Disclaimer: I don't own anybody in this story except Zelda and her family.
A/N: To those of you who have reviewed, thank you so much. Wow, I can't believe Zelda is so popular. And I'm sorry. I had no idea that Larry's eyes were dark blue. I hadn't seen any close up pics of him and figured that since his hair was brown, his eyes probably would be too. Sorry again.
A/N 2: Zelda's house is a story and a half. As in, all the rooms are on the first floor except her bedroom and the guest bathroom.
A/N 3: I had no songs that fit this chapter, so I just chose a song to fit Zelda's personality. Shrug.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She introduced herself as Amy,
Said 'Call me Caroline for short.'
She said 'I just moved in three doors down,
So I wouldn't be the girl next door.'"
-Lonestar, She's Unusually Unusual
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Zelda*
From my bedroom I heard the gentle knock on the front door and knew immediately who it would be. After all, he'd called but an hour prior, to alert me of his impending presence. I've never been a big fan of surprises.
"Hello, Larry," I heard my mother greet my best friend.
I could practically picture the respectful smile that would light his eyes. "Hello, Mrs. Carmichael. You look especially lovely this evening."
Oh please. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom. She's really great. But… lovely? From the mouth of a 14 year old boy?
She chuckled, always impressed by flattery. "Zelda's in her room," she informed him. "You might want to see if you can assist her in some way. She's been up there sorting through clothes for at least 30 minutes."
Almost immediately, he was at my door.
"Come in," I called, frowning at the disarray my room had become.
He stepped inside and raised a questioning eyebrow. I quickly held up my hand before he could speak.
"One word about the condition of my bedroom," I warned, "And you'll be walking funny for a week."
He laughed and dropped himself onto my bed. "Getting ready for your date?"
Staring at my closet impatiently, I replied, "Yeah. But it's not going very well."
"Why?"
I gestured to the scattered pairs of jeans and tee shirts that littered my carpeted floor. "I don't own date clothes," I snapped irritably.
He rose and lifted a dress that had been discarded in my frustration. "What's wrong with this?"
I glared. "It's a Halloween costume from last year. So unless you WANT me to go as Little Bo Peep, I think we can safely remove it from consideration." (A/N If you know what show that line is based on, you get a cookie. Well, okay, not really, but I'll think you're really cool.)
Wincing, he replaced it for a mid-length denim skirt and a light pink, silk blouse.
"That's what I'm wearing to church tomorrow," I explained.
He rolled his eyes and tossed the outfit to me. Or at me. "I'll help you wash it."
Shrugging, I gathered my clothes and retreated to the bathroom to get ready.
As I curled my hair, I allowed my thoughts to wander to the impending evening. My stomach was in butterflies. Sure, I had been in plays, but as a member of the CHORUS! Real acting wasn't something I excelled at. And yet I was supposed to convince a guy I had barely even met that I was enjoying spending time with him? That my thoughts weren't on a certain taller best friend? That I could imagine myself with anyone but Larry Tudgeman?
I swallowed the disheartened sigh that was rising to my lips. I had gotten myself into this, I reminded myself. Friendship was more important. To tell him would be to throw away the best relationship of my entire existence. And what would I gain, anyway? Nothing. A "Just Friends" speech.
Taking a deep breath, I returned the curling iron to my bathroom closet, then stepped into my bedroom, fully dressed.
"Wow, you look… I mean, I've never…." He groped for words. Then he surprised me with a very Cary Grant smile. "You've never looked better."
I flushed, and draped my hands behind my back so that, hopefully, he wouldn't see them tremble. "Thanks."
He got off the bed. "Am I still riding with you?" he asked.
I nodded. Gordo had insisted that we meet a the theater, which was fine with me. It meant that, as long as I was early, Larry could come along and keep an eye on the pseudo-date.
"Shall we go then," he suggested, offering me his arm.
I took it, and prayed that he couldn't tell that I was shaking.
***
"No sign of Gordo," I remarked as we stepped out of the car and into the cool night.
"I'm going to go on in, then," he informed me. I must have responded since he suddenly darted away, but I had absolutely no idea what had come out of my mouth.
I slowly followed, absorbing the gentle breeze. When I reached the ticket counter, in an attempt to look casual, I leaned against the wall. Gordo and I had agreed to meet outside.
"Zelda," I heard someone call. I turned and forced a smile as my victim approached.
"Hey, Gordo," I greeted.
He paid for our tickets (though I practically begged for him not to. The guilt was rapidly increasing) and we stepped inside the theater.
"Want some popcorn," he offered.
If I ever ate again, it would be entirely too soon.
"No thanks."
He shrugged and got himself a small, and then ordered two large drinks. I accepted mine gratefully.
Ugh. I hated myself.
"I guess we should go ahead and grab a seat," I found myself saying. He looked at me oddly, and no wonder. I could hear the straggled tone in my voice. I had asked him out and now I could barely choke out my words.
Just breathe. In, out, in, out.
He pointed to a pair of empty seats in the middle and I sank into mine automatically.
"So…" The silence hung in the air, almost palpable. I searched the room with my eyes, hoping that he wouldn't notice. And when my gaze fell on my best friend, sitting in the back, giving me a comforting thumbs up, I felt my whole body relax.
Just like that, I could inhale normally.
"So, Gordo, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?"
I knew that the previews wouldn't begin for at least another 5 minutes, and we couldn't simply sit there, not speaking.
He shifted. "Direct," he answered automatically, as if this was a question he received every day.
"Plays? Movies? Sitcoms?"
He grinned. "Movies."
"Wow. Cause I want to write for them."
I'd impressed him, I could tell.
"Really?"
"Really."
Suddenly, the conversation began to flow. "I always have," I continued. "I mean, I always knew I wanted to write, but it wasn't until I realized just how badly I sucked at description that I knew that screenwriting was for me."
He chuckled at that, and I found myself doing the same. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be that bad.
Or, at least, that's what I was thinking when my eyes rested on someone entering, obviously trying to be discrete.
I knew immediately who it was, but in a horrified haze, I hoped that I was wrong.
The crazed expression on Larry's face lead me to believe that I was inexplicably correct.
Lizzie McGuire was upon us.
A/N: To those of you who have reviewed, thank you so much. Wow, I can't believe Zelda is so popular. And I'm sorry. I had no idea that Larry's eyes were dark blue. I hadn't seen any close up pics of him and figured that since his hair was brown, his eyes probably would be too. Sorry again.
A/N 2: Zelda's house is a story and a half. As in, all the rooms are on the first floor except her bedroom and the guest bathroom.
A/N 3: I had no songs that fit this chapter, so I just chose a song to fit Zelda's personality. Shrug.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She introduced herself as Amy,
Said 'Call me Caroline for short.'
She said 'I just moved in three doors down,
So I wouldn't be the girl next door.'"
-Lonestar, She's Unusually Unusual
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Zelda*
From my bedroom I heard the gentle knock on the front door and knew immediately who it would be. After all, he'd called but an hour prior, to alert me of his impending presence. I've never been a big fan of surprises.
"Hello, Larry," I heard my mother greet my best friend.
I could practically picture the respectful smile that would light his eyes. "Hello, Mrs. Carmichael. You look especially lovely this evening."
Oh please. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom. She's really great. But… lovely? From the mouth of a 14 year old boy?
She chuckled, always impressed by flattery. "Zelda's in her room," she informed him. "You might want to see if you can assist her in some way. She's been up there sorting through clothes for at least 30 minutes."
Almost immediately, he was at my door.
"Come in," I called, frowning at the disarray my room had become.
He stepped inside and raised a questioning eyebrow. I quickly held up my hand before he could speak.
"One word about the condition of my bedroom," I warned, "And you'll be walking funny for a week."
He laughed and dropped himself onto my bed. "Getting ready for your date?"
Staring at my closet impatiently, I replied, "Yeah. But it's not going very well."
"Why?"
I gestured to the scattered pairs of jeans and tee shirts that littered my carpeted floor. "I don't own date clothes," I snapped irritably.
He rose and lifted a dress that had been discarded in my frustration. "What's wrong with this?"
