have much to say up here, other than Happy Valentine's Day to everyone! It's a little late, but FanFiction.net was in read-only mode on Friday, so I didn't get to post then. :)
Disclaimer: Lizzie McGuire doesn't belong to me; "Things I'll Never Say" belongs to Avril Lavigne; Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Luhrmann (thanks for the correction on his last name, Beth.).
Chapter Four:
Mrs. Baxter clapped her hands together to get everybody's attention at the start of rehearsal. It didn't take long for everyone to quiet down and look at her with interest. She smiled out at everyone. "All right, I'd just like to start off rehearsal by saying that I foresee this being the most successful musical Hill Ridge High has ever put on. However, it's not going to be easy to propel it to the number one spot; a lot of hard work and effort on your part will be required, and nothing less than the best will be accepted." After a brief pause, she continued, "Also, I'd like to say that while we are rehearsing, I would like for you to call me Alyssa; 'Mrs. Baxter' seems too formal for someone you're going to be spending a lot of time with. But," she added quickly, "you will refrain from calling me Alyssa in the classroom. Understood?" Her response was several heads nodding their agreement, and she happily took her seat. "All right . . . I suppose the best place to start is from the beginning. David, the play will be started off with you, so go on up to the stage and sit down with your legs crossed, looking depressed. Take your script as well."
Gordo quickly did as he was told, sitting sitting himself down in the middle of the stage where a wooden crate with a typewriter on top was set. When Mrs. Baxter - er, Alyssa - pointed at him, he read off his lines. "The Moulin Rouge . . . a nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and powerful come to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Satine, a courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Sparkling Diamond", and she was the star . . . of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is . . . dead." At that, Gordo put on a very convincing sad face, looking almost like he was going to cry.
Mrs. Baxter was beaming as she clapped. "Very nice, David! All right, Lucas -" she said, "you go stand offstage and I want you to yell your lines in an angry, booming voice." Lucas Donovan, who was the voice of Christian's father as well as the part of Zidler, did as he was told, and received loud clapping from Mrs. Baxter as well.
The rest of rehearsal progressed much like the first few minutes had. Mrs. Baxter would instruct us what to do, and we would do it to the best of our ability, receiving either a smile or a frown from her. Before any of us knew it, our two hours were up and several members of the dance team came trouping in.
As he had been doing for the past little while, Gordo gave me a ride home. We weren't able to get out the door, however, before Mrs. Baxter stopped us, looking extremely happy. "David, Lizzie!" she said, approaching us at a quick pace. "I just wanted to let you know that you two have wonderful chemistry on stage, and it's just going to make the play! People will really believe that you two are lovers . . ." The woman let out a dreamy sigh. "I just wanted to let you know that, kids." With that, she turned and bustled out of the auditorium.
When she was gone, I looked at Gordo. He looked like he was struggling to hold back laughter, and when my eyes met his we both burst into giggles. It wasn't until several long minutes later that we managed to stop, with Gordo holding his stomach and me wiping a few tears from my eyes.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That Saturday, Miranda and Gordo agreed that they would come over to my house so that Miranda could listen to Gordo and me as we read through our lines. Gordo had asked Mrs. Baxter for an extra script for Miranda, who would make up a voice to read the lines of characters who weren't Satine and Christian. My mom greeted them at the door when they arrived close to two, and they managed to get up to my room without an encounter with Matt, who was in his room with Melina and Lanny, working on some project. Thankfully, those three would be out of our hair while we rehearsed.
Miranda was flipping through the script and stopped close to the end, a smile playing on her face. "Let's read this; page 25," she announced.
Gordo and I turned to page 25, and Miranda told me to start off with my line. I took a breath to attempt to get into the distressed character of Satine, and then began, "I couldn't . . . I couldn't go through with it. I saw you there and I felt terrible. I couldn't pretend - and the Duke, he saw. He saw! Christian, I love you."
Gordo looked up, a convincingly sad look on his face. "It's okay," he said softly.
I continued, "And I couldn't do it! I didn't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to lie . . . and he knows! He saw! He knows . . ."
"You're right. You don't have to pretend anymore. We'll leave; we'll leave tonight!"
"Leave?" I asked incredulously, like I couldn't believe my ears. "But - what - the show!"
He stared at me for a brief moment and then spoke his next lines clearly, with finality. "I don't care! I don't care about the show." Gordo's voice got a little bit louder, and he finished, "We love each other, and that's all that matters!"
Slowly, I said, "Yes. Yes, as long as we have each other."
Gordo turned to Miranda, whose facial expression had been growing increasingly more somber throughout Gordo's and my lines. "Chocolat, take Ms. Satine to her dressing room to get the things she needs. No one must see you, you understand?"
