Finally, it's the weekend. After five days of school I can relax for two
whole days. Thankfully I can do my homework tonight to get it over with so
I can party all weekend. Of course I'm kidding about the whole party thing;
I've only been invited to one party in my life. Yet again, I'm not sure if
Sophie Craft's "I want to be a pretty princess" slumber party in first
grade really counts.
My brother attends every party he hears about, and everyone is just thrilled to have him come because he's an upperclassmen and everyone adores him. I don't know how in the world he got popular; he's kind of odd, like me. I guess being odd runs in the family.
"Andrea," I hear my dad as I sit curled up in a ball watching television on the couch.
It's amazing, there's only one person in my life that I'll be okay with if they call me Andrea. I usually want to yell and curse at them if they call me "Andrea" because it sounds so formal. I don't really think I'm a formal person and Andrea sounds so French and exquisite, which doesn't sound like me at all.
I mute the television and look at him, "Yeah dad?"
My dad is Greg Robinson, car dealer at Chrysler Automotives on route nine between the Country Diner and Drake Plaza. I'm not sure if my dad is proud of being one of those men who bug the hell out of you trying to sell you the most expensive car in the dealership. It's his job though, and it puts food on the table. I guess even though he probably despises his job with a passion, he feels it's necessary so he can bring home the bacon.
I look like my dad more than anyone. Like him I have chocolate brown hair that's kind of thick, but straight. The only exception though is his hair line is receding and his hair is turning a nice steel gray color. We also have the same plain hazel eyes and I'm still baffled by how someone as plain looking as my dad married someone like my mother.
"Pumpkin, do you have any idea where your brother might be," he asks me as his face has a suspicious look on it.
I sigh, "He's probably out with his girlfriend Olivia and getting drunk. After they get drunk, he's going to get her pregnant and end up becoming a teenage dad."
My father looks at me strangely, "You're joking? Right?"
"For the most part, he's out with Olivia, but he's not going to be getting drunk. They're at the mall, they're seeing the new Drew Barrymore movie and then they're heading over to Harry's for Harry's party," I explain to my baffled father.
Olivia Pewter, she's my brother's girlfriend. I particularly don't like her because she reminds me of Kate, just more arrogant. She's a senior like my brother and hates my guts for some peculiar reason. She gossips around my brother and my brother has this look on his face that screams "I want to tape your mouth shut". She doesn't really look that arrogant though. She doesn't even seem like the type of girl my brother would take home. My brother usually brings home cheerleaders and the wannabe cheerleaders, but Olivia is very different. She wears her hair in a layered bob and that skims her chin. Her hair is dark brown with blocks of toffee highlights that are more noticed than her deep blue eyes and her pointed nose. Her eyelids are often covered with a black eyeliner and smoky shadow, while her lips are painted with a plum color. Compared to her make-up, her wardrobe is very bright. She has this obsession with the color turquoise; about half of her shirts contain some turquoise in them. The one thing that I love about her wardrobe is her accessories. She has about five hundred jelly bracelets in almost every single color imaginable. All of her necklaces are handmade and she has at least twenty of those. Even though she's an arrogant bitch, I still respect Olivia for her creativity.
My father puts his reading glasses on as he reads the comic section of the newspaper with a slight chuckle and I sit watching the closed-captioning go by on the bottom of the television during a rerun of MTV's Cribs.
Then, the door swings open and then slams shut as my mother comes into the living room and kisses my father and me on the cheek.
"Andie," my mother shrieks. "Didn't your father tell you that we're going out to dinner tonight?"
My mother, Karen Julia Robinson, she's the receptionist at the dentist's office down on Lark Avenue. I'm sure that the dentist enjoys having an attractive receptionist that he can ogle at her between patients that he sees. My mother looks like a woman that came straight out of an ad for Gucci. Her wavy brown hair cascades over her shoulder and waves very tightly at the end. If you look into her eyes, it's like looking into a forest; her eyes are mostly green with a few specks of brown in them.
My father looks confused and then realizes that he did forget to tell me, "Damn, excuse my language. Andrea, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you, but we are going out to dinner. So please, be ready in a half hour. We're going to Underwater."
