Background Info: Lizzie and Gordo are both 22 years old. They live together in Manhattan. They have money, and it's from Gordo's directing. Lizzie's trying to make it big as an actress. I am not associated with Columbia University, or New York Film Academy. I don't even know if there is a New York Film Academy. It's off the top of my head.
This story is rated PG-13 for language and some "implied" stuff.
I don't own Lizzie McGuire, and I am not related in any way with Disney or any of the other cool folks that run the Lizzie McGuire show or the movie. Wish I was though…..anywho, I'm just a kid with a love of writing and the need for some kind of outlet. I KNOW WHAT THEY'RE GOING THROUGH….Just so you know… And now I'll shut up. I present to you….
MORE THAN GRACE Prologue
New York Film Academy, P. Ellegood, Essay Question 2. In 625 words or less, tell us a story that is of great importance to your life. This question will assess your views on the world, your life, and expectations from life.
Falling in love is hard. I'll be the first to admit that. Admitting that you really do love them is even harder. But falling for your best friend is the worst. When that happens, worst comes to worst. You have to be around them all the time, acting like you're really "just friends," but really it's tearing you up inside. It kills you to see them happy with another person, while they gush about their "significant other" just like they hung the moon. You want to scream, "I'm standing right here in front of you! I love you! Can't you get that into your head?" And you constantly contemplate between your head and your heart. Your head tells you to get over it, and your heart tells you to tell them, and then everything will be all right. My head always took over.
Lizzie and I were friends since before I can remember. We're only born a few days apart, and we spent our childhoods together. Subconsciously, I always loved her. I really realized it in middle school, though. I "kinda liked" her. You know, the kind of middle school feelings that base the relationships lasting two weeks tops. Then I saw her kissing Ronny Jacobs, and a zillion emotions flew through my head all at once. I felt nauseated, I wanted to hit him, I wanted to run over to Lizzie and tell her that he wasn't good enough for her, that nobody would ever be, but I would sure as hell try. I chickened out, giving way to a whole new level of heartache and pain that nobody understands until they feel it. It was then that I knew I loved her.
After middle school, our class took a trip to Rome during the summer. Lizzie, of course, fell for the cute Italian pop singer, while I writhed in agony, covering up for her, and finally taking the blame for her sneaking out of the hotel, and getting myself a ticket home in the process. Through a series of lucky circumstances, I managed to help Lizzie save the day, embarrassing Paolo (the cute Italian pop singer), and getting to perform in front of thousands of people. On the rooftop of our hotel that night, she kissed me, fireworks booming in the distance. It was a short kiss, but it was perfect. To this day, I still remember the feel of her hand on my cheek, the taste of her vanilla lip gloss. After Rome, the kiss lay forgotten. I think that we were both experiencing feelings for one another, but were too afraid to venture into the dangerous territory that could mean the demise of our friendship forever.
It wasn't always just Lizzie and me. Our twosome became a trio around fourth grade, when Miranda Sanchez moved to our neighborhood from Mexico in fourth grade. We remained best friends through high school, and she lived on my floor at Columbia for a couple of months, until I found a note saying that she'd left and didn't know when or if she'd ever be back. Neither Lizzie nor I know the reason she left, but it was hard on both of us. Lizzie and I live together now, in a chic Manhattan apartment. When I come home, and see her dancing in the living room, smile on her face, singing in her Brittany Murphy-esque voice, my heart leaps. We're not a couple, but I still love her, and I'll always love her. Maybe one day, I'll be able to look into her hazel eyes, run my fingers through her silky blond hair, and kiss her like there's no tomorrow. But as for now, I'm happy being ripped apart from the inside out.
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Columbia University Theatre Dept., Essay Question 8. Who is the one person who has shaped the person you are today? What have you learned from them? How have they contributed to the "you" of today? Answer this question in 1000 words or less. Please remember to include your name and the part that you wish to play at the end of this essay.
When I was fourteen years old, my eighth grade class traveled to Rome. I fell in love on that trip. Twice.