In a ridiculously deep, silly voice, Miranda said, "I understand." It took all I had not to laugh, and judging by the look on Gordo's face, he was having difficulty as well. Miranda looked very proud of herself.
Maintaining his composure, Gordo finished, "Darling, you go and pack. And I'll be waiting."
After Gordo and I read the stage directions following Gordo's line, I could almost feel the tension in the air mount. I looked over at Miranda; she was grinning widely - a huge, mischevious grin, and I knew why she had picked that particular part for us to read.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever before Miranda finally broke it. "Go on, Gordo, kiss her." If it was possible, her grin got larger.
Gordo cleared his throat. "Well, we have all this time to - er - practice our kisses later . . . so why don't we just move on to another scene?" he suggested uncomfortably.
Miranda rolled her eyes irritably, not even bothering to try to hide it. "Please, could you two possibly act anymore like third-graders? You're friends, and should be able to kiss in a play without getting all shy about it. So - go!" She pointed her finger at us, and I looked at Gordo, who was looking at me.
"Well," I started.
"We might as well go ahead," Gordo said, cutting in.
"Because we're going to have to sooner or later," I added.
Gordo nodded in agreement. As he leaned forward, the phrase "butterflies in my stomach" could not even begin to describe the stampeding elephants in my stomach. I had no idea why I was so nervous about a little kiss. Suddenly, that annoying voice in my head popped up and said, Yeah, ya do! You like Gordo, you like Gordo, you like Gordo!
Before I was ready for it, I felt Gordo's lips touch mine in a chaste kiss that lasted for no more than two seconds. Then he pulled away, and I felt my cheeks heat up. If the redness on Gordo's face was any indication of how red I was, then my face must have been the color of a cherry.
Miranda didn't look too happy, though she was wearing a pleased look on her face. "Well, I'm sure that Satine and Christian would have kissed a little more passionately, but I guess that'll come with more practice," she said.
I glared at her. "I have to talk to you later, Miranda," I snapped, and was given an innocent smile in return. Groaning a little, I closed my script and set it on my bed. "I want some milk. Do either of you want anything?" I asked, being the hospitable hostess.
After taking a mental note that Miranda wanted a glass of water and Gordo wanted a Coke, I excused myself from my bedroom to head for the kitchen.
A/N: Oh, look, there was some semi-fluffy Gordo/Lizzie action in this chapter! Woo! Just to inform you, sometimes I can be a very fluff-loving person, so if anything gets too sickeningly sweet, let me know, lol! As always, I greatly appreciate your reviews!
Disclaimer: Lizzie McGuire doesn't belong to me; "Things I'll Never Say" belongs to Avril Lavigne; Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Luhrmann (thanks for the correction on his last name, Beth.).
Mrs. Baxter clapped her hands together to get everybody's attention at the start of rehearsal. It didn't take long for everyone to quiet down and look at her with interest. She smiled out at everyone. "All right, I'd just like to start off rehearsal by saying that I foresee this being the most successful musical Hill Ridge High has ever put on. However, it's not going to be easy to propel it to the number one spot; a lot of hard work and effort on your part will be required, and nothing less than the best will be accepted." After a brief pause, she continued, "Also, I'd like to say that while we are rehearsing, I would like for you to call me Alyssa; 'Mrs. Baxter' seems too formal for someone you're going to be spending a lot of time with. But," she added quickly, "you will refrain from calling me Alyssa in the classroom. Understood?" Her response was several heads nodding their agreement, and she happily took her seat. "All right . . . I suppose the best place to start is from the beginning. David, the play will be started off with you, so go on up to the stage and sit down with your legs crossed, looking depressed. Take your script as well."
Gordo quickly did as he was told, sitting sitting himself down in the middle of the stage where a wooden crate with a typewriter on top was set. When Mrs. Baxter - er, Alyssa - pointed at him, he read off his lines. "The Moulin Rouge . . . a nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and powerful come to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Satine, a courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Sparkling Diamond", and she was the star . . . of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is . . . dead." At that, Gordo put on a very convincing sad face, looking almost like he was going to cry.
Mrs. Baxter was beaming as she clapped. "Very nice, David! All right, Lucas -" she said, "you go stand offstage and I want you to yell your lines in an angry, booming voice." Lucas Donovan, who was the voice of Christian's father as well as the part of Zidler, did as he was told, and received loud clapping from Mrs. Baxter as well.
The rest of rehearsal progressed much like the first few minutes had. Mrs. Baxter would instruct us what to do, and we would do it to the best of our ability, receiving either a smile or a frown from her. Before any of us knew it, our two hours were up and several members of the dance team came trouping in.
