Love and Life
Summary- Just before Lizzie is about to confess her love to Gordo, she wakes up and finds herself living a glamorous, fabulous popstar's life. Will she ever find Gordo? And if she does, will she be too late? L/G all the way!
..:Shedding Light:..
A/N: This is kind of like You Wish and that new movie 13 Going On 30 rolled into one. That's where I acquire my ideas, but I swear to God that I didn't see anything but the previews of 13 Going On 30, and anything that happens in that and in this is completely coincidental. But yeah, that's where I got my ideas for this.
I felt I had to start a new story since Love Connection and Return to Kaki's Island are a bit frozen and Tale of the McGuire-Gordons is practically over. So here it goes, Love and Life, Chapter One, Shedding Light...
***
Lizzie's POV
I loved Gordo.
I knew most people didn't come out and say it in the open like that, but I was so positively sure that I could plaster it on billboards across America and not be the least bit nervous.
I had loved him for a pretty long time, almost five years now. But I hadn't really known that. I thought of him as the sorta-cute guy-friend, not much of anything else. I had gone on dates with other guys thinking that I wasn't thinking the least bit about Gordo. But after my 23rd birthday I finally figured out that I had. I had been visualizing every guy I went out with in comparison to Gordo. Did he have Gordo's eyes? Was he as caring as Gordo? Would he like me through thick and thin like Gordo would?
And as soon as I realized that, I flipped out. I felt so rancorous and disgusted that I didn't speak to poor little Gordo for weeks. Then I straightened myself out and started to really think about the matter; was I serious about this guy? Did I have authentic feelings him, or was I imagining things? Or was this all just an illusionary phase I was going through, an end-of-adolescence thing?
I sighed a lot during that time.
When I finally figured out that, yes, I loved Gordo, I started to admire him in new ways every day. One day I'd see him buying a girl some ice cream and thought how thoughtful, kind, and helping he was. The next day he would give me a lecture about staying away from drunkards as if I were a third- grader, and I would think, man, he genuinely cares about me. Things went on and on like that until I had him talked up so much in my mind he seemed like a saint.
So that brings us to about now, when I was sitting on my apartment couch, staring a magazine, but not entirely *looking* at it, wondering if Gordo's eyes were green or blue or gray. They changed a lot. In my opinion, they weren't hazel, but it's not like I had had an opportunity to gaze longingly into his eyes and admire the colors in them. I was judging based on the glances he had given me about once every day.
Whatever color they were, it seemed as if they dropped light wherever they went, like his twinkling eyes lit up the whole world. Even when he was miserable, his eyes would shed a sort of light that you would only find in about one out of every billion people. Brightening the darkest, gloomiest streets, making the world merry with laughter... it made me wonder if he was possibly related to God.
It was exceedingly alluring, too. That light had landed on me for only about a split second, and I had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love. What girl could resist the captivating charm of those enchanting eyes that glimmered with endless radiance? Or perhaps it was just me who saw this so- called light, maybe because we were meant to be together.
Sounding poetic again. Another aspect of love, or so says the Guide to Love Book. But how much did they truly know about love, a word so powerful it had no alternate synonym? There's not a page in there that even the slightest bit mentions seeing light-shedding eyes.
I was obsessed, wasn't I? So what? Obsessing was completely legal when it came to love. I had such a deep affection for Gordo; that's why he wouldn't get off my mind. And this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If the word obsessed was needed to describe my love, so be it. I didn't care.
If only he felt the same way about me.
Gordo, being *Gordo* and all, wasn't at all like most 24-year-olds. He never went out with a girl he thought he had no future with. And if she even did the slightest thing wrong, he'd dump her. People would say he was picky, but I prefer to say he's just trying to bottle perfection, or at least, find it first. He could be a little naïve at times, not knowing that perfection, a serious Gordo-worshipper was right at his fingertips, but who wasn't?
He hadn't changed much since Jr. High. Still a bold, strong, brave, can't- boss-me-around attitude. The tough guy act. 'I don't care what you think about me.' That's what I loved about him. He was a softie at heart, but couldn't admit it. He was really a shy, cute, little boy who needed someone in his life to control his ego every now and then. And so there I was, buttoning his buttons when he needed it, helping him tie his shoes... I was a second mother to him. The helpful friend.
Friend.
I have grown to hate that word.
"We're just friends." 'I think of you as just a friend." "You're a great friend." "I'd rather have you as a friend than a girlfriend." Not that he had said all of these things, but if I fessed up, he probably would.