Great, we're going to a place that wreaks dead fish and cheap perfume from the rich yuppies that go there with their rich friends. No, Andie, stop being judgmental. Your New Year's resolution was not to be judgmental of other people.
Great, now I'm going to have to dress up in the clothes that collect dust in the back of my closet. Fun, I'm going to probably end up wearing one of those somewhat provocative sheer shirts with a tank top underneath. My mother will insist on me wearing it because she thinks that a girl my age should flaunt what she has. I hate my mother for that. It's like how in health they teach you about protected sex, so then everyone goes out and has protected sex. If someone I knew had my mother, they would dress provocative because she subliminally encouraged it.
"Mom," I start to whine. "Can't I just wear what I'm wearing right now?"
She huffs in disgust, "No, please Andie; wear one of the shirts I got you for your birthday. It would make me happy, pumpkin."
I speak up, "Why is it that Corey gets to go where ever he pleases, while I get stuck going with you guys."
My mom gasps and yells, "Andrea Dawn Robinson! Watch your tone with me young lady! You know that he wasn't invited, we feel like you're drifting away from us honey. It's time we had bonded with you. You're so distant lately and we just hate it."
Of course if it was my brother pleading with my mom, he would win. It was probably because my brother was favored by my mother. So that's another reason why I couldn't let any of my family know about my crush on Lizzie. My mother would disown me, I know it. My father would be like, "That's nice honey; let's see what your mother thinks." Yet again, do I really have a crush on her? No, probably not. I hope not at least. Oh god, I'm in way over my head.
I walk upstairs to my room and open up the doors to my armoire and look at the shirts that are collecting dust in the back of it. Ten shirts in a variety of colors line the back of my armoire. Good god, does my mother want me to become a slut?
"Honey," I turn around to see my mother standing there. "Let me help you."
My mother saunters over to the armoire as she flips a ringlet of hair behind her slender shoulder. She reaches to the back and looks examines each shirt that's back there. She then pulls out a few shirts and sets them on my bed wear their bright colors stand out against the dull color of my comforter. Why does my mother insist on me being so formal? I mean, who cares if I don't look right? I'm just a freak to begin with, so it doesn't matter if I try hard to look good.
"Here," she says as she throws a bright pink shell and a white skirt at me. "Try this on."
I go into the bathroom and shed my black sweater and white button up shirt that is making me incredibly warm and making me itchy. It's kind of awkward looking at me in the mirror without a shirt on. I slide my jeans off and throw them to the side and step into the white skirt that my mom had handed me. I still don't know why my mom bought this for me, she knew that I wasn't going to wear it and didn't care.
As I slide the light pink shell on and it covers my semi-nakedness, I look at myself in the mirror. It's weird seeing myself like this. For once, I look good and I feel good about myself. I hate it thought. I hate feeling good about myself, because then I'll get overly confident and tell Lizzie. Wait, how can I tell Lizzie if I say that I don't even have a crush on her? Do I or do I not?
I creak open the bathroom door and walk over towards my mother, who has a beaming smile plastered on her face. She has a pair of pink sandals in her hands and hands them to me. She's so happy she looks like she's about to cry.
"You look so beautiful," she sighs. "I wish your brother could see you right now, he'd bug you and tell you to dress like that because it makes me happy."
~~~
We get out the car and walk through the parking lot to the restaurant. My mother and father are hand in hand, like they're some happy college couple. I guess they want to stay forever young. I feel utterly awkward with my parents who were completely infatuated with one another.
It's obvious that chivalry isn't dead as my father hold the door open for my mom and I. We walk in as my father lags slightly behind us.
A bubbly brunette greets us with a cheerful smile stuck on her face. It's somewhat obvious that her cheerfulness is just part of the job. She really doesn't hope that we have a good meal; she probably hopes we die from food poisoning and the place gets closed down. Then she won't have to work at this godforsaken place anymore.
"Here's your table and your menus," the brunette smiles as we sit down. "Enjoy your meal."
The table is off in a secluded corner of the restaurant, but you can still here the idle chitchat of everyone else. My father eyes the menu as does my mother, while I'm busy twiddling my thumbs. I hate going out to eat, or going anywhere in public. If I could, I would get myself home schooled and never come out of my house. Yeah, then I could be like Boo Radley from "To Kill a Mockingbird". I could be a hermit who hides from the dangers of the world.
"So Andie," my mother says with a sniff. "What's going on in your life?"
Let's see, I may be in love with someone I'm not supposed to be in love with. I'm a social outcast and I think I might be failing Science class.
"Nothing really," is the response I say no matter what. Of course my mother knows that I have no life, so she doesn't question it.
Oh my god.
Are my eyes absolutely fooling me? Is there a mirage in front of my eyes? Am I imagining things?
If not, then Lizzie McGuire is two tables away from me. She's not with her parents, but with a date. Her date is in my art class, his name is Kevin O'Connell. His hair is styled in a brush cut with gel holding up various red chunks of hair. His face is sprinkled with pencil point sized freckles that highlight his pale skin. Kevin's a sophomore; he's very quiet and shy. Nice though, but very shy.
I can feel my face getting flushed. Oh no, I can feel it getting redder and warmer. I can't look at her now without getting that feeling or having my face turn various shades of red.
"Be right back," I say as I push my chair in.
My father looks at me, "Where are you going?"
"I have to use the bathroom," I sigh.
I walk at a high speed towards the woman's bathroom. My heart is racing at a mile a minute. I can't bear to look at Lizzie without having my face become flushed. I don't like my face getting flushed. I don't like feeling that odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't like it all, but I can't control it.
I swing open the door and run into the closest stall. All I can do right now is sit and think. I need to calm myself down. I need to get it through my head. I don't like Lizzie. I don't like Lizzie. I don't like Lizzie. I can't like Lizzie. I can't like Lizzie.
I wish it were as easy as that though. I wish that whatever I would say would come true. It's not that simple though.
I hear a set of heels click against the linoleum floor and stop in front of the bathroom mirror. It's probably some pompous woman picking food out of her teeth. Then she'll probably spray perfume all over her body, which will leave a repulsive stench in the bathroom.
Before I walk out of the stall, I flush the toilet. Then it'll appear that I haven't been pondering about life in the bathroom. I swing open the stall door, but I want to go right back in and hide. In front of my very eyes is Lizzie McGuire fixing her make-up. Oh no, I can feel that feeling in my stomach again.
"Hello," she says. "Is there someone in here?"
She knows. She knows that I'm here in the stall. She probably knows everything about me. She probably knows what I don't want her to know.
I walk out of the stall and over to the sink. I turn on the faucet and wash my hands. After rinsing my hands, I splash cool water on my face. The water calms me, but I still have that feeling in the pit of my stomach.
She doesn't notice me. She's too preoccupied with putting her lip gloss on her lips. Her lips now have a shiny essence to them that just make them noticeable.
"Hey," she says. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar."
"Uh," I shrug. "I don't know." She laughs. She probably laughs at my stupidity or just laughs at me in general.
"Don't mind me," she laughs. "I think that I know someone when I see them, but I really don't. I'm sorry if I bothered you."
I look at her as I turn off the faucet, "Not at all. I tend to do that myself."
She takes a little spin and looks around at everything in the bathroom. The three stalls that are bolted to the white walls. The lights that are very dim, yet still give light to the small bathroom.
"I still feel like I know you though," she smiles. "So, um, what's your name?"
Do I really tell Lizzie McGuire who I am? Why does she want to know who I am? Oh no, the feeling in the bottom of my stomach is becoming more powerful.
"Andie," I sigh. "Andie Robinson."
She looks at me as if I'm a ghost. Her brown eyes just stare at me for at least a minute. A flood of memories come back to me, and probably to her. She still looks at me and then finally opens her mouth in an attempt to say something.
"Oh, wow," she sighs. "This is awkward. Well, you're you now. Uh, I better be going. My date might be worried. It was, um, nice seeing you again."
With that she walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone. Alone in my thoughts, alone in the bathroom, and alone for the rest of my life. Maybe some people are meant to be alone, that way they can't get hurt.
