This took me a bit longer to get posted than I'd intended. Sorry! But thank you to those who took the time to review this li'l story. linz, I'm honored you like my writing style! I3itterSweet, this is most certainly an L/G and thanks for the encouragement! Joe Normal, as someone who also doesn't typically review even the stories I really like, I thank you so much for taking the time to respond; I have every intention of continuing this little ditty.
Thanks and I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.
Chapter 2: Favorite Dame
"So, w-wait a minute," Miranda Sanchez said from inside her gym shirt. Her head popped out and she reached a hand to straighten her ruffled bangs. "Gordo's going to this UCLA film workshop thing this July?" Lizzie, who had made it to the locker room and changed into her gym suit before the late bell even rang, nodded from her seat in front of her closed locker. "That's amazing, chica!"
Lizzie's mouth dropped open. Amazing, yeah, but what about the whole Gordo not telling them thing? "Did he tell you he was applying?" she demanded. Miranda looked up from neatly rolling her blouse.
"No. But so what? It's not like he has to tell me everything." She went back to rolling, then froze halfway to lifting the garment to the shelf high inside the locker, her dark eyes narrowed. "Oh. This is like Brooke Baker all over again."
Huh?
"Huh?"
"You're upset he didn't tell you," Miranda pronounced with a knowing nod.
"As I recall, in seventh grade we were both upset that Gordo hadn't told us he was dating Brooke Baker. And I don't really think you can compare this situation, anyway. After all, Gordo hasn't been kissing the UCLA workshop."
Miranda smirked, tugging out of her jeans. "I knew you were jealous in seventh grade!"
"What? Where do you get that from? That wasn't what I meant at all!" Never mind that she was probably right. "Okay, so, yeah, I was jealous in seventh grade, but that's not what I'm talking about here."
Miranda raised her eyebrow in that trademark way, the way that said Right, you just keep telling yourself that, chica. Lizzie ignored it and pressed on, "I just mean that, well, Gordo—a-and Am—they are both planning their futures. This workshop, colleges in New York—"
"Wait a minute," Miranda interrupted, "'colleges in New York'? You didn't mention that part. What about colleges in New York?"
Lizzie sighed and gave a quick run-through of the lunch conversation. "They both just know what they're going to do, Miranda. And where they want to go. I can't even decide if I like acting or science better, let alone pick someplace to learn about either one."
"Which is ironic considering how much you hated both being in front of people and dissecting octopuses in middle school," Miranda mused as she pulled on her gym shorts and sat down to yank on her socks.
"Miranda! Enough about middle school! I think the summer before freshman year did more than enough to change things!" Not the least of which was her problem with stage fright. "Can we focus on now? Can we focus on the future?"
"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a knot!" Miranda, busy forcing her feet into her tennis shoes, didn't see the startled, amused look Lizzie shot her way. Knickers in a knot?! "Okay, so you're worried about not having plans for your future?" She glanced up through strands of red-tinted black hair and Lizzie nodded. "Liz, don't worry about it, okay? Gordo's always been ahead of the game. Remember, he had the chance to go to high school a year before us, finish high school in two years, and finish college by the time we were only starting at a university. He's probably been thinking about his college plans for years. And he's always wanted to be a director. Face it, Gordo's been a little adult almost since elementary school. You and I—and the rest of the high school—have had to do a little growing up first."
She bent back to her shoelaces and Lizzie nodded again as she watched Miranda cross and loop and pull. It was true. Gordo had never seemed to not know where he was going in life. Still.... "What about Am?"
Miranda straightened from her shoes and grabbed Lizzie's hand. "What about Am? Amaryllis Smith is a rare breed—quirky, confident, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. She's basically David Gordon in female form. Don't go comparing yourself to her, either. Look at me, okay? I don't know where I'm going to college. Some days I think I'd like to do music. Some days I think I'd like to do art. Some days I think I'll join the Peace Corps. Most of our friends are the same way. Tudgeman's clueless, Veruca's clueless, Jon's clueless, Ethan's clueless, Maggie's clueless, Bethel's clueless, well, you see what I mean. You're in good company, okay?"
Lizzie nodded.
