[Disclaimer: I don't own Lizzie McGuire, or the movie Sweet Fifteen, which this is based loosely around.

Personal Notes:

sully vann- There may or may not be L/G. And Larry as one of the choices? We'll see. Gosh, I'm obtuse. Heheh, sorry!

KT the Shimmer Skank- I actually thought about what you said about not making it predictable, and I completely agree. Most of what I write on here is very predictable (aka very L/G, heh) so I'm going to have fun writing about Miranda's issues and such. And it's such a relief to see you think I have Miranda right, because as I was writing it, I almost decided to give up on the entire thing, because I thought I had her completely OOC. So thank you for the reassurance!

Hamtaro Cutie- Don't worry, I'm an L/G freak too. :)

PinkPrincess- Ah, you've had a quinceanera? Very cool! If you could, please let me know if I get any of the cultural things completely out of wack, because I would just feel really dumb if I did. And thank you very much!

And of course, thank you to every single reviewer! I don't think I've ever gotten such a big positive response on a first chapter on any of my stories! Thank you so much! Ahhh I'm weird.

Here we go, chapter 2...]

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Normally, I liked playing dress-up. Even though my style was a lot more punk-ish and tomboy-ish than Lizzie's, I still savored those fancy occasions where I got to deck myself out in pink and purple from head to toe. And I was so sure this would be one of those occasions.

I thought wrong.

Instead, my mom made me wear this atrocious piece of frilly garbage. It was completely white. It looked exactly like this dress I saw on a 5 year old going to church on Easter Sunday last year. Does my mom not realize that I am nearly 15 years old? It was so babyish. And I'm supposed to be finding an escort to my quinceanera...in this?!

And it was girly, yes, but almost...too girly. I'm almost 15 years old. Maybe I should be looking for dresses more...womanly.

But I was coping.

Lizzie was so lucky, in her little flowy purple and white floral dress. Mine was made of such thick material, it was making me sweat like a pig. Actually, at this point, I think I'd rather be Gordo. Khakis, button-down, and a tie.

Guys are so lucky. They're so lucky other guys don't care what they wear. But girls, on the other hand, scrutinize on every minor detail of each others' outfits. Who really cares? Wear clothes because you like them, not because the fashon editors of every teen magazine in America like them.

Finally, another song came to a close, and across the room I saw Annabella beaming with happiness. Her eyes wandered around the room until they settled on me. She only beamed more at the sight of me, and I smiled politely back. I didn't realize she would start running towards me with a couple friends of hers, as if my smile was some sort of invitation.

Miranda! ¿Que tal, chica? she said, still smiling gloriously with those sparkling, perfect white teeth of hers. Her dark brown curls were actually fixed for this occasion. She was one of those girls who was brought up learning both Spanish and English. I knew some Spanish phrases, but none were really hammered into me by my parents.

I said, nervously. Nothing much!

she squealed, obviously not paying much attention to my answers. These are my friends, Elena. She motioned to the short plump girl to her left. And Camile. She motioned to the girl to Elena's left, tall with a pointy nose.

I saw Camille whisper something into Elena's ear, who whispered the same thing into Annabella's ear. Secrets, secrets, are no fun...' I started to recite in my head.

Annabella giggled, cutting off my thoughts, who's your friend?

Oops. I had completely forgotten about Lizzie and Gordo, probably debilitated from the constant tittering from the three girls in front of us. But when I turned to them, they were wearing great, big (fake) smiles.

But wait, my friend? As in singular? As in not plural? As in they just left out either Lizzie or Gordo?

Aww, poor Gordo. I mean, he always get forgotten. We don't mean to, it's just, he's a guy, and well, we're not always sure he...wants...to...

Why is Camille batting her eyelashes at Gordo?

Oh. Oh.

Don't get too excited now, I said unenthusiastically. It's only Gordo.

Annabella yelled. This boy is not fat! She started thinking. Well, maybe he has a little baby fat... She rethought it. But that does not give you the right to insult him like that!

Lizzie cracked up, Gordo furled his eyebrows, and I shook my head in utter pity. Didn't I already explain this to her?