The first was an Italian pop star by the name of Paolo Valisari. Just his name sent a shiver down my spine. He was seventeen, a pop star, and he liked me. Me! Of all people! His singing partner was Isabella Parigi, who happened to look like my twin, except she had brown hair. Paolo wanted me to impersonate Isabella so that she wouldn't get sued, lip sync to the music, and dance with him onstage at the Coliseum in front of thousands of people. I was more than happy to do so, but in order to meet with Paolo, I had to do a series of successful "sneak outs." And to do that, my friends had to cover up for me. Mainly, my best friend, Gordo, who took the blame for me sneaking out eventually, and in the process got himself a ticket home. He was number two.
Gordo and I have been best friends since before I can remember. He's just a few days older than I, and we grew up together. He got the name because I couldn't say his real name, David. I tried his last name, Gordon, but Gordo came out, and it stuck. Throughout middle school, my girl best friend, Miranda Sanchez, and I were head over heels in crush territory for the hot and handsome, but oh-so-dumb Ethan Craft. It wasn't until Ethan's murder mystery party that I even knew that Gordo liked me as more than just a friend. It must have killed him to watch me drool over Ethan. After that, I just couldn't help but notice how he'd always watch me with a lopsided smile on his face, or how he would find subtle ways to give me compliments. I started liking him more and more, but when we went to Rome, the debonair Paolo suppressed my crush. Then Paolo turned out to be an asshole for lying to me, Gordo got himself a ticket home but somehow never had to leave, and on the rooftops of our hotel, I kissed him. I knew then that I loved him, because in the fraction of a second that our lips were touching, I felt this crazy tingling fire burning through my soul that I had never before felt, and I've yet to experience that feeling again.
After Rome, we didn't mention the kiss again. I dated other guys, but none gave me the feeling that I got from Gordo. I think that I've always loved him, albeit subconsciously. He makes me feel happy and like nobody else. He taught me that just being me is enough for him, and so I should never have to change myself to impress Ethan, or any other guys, for that matter. He likes me best when I'm dancing around the apartment and singing. He loves my brownies, even when I have a blonde moment and leave them in the oven too long. He treats me so well. And I think that I might have gone the way of the popular cheerleaders when I became one senior year if he hadn't kept me straight.
When Miranda left in our freshman year of college, leaving behind only a note saying that she didn't know when or even if she'd be back. A couple of weeks after she left, I found her favorite red sweater hanging in my closet, with a note pinned to it. "Be good to Gordo, Liz. He loves you. You can't ignore it forever. I'm gonna miss you guys! Enjoy the sweater bunches. Love, Ran" said the note, in her messy scrawl. I would have gone crazy without Gordo in the months that followed Miranda's departure. We helped each other through the pain.
So why don't I admit what I feel for him? Why don't I just tell him, instead of wasting my love life on guys that I know aren't going to be able to make me feel like Gordo did? Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose that I'm too chicken, because telling him that he's the only guy that can make me happy is committing friendship suicide. Besides, his feelings for me have probably long since faded. I know I still love him. I don't know what I would do if he was taken away from me. I have to resist the urge to put my fingers in his curly brown mop of hair, look into his gorgeous blue eyes, and kiss him like there's no tomorrow. It kills me to watch him with any other girls. He's my everything, and if I didn't have him, I would not be who I am today. I could have fallen into the black hole that is popularity in middle and high school, and, along with the rest of the cheerleaders, been a total bitch to those below me. Gordo saved me from that fate. He's my world. He influences all I do, and while I do believe it's important to be your own person, there has to be a blueprint somewhere. Gordo's my blueprint. It's a known fact of life that you don't find your soulmate at fourteen years old. I'm out to prove that wrong. I still love him, and I'll always love him. Maybe one day I'll be able to tell him.
Elizabeth McGuire, trying out for the part of Kiki.
-End of Chapter-
Just in case you couldn't figure it out, these are college essays. Gordo's is an assessment of how he views the world, etc. Lizzie's wants to see how she will play the part that she wants. Essays are a window to the soul, people! And if you really wanna be picky and technical, they are under the word requirements. I originally set them both at 500 but I had to keep bumping them up. And I didn't want them to be the same. Notice any parallels? Good!
So? What did you think? Please review! I'm an aspiring writer and I don't need my happy bubble burst! And like I said earlier, I know what these poor kids are going through. I'm in a *ahem* similar situation. The whole best friend thing. Yeah. I've had this story running through my head for a while, but I just realized that I like my best guy friend! So that was the catalyst for writing the story.