Disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney, I guess. Not me. If you didn't
guess already or anything.
A/N: This is my first Lizzie Maguire fic, I've mostly hit anime before. Not terrible original, but maybe a little more plausible. Miranda centered, but supposedly L/G. It's no fun for your character to actually get the one they want. This is just my idea of one thing that could happen in high school.
My name is Miranda Sanchez. Just Miranda, or occasionally Sanchez, I suppose, but only from those people who decide that it's oh-so creative and original to call people by their last names. Join the football team, or better yet, the army. The plain fact is that I always get the impression that no one really likes me enough to give me a nickname. Lizzie and Gordo, good lord, even Larry Tudgeman has a nickname, even though it's highly self- propagated. It's only gotten worse since Junior high. Back then I was only an outcast, unlucky enough to be born out of the inner circles of our mindless society, now, well, now as you can see, I'm the cynic, the pessimist, the girl you'd be unlucky to ever be paired with for some dumb U.S. History project. To tell the truth, I suppose it really stems entirely from Ms. Lizzie Maguire, my best friend. After 8th, it was painfully obvious, that I was never going to pull away from Lizzie at all, by following in her footsteps. She's got that All-American Christian Girl thing down to each curl in her completely natural looking blonde hair. So where Lizzie could be loved, well, I could be hated. It's not really that hard to tell the truth. Everyone's trying so hard in these adolescent years, if you take a step back, it's easy to prey on people's fears, dreams, inequities. Not to mention Gordo. Gordo who I thought was perfect for me a year and a half-ago. Gordo who I think is still perfect for me. He's not the perfect All-American Boy, but maybe that's why he loves Lizzie all the more. He's no idiot, but he makes himself see people's good points, simply because Lizzie wants him to. It's hard to believe they're still my friends, is it not? They need me; I mean come on, at the lunch table, it would be awfully quiet, without me going on some anti-mainstream, anarchist, anti-humanity rant, and Gordo arguing Lizzie's point of view. No, not really. Boy, don't you catch on fast?
The true reason that they need me is that I know them both, through and through. I may not understand them, and I may not be like them, but these years we've spent together has been enough to teach me more than I need to know. Lizzie and Gordo, are the couple. The one and only, the perfect couple. Meaning they have to get in their perfect little squabbles, and talk to their perfect best friends, who will talk perfect sense to them, and they'll make up on the next perfect day. Well, except for the perfect best friend. I'm the only one who will fit the position, so they have to put up with me. Lizzie comes running to my house every three weeks or so, interrupting a perfectly good Avenged Sevenfold song, to cry on my shoulder, disturbing as it must be to her, with the cut-and-safetypinned sleeves, and the torn pantyhose along the rest of my arms. And I pat her on the back and say, "Cheer up, Lizzie. I'm sure Gordo." And an hour after she's left Gordo'll call up, background noise painfully absent of the ubiquitous hacky-sack bouncing against his Chuck Taylors. Where I say. "Cheer up, David. I'm sure Lizzie." Yes, I call him David. Mostly because no one else does, and mostly, as well, because he hates it, which does a good job of flattening the suspicions of others that my feelings toward a certain boyfriend of a certain best friend of mine may be anything other than platonic.
Occasionally, I think to myself that I've taken it too far. A few too many spikes and d-rings, a few too many scary Thrice songs, and Avail CDs. A little much razor to my tongue. But in the end, it's what I do; it may not be who I am, but it's what I do.
end
This won't all be Miranda POV. To tell the truth, I'm really tired of there being an enemy in all these stories, a bad guy, and I'm out to prove that you really don't need one (especially if you make your antagonist your main character, effectively transforming them into an anti-hero.)
A/N: This is my first Lizzie Maguire fic, I've mostly hit anime before. Not terrible original, but maybe a little more plausible. Miranda centered, but supposedly L/G. It's no fun for your character to actually get the one they want. This is just my idea of one thing that could happen in high school.
My name is Miranda Sanchez. Just Miranda, or occasionally Sanchez, I suppose, but only from those people who decide that it's oh-so creative and original to call people by their last names. Join the football team, or better yet, the army. The plain fact is that I always get the impression that no one really likes me enough to give me a nickname. Lizzie and Gordo, good lord, even Larry Tudgeman has a nickname, even though it's highly self- propagated. It's only gotten worse since Junior high. Back then I was only an outcast, unlucky enough to be born out of the inner circles of our mindless society, now, well, now as you can see, I'm the cynic, the pessimist, the girl you'd be unlucky to ever be paired with for some dumb U.S. History project. To tell the truth, I suppose it really stems entirely from Ms. Lizzie Maguire, my best friend. After 8th, it was painfully obvious, that I was never going to pull away from Lizzie at all, by following in her footsteps. She's got that All-American Christian Girl thing down to each curl in her completely natural looking blonde hair. So where Lizzie could be loved, well, I could be hated. It's not really that hard to tell the truth. Everyone's trying so hard in these adolescent years, if you take a step back, it's easy to prey on people's fears, dreams, inequities. Not to mention Gordo. Gordo who I thought was perfect for me a year and a half-ago. Gordo who I think is still perfect for me. He's not the perfect All-American Boy, but maybe that's why he loves Lizzie all the more. He's no idiot, but he makes himself see people's good points, simply because Lizzie wants him to. It's hard to believe they're still my friends, is it not? They need me; I mean come on, at the lunch table, it would be awfully quiet, without me going on some anti-mainstream, anarchist, anti-humanity rant, and Gordo arguing Lizzie's point of view. No, not really. Boy, don't you catch on fast?
The true reason that they need me is that I know them both, through and through. I may not understand them, and I may not be like them, but these years we've spent together has been enough to teach me more than I need to know. Lizzie and Gordo, are the couple. The one and only, the perfect couple. Meaning they have to get in their perfect little squabbles, and talk to their perfect best friends, who will talk perfect sense to them, and they'll make up on the next perfect day. Well, except for the perfect best friend. I'm the only one who will fit the position, so they have to put up with me. Lizzie comes running to my house every three weeks or so, interrupting a perfectly good Avenged Sevenfold song, to cry on my shoulder, disturbing as it must be to her, with the cut-and-safetypinned sleeves, and the torn pantyhose along the rest of my arms. And I pat her on the back and say, "Cheer up, Lizzie. I'm sure Gordo." And an hour after she's left Gordo'll call up, background noise painfully absent of the ubiquitous hacky-sack bouncing against his Chuck Taylors. Where I say. "Cheer up, David. I'm sure Lizzie." Yes, I call him David. Mostly because no one else does, and mostly, as well, because he hates it, which does a good job of flattening the suspicions of others that my feelings toward a certain boyfriend of a certain best friend of mine may be anything other than platonic.
Occasionally, I think to myself that I've taken it too far. A few too many spikes and d-rings, a few too many scary Thrice songs, and Avail CDs. A little much razor to my tongue. But in the end, it's what I do; it may not be who I am, but it's what I do.
end
This won't all be Miranda POV. To tell the truth, I'm really tired of there being an enemy in all these stories, a bad guy, and I'm out to prove that you really don't need one (especially if you make your antagonist your main character, effectively transforming them into an anti-hero.)