He had kissed me many times before, no lie. On the lips, not the hand, on the cheek... whatever. He had done it all. But in a friend-like way. Except for the lip-kiss. That was a long time ago, and I hardly remembered it, but it was a blissful moment, I'll tell you that. The other two... he kissed me on the hand (it was fake, I must add) when we went to the Renaissance Fair (as FRIENDS). He kissed me on the cheek or forehead every now and then as a hello or goodbye or congratulations or something.
But I didn't want him for his kissing. I didn't care if we got together and didn't kiss a single time. It didn't matter. As long as we were together. And not best-friends-together, I mean, couple-together. But the wretched thing was that we weren't couple-together. We would never be couple- together.
Unless I told him.
I had gathered up the courage to tell him several times, but never really had done it. I went up to him and started stuttering. How *romantic*. No, really, I hadn't talked to him in over a week just because I was too afraid. But every day I thought; 'What is there to lose? If he doesn't love me, then great... if he does, than GREAT.'
But then I wondered if he'd be scared of me. I would, if someone who was my best friend came up to me and told me they loved me. But then again, Gordo was different from me. Maybe he wouldn't care. Maybe he loved me too... maybe.
Maybe some of the light from his eyes would shine on me.
I wanted to know more about him. The more I loved him, the less I felt I knew about him. I wanted to know his every thought, his every action, everything about him imprinted into my mind like a newspaper headline. I wanted to be part of David Gordon. I wanted to be able to touch his hair without a hint self-consciousness, to be able to kiss him as if it were second nature.
He was the one for me.
If only his eyes would land on me, just once. Not Linda or Charlene or Kayla, but me, Lizzie McGuire. It seems as if he spread light everywhere in the universe, except for this one corner of his heart, the part that told him how much I loved him. The part that was filled with realization. No light was there, and no light was on me. I felt like a backup singer, the guitar player in a band. The spotlight is on the lead singer, and you're just there, lurking in the shadows, wondering if anyone even notices you're there.
I prayed every night, wished on every shooting star I saw, every birthday candle I blew out, that maybe one day, ONE DAY, I'd be that lead singer in the band, where Gordo loved me, where everyone knew who I was, where the spotlight was right on me.
Summary- Just before Lizzie is about to confess her love to Gordo, she wakes up and finds herself living a glamorous, fabulous popstar's life. Will she ever find Gordo? And if she does, will she be too late? L/G all the way!
..:Shedding Light:..
A/N: This is kind of like You Wish and that new movie 13 Going On 30 rolled into one. That's where I acquire my ideas, but I swear to God that I didn't see anything but the previews of 13 Going On 30, and anything that happens in that and in this is completely coincidental. But yeah, that's where I got my ideas for this.
I felt I had to start a new story since Love Connection and Return to Kaki's Island are a bit frozen and Tale of the McGuire-Gordons is practically over. So here it goes, Love and Life, Chapter One, Shedding Light...
***
Lizzie's POV
I loved Gordo.
I knew most people didn't come out and say it in the open like that, but I was so positively sure that I could plaster it on billboards across America and not be the least bit nervous.
I had loved him for a pretty long time, almost five years now. But I hadn't really known that. I thought of him as the sorta-cute guy-friend, not much of anything else. I had gone on dates with other guys thinking that I wasn't thinking the least bit about Gordo. But after my 23rd birthday I finally figured out that I had. I had been visualizing every guy I went out with in comparison to Gordo. Did he have Gordo's eyes? Was he as caring as Gordo? Would he like me through thick and thin like Gordo would?
And as soon as I realized that, I flipped out. I felt so rancorous and disgusted that I didn't speak to poor little Gordo for weeks. Then I straightened myself out and started to really think about the matter; was I serious about this guy? Did I have authentic feelings him, or was I imagining things? Or was this all just an illusionary phase I was going through, an end-of-adolescence thing?
I sighed a lot during that time.
When I finally figured out that, yes, I loved Gordo, I started to admire him in new ways every day. One day I'd see him buying a girl some ice cream and thought how thoughtful, kind, and helping he was. The next day he would give me a lecture about staying away from drunkards as if I were a third- grader, and I would think, man, he genuinely cares about me. Things went on and on like that until I had him talked up so much in my mind he seemed like a saint.
