Special author's note at bottom, posted 12/22/03
Hey guys! Your reviews reeeeeeeally encouraged me! I'm so glad that you guys like the story! And you poor, poor people that are in the same boat as me, liking your best guy friend! *Sob* My girl friends are trying to get us to go out, and he's being totally unresponsive and clueless. Grr. I know the last chapter was really spaced out between paragraphs, and that was weird. But like I said, that was my first chapter to post on FF.net. Well, actually, I suppose it was my second or third, but I wrote that other story at least 2 years ago, and it's really dumb, so if you read it, I give you my sincere apologies. It has been removed from the site, due to author's decision that it does suck. I've discovered that my 12-and 13- year-old writing sucks. I'm 15 now, my birthday wasn't too long ago. So anyways, I'll get on to the story. Review! 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. IMPORTANT: Lizzie and Gordo are older, but pretend that it's present-day, just because I'm not good at writing up things and thinking about stuff that will have happened in about 10 years. 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. Um.pretty much anything that you don't recognize is mine, and what you do recognize is not! MORE THAN GRACE Chapter 1: Holly David Gordon sat in his film history classroom Tuesday morning, fiddling with the eraser on his green mechanical pencil. He had listened to his professor talk nonstop for two straight hours, while he took notes diligently, but not really paying attention to what the professor was saying. "And so, your opinion of the significance of early films like those of Charlie Chaplin's.silent films, if you will, is to be handed in to me by next Friday. 2,000 words minimum. I have to be in a meeting in five minutes, so you will have the next twenty minutes free. Remain here if you like, but be out of here by 11," finished the professor. What seemed like an eternity later, David glanced at his watch. 10:53. Great, he thought. Another seven minutes of sitting here worrying about that damned essay. His stomach growled. 10:54. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock was taking forever to get around today. WHY did I have to write that? WHY? Somebody could tell her! David wasn't a good writer, and he knew that. His strength lay in sciences and mathematics, not in the literary fields. But everywhere, he had to write. Honors calculus, sophomore year: "Why is the derivative of x so-and-so when x equals blah in equation Ax+By=C? Show all work." Honors Chemistry IV, junior year: "Show and explain how acid HCl reacts with Mg to form a gas. What kind of gas is formed when these two combine?" Simple question. Needs a "dig deep" answer. "Dig deep" answers had never before been so difficult, until the last essay he had to write for his actual directing class. He glanced at the watch again. 10:56. Good god, who decided to make the seconds last twice as long? David ran his hand through his curls, annoyed. Most people had left, and were off to Subway or the local café/restaurant, Mugshot, to grab a bite before their next class. There were a few people left, though, and one he noticed to be Holly from 7C. I forgot she was in this class, thought David. Holly was.strange, to put it lightly. She had copper-dyed hair that hung in pigtail braids, and wore knee-high black combat boots with plaid miniskirts. The closest way he could describe her was very boho-mixed-with- G.I. Jane. She wasn't, but that was the closest way to describe her. Holly always wrote in a notebook with a battered cover once decorated in stickers from Lillith Fair. But she was always nice and he liked her enough, so after contemplation with himself, he decided to walk over and talk to her. "Hey Holly." She didn't move. She kept her head bent over her notebook, pencil scribbling furiously. "Holly?" "Just a second," she replied, exasperated. Bewildered, David headed back to his seat. It was 10:59, anyway, so class would let out in less than a minute. "David!" It took him a second to realize that Holly was calling after him. "What?" he asked, spinning around to face her. "You wanted something?" Just then, the bell rang, giving the signal that class was over. Holly was still staring him in the face, her combat boots making her tall enough to be eye-to-eye with him. "Never mind," said David, turning to walk away. Holly grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. "You wanna go to Mugshot and get something to eat? I need to talk to you