Didn't I already explain this to you? His name is David Gordon. We call him Gordo. It's a nickname. It has nothing to do with the Spanish word. Oh, and just in case you care, this is my friend, Lizzie McGuire. She's my friend, too, though I doubt you care because she's not a guy. We both sneered at each other, and she stomped away in a huff with Elena by her side.

Way to ruin Annabella's quinceanera, Miranda, Camille scoffed, and ran to join up with her posse.

It's funny, I went on to explain to Lizzie and Gordo, you usually think of the annoying, giggly people as the beautiful, popular people. But those three right there are living proof that you can be unattractive and annoying.

Miranda, you are definitely the best friend a girl could ask for, Lizzie avowed. I noticed Gortdo sinking slowly into his seat with his head hanging in disappointment. Argh, Lizzie, stop complimenting me! Or at least compliment Gordo, too! In fact, why not ask Gordo out on a date? Pleaseee, something, I feel horrible for this kid. Which is why I have to ask, she continued, looking over my shoulder at something, who is that hotty?

I did a complete flip-around from my spot to see him. He was the one who would escort me to my quinceanera. He had to do it. Why?

He was seriously the hottest boy I had ever seen.

When it comes to most boys, I'm cool as ice. I'm slick, I'm smooth, and I know what I want...and I go after it. But when it came to hot boys, I felt so intimidated and inferior. I wasn't the confident one anymore; they were. And I just could not control my giddiness.

Obviously, you guys aren't gonna go talk to him, Gordo chimed in. So you know what? I'm going to talk to him. Lizzie and I both looked at him, horrified. Don't worry, I'll put in a good word...for both of you.

As Gordo stood up and sauntered over to the boy, the two of us sat on the edge of our seats. I realized a long time ago that Gordo has difficulty talking to other guys--especially guys more attractive than him. (I guess he's got that inferior complex, too.)

Things seemed to be going okay. After a few minutes had passed, I noticed Gordo walking back...with the boy right behind him! Lizzie and I both worked furiously to fix our hair and make sure we looked our best.

Andres, I'd like you to meet my friend Miranda. Ohh, he was even cuter up close. He had this spiky black hair and deep brown eyes. Andres, what an adorable name... Miranda, this is Andres. And slowly, Gordo backed away to give us some privacy.

I glanced quickly over to Lizzie and Gordo. I hadn't even realized that Gordo hadn't introduced Andres to Lizzie, and she was the one who spotted him. I felt really bad, but what was I supposed to do? Say, hey, you should talk to my friend first'?

he said, huskily.

I said, back, nervously biting my lower lip. The awkward silence was torturous.

Would you like to dance? he asked. And I nodded affirmatively.

We went on onto the dance floor and tried to waltz. We kept stepping on each other's feet, but continued on anyway.

If you don't mind me asking, he said, smirking a bit, how old are you?

I'm turning 15 in a few weeks, I said, nodding, trying to avoid saying 14' for fear he would reject me because of my age.

So you're 14?

I sighed.

You caught me. We chuckled a little, before returning to ultra-serious, feet-conscious mood.

I am 17. I nearly choked on that one. Seventeen? Oh no, my parents didn't even like me dating guys my own age! But seventeen?! I can't let this continue or it might get too serious. He might actually start to lik... Miranda, you're very pretty. I just know I turned several shades of red at that second. I know this may seem sort of sudden, but I would very much like to see you again. Do you think I could?

I wanted so badly to say yes. But he was right--it was so sudden. I just saw this guy for the first time, and he was so much older and my parents would never let me even go near the guy and...

I'm sure we could work something out. Wishful thinking. I could not reject that sweet face, though. I decided to change the subject. So, um, how do you know Annabella?

I'm her friend's cousin. Do you know Camille?

My head sunk from my shoulders.

Just my luck.

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[A/N: This is gonna be a sorta short story, seeing as how I'm already getting into the main plot in the 2nd chapter (something I don't do very often).

Hey, I wrote this all in one day! That is such a miracle for me, and junk.

Lemme know what you think: please review. Thanks!]