"Now," Miranda stood up, "does that help at all?" Did it? Lizzie felt a little calmer, that was for sure. At last, she nodded again. "Good. Now come on. I need to kick some soccer balls...and you need to trip on some!" Miranda darted out of the way before Lizzie could thwap her shoulder.
"Hey," Lizzie protested, "aren't you supposed to be my best friend?"
"Yeah," Miranda giggled, "but I just totally talked you off a ledge. That means I get full rights to make fun of you for a while. Best Friend Rule #1193."
"I thought Best Friend Rule #1193 was 'Friends don't let friends drive drunk," Lizzie countered, following Miranda out of the locker room.
"Ha! Don't even mess with the authoress of the Best Friend Rulebook, chica! Especially when she's a killer soccer player." Miranda mimed kicking a ball at Lizzie. Lizzie laughed but her stomach had grown heavy again. Blech. Well, at least this time it was only the humiliating idea of playing soccer that was wreaking havoc with her insides and not her own future....
Gordo's future.
She swallowed at the anxiety and ran to join the rest of her gym class, telling herself firmly that she would connect with a soccer ball without falling over today.
********#######*********
Lizzie walked into her next class, English Honors, ten minutes late, books in one hand, an ice pack in the other.
"Nice of you to join us, Ms McGuire," Mrs. Pierson greeted, her smile a shade more amused than Lizzie wished.
"Sorry," Lizzie murmured, attempting to find the tardy pass the nurse had given her. "There was an, uh, incident in gym class."
"So I can see." The young woman's smile slid into sympathetic. "Don't worry about the pass, I think that bruise is excuse enough." A few snickers drifted from the back of the class, ceased immediately at the quelling glance the teacher shot their way. "Why don't you go ahead and take your seat, Lizzie. I was just about to allow some discussion time for a project I've assigned. I'm sure your partner, Mr. Gordon, will be happy to explain it all to you."
Lizzie nodded, absurdly grateful, and made her way across the room to the empty seat beside Gordo. She passed Bethel Washington and Larry Tudgeman on her way—they wore the exact same pained expression that she found waiting on Gordo's face.
Lizzie dropped her books to the desktop and slouched into her seat, relieved when Mrs. Pierson repeated her instructions to, "Go ahead, discuss, this is all the in-class time you get," and the room filled with chatter. Lizzie felt a tug on the ice pack in her hand, let it go, and turned just as Gordo applied it to the black, spreading bruise smudging her cheekbone. The cold felt so good, numbing the steady throb, and Lizzie fought against the urge to close her eyes.
"What happened, McGuire?" Gordo asked.
"Did you trip over another soccer ball?" Bethel was probably the only person Lizzie knew who could've gotten away with that question at this precise moment. Her voice was low and soothing, not a hint of amusement in it at all. Lizzie twisted a little to see that both Bethel and Tudgeman had turned in their seats. Bethel's black eyes were filled with concern.
Lizzie's mouth gained a wry curve. "No. I actually kicked the soccer ball today. I just didn't expect Jill Davison's return kick to land at my face." All three of them winced in concert. "Yeah," Lizzie agreed. "So, one nurse's trip later and here I am."
"No other damage beyond the bruise, I assume," Gordo asserted, shifting the ice pack a little on her cheek. Lizzie hummed a negative.
"That's good," Tudgeman said, chucking a gentle fist against the uninjured side of Lizzie's jaw. "Wouldn't want my favorite dame missin' out on a crazy, mixed-up project like this."
Gordo smiled, shot a glance at Tudgeman. "I think she's my favorite dame this time around, Tudge. As I recall, she's my partner for this 'crazy, mixed-up project,' not yours."
Lizzie rolled her eyes, swallowed a moan at the hot ache that rose along her left brow bone. Reaching up, she took the ice pack from Gordo's hand and set it down on the desk. "Well, this dame would like to know how exactly she got partnered and what exactly this project is about."
"Yeah, and this dame would like to get to work on the project with her partner," Bethel added, her smile bright against her dark skin.
"Duty calls," Tudgeman lamented, "but I hope you feel better soon, chickadee." With a wink, he joined Bethel in spinning to face front again.
Lizzie shook her head, mouthing, "Chickadee?" and gingerly raised her eyebrows at Gordo. "So?"
He shrugged. "Well, when you weren't here and Mrs. Pierson announced the assignment, I figured you'd probably rather be my partner than, say, Tudgeman's. I assume I'm right?"