anyway." The offer was tempting. He was hungry, and Mugshot had the best curly fries around. And he loved curly fries. David glanced at his watch. He had the rest of the day off. He just had to be home by two. "Alright. You need a ride?" "Umm." She furrowed her brow, and appeared to be in deep thought. "Yeah." "Okay," David replied, and they filed out of the classroom, David leading the way to his black BMW. As they made the five-minute drive to the café, they discussed one thing: Lizzie. David had never been so embarrassed in all his life. Well, maybe he had. This was Top 10 anyways. It was like Holly could see straight into his soul. "You really do love her, don't you?" asked Holly. "What? How do you know?" Holly snorted. "Are you kidding me? You two spend every waking moment together, you laugh, cry, whatever, together, and you look at her with this look on your face. It's like you can't live without her." David raised an eyebrow. He couldn't deny it. She was right. ********** For the thirty-second time, Elizabeth McGuire threw down her script. "Shit!" she yelled. "This.is not.WORKING! I give up!" She paced back and forth in her apartment living room, waving her hands wildly and muttering to herself. I wish Gordo was here, she thought. He could help me figure this crap out. Elizabeth's script was a Trent Harper, who sat in the back of her Drama 4 class and was neurotically boring, original. It was the biggest piece of crap she had ever tried to read. But if she wanted to be famous, she had to get the part of Kiki. Kiki was the main character, caught up in a silly love triangle with two guys. She ended up picking the dumb hunk, and Elizabeth didn't like that. According to her, Kiki should have picked the cutely intelligent dork, who loved her more than the dumb hunk knew how. But Kiki wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box, either, so apparently she had a reasonable excuse for choosing an idiot. But that was Trent Harper for you. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and picked up the overly decorated script, but didn't open it back up. Instead, she focused on the cover. Specifically, where she had written her name. All throughout her years at Hillridge, she had been Lizzie. Lizzie McGuire, with the hopeless crush on Ethan Craft. Lizzie McGuire, who fell down three flights of stairs on her seventeenth day as a freshman at Hillridge High. Lizzie McGuire, who loved her best friend, but couldn't tell anybody. When she went off to college, her name was on every roster as Elizabeth. People started calling her Elizabeth, and she made no effort to correct them. The only people that she knew were Gordo and Miranda, and they called her Lizzie. Her closer friends called her Lizzie, but for the most part, Elizabeth stuck. Now, instead of Lizzie that couldn't walk without tripping for one entire day to save her life, she became Elizabeth. Elizabeth McGuire, who had the looks, voice, and talent to become the "next big thing." Elizabeth McGuire, whose best friend in the world was fast on his way to becoming a famous director. But she had written her name, in her large, loopy cursive, as Lizzie. Lizzie traced the pen marks with her fingers. Why do I write Lizzie? Do I still wanna be Lizzie? I'm happy being Elizabeth. But.Gordo calls me Lizzie. I'm stuck in some kind of limbo, she decided grumpily. "Screw this," she proclaimed loudly, throwing down the script, and headed to the kitchen to find lunch. Lizzie rummaged through the pantry, and settled on a package of stir-fry. She prepared her food, and sat down to eat. But before she could get the first bite all the way to her mouth, the phone rang. "Dammit," she muttered, rising from her seat to catch the jangling phone. "Hello?" Nothing. She knew somebody was there, though, because she could hear breathing. "Hello," she said again, this time more fiercely. "May I speak to Lizzie?" said a female voice. "Speaking. Who is this?" "Lizzie, I'm sorry," said the girl. Then she hung up. Lizzie wondered out loud, "Sorry for what?" as she placed the phone back on its cradle. She looked at the Caller ID, but it just read, "Unavailable." Lizzie sighed and grabbed her stir-fry and glass of iced tea from the kitchen table. She took them into the living room, where she plopped herself down on the red couch and flipped the TV to her favorite soap opera, The Young and the Beautiful. (A/N: Haha, yep, that's the Young and the Restless mixed with the Bold and the Beautiful. I don't watch either one of them, but I didn't want any