As he had been doing for the past little while, Gordo gave me a ride home. We weren't able to get out the door, however, before Mrs. Baxter stopped us, looking extremely happy. "David, Lizzie!" she said, approaching us at a quick pace. "I just wanted to let you know that you two have wonderful chemistry on stage, and it's just going to make the play! People will really believe that you two are lovers . . ." The woman let out a dreamy sigh. "I just wanted to let you know that, kids." With that, she turned and bustled out of the auditorium.
When she was gone, I looked at Gordo. He looked like he was struggling to hold back laughter, and when my eyes met his we both burst into giggles. It wasn't until several long minutes later that we managed to stop, with Gordo holding his stomach and me wiping a few tears from my eyes.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That Saturday, Miranda and Gordo agreed that they would come over to my house so that Miranda could listen to Gordo and me as we read through our lines. Gordo had asked Mrs. Baxter for an extra script for Miranda, who would make up a voice to read the lines of characters who weren't Satine and Christian. My mom greeted them at the door when they arrived close to two, and they managed to get up to my room without an encounter with Matt, who was in his room with Melina and Lanny, working on some project. Thankfully, those three would be out of our hair while we rehearsed.
Miranda was flipping through the script and stopped close to the end, a smile playing on her face. "Let's read this; page 25," she announced.
Gordo and I turned to page 25, and Miranda told me to start off with my line. I took a breath to attempt to get into the distressed character of Satine, and then began, "I couldn't . . . I couldn't go through with it. I saw you there and I felt terrible. I couldn't pretend - and the Duke, he saw. He saw! Christian, I love you."
Gordo looked up, a convincingly sad look on his face. "It's okay," he said softly.
I continued, "And I couldn't do it! I didn't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to lie . . . and he knows! He saw! He knows . . ."
"You're right. You don't have to pretend anymore. We'll leave; we'll leave tonight!"
"Leave?" I asked incredulously, like I couldn't believe my ears. "But - what - the show!"
He stared at me for a brief moment and then spoke his next lines clearly, with finality. "I don't care! I don't care about the show." Gordo's voice got a little bit louder, and he finished, "We love each other, and that's all that matters!"
Slowly, I said, "Yes. Yes, as long as we have each other."
Gordo turned to Miranda, whose facial expression had been growing increasingly more somber throughout Gordo's and my lines. "Chocolat, take Ms. Satine to her dressing room to get the things she needs. No one must see you, you understand?"
In a ridiculously deep, silly voice, Miranda said, "I understand." It took all I had not to laugh, and judging by the look on Gordo's face, he was having difficulty as well. Miranda looked very proud of herself.
Maintaining his composure, Gordo finished, "Darling, you go and pack. And I'll be waiting."
After Gordo and I read the stage directions following Gordo's line, I could almost feel the tension in the air mount. I looked over at Miranda; she was grinning widely - a huge, mischevious grin, and I knew why she had picked that particular part for us to read.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever before Miranda finally broke it. "Go on, Gordo, kiss her." If it was possible, her grin got larger.
Gordo cleared his throat. "Well, we have all this time to - er - practice our kisses later . . . so why don't we just move on to another scene?" he suggested uncomfortably.
Miranda rolled her eyes irritably, not even bothering to try to hide it. "Please, could you two possibly act anymore like third-graders? You're friends, and should be able to kiss in a play without getting all shy about it. So - go!" She pointed her finger at us, and I looked at Gordo, who was looking at me.
"Well," I started.
"We might as well go ahead," Gordo said, cutting in.
"Because we're going to have to sooner or later," I added.
Gordo nodded in agreement. As he leaned forward, the phrase "butterflies in my stomach" could not even begin to describe the stampeding elephants in my stomach. I had no idea why I was so nervous about a little kiss. Suddenly, that annoying voice in my head popped up and said, Yeah, ya do! You like Gordo, you like Gordo, you like Gordo!
Before I was ready for it, I felt Gordo's lips touch mine in a chaste kiss that lasted for no more than two seconds. Then he pulled away, and I felt my cheeks heat up. If the redness on Gordo's face was any indication of how red I was, then my face must have been the color of a cherry.
Miranda didn't look too happy, though she was wearing a pleased look on her face. "Well, I'm sure that Satine and Christian would have kissed a little more passionately, but I guess that'll come with more practice," she said.
I glared at her. "I have to talk to you later, Miranda," I snapped, and was given an innocent smile in return. Groaning a little, I closed my script and set it on my bed. "I want some milk. Do either of you want anything?" I asked, being the hospitable hostess.
After taking a mental note that Miranda wanted a glass of water and Gordo wanted a Coke, I excused myself from my bedroom to head for the kitchen.