[A/N: I'm sorry for no update in a while. I don't like to rush myself on this because I want it to come out well. Anyway, thank you for the good reviews so far. And to the people who addressed my grammar, I'm working on it. Don't worry; I know that grammar is not exactly the best, so I try to improve on it. Anyway, thank you and please rock on and continue reviewing. Thank you.]
My brother attends every party he hears about, and everyone is just thrilled to have him come because he's an upperclassmen and everyone adores him. I don't know how in the world he got popular; he's kind of odd, like me. I guess being odd runs in the family.
"Andrea," I hear my dad as I sit curled up in a ball watching television on the couch.
It's amazing, there's only one person in my life that I'll be okay with if they call me Andrea. I usually want to yell and curse at them if they call me "Andrea" because it sounds so formal. I don't really think I'm a formal person and Andrea sounds so French and exquisite, which doesn't sound like me at all.
I mute the television and look at him, "Yeah dad?"
My dad is Greg Robinson, car dealer at Chrysler Automotives on route nine between the Country Diner and Drake Plaza. I'm not sure if my dad is proud of being one of those men who bug the hell out of you trying to sell you the most expensive car in the dealership. It's his job though, and it puts food on the table. I guess even though he probably despises his job with a passion, he feels it's necessary so he can bring home the bacon.
I look like my dad more than anyone. Like him I have chocolate brown hair that's kind of thick, but straight. The only exception though is his hair line is receding and his hair is turning a nice steel gray color. We also have the same plain hazel eyes and I'm still baffled by how someone as plain looking as my dad married someone like my mother.
"Pumpkin, do you have any idea where your brother might be," he asks me as his face has a suspicious look on it.
I sigh, "He's probably out with his girlfriend Olivia and getting drunk. After they get drunk, he's going to get her pregnant and end up becoming a teenage dad."
My father looks at me strangely, "You're joking? Right?"
"For the most part, he's out with Olivia, but he's not going to be getting drunk. They're at the mall, they're seeing the new Drew Barrymore movie and then they're heading over to Harry's for Harry's party," I explain to my baffled father.
Olivia Pewter, she's my brother's girlfriend. I particularly don't like her because she reminds me of Kate, just more arrogant. She's a senior like my brother and hates my guts for some peculiar reason. She gossips around my brother and my brother has this look on his face that screams "I want to tape your mouth shut". She doesn't really look that arrogant though. She doesn't even seem like the type of girl my brother would take home. My brother usually brings home cheerleaders and the wannabe cheerleaders, but Olivia is very different. She wears her hair in a layered bob and that skims her chin. Her hair is dark brown with blocks of toffee highlights that are more noticed than her deep blue eyes and her pointed nose. Her eyelids are often covered with a black eyeliner and smoky shadow, while her lips are painted with a plum color. Compared to her make-up, her wardrobe is very bright. She has this obsession with the color turquoise; about half of her shirts contain some turquoise in them. The one thing that I love about her wardrobe is her accessories. She has about five hundred jelly bracelets in almost every single color imaginable. All of her necklaces are handmade and she has at least twenty of those. Even though she's an arrogant bitch, I still respect Olivia for her creativity.
My father puts his reading glasses on as he reads the comic section of the newspaper with a slight chuckle and I sit watching the closed-captioning go by on the bottom of the television during a rerun of MTV's Cribs.
Then, the door swings open and then slams shut as my mother comes into the living room and kisses my father and me on the cheek.
"Andie," my mother shrieks. "Didn't your father tell you that we're going out to dinner tonight?"
My mother, Karen Julia Robinson, she's the receptionist at the dentist's office down on Lark Avenue. I'm sure that the dentist enjoys having an attractive receptionist that he can ogle at her between patients that he sees. My mother looks like a woman that came straight out of an ad for Gucci. Her wavy brown hair cascades over her shoulder and waves very tightly at the end. If you look into her eyes, it's like looking into a forest; her eyes are mostly green with a few specks of brown in them.
My father looks confused and then realizes that he did forget to tell me, "Damn, excuse my language. Andrea, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you, but we are going out to dinner. So please, be ready in a half hour. We're going to Underwater."
Great, we're going to a place that wreaks dead fish and cheap perfume from the rich yuppies that go there with their rich friends. No, Andie, stop being judgmental. Your New Year's resolution was not to be judgmental of other people.