copyright stealing or anything.) Anything would be better than trying to memorize that damn script. ********** "So then, after we've been in high school, oh, a month, maybe, she wears these big platform shoes to school. This is a day where we both had a class on the top floor. Biology, I think." David popped another curly fry into his mouth, savoring the explosion of flavor to his taste buds. "Oh, I hated biology," interjected Holly. "I passed out the day we had to dissect frogs." David laughed, and continued his tale. "So yeah, we had biology on the top floor. And the bell had just rung, and everybody was rushing down the stairs to lunch. Well all three flights of stairs are together, 3 floors then a basement where the entrance to the gym was. Lizzie hangs her heel on the top step, and falls down all three flights of stairs!" Holly burst out laughing. "Oh, my God, that's hilarious! I feel sorry for Lizzie, though, falling in front of half the entire school. Was she hurt?" "Nah, just her pride, I think, and maybe a twisted ankle." "Well, that's good," she commented, taking a bite of her burger. "Yeah, it is. I'm glad that she wasn't hurt bad. A girl fell down the steps a couple of years ago, I heard, and broke a vertebrae in her neck." "Ouch," Holly replied. She reached into her messenger bag, and pulled out a document. "This," she said, nodding toward the document, "is it true?" "What is it?" Then David's body went numb as he realized with cold horror that it was the essay he'd had to write for Directors 303 (A/N: like 101, only 3rd level). The essay about Lizzie. "How'd you get that?" "Swiped it. Don't worry, it has a grade on it," she quipped, pointing at the large red A+ at the top. "I don't care about the grade. Well, I mean, I do, but not so much as why the hell you have that!" David was getting irritated, and worried. "Are you gonna hear me out? I'm trying to tell you!" Holly's eyes went wide as she gestured wildly. For a fleeting second, David wondered if she was really sane. "Fine! Talk!" "I was in Ellegood's office talking to her about my grade, OK?" Holly began. She appeared rather agitated, as if she'd been insulted and was trying to defend herself. "And after she left, that paper was lying right there, plain as day, and anybody could have come by and seen everything. A lot of people in this school know her, from the Columbia theater collaboration. I was just trying to save you some embarrassment. Plus, I kinda wanted to find out whether my suspicions were true." "And what suspicions are those?" "The ones confirmed by this," she replied smugly, gesturing toward the paper. "The ones about you two. You're secretly in love with her!" David's eyes bulged. "Shhh! These people can hear you!" "I knew it!" she laughed, tossing a braid over her shoulder and picking up a fry. "That's so sweet!" "Do you have to announce it to the world?" David gritted his teeth and scooted his chair away from Holly. Yes, she was nice. And yes, she had good intentions. But, damn, she never gave up. "I don't, but you should." David narrowed his eyes at her. He didn't like it, but she had a point. And a good one, at that. "SO.I guess my suspicions were true, am I right?" Holly had that smug look again. David didn't like that, either. He didn't like sneaky people. "More than you know," he admitted, staring at his empty curly fry plate. Holly picked up her iced cappuccino and sipped from it gingerly. David watched her closely. He did like her, but just as a friend. She wasn't like Lizzie. But that was to be expected. Nobody was like Lizzie. Nobody had her smile, or her voice, or her ability to cheer him up in his most pissed-off of moods. "Good. You two are perfect for each other." David looked up from his plate to face her. "Yep. You heard me right. Perfect. Do I need to spell it out? Okay. P-E-R-F-E-C-T. And she'd be crazy to pass up a guy like you." "Thanks, Holly." "Wellllllllll," she began, standing up at her seat. "My work here is finished. I'd better get going. I have to meet Ryan in fifteen. Nice talking to you, Gordon." "You too," David replied. After Holly left, he looked at his watch again. 12:30. He wasn't due home until 2. Oh well, he thought. I'm going anyway. Half an hour later, David was perusing the racks at the mall. So much for going home. David didn't really like the mall, but Lizzie was about to get the part she wanted in that horrible play, and he thought that he should get her something in advance. He entered her favorite boutique, Veronique's, and picked out a black cashmere sweater, and a pink one. She looked good in black. And she liked cashmere sweaters. But pink's her favorite color, said his conscience. But she doesn't have much black. She has a lot of pink. David decided on the black one, and handed the cashier the sweater. The girl kind of reminded him of Miranda. Kind of. "Your girlfriend's lucky. Not many guys will buy their girlfriends a ninety dollar sweater." The cashier fluffed her short black bob, then proceeded to press more keys on the computer with her dangerously long red fingernails. "Oh, she's not my girlfriend." Wish she was, though. "Well, she must be pretty special." "She's my best friend. And yeah, she's special," he replied, handing her a $100 bill. "Well, she's lucky to have a friend like you," responded the cashier, giving him his change and the plastic bag containing the sweater. "Have a nice day." "You too." ********** Lizzie flipped on the stereo. Enough of this, she thought. I'm dancing. She placed her burned CD into the tray, and turned to her favorite song, "Why Can't I?" by Liz Phair. She was barely through the first chorus when a knocking at the door interrupted her. Lizzie grabbed the stereo remote and turned the volume down, then went to answer the door. She looked through the peephole and saw that it was that weird girl, Holly Robinson, from 7C. She decided that she'd be nice and open the door. "Hi," said Holly. "Can I talk to you?" "Sure," Lizzie responded. "Come on in." She held the door wide, and invited Holly inside. "So." Lizzie began. "What did you want to talk to me about?" "David." Lizzie looked at her for a second with a puzzled look on her face, then said, "Oh, you mean Gordo. What about him?" "Well," declared Holly, "it's not so much about him. It's about this." She pulled a piece of paper out of her messenger bag. Lizzie looked at it for a split second, then her eyes went wide and she asked, "How did you get this?" "Easy, turbo," Holly exclaimed. "I found it on the floor in the editing room." "Did you read it?" Lizzie asked cautiously. Holly sipped nonchalantly from her Mugshot cup. Gordo goes there a lot, Lizzie noted. "Um.duh." Lizzie started to freak out. "Well, you're not gonna tell him or anything, are you? Because if you did that'd be really bad. And then he might, like, move out or something. And then I'd be all alone here. And I'd have to move back to LA because I don't know that many people here." "Honey!" Holly interrupted. "NO, I'm not gonna tell him. But you should." "I know," Lizzie whined. "But that'd be committing total friendship suicide." "Think about it, Liz. What's more important to you? Being miserable and being friends, or taking a huge risk and possibly making one of the best decisions of your life. Just think about it." She had a point. "What if he doesn't feel the same way about me? Then nothing would ever be the same." "It's just a risk you have to take, Liz. If you decide to. And besides, I have a feeling that he might feel the same way about you." "How do you know, Holly?" Holly shrugged her shoulders. "Hunch." "Yeah, well, no offense, but hunches aren't to be trusted." Lizzie scoffed. Holly nodded her head. "Understandable." "Good. I didn't mean anything by it." "No, that's fine." Holly rose off the couch, and declared, "My work here is finished." Then she walked out the door, leaving only with a "Just think about it, Liz." "Yeah, I'll think about it, all right." Lizzie grabbed the remote once more, and turned the volume back to where it was. She resumed dancing and singing, this time to The Donnas' "Take It Off." -End of Chapter- Okay, I decided to stop it here. I don't know why. I was originally going to put part of the next chapter in this one, but I decided that doing so would make the next chapter way too short. So.come on! Review! Reviews make the world go 'round! I don't like flames though..
Update on 12/22/03: I HAVE NOT DIED! I am still very much alive and so is this story. I haven't been able to write as much lately because of various reasons, the main one being I have a family member who is very sick and in the hospital, and has been there for over a month. Plus, I've had some very challenging classes that I had midterms in last week, and with Christmas coming up it's really hard to write. I love this story and do not plan to stop writing it, I have just had a really hard time being able to write it. I will continue it when I get the chance! I just wanted to let you know that I don't plan to stop my story, and I have ideas on what I want to do. In the meantime, keep reading and reviewing! ~Lindsay