Lizzie nodded, lifting the ice pack to her face again. "So what's this project, then?" she asked.
"Ah, yes, the project. Basically, we're supposed to research a literary genre—you know, like horror, fantasy, sci-fi, romance, tragedy—and present it to the class. Mrs. Pierson wants a general history of the genre but she also wants a more specific reason for why that genre exists in literature."
That didn't sound too bad. "Okay. So, what genre do you want to do?"
Gordo smirked. "Ah, you see, no one group can have the same genre, so Mrs. Pierson made up some slips, tossed 'em in her favorite ball cap, and had each group draw one randomly." He held up a small piece of paper. "We got fairy tales."
Lizzie frowned. It had been years since she'd had any contact at all with fairy tales. Well, beyond the usual Disney movie or cultural reference, that is. "Fairy tales have a history?" she said at last.
Gordo laughed. "I guess we'll find out." His eyes drifted down her face—to her bruise, judging by the way his smile fell away, eyebrows drawing together over darkened blue-grey eyes. He reached over, fingers skimming the back of her hand before joining her grip along the ice pack. "I'm sorry, Liz," he breathed. "You know, someone told me once that you're only supposed to ice injuries for about fifteen to twenty minutes at a time."
Lizzie couldn't help her grin. "I told you that, Gordo. And it's actually been about fifteen minutes already." She lowered the ice pack and his hand dropped back to his side.
"Oh." His answering grin was sheepish. "Well, never let it be said that I don't listen to you."
"Oh, never," Lizzie agreed. "You just don't remember that it's me you're listening to."
"Eh," Gordo dismissed with a roll of a shoulder, "nobody's perfect. You can't possibly expect me to maintain my—how did you put it?—creative genius and still remember all the details like who said what."
Obviously. If you remembered details you'd remember it was Am talking about creative genius, not me. The thought burned through her mind, acid, leaving all the green and growing things dried and dust.
Lizzie turned and hid behind the long fall of her hair, pretending to straighten the ice pack on her desk, trying to ignore the brown wasteland behind her eyes. When she turned back to Gordo, her head was filled with the questions of earlier. Just what kind of a best friend didn't tell you about his life plans, dated another of your friends secretly, and then arranged to go halfway around the world to pursue his future?
She was overreacting. She knew she was overreacting. But the question was there and it wouldn't go away and her mouth was opening to ask it. At the last instant, she managed to blurt, "So when's this project due?" instead.
If Gordo noted a change in her voice, he didn't let on. Still smiling, he said, "Next Friday. Do you want to get together tonight to work on it?"
Again the words tumbled out of her without permission, "Uh, no. No, I have that paper for Dawson due on Monday, so I should probably get to work on that tonight. Maybe we can do some research, you know, on our own. Compare notes in a few days?"
His smile dimmed a little at that. "Uh, okay." Yeah, yeah, some searing voice in the back of her mind retorted, so it's not standard operating procedure. You're not exactly following Best Friend SOP, either, are ya, Gordo? Lizzie did her best to shove the thought back where it belonged—in a closet, in a trunk, below the floorboards somewhere. What was wrong with her?
Trying for the usual helpful, willing Lizzie, she pasted a small smile on her lips and asked, "So how do you want to split the research?"
Seemingly reassured, Gordo's smile regained its brightness. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe one of us can look up the history and one of us can look up some specific types of fairy tales—you know, maybe from other countries. There might be some info on what those specific fairy tales refer to or even what they mean. Which do you want?"
Lizzie bit her lip. "Uh...." How long did it take to read through fairy tales? For that matter, how long did it take to read through a history of fairy tales? Perhaps it was mostly an excuse, but she really did have that science paper to work on and she'd rather devote most of her time to that.
Gordo tapped a hand on the top of his desk. "How 'bout this?" he asked. "Since you have that paper, maybe you can concentrate on just reading European fairy tales, while I do both the history and the fairy tales I can find from everywhere else."
Wow. "That would be great." Well, if she hadn't felt bad before.... "Thank you, Gordo. Are you sure that's okay?"
He shrugged. "For my favorite dame," he mimicked Tudgeman, "anything."
And now she really felt bad.
***
end of chapter 2