Great, now I'm going to have to dress up in the clothes that collect dust in the back of my closet. Fun, I'm going to probably end up wearing one of those somewhat provocative sheer shirts with a tank top underneath. My mother will insist on me wearing it because she thinks that a girl my age should flaunt what she has. I hate my mother for that. It's like how in health they teach you about protected sex, so then everyone goes out and has protected sex. If someone I knew had my mother, they would dress provocative because she subliminally encouraged it.
"Mom," I start to whine. "Can't I just wear what I'm wearing right now?"
She huffs in disgust, "No, please Andie; wear one of the shirts I got you for your birthday. It would make me happy, pumpkin."
I speak up, "Why is it that Corey gets to go where ever he pleases, while I get stuck going with you guys."
My mom gasps and yells, "Andrea Dawn Robinson! Watch your tone with me young lady! You know that he wasn't invited, we feel like you're drifting away from us honey. It's time we had bonded with you. You're so distant lately and we just hate it."
Of course if it was my brother pleading with my mom, he would win. It was probably because my brother was favored by my mother. So that's another reason why I couldn't let any of my family know about my crush on Lizzie. My mother would disown me, I know it. My father would be like, "That's nice honey; let's see what your mother thinks." Yet again, do I really have a crush on her? No, probably not. I hope not at least. Oh god, I'm in way over my head.
I walk upstairs to my room and open up the doors to my armoire and look at the shirts that are collecting dust in the back of it. Ten shirts in a variety of colors line the back of my armoire. Good god, does my mother want me to become a slut?
"Honey," I turn around to see my mother standing there. "Let me help you."
My mother saunters over to the armoire as she flips a ringlet of hair behind her slender shoulder. She reaches to the back and looks examines each shirt that's back there. She then pulls out a few shirts and sets them on my bed wear their bright colors stand out against the dull color of my comforter. Why does my mother insist on me being so formal? I mean, who cares if I don't look right? I'm just a freak to begin with, so it doesn't matter if I try hard to look good.
"Here," she says as she throws a bright pink shell and a white skirt at me. "Try this on."
I go into the bathroom and shed my black sweater and white button up shirt that is making me incredibly warm and making me itchy. It's kind of awkward looking at me in the mirror without a shirt on. I slide my jeans off and throw them to the side and step into the white skirt that my mom had handed me. I still don't know why my mom bought this for me, she knew that I wasn't going to wear it and didn't care.
As I slide the light pink shell on and it covers my semi-nakedness, I look at myself in the mirror. It's weird seeing myself like this. For once, I look good and I feel good about myself. I hate it thought. I hate feeling good about myself, because then I'll get overly confident and tell Lizzie. Wait, how can I tell Lizzie if I say that I don't even have a crush on her? Do I or do I not?
I creak open the bathroom door and walk over towards my mother, who has a beaming smile plastered on her face. She has a pair of pink sandals in her hands and hands them to me. She's so happy she looks like she's about to cry.
"You look so beautiful," she sighs. "I wish your brother could see you right now, he'd bug you and tell you to dress like that because it makes me happy."
~~~
We get out the car and walk through the parking lot to the restaurant. My mother and father are hand in hand, like they're some happy college couple. I guess they want to stay forever young. I feel utterly awkward with my parents who were completely infatuated with one another.
It's obvious that chivalry isn't dead as my father hold the door open for my mom and I. We walk in as my father lags slightly behind us.
A bubbly brunette greets us with a cheerful smile stuck on her face. It's somewhat obvious that her cheerfulness is just part of the job. She really doesn't hope that we have a good meal; she probably hopes we die from food poisoning and the place gets closed down. Then she won't have to work at this godforsaken place anymore.
"Here's your table and your menus," the brunette smiles as we sit down. "Enjoy your meal."
The table is off in a secluded corner of the restaurant, but you can still here the idle chitchat of everyone else. My father eyes the menu as does my mother, while I'm busy twiddling my thumbs. I hate going out to eat, or going anywhere in public. If I could, I would get myself home schooled and never come out of my house. Yeah, then I could be like Boo Radley from "To Kill a Mockingbird". I could be a hermit who hides from the dangers of the world.