Hey guys! Your reviews reeeeeeeally encouraged me! I'm so glad that you guys like the story! And you poor, poor people that are in the same boat as me, liking your best guy friend! *Sob* My girl friends are trying to get us to go out, and he's being totally unresponsive and clueless. Grr. I know the last chapter was really spaced out between paragraphs, and that was weird. But like I said, that was my first chapter to post on FF.net. Well, actually, I suppose it was my second or third, but I wrote that other story at least 2 years ago, and it's really dumb, so if you read it, I give you my sincere apologies. It has been removed from the site, due to author's decision that it does suck. I've discovered that my 12-and 13- year-old writing sucks. I'm 15 now, my birthday wasn't too long ago. So anyways, I'll get on to the story. Review! 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. IMPORTANT: Lizzie and Gordo are older, but pretend that it's present-day, just because I'm not good at writing up things and thinking about stuff that will have happened in about 10 years. 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. Um.pretty much anything that you don't recognize is mine, and what you do recognize is not! MORE THAN GRACE Chapter 1: Holly David Gordon sat in his film history classroom Tuesday morning, fiddling with the eraser on his green mechanical pencil. He had listened to his professor talk nonstop for two straight hours, while he took notes diligently, but not really paying attention to what the professor was saying. "And so, your opinion of the significance of early films like those of Charlie Chaplin's.silent films, if you will, is to be handed in to me by next Friday. 2,000 words minimum. I have to be in a meeting in five minutes, so you will have the next twenty minutes free. Remain here if you like, but be out of here by 11," finished the professor. What seemed like an eternity later, David glanced at his watch. 10:53. Great, he thought. Another seven minutes of sitting here worrying about that damned essay. His stomach growled. 10:54. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock was taking forever to get around today. WHY did I have to write that? WHY? Somebody could tell her! David wasn't a good writer, and he knew that. His strength lay in sciences and mathematics, not in the literary fields. But everywhere, he had to write. Honors calculus, sophomore year: "Why is the derivative of x so-and-so when x equals blah in equation Ax+By=C? Show all work." Honors Chemistry IV, junior year: "Show and explain how acid HCl reacts with Mg to form a gas. What kind of gas is formed when these two combine?" Simple question. Needs a "dig deep" answer. "Dig deep" answers had never before been so difficult, until the last essay he had to write for his actual directing class. He glanced at the watch again. 10:56. Good god, who decided to make the seconds last twice as long? David ran his hand through his curls, annoyed. Most people had left, and were off to Subway or the local café/restaurant, Mugshot, to grab a bite before their next class. There were a few people left, though, and one he noticed to be Holly from 7C. I forgot she was in this class, thought David. Holly was.strange, to put it lightly. She had copper-dyed hair that hung in pigtail braids, and wore knee-high black combat boots with plaid miniskirts. The closest way he could describe her was very boho-mixed-with- G.I. Jane. She wasn't, but that was the closest way to describe her. Holly always wrote in a notebook with a battered cover once decorated in stickers from Lillith Fair. But she was always nice and he liked her enough, so after contemplation with himself, he decided to walk over and talk to her. "Hey Holly." She didn't move. She kept her head bent over her notebook, pencil scribbling furiously. "Holly?" "Just a second," she replied, exasperated. Bewildered, David headed back to his seat. It was 10:59, anyway, so class would let out in less than a minute. "David!" It took him a second to realize that Holly was calling after him. "What?" he asked, spinning around to face her. "You wanted something?" Just then, the bell rang, giving the signal that class was over. Holly was still staring him in the face, her combat boots making her tall enough to be eye-to-eye with him. "Never mind," said David, turning to walk away. Holly grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. "You wanna go to Mugshot and get something to eat? I need to talk to you anyway." The offer was