I glared. "It's a Halloween costume from last year. So unless you WANT me to go as Little Bo Peep, I think we can safely remove it from consideration." (A/N If you know what show that line is based on, you get a cookie. Well, okay, not really, but I'll think you're really cool.)
Wincing, he replaced it for a mid-length denim skirt and a light pink, silk blouse.
"That's what I'm wearing to church tomorrow," I explained.
He rolled his eyes and tossed the outfit to me. Or at me. "I'll help you wash it."
Shrugging, I gathered my clothes and retreated to the bathroom to get ready.
As I curled my hair, I allowed my thoughts to wander to the impending evening. My stomach was in butterflies. Sure, I had been in plays, but as a member of the CHORUS! Real acting wasn't something I excelled at. And yet I was supposed to convince a guy I had barely even met that I was enjoying spending time with him? That my thoughts weren't on a certain taller best friend? That I could imagine myself with anyone but Larry Tudgeman?
I swallowed the disheartened sigh that was rising to my lips. I had gotten myself into this, I reminded myself. Friendship was more important. To tell him would be to throw away the best relationship of my entire existence. And what would I gain, anyway? Nothing. A "Just Friends" speech.
Taking a deep breath, I returned the curling iron to my bathroom closet, then stepped into my bedroom, fully dressed.
"Wow, you look… I mean, I've never…." He groped for words. Then he surprised me with a very Cary Grant smile. "You've never looked better."
I flushed, and draped my hands behind my back so that, hopefully, he wouldn't see them tremble. "Thanks."
He got off the bed. "Am I still riding with you?" he asked.
I nodded. Gordo had insisted that we meet a the theater, which was fine with me. It meant that, as long as I was early, Larry could come along and keep an eye on the pseudo-date.
"Shall we go then," he suggested, offering me his arm.
I took it, and prayed that he couldn't tell that I was shaking.
***
"No sign of Gordo," I remarked as we stepped out of the car and into the cool night.
"I'm going to go on in, then," he informed me. I must have responded since he suddenly darted away, but I had absolutely no idea what had come out of my mouth.
I slowly followed, absorbing the gentle breeze. When I reached the ticket counter, in an attempt to look casual, I leaned against the wall. Gordo and I had agreed to meet outside.
"Zelda," I heard someone call. I turned and forced a smile as my victim approached.
"Hey, Gordo," I greeted.
He paid for our tickets (though I practically begged for him not to. The guilt was rapidly increasing) and we stepped inside the theater.
"Want some popcorn," he offered.
If I ever ate again, it would be entirely too soon.
"No thanks."
He shrugged and got himself a small, and then ordered two large drinks. I accepted mine gratefully.
Ugh. I hated myself.
"I guess we should go ahead and grab a seat," I found myself saying. He looked at me oddly, and no wonder. I could hear the straggled tone in my voice. I had asked him out and now I could barely choke out my words.
Just breathe. In, out, in, out.
He pointed to a pair of empty seats in the middle and I sank into mine automatically.
"So…" The silence hung in the air, almost palpable. I searched the room with my eyes, hoping that he wouldn't notice. And when my gaze fell on my best friend, sitting in the back, giving me a comforting thumbs up, I felt my whole body relax.
Just like that, I could inhale normally.
"So, Gordo, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?"
I knew that the previews wouldn't begin for at least another 5 minutes, and we couldn't simply sit there, not speaking.
He shifted. "Direct," he answered automatically, as if this was a question he received every day.
"Plays? Movies? Sitcoms?"
He grinned. "Movies."
"Wow. Cause I want to write for them."
I'd impressed him, I could tell.
"Really?"
"Really."
Suddenly, the conversation began to flow. "I always have," I continued. "I mean, I always knew I wanted to write, but it wasn't until I realized just how badly I sucked at description that I knew that screenwriting was for me."
He chuckled at that, and I found myself doing the same. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be that bad.
Or, at least, that's what I was thinking when my eyes rested on someone entering, obviously trying to be discrete.
I knew immediately who it was, but in a horrified haze, I hoped that I was wrong.
The crazed expression on Larry's face lead me to believe that I was inexplicably correct.
Lizzie McGuire was upon us.