"So Andie," my mother says with a sniff. "What's going on in your life?"
Let's see, I may be in love with someone I'm not supposed to be in love with. I'm a social outcast and I think I might be failing Science class.
"Nothing really," is the response I say no matter what. Of course my mother knows that I have no life, so she doesn't question it.
Oh my god.
Are my eyes absolutely fooling me? Is there a mirage in front of my eyes? Am I imagining things?
If not, then Lizzie McGuire is two tables away from me. She's not with her parents, but with a date. Her date is in my art class, his name is Kevin O'Connell. His hair is styled in a brush cut with gel holding up various red chunks of hair. His face is sprinkled with pencil point sized freckles that highlight his pale skin. Kevin's a sophomore; he's very quiet and shy. Nice though, but very shy.
I can feel my face getting flushed. Oh no, I can feel it getting redder and warmer. I can't look at her now without getting that feeling or having my face turn various shades of red.
"Be right back," I say as I push my chair in.
My father looks at me, "Where are you going?"
"I have to use the bathroom," I sigh.
I walk at a high speed towards the woman's bathroom. My heart is racing at a mile a minute. I can't bear to look at Lizzie without having my face become flushed. I don't like my face getting flushed. I don't like feeling that odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't like it all, but I can't control it.
I swing open the door and run into the closest stall. All I can do right now is sit and think. I need to calm myself down. I need to get it through my head. I don't like Lizzie. I don't like Lizzie. I don't like Lizzie. I can't like Lizzie. I can't like Lizzie.
I wish it were as easy as that though. I wish that whatever I would say would come true. It's not that simple though.
I hear a set of heels click against the linoleum floor and stop in front of the bathroom mirror. It's probably some pompous woman picking food out of her teeth. Then she'll probably spray perfume all over her body, which will leave a repulsive stench in the bathroom.
Before I walk out of the stall, I flush the toilet. Then it'll appear that I haven't been pondering about life in the bathroom. I swing open the stall door, but I want to go right back in and hide. In front of my very eyes is Lizzie McGuire fixing her make-up. Oh no, I can feel that feeling in my stomach again.
"Hello," she says. "Is there someone in here?"
She knows. She knows that I'm here in the stall. She probably knows everything about me. She probably knows what I don't want her to know.
I walk out of the stall and over to the sink. I turn on the faucet and wash my hands. After rinsing my hands, I splash cool water on my face. The water calms me, but I still have that feeling in the pit of my stomach.
She doesn't notice me. She's too preoccupied with putting her lip gloss on her lips. Her lips now have a shiny essence to them that just make them noticeable.
"Hey," she says. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar."
"Uh," I shrug. "I don't know." She laughs. She probably laughs at my stupidity or just laughs at me in general.
"Don't mind me," she laughs. "I think that I know someone when I see them, but I really don't. I'm sorry if I bothered you."
I look at her as I turn off the faucet, "Not at all. I tend to do that myself."
She takes a little spin and looks around at everything in the bathroom. The three stalls that are bolted to the white walls. The lights that are very dim, yet still give light to the small bathroom.
"I still feel like I know you though," she smiles. "So, um, what's your name?"
Do I really tell Lizzie McGuire who I am? Why does she want to know who I am? Oh no, the feeling in the bottom of my stomach is becoming more powerful.
"Andie," I sigh. "Andie Robinson."
She looks at me as if I'm a ghost. Her brown eyes just stare at me for at least a minute. A flood of memories come back to me, and probably to her. She still looks at me and then finally opens her mouth in an attempt to say something.
"Oh, wow," she sighs. "This is awkward. Well, you're you now. Uh, I better be going. My date might be worried. It was, um, nice seeing you again."
With that she walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone. Alone in my thoughts, alone in the bathroom, and alone for the rest of my life. Maybe some people are meant to be alone, that way they can't get hurt.
[A/N: I'm sorry for no update in a while. I don't like to rush myself on this because I want it to come out well. Anyway, thank you for the good reviews so far. And to the people who addressed my grammar, I'm working on it. Don't worry; I know that grammar is not exactly the best, so I try to improve on it. Anyway, thank you and please rock on and continue reviewing. Thank you.]