tempting. He was hungry, and Mugshot had the best curly fries around. And he loved curly fries. David glanced at his watch. He had the rest of the day off. He just had to be home by two. "Alright. You need a ride?" "Umm." She furrowed her brow, and appeared to be in deep thought. "Yeah." "Okay," David replied, and they filed out of the classroom, David leading the way to his black BMW. As they made the five-minute drive to the café, they discussed one thing: Lizzie. David had never been so embarrassed in all his life. Well, maybe he had. This was Top 10 anyways. It was like Holly could see straight into his soul. "You really do love her, don't you?" asked Holly. "What? How do you know?" Holly snorted. "Are you kidding me? You two spend every waking moment together, you laugh, cry, whatever, together, and you look at her with this look on your face. It's like you can't live without her." David raised an eyebrow. He couldn't deny it. She was right. ********** For the thirty-second time, Elizabeth McGuire threw down her script. "Shit!" she yelled. "This.is not.WORKING! I give up!" She paced back and forth in her apartment living room, waving her hands wildly and muttering to herself. I wish Gordo was here, she thought. He could help me figure this crap out. Elizabeth's script was a Trent Harper, who sat in the back of her Drama 4 class and was neurotically boring, original. It was the biggest piece of crap she had ever tried to read. But if she wanted to be famous, she had to get the part of Kiki. Kiki was the main character, caught up in a silly love triangle with two guys. She ended up picking the dumb hunk, and Elizabeth didn't like that. According to her, Kiki should have picked the cutely intelligent dork, who loved her more than the dumb hunk knew how. But Kiki wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box, either, so apparently she had a reasonable excuse for choosing an idiot. But that was Trent Harper for you. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and picked up the overly decorated script, but didn't open it back up. Instead, she focused on the cover. Specifically, where she had written her name. All throughout her years at Hillridge, she had been Lizzie. Lizzie McGuire, with the hopeless crush on Ethan Craft. Lizzie McGuire, who fell down three flights of stairs on her seventeenth day as a freshman at Hillridge High. Lizzie McGuire, who loved her best friend, but couldn't tell anybody. When she went off to college, her name was on every roster as Elizabeth. People started calling her Elizabeth, and she made no effort to correct them. The only people that she knew were Gordo and Miranda, and they called her Lizzie. Her closer friends called her Lizzie, but for the most part, Elizabeth stuck. Now, instead of Lizzie that couldn't walk without tripping for one entire day to save her life, she became Elizabeth. Elizabeth McGuire, who had the looks, voice, and talent to become the "next big thing." Elizabeth McGuire, whose best friend in the world was fast on his way to becoming a famous director. But she had written her name, in her large, loopy cursive, as Lizzie. Lizzie traced the pen marks with her fingers. Why do I write Lizzie? Do I still wanna be Lizzie? I'm happy being Elizabeth. But.Gordo calls me Lizzie. I'm stuck in some kind of limbo, she decided grumpily. "Screw this," she proclaimed loudly, throwing down the script, and headed to the kitchen to find lunch. Lizzie rummaged through the pantry, and settled on a package of stir-fry. She prepared her food, and sat down to eat. But before she could get the first bite all the way to her mouth, the phone rang. "Dammit," she muttered, rising from her seat to catch the jangling phone. "Hello?" Nothing. She knew somebody was there, though, because she could hear breathing. "Hello," she said again, this time more fiercely. "May I speak to Lizzie?" said a female voice. "Speaking. Who is this?" "Lizzie, I'm sorry," said the girl. Then she hung up. Lizzie wondered out loud, "Sorry for what?" as she placed the phone back on its cradle. She looked at the Caller ID, but it just read, "Unavailable." Lizzie sighed and grabbed her stir-fry and glass of iced tea from the kitchen table. She took them into the living room, where she plopped herself down on the red couch and flipped the TV to her favorite soap opera, The Young and the Beautiful. (A/N: Haha, yep, that's the Young and the Restless mixed with the Bold and the Beautiful. I don't watch either one of them, but I didn't want any copyright stealing or