Disclaimer: hint - it's the same as the last chapter.
A/N: This is written in Gordo's POV, if you can't tell by the chapter title, or I forget to name the chapter or something.
Sometimes, I really think I hate Miranda. She's changed over the years. It's hard to date exactly when it started happening, maybe right after she got back from Mexico? It wouldn't surprise me. She was gone for so long, really. She missed a lot of things. Graduation, the trip to Italy, by the time the three amigos got back together, things had changed. We weren't three anymore. We were two and one. I suppose I would've been a little bitter in her situation, but not that bitter.
The change was gradual. Miranda had always wanted to be rebellious for awhile, but it just got more extreme as time went on; black baggy bondage pants, balls and spikes, more black make-up, and some rather extreme hairstyles. Different music. Sometimes I think she listens to the things she does just because they're a certain style, sometimes I think she's trying too hard.
But her words, her attitude, that's the worst. More cussing, that's for sure, and all those tiny sarcastic insults, designed to hurt people. She just can't seem to find the good side of anybody. When we walk through the halls, I hear her mocking voice, see the death glares of the people around her, but the most disturbing is the look of extreme pleasure on her face. She likes it! She wouldn't even care if Lizzie and I deserted her, even though we're her only friends.
What I hate most though, is why I can't stop talking to her. Her number is still second (and last, I suppose) on my speed-dial, right after Lizzie's. My finger pushes that number, followed by the dial button before I've even officially decided to call anyway. I have to talk to her. Lizzie seemed colder today to me. Her hug, a micronewton less forceful than usual, her greeting kiss a microsecond shorter. Miranda will know, she'll know if anything's wrong. I bring the phone up to my face as it says "Hello?" in Miranda's voice.
"Hey." At this point, I remember one good point about Miranda. She never says hello twice. I hate that stupid "Hello? Oh, hel-looo!" that adults do all the time, and even teenagers. Hell, I used to say it, we all did, but now there's just not enough time in the world for redundancy.
"Cheer up, David." I don't hate it that she calls me David. I mean, it is my name. And it's better when than when she calls me 'David-child' in a mockingly motherly voice, like some ancient aunt in floral print and too much make-up. She knows why I'm calling. She always knows.
"Miranda, are you sure it's ok? I mean, she seemed so much less affectionate today." I trail off, knowing I sound stupid even as I say it.
"David, trust me. Lizzie loves you just as much as you love her. If you asked her tomorrow to marry you, she'd probably say yes, and run off to Las Vegas with you next weekend."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Thanks."
"No problem." The click in the speaker definitively ends the transaction, and as I set the phone back in its cradle, I realize something. I need Miranda's reassurance almost as much as I need Lizzie's love.
A/N: So. Well, anyway, that was a pretty stupid character, and I'll get out of this present tense rut one of these days, and write some real, third person, past-tensed narrative.
Fira Khushrenada
A/N: This is written in Gordo's POV, if you can't tell by the chapter title, or I forget to name the chapter or something.
Sometimes, I really think I hate Miranda. She's changed over the years. It's hard to date exactly when it started happening, maybe right after she got back from Mexico? It wouldn't surprise me. She was gone for so long, really. She missed a lot of things. Graduation, the trip to Italy, by the time the three amigos got back together, things had changed. We weren't three anymore. We were two and one. I suppose I would've been a little bitter in her situation, but not that bitter.
The change was gradual. Miranda had always wanted to be rebellious for awhile, but it just got more extreme as time went on; black baggy bondage pants, balls and spikes, more black make-up, and some rather extreme hairstyles. Different music. Sometimes I think she listens to the things she does just because they're a certain style, sometimes I think she's trying too hard.
But her words, her attitude, that's the worst. More cussing, that's for sure, and all those tiny sarcastic insults, designed to hurt people. She just can't seem to find the good side of anybody. When we walk through the halls, I hear her mocking voice, see the death glares of the people around her, but the most disturbing is the look of extreme pleasure on her face. She likes it! She wouldn't even care if Lizzie and I deserted her, even though we're her only friends.
What I hate most though, is why I can't stop talking to her. Her number is still second (and last, I suppose) on my speed-dial, right after Lizzie's. My finger pushes that number, followed by the dial button before I've even officially decided to call anyway. I have to talk to her. Lizzie seemed colder today to me. Her hug, a micronewton less forceful than usual, her greeting kiss a microsecond shorter. Miranda will know, she'll know if anything's wrong. I bring the phone up to my face as it says "Hello?" in Miranda's voice.
"Hey." At this point, I remember one good point about Miranda. She never says hello twice. I hate that stupid "Hello? Oh, hel-looo!" that adults do all the time, and even teenagers. Hell, I used to say it, we all did, but now there's just not enough time in the world for redundancy.
"Cheer up, David." I don't hate it that she calls me David. I mean, it is my name. And it's better when than when she calls me 'David-child' in a mockingly motherly voice, like some ancient aunt in floral print and too much make-up. She knows why I'm calling. She always knows.
"Miranda, are you sure it's ok? I mean, she seemed so much less affectionate today." I trail off, knowing I sound stupid even as I say it.
"David, trust me. Lizzie loves you just as much as you love her. If you asked her tomorrow to marry you, she'd probably say yes, and run off to Las Vegas with you next weekend."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Thanks."
"No problem." The click in the speaker definitively ends the transaction, and as I set the phone back in its cradle, I realize something. I need Miranda's reassurance almost as much as I need Lizzie's love.
A/N: So. Well, anyway, that was a pretty stupid character, and I'll get out of this present tense rut one of these days, and write some real, third person, past-tensed narrative.
Fira Khushrenada