[Disclaimer: I don't own The Lizzie McGuire Movie, Lizzie McGuire, Lizzie, Gordo, Hilary, Adam, Rome, the Vatican, the Pope, good god, I own nothing!!
But I own my own devious thoughts about chopping off Adam's head-overpowering fro. Mwahaha.
Onto the story.]
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Where do I go from here?
I'd seen enough cliché-filled TV shows about junior high kids and their lives to know that most people our age with crushes barely say a word to them. And they rarely see them out of school. Sometimes, they barely know who their crushes really are.
And then there's people like me. Who could quite possibly be in love with his best friend, who he sees everyday. Who he talks to everyday. Who he knows better than himself.
I can't even begin to tell you all the opportunities I've had to just come out with it and tell her how I feel. After she broke up with Ronnie, after the murder mystery party, after her last Dear Lizzie', with the Confused Guy deal. Everything was after. At the end. Should I just tell her at the beginning of something then?
Like, the first day of high school?
No, that'd be too weird.
Oh, hey, Lizzie! First day of high school! Oughta be fun! ...So, uh, wanna go out with me?'
That's unrealistic for a bunch of other reasons, too, though.
Like how I could never just say, Wanna go out with me? to Lizzie. It may work with every other girl I've asked out (yes, all 1 of them), but if I said that to Lizzie, she'd giggle and say, Um, Gordo, you, me and Miranda are already going to the Digital Bean at 4. You know, like we do every Friday? She just wouldn't comprehend. And even if she did, she'd probably think I was joking. That's why if I ever wanted to, for some crazy reason, ask her out, I'd have go for the full monty: I'd have to sit her down, tell her how I feel, and then do the honors.
And that's why I could never tell her.
I'm just not really a touchy-feely kinda guy.
Not that I'm a stoned-face axe murderer-type, either. It's more like...well, metaphorically speaking, let's just say I wear my heart on my arm, and cover it with my sleeve.
But as confident as I may seem sometimes, I'm not willing to put my emotions out on the line to be made fun of. I'd never cry in front of another guy. I'm not sure I'd cry in front of Lizzie or Miranda, either. At this age, anyway. There was this one time in 2nd grade when I fell and scraped my knee, and I was bawling for at least 15 minutes straight in the nurse's office with Lizzie and Miranda by my side.
It has a little to do with masculinity. When you hang out with 2 girls day in and day out, people start suspecting something. Especially when they don't realize that I do not go shopping with them voluntarily. That's the worst part.
It was more about all of my insecurities in general. I've always thought that if I told someone my feelings, I would somehow be , vulnerable, if you will, and more susceptible to bullying and teasing.
So I'd stay hard and steadfast in my rather emotionless ways. Maybe I'm crazy, but I think it's better for people to think I'm some robotic psycho than an emotional clown. But who knows these days? You can't be anything without being made fun of. You can't even be normal.
So where am I doing all this thinking, you're wondering?
Our tour guide, Evelina, is a raving madwoman.
According to her, our itinerary is a piece of crap. Those were her exact words, and everyone, even Ms. Dew, was too afraid to offend her to tell her that she shouldn't be using those words. Yeah, like the people in our grade have never heard the word . Let's be honest with ourselves.
We're driving to the Vatican. VATICAN CITY, of all places. I'm almost positive that this was supposed to be a tour of Rome, not the entire country of Italy. It's some 20 or 30 miles away from our hotel. And at the speed we're going, we'll be lucky if we make it there by midnight.
So, why aren't I talking to Lizzie?
Let's just say Lizzie's a little preoccupied. She's been up at the front of the bus for the longest time now talking about God-knows-what.
Then, I'm stuck listening to her CDs on her CD player, and I'm so tired I just want to dive into my bed. At home. Good old Hillridge, California. Back where I can be around people who don't make me so painstakingly uncomfortable, as Lizzie does sometimes.
Lizzie's CD collection was quite interesting. Really, most of it was way too sugar-coated for me. I don't understand how you can sing lies like that.
But a while ago, I decided to give another CD a shot. John Mayer. I wasn't sure how good he would be, considering the only 2 songs I've heard of his are about doing something dirty with his girlfriend and something about busting open doors. Sounds like psycho music to me.
I've really grown to like it, though. Well, minus those the aforementioned songs. I can relate to everything he's saying so well, it's almost a little scary. Or maybe all guys my age go through this stuff. I don't know.
Why Georgia has gotten me thinking...am I living it right? Should I have done things a lot differently than I have? Have I just been messing up my life left and right? And I've been told so many times that everything happens for a reason. But what if it doesn't? What if I am royally screwing up my life bit by bit right now?
Finally, just when I am about to doze off into a deep sleep, Lizzie somberly walks back to the empty seat next to me. And she doesn't say anything, which makes me wonder.
Lizzie, are you alright? I question, looking into her downward-glancing eyes. Did you, uh...have a nice talk with Evelina? What was I suppose to say?
Suddenly, she perked up, looked over at me and smiled...fakely.
I'm fine, she insisted. Just a little tired and such. I think the jet lag's catching up with me. She rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache.
Then, the bus came to a screeching halt.
Well, here we are, finally, in Vatican City, home of Pope John Paul II. I realize many of you may not be Christians, but at least admire the buildings, okay? Evelina narrated. Now, let's head off the bus and look around, shall we?
As everyone started loading off the bus, I put my hands on the headrests of the chairs in front of us. And when Lizzie realized that she'd have to wait until everyone got off to do so, she turned back to me. She put her hand down, and it accidentally lied on mine. She retracted it within a few seconds, but something in the way her hand lingered there for that extra second. God, maybe I'm imagining it. Wishful thinking.
And as we walked off the bus, the words rung in my head.
Am I living it right?
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[A/N: Well, eh, whatcha gonna do?
I GRADUATED ON MONDAY! And last night was the last graduation party that everyone was invited to (there were at least 5) so I'm back, it's summer vacation and I'm ready to be writing allll summer long. Booyah!
Lemme know what you think: please review. Thanks!}