anything.) Anything would be better than trying to memorize that damn script. ********** "So then, after we've been in high school, oh, a month, maybe, she wears these big platform shoes to school. This is a day where we both had a class on the top floor. Biology, I think." David popped another curly fry into his mouth, savoring the explosion of flavor to his taste buds. "Oh, I hated biology," interjected Holly. "I passed out the day we had to dissect frogs." David laughed, and continued his tale. "So yeah, we had biology on the top floor. And the bell had just rung, and everybody was rushing down the stairs to lunch. Well all three flights of stairs are together, 3 floors then a basement where the entrance to the gym was. Lizzie hangs her heel on the top step, and falls down all three flights of stairs!" Holly burst out laughing. "Oh, my God, that's hilarious! I feel sorry for Lizzie, though, falling in front of half the entire school. Was she hurt?" "Nah, just her pride, I think, and maybe a twisted ankle." "Well, that's good," she commented, taking a bite of her burger. "Yeah, it is. I'm glad that she wasn't hurt bad. A girl fell down the steps a couple of years ago, I heard, and broke a vertebrae in her neck." "Ouch," Holly replied. She reached into her messenger bag, and pulled out a document. "This," she said, nodding toward the document, "is it true?" "What is it?" Then David's body went numb as he realized with cold horror that it was the essay he'd had to write for Directors 303 (A/N: like 101, only 3rd level). The essay about Lizzie. "How'd you get that?" "Swiped it. Don't worry, it has a grade on it," she quipped, pointing at the large red A+ at the top. "I don't care about the grade. Well, I mean, I do, but not so much as why the hell you have that!" David was getting irritated, and worried. "Are you gonna hear me out? I'm trying to tell you!" Holly's eyes went wide as she gestured wildly. For a fleeting second, David wondered if she was really sane. "Fine! Talk!" "I was in Ellegood's office talking to her about my grade, OK?" Holly began. She appeared rather agitated, as if she'd been insulted and was trying to defend herself. "And after she left, that paper was lying right there, plain as day, and anybody could have come by and seen everything. A lot of people in this school know her, from the Columbia theater collaboration. I was just trying to save you some embarrassment. Plus, I kinda wanted to find out whether my suspicions were true." "And what suspicions are those?" "The ones confirmed by this," she replied smugly, gesturing toward the paper. "The ones about you two. You're secretly in love with her!" David's eyes bulged. "Shhh! These people can hear you!" "I knew it!" she laughed, tossing a braid over her shoulder and picking up a fry. "That's so sweet!" "Do you have to announce it to the world?" David gritted his teeth and scooted his chair away from Holly. Yes, she was nice. And yes, she had good intentions. But, damn, she never gave up. "I don't, but you should." David narrowed his eyes at her. He didn't like it, but she had a point. And a good one, at that. "SO.I guess my suspicions were true, am I right?" Holly had that smug look again. David didn't like that, either. He didn't like sneaky people. "More than you know," he admitted, staring at his empty curly fry plate. Holly picked up her iced cappuccino and sipped from it gingerly. David watched her closely. He did like her, but just as a friend. She wasn't like Lizzie. But that was to be expected. Nobody was like Lizzie. Nobody had her smile, or her voice, or her ability to cheer him up in his most pissed-off of moods. "Good. You two are perfect for each other." David looked up from his plate to face her. "Yep. You heard me right. Perfect. Do I need to spell it out? Okay. P-E-R-F-E-C-T. And she'd be crazy to pass up a guy like you." "Thanks, Holly." "Wellllllllll," she began, standing up at her seat. "My work here is finished. I'd better get going. I have to meet Ryan in fifteen. Nice talking to you, Gordon." "You too," David replied. After Holly left, he looked at his watch again. 12:30. He wasn't due home until 2. Oh well, he thought. I'm going anyway. Half an hour later, David was perusing the racks at the mall. So much for going home. David didn't really like the mall, but Lizzie was about to get the part she wanted in that horrible play, and he thought that he should get her something in advance. He entered her favorite boutique, Veronique's, and picked out a black cashmere sweater, and a pink one. She looked good in black. And she liked cashmere sweaters. But pink's her favorite color, said his conscience. But she doesn't have much black. She has a lot of pink. David decided on the black one, and handed the cashier the sweater. The girl kind of reminded him of Miranda. Kind of. "Your girlfriend's lucky. Not many guys will buy their girlfriends a ninety dollar sweater." The cashier fluffed her short black bob, then proceeded to press more keys on the computer with her dangerously long red fingernails. "Oh, she's not my girlfriend." Wish she was, though. "Well, she must be pretty special." "She's my best friend. And yeah, she's special," he replied, handing her a $100 bill. "Well, she's lucky to have a friend like you," responded the cashier, giving him his change and the plastic bag containing the sweater. "Have a nice day." "You too." ********** Lizzie flipped on the stereo. Enough of this, she thought. I'm dancing. She placed her burned CD into the tray, and turned to her favorite song, "Why Can't I?" by Liz Phair. She was barely through the first chorus when a knocking at the door interrupted her. Lizzie grabbed the stereo remote and turned the volume down, then went to answer the door. She looked through the peephole and saw that it was that weird girl, Holly Robinson, from 7C. She decided that she'd be nice and open the door. "Hi," said Holly. "Can I talk to you?" "Sure," Lizzie responded. "Come on in." She held the door wide, and invited Holly inside. "So." Lizzie began. "What did you want to talk to me about?" "David." Lizzie looked at her for a second with a puzzled look on her face, then said, "Oh, you mean Gordo. What about him?" "Well," declared Holly, "it's not so much about him. It's about this." She pulled a piece of paper out of her messenger bag. Lizzie looked at it for a split second, then her eyes went wide and she asked, "How did you get this?" "Easy, turbo," Holly exclaimed. "I found it on the floor in the editing room." "Did you read it?" Lizzie asked cautiously. Holly sipped nonchalantly from her Mugshot cup. Gordo goes there a lot, Lizzie noted. "Um.duh." Lizzie started to freak out. "Well, you're not gonna tell him or anything, are you? Because if you did that'd be really bad. And then he might, like, move out or something. And then I'd be all alone here. And I'd have to move back to LA because I don't know that many people here." "Honey!" Holly interrupted. "NO, I'm not gonna tell him. But you should." "I know," Lizzie whined. "But that'd be committing total friendship suicide." "Think about it, Liz. What's more important to you? Being miserable and being friends, or taking a huge risk and possibly making one of the best decisions of your life. Just think about it." She had a point. "What if he doesn't feel the same way about me? Then nothing would ever be the same." "It's just a risk you have to take, Liz. If you decide to. And besides, I have a feeling that he might feel the same way about you." "How do you know, Holly?" Holly shrugged her shoulders. "Hunch." "Yeah, well, no offense, but hunches aren't to be trusted." Lizzie scoffed. Holly nodded her head. "Understandable." "Good. I didn't mean anything by it." "No, that's fine." Holly rose off the couch, and declared, "My work here is finished." Then she walked out the door, leaving only with a "Just think about it, Liz." "Yeah, I'll think about it, all right." Lizzie grabbed the remote once more, and turned the volume back to where it was. She resumed dancing and singing, this time to The Donnas' "Take It Off." -End of Chapter- Okay, I decided to stop it here. I don't know why. I was originally going to put part of the next chapter in this one, but I decided that doing so would make the next chapter way too short. So.come on! Review! Reviews make the world go 'round! I don't like flames though..
Update on 12/22/03: I HAVE NOT DIED! I am still very much alive and so is this story. I haven't been able to write as much lately because of various reasons, the main one being I have a family member who is very sick and in the hospital, and has been there for over a month. Plus, I've had some very challenging classes that I had midterms in last week, and with Christmas coming up it's really hard to write. I love this story and do not plan to stop writing it, I have just had a really hard time being able to write it. I will continue it when I get the chance! I just wanted to let you know that I don't plan to stop my story, and I have ideas on what I want to do. In the meantime, keep reading and reviewing! ~Lindsay