A/N: Hi, my lovely readers-and-reviewers. How are you doing today? ::Sigh:: I honestly have no idea how I'm feeling. My Grampaw just died this week, and things have just been hectic. Alas, whenever I'm feeling depressed, I usually write, and Chapter 3 was birthed from it. This isn't a depressing chapter, though, so don't be alarmed! I'd just like to dedicate this to Robert H...the best man I knew to walk the face of this Earth (After Christ Jesus, of course).
God is good all the time, and all the time, God is good!
Chapter 3Hands clasping two steaming hot Styrofoam cups filled to the brim with coffee, Lizzie led the way to a small booth inside the local Amy Joy. Miranda followed, carrying a small, flimsy box of chocolate covered sprinkle doughnuts. Miranda slid into the booth, and Lizzie did the same opposite her, slightly tipping the cups away from her body and splashing a spot of coffee on the sticky table's surface.
"So tell me how it was, girl! I can't wait a second longer!" Miranda burst out, big brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. Lizzie's lips expanded to reveal a horribly cheesy, gum-bearing, goofy faced grin and a high-pitched giggle to boot. She'd been avoiding Miranda's question about working with Ethan Craft on the project all throughout the day, afraid that she might act like a bumbling, lovesick fool in front of her classmates. Now in the comfort of the empty Amy Joy building, she wasn't afraid to behave like the excited, slightly infatuated teenager that she was.
"Oh gosh, Miranda!" Lizzie gasped, dumping several packets of sugar into her coffee. "He is SOOO adorable, and so gentlemanly—you wouldn't believe it. Do you want to know what he SAID to me?!"
"What?" Miranda returned, feasting off of Lizzie's contagious high spirits.
"He said..." Lizzie paused, hoping to build suspense on Miranda's receiving end of the story. "He said, right before the bell rang, that he is 'so glad that we're working together on this project'."
The pair squealed in unison, causing a rather confused cashier to turn his head in the direction of the girls. But they paid him no mind. "What else did he say? What did you guys talk about?" Miranda questioned, eager to drink in all the details she possibly could.
Lizzie bit off a hunk of a doughnut slathered in gooey chocolate while thinking over the conversation carefully in her mind. "Well, we talked about our favorite books and—get this, Miranda. Ethan reads the Bible! Isn't that insane? Even my parents don't read the Bible!"
"Yeah, that's funny. I mean, he just doesn't seem like the 'religious' type."
"That's what I said to him! At first, I thought he was just joking about the 'Bible thing', but he's actually really into this religious stuff."
Miranda took a swig of coffee and fiddled with the fringe of a nearby napkin. "So think you'll end up doing the Bible then?"
Lizzie paused to think for a moment. "That seems to be the case. I really don't care. I mean—come on, Miranda—I'm working with Ethan Craft! We could paint a scene from 'The Cat In the Hat' for all I care!"
Miranda laughed. "So he wasn't anything like your dream then?"
"Not even close," Lizzie said, twisting a lock of her blonde hair absentmindedly around her finger. "He was so...chaste. Like, he actually cared more the size of my brain than the size of my bra."
Miranda's deep chocolate-colored eyes widened, impressed. "A rare find among the sixteen-year-old male population."
"Yeah," Lizzie remarked. "It's funny--the only other decent guy I know our age is Gord..."
Lizzie felt her face fall. The pair of friends sipped their coffee in silence for what seemed like minutes. Slowly, Lizzie lowered the cup from her lips and cleared her throat. "I THOUGHT Gordo was the only other decent guy I knew," she corrected herself angrily. "But, of course, he had to prove THAT theory wrong with his smart mouth."
"He was such a jerk to you this morning. I wonder what got into him," Miranda pondered aloud.
"I have no idea, but—oh gosh, Miranda. It's five o' clock already; I have to get home and start dinner."
"Alright," Miranda sighed reluctantly. "Is your mom working late again?"
Lizzie nodded. Ever since her mother had started volunteering at the local homeless shelter, she'd been spending more time with the homeless than with her own family. In a way, it was a relief in Lizzie's eyes to have her mom off her back, and yet, she couldn't help but feel that her mother was becoming a stranger to her.
Most nights Jo worked at the homeless shelter, leaving Sam, Matt, and Lizzie to feast on a microwavable dinner in front of the TV. As much as she hated to admit it, Lizzie missed the many dinners she'd spent talking (or bickering) with her family around the circular table in their kitchen.
Releasing a small groan, Lizzie stood up from the tacky orange bench, inching her way out of the booth. "I wish I could get MY mom off my back for once," Miranda offered, gathering the empty Styrofoam cups and paper napkins in her hands before tossing them in the trash.
"I used to wish the same thing," Lizzie began, slinging her beaded denim purse over her shoulder. "I guess you don't really appreciate what you have until it's gone."