So that brings us to about now, when I was sitting on my apartment couch, staring a magazine, but not entirely *looking* at it, wondering if Gordo's eyes were green or blue or gray. They changed a lot. In my opinion, they weren't hazel, but it's not like I had had an opportunity to gaze longingly into his eyes and admire the colors in them. I was judging based on the glances he had given me about once every day.
Whatever color they were, it seemed as if they dropped light wherever they went, like his twinkling eyes lit up the whole world. Even when he was miserable, his eyes would shed a sort of light that you would only find in about one out of every billion people. Brightening the darkest, gloomiest streets, making the world merry with laughter... it made me wonder if he was possibly related to God.
It was exceedingly alluring, too. That light had landed on me for only about a split second, and I had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love. What girl could resist the captivating charm of those enchanting eyes that glimmered with endless radiance? Or perhaps it was just me who saw this so- called light, maybe because we were meant to be together.
Sounding poetic again. Another aspect of love, or so says the Guide to Love Book. But how much did they truly know about love, a word so powerful it had no alternate synonym? There's not a page in there that even the slightest bit mentions seeing light-shedding eyes.
I was obsessed, wasn't I? So what? Obsessing was completely legal when it came to love. I had such a deep affection for Gordo; that's why he wouldn't get off my mind. And this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If the word obsessed was needed to describe my love, so be it. I didn't care.
If only he felt the same way about me.
Gordo, being *Gordo* and all, wasn't at all like most 24-year-olds. He never went out with a girl he thought he had no future with. And if she even did the slightest thing wrong, he'd dump her. People would say he was picky, but I prefer to say he's just trying to bottle perfection, or at least, find it first. He could be a little naïve at times, not knowing that perfection, a serious Gordo-worshipper was right at his fingertips, but who wasn't?
He hadn't changed much since Jr. High. Still a bold, strong, brave, can't- boss-me-around attitude. The tough guy act. 'I don't care what you think about me.' That's what I loved about him. He was a softie at heart, but couldn't admit it. He was really a shy, cute, little boy who needed someone in his life to control his ego every now and then. And so there I was, buttoning his buttons when he needed it, helping him tie his shoes... I was a second mother to him. The helpful friend.
Friend.
I have grown to hate that word.
"We're just friends." 'I think of you as just a friend." "You're a great friend." "I'd rather have you as a friend than a girlfriend." Not that he had said all of these things, but if I fessed up, he probably would.
He had kissed me many times before, no lie. On the lips, not the hand, on the cheek... whatever. He had done it all. But in a friend-like way. Except for the lip-kiss. That was a long time ago, and I hardly remembered it, but it was a blissful moment, I'll tell you that. The other two... he kissed me on the hand (it was fake, I must add) when we went to the Renaissance Fair (as FRIENDS). He kissed me on the cheek or forehead every now and then as a hello or goodbye or congratulations or something.
But I didn't want him for his kissing. I didn't care if we got together and didn't kiss a single time. It didn't matter. As long as we were together. And not best-friends-together, I mean, couple-together. But the wretched thing was that we weren't couple-together. We would never be couple- together.
Unless I told him.
I had gathered up the courage to tell him several times, but never really had done it. I went up to him and started stuttering. How *romantic*. No, really, I hadn't talked to him in over a week just because I was too afraid. But every day I thought; 'What is there to lose? If he doesn't love me, then great... if he does, than GREAT.'
But then I wondered if he'd be scared of me. I would, if someone who was my best friend came up to me and told me they loved me. But then again, Gordo was different from me. Maybe he wouldn't care. Maybe he loved me too... maybe.
Maybe some of the light from his eyes would shine on me.
I wanted to know more about him. The more I loved him, the less I felt I knew about him. I wanted to know his every thought, his every action, everything about him imprinted into my mind like a newspaper headline. I wanted to be part of David Gordon. I wanted to be able to touch his hair without a hint self-consciousness, to be able to kiss him as if it were second nature.
He was the one for me.
If only his eyes would land on me, just once. Not Linda or Charlene or Kayla, but me, Lizzie McGuire. It seems as if he spread light everywhere in the universe, except for this one corner of his heart, the part that told him how much I loved him. The part that was filled with realization. No light was there, and no light was on me. I felt like a backup singer, the guitar player in a band. The spotlight is on the lead singer, and you're just there, lurking in the shadows, wondering if anyone even notices you're there.
I prayed every night, wished on every shooting star I saw, every birthday candle I blew out, that maybe one day, ONE DAY, I'd be that lead singer in the band, where Gordo loved me, where everyone knew who I was, where the spotlight was right on me.