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She fiddled with the lock-and-key for a minute before pausing to look up at the house in confusion. "WHAT is that noise coming from inside?!" Lizzie questioned in a tone both angry and bemused. When left unsupervised, Sam and Matt McGuire could be a handful. The sound coming from the house was a loud rumble intermixed with her mother's favorite Polka tunes. Jamming the key into the lock, Lizzie gave the door a good heave-ho and opened it to find herself face-to-face with her dad in the arms of Matt. Or at least whom she thought was her dad.
Lizzie burst out laughing. Mr. McGuire, dressed in a flowery purple blouse and skirt, complete with pumps, hat, and matching jewelry, looked as guilty as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar just minutes before dinnertime. Matt, who'd had his back to Lizzie, asked, "Dad, why did you stop dancing?"
Lizzie's laughter turned to wild hysteria as a blush slowly crept over Matt's face in realization that his ballroom dancing escapade had been discovered. "WHAT," Lizzie gasped, "are you two DOING?!" Her father shuffled over to the stereo and lowered the volume, while Matt's embarrassment transmuted to anger.
"Where do you get off interrupting—"The 13-year-old started ranting before Mr. McGuire put a callused, worn hand over his mouth.
"Matt's going to his first dance tomorrow night." Sam explained in a tired voice. "I'm teaching him to dance." Now that Lizzie had gotten over the hysteria of seeing her father dressed in woman's clothing, she could see the usual spark was gone from her father's eyes and replaced with immense purple bags. She sympathized with him—now that her mother was gone, her father was trying his hardest to hold together the household.
"Dad, why don't you go upstairs and take a shower or nap or something? I think I can handle it from here," Lizzie offered. Her father nodded weakly and trudged up the stairs, head down. Lizzie then turned to Matt. "I don't think Dad was teaching you very well anyway." She stepped to the speaker grabbed a stack of disks before thrusting them at Matt. "Find something like what they'd play at your eighth grade dance while I start dinner," Lizzie commanded him.
Matt nodded, a serious, almost grave expression carved into his face. He was determined to learn how to dance, it seemed. Lizzie slipped off her coat and set down her purse as she headed into the kitchen. A yellow Post-It on the counter confirmed that there was macaroni casserole in the fridge waiting for her to stick in the oven and heat up. As Lizzie preheated the oven, she heard Matt insert a disk in the CD player and begin playing it. Tiptoeing to the doorway separating the kitchen and living room, she peaked in on Matt, who was experimenting with dance moves. She felt sorry for the kid, whose unsuccessful boogie around the coffee table reminded her of something out of the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Suppressing giggles, Lizzie crept back into the kitchen, where she noticed the family's answering machine flashing incessantly.
"Hmm, two messages," she murmured. "Probably from mom." She tapped the plastic blue triangle marked 'playback' on the phone and listened patiently as the tape began rolling. Almost as if on queue, Matt discovered the volume control on the speaker and upped it a few notches.
"MATT!" Lizzie shrieked, storming into the adjacent room. "Dad is SLEEPING! Turn that thing DOWN!" Almost immediately, Matt sprung for the stereo and hit the 'off' button on the sound system. Sighing dramatically, Lizzie filed back into the kitchen—Matt close behind her—once again where the first message had just come to a close. She would play that one back at a later time.
"Hey, Lizzie," a familiar voice sounded through the speakers on the telephone. "This is Ethan." Lizzie released another high-pitched squeal, which caused Matt, who was taking a peak into the fridge, to roll his eyes and groan outwardly. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get together sometime and work on that art project. I'm heading up to the library Sunday afternoon, so let me know if you can come. I think you have my phone number, so give me a call. See you."
"Ohmigosh, Ethan, I love you," Lizzie breathed, pulse racing, heart jumping with eagerness. Of course she would go to the library Sunday—how could she not?
Matt stifled a laugh. "Come on, lover girl," he said, grabbing a love-struck Lizzie's hand and dragging her into the living room. "You can pretend I'm Ethan while you're teaching me to dance."
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The phone rang Sunday morning at the Sanchez house.
"Miranda, it's for you!" The golden complexioned Miranda, clothed in her Sunday best for church, sauntered into the kitchen. "It's Gordo."
"Thanks, Mom," Miranda said before picking up the receiver. "Hey, Gordo. What's up?"
"Well, I called Lizzie to apologize, just like you said I should," Gordo's voice rang in a solemn tone through the speaker.
"Mmhmm?"
"I left her a pretty lame message on her answering machine—I mean, I would be embarrassed if her parents were to hear it."
Miranda laughed. Gordo could be such a geek sometimes. "What did you say?!"
"I just said that I was sorry for being an insensitive jerk, and that I didn't mean to hurt her," Gordo said passionately. "But anyway, I'm just calling to see if she said anything to you about it because, well, I left the message on Friday night and she still hasn't called me back. I just want to know if she's holding a grudge—that's not like her."
"Actually, Gordo, I haven't talked to her all weekend except for a couple times online. But she didn't really mention you," Miranda said gently, cautious of hurting his feelings.
"Oh, okay," Gordo replied dejectedly. "Well, I know you have to head off to church, and I'm going to head up to the library, so I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks."