Here is a new story about Gordo, but it is not part of my "Gordo Series." If there is any confusion, please visit my Profile page. At the bottom I have added a listing of my stories, what is part of the series, what stands alone, and what's on the way. For the time being, just know that the Gordo in this new story is not the same Gordo of my other stories.

I want to send out a special word of thanks to cka3ka-13 (Please! Please! Get another name that is easier to say and spell and remember!). It was a conversation with her that was the inspiration for this latest story. I tried to make it dark, but I don't know how well I have succeeded in that. At any rate, I hope it's angsty enough for all of you.

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Five a.m.

David Gordon found himself doubled over on the side of the road, catching his breath, feeling he wanted to vomit.

Man, he hated this! Whose bright idea was this, anyway? Oh yeah, his parents. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad.

The sun had not yet risen, but Gordo was awake, dressed and running down the side of the empty highway, running until his legs buckled and his chest ached from too many breaths of the cold morning air.

At seventeen he should be snug in his bed at this hour of the morning, dreaming about his girlfriend…or maybe even dreaming about some other girl who was… not his girlfriend. He knew who he preferred to be dreaming about, but he dare not tell anyone.

And he dare not tell his parents that he hated running. They would be so disappointed, and if there was one thing Gordo could not bear, it was the parental disappointment. Mom and Dad were fully convinced that their son's place on the Hillridge Track Team was the feather in his cap, the extra "oomph!" that would separate his already outstanding college application from all the other outstanding college applications received at every East Coast Ivy League school.

After all, explained Dad, academics alone were not enough. Nowadays, a young man who expected to go far in life had to be sure to prove that he was "well-rounded." Music, sports and civic responsibility were a must. The public school system made sure every young person did a certain number of community service hours, and Ma and Pa Gordon had been happy to have that burden off their shoulders. However, attempts to have David achieve any kind of musical success had failed dismally, which surprised both his parents, since they had convinced themselves that children who were good at math, as was their son David, would be inherently adept at music.

As a child, Gordo had endured torturous hours of piano, violin and clarinet lessons before his parents at last came to the sad realization that their brilliant child was no musical prodigy.

After that they laid off him for a while, which Gordo considered a blessing. Then, midway through his sophomore year in high school, the gentle suggestions started up. "Why not try a sport?"

Gordo laughed. "Yeah, right, Dad. I'll go out for the basketball team. Right away."

"David," scolded his psychiatrist mother. "When you reinforce your negative self image with derisive inner dialog---"

"Mom, I'm short," Gordo reminded. "It's not negative, it's not derisive. It's a fact. I'm not a basketball player. And I'm not a football player, either. Unless you want to see me in a body cast."

"What about baseball?" his mother suggested. "You always liked that as a child."

Gordo pressed his lips together. So did his dad. They were both remembering Little League. Gordo, in fact, had not liked that as a child. He had despised being part of a team, wearing a uniform, pretending to be "just one of the guys." He was most assuredly not just one of the guys. Gordo was an individual, and his individuality had gotten him into more than a few skirmishes with his fellow ballplayers. Mom had usually not been there, Saturday morning being her customary beauty parlor appointment. Dad had been there. And that is why Dad said now, "Well, how about Track, son?"

Gordo was starting to hate this conversation. He could tell they were not going to let up. "To run really fast you need long legs, " he said flatly.

"To run fast, sure. But to run long, all you need is endurance. And that you've got in abundance, David."

That he did, Gordo had to admit. When he and Lizzie had been kids, and their parents had taken them to the beach, Gordo could run up and down the shoreline all day long, never tiring.

"We'll see," Gordo sighed, but already he had a feeling there was no use fighting it.

Over the next several months his parents continued dropping hints about how proud they would be to see him on Cross Country. They got him a subscription to Runner's Monthly magazine. They bought him expensive Nike running shoes. By the time eleventh grade rolled around, Gordo felt he had no choice but to at least go to the tryouts. Maybe he wouldn't be chosen. At least he could tell his parents he tried. They would be disappointed to hear he had tried and failed, but not as disappointed as they would be should he not even try.

Unfortunately, the tryouts went extremely well, and Gordo soon had a place on Cross Country. He tried to recapture the joy of running up and down the beach as a child, but it just wasn't happening anymore. He waited for the "Runners High" he had read about in the magazine his parents got him, but that never happened either. The only thing that ever happened was that after about three miles on an empty stomach first thing in the morning, his legs buckled, his chest ached, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

The silver lining to this cloud was that Track season was almost over. Soon it would be the holidays, providing a blessed relief not only from running, but also from all things academic.

And all things social.

Gordo had a plan for the holiday break. He was going to sleep late, dreaming of…that other girl…then wake up, eat potato chips for breakfast, and watch movies all day long.

He had already chosen the lineup. He had several Movie Marathons planned. All the Star Wars films in one day, all the Lord of the Rings another. Steven Speilberg's biggest hits, closely followed Alfred Hitchcock. And to top it all off, his all-time favorite Guilty Pleasure, Leathal Weapon I, II, III and IV.

During this time, he did not want to see Lizzie, his girlfriend, or Charlie, his best friend, and he most certainly did not want to fill out any more college applications! He was going to sit around in his pajamas all day long, isolated from the world, and the only person he would open the door for would be Miranda, if she came over with some really angsty teenage movies from the 1980's, anything with Jon Cryer or Molly Ringwald in it, the kind of silly stuff they loved to make fun of, but secretly enjoyed so much.

Jogging back towards his house, Gordo began to feel better, reviewing his plans for the holiday break. Of course there was the Winter Wonderland Dance that Lizzie was so excited about. He would have to do that with her, there was really no way he could get out of it. But after that…after that…his life would be his own again.

If only briefly.

-

Seven thirty a.m.

The parental units were at their usually places at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper. Gordo came downstairs, showered and dressed, flinging his backpack on the living room couch.

"David," his mother said, never lifting her eyes from the paper, "I wish you wouldn't do that. Your book bag belongs on the floor, not on the furniture."

"Sorry, Mom," Gordo said, going back to right his wrong. A moment later he returned to the kitchen, pouring a bowl of cocoa puffs.

His mother looked up disapprovingly. "How can you eat that stuff, dear? Why don't you have a muffin instead?"

"Zucchini? Carrot? Tofu? I don't think so, Mom."

Suddenly his dad flicked his newspaper closed and said, "David! SAT registration coming up soon."

"Dad, I took the SAT's already. Twice."

"I know. But, as they say, 'Third time's the charm.'"

"Dad," Gordo said, striving to remain calm. "My scores are already in the 90th percentile. How much more charming do I need to be?"

"It never hurts to give it your best shot."

"I've given it my best shot. Twice!" Gordo said, testily. "That's why my scores are in the 90th percentile."

"Well then, better than your best shot. You can do that, can't you, son? If you're hoping to get into pre-med, it certainly can't hurt to do better than your best."

Gordo sighed, eating his cocoa puffs, deciding to say nothing. He did not want to go into pre-med. Sure, his parents were convinced he would make a great shrink, just like them, but Gordo had decided long ago to forge his own path. He wanted to study film production, and he wanted to stay close to home, attending any one of the California State universities, which all had excellent Film Studies programs.

He did not want to travel to the east coast and go to an Ivy League school. But not matter how many times he expressed all this to his parents, they did not want to hear or understand.

In fact, after a few more moments of silence, his mother suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! That's right! David, we forgot to tell you, there's a really good chance we'll be traveling to Boston this December."

Great! Gordo thought. As long as "we" meant his mother and father, and he would be staying home. He always looked forward to having the house to himself. Even if Grandma Ruth stayed over, that would be okay. She would let him sit around all day in his pajamas, eating potato chips.

"Great!" Gordo said out loud. "What's in Boston?"

His mother leveled a stare at him over the top of her reading glasses. "David…"

Crap! So that's what this was about.

"You remember my friend Angela and her husband Tom. You know that Tom is teaching now…at Harvard," she added meaningfully. "Well, we've been invited to spend the holiday with them. It will be an excellent opportunity for you to take a look around…"

Crap! David thought again. He did not want to go to Boston, he did not want to look at Harvard. He wanted to stay home and watch movies.

"I…I'm not so sure that's a good idea for me…at this time…" he began uneasily.

"Not a good idea?" Dad questioned. "Why in the world not?"

"Well," he reasoned, applying a little psychology of his own, "I'd hate to fall in love with the place and get my hopes up---"

"Not at all!" Dad said. "Why, when I was your age, I had already known for years that Harvard was the only place for me---"

"Yeah, but Harvard may not be the only place for me," Gordo tried to explain.

"Of course it's not the only place," Mom counteracted. "There's Yale as well---"

"And there's also UC---" Gordo began.

Both parents scoffed in unison.

"There's nothing wrong with UC---" David began to defend his choice, feeling his stomach tying itself in knots.

"Oh, I can see you're rushed, and we really don't have time to talk about this right now," Mom said. "We'll discuss this at greater length later, dear. I just wanted to let you know not to make any plans for the winter break."

"Mom---"

"Really, dear. Look at the time! Shouldn't you be going?"

-

Eight a.m.

Lizzie was standing at Gordo's locker, as always, looking gorgeous in a pink sweater. As always. Her hair was shining, her skin was glowing, she squealed when she saw him.

"Gordo!"

"Hey, Lizzie," he said, giving her the obligatory morning kiss. They had been going out for almost a year now, and he knew better than to neglect to kiss Lizzie. He had done it once, and suffered her suspicion and disappointment for nearly a week.

"Hi," she said breathlessly as she took his hand and they began to walk. "Did you have a good run this morning, sweetie?"

"Oh yeah, great," he said.

"Big Meet next weekend," she reminded.

"I know."

"And two weeks after that…you know what…"

"No, what?" came out of his mouth, and he was instantly sorry. What had he been thinking? The Winter Wonderland Dance was the big event of the season, and all Lizzie talked about anymore. By saying "No, what?" Gordo was essentially admitting he didn't really much listen to her anymore. Well, how could he, when all she ever talked bout was this stupid dance?

"Gordo!" Lizzie exclaimed in exasperation.

"I know, I know," he said. "Of course, I know. The dance. And you have that new dress, the blue one, with the bangles---"

"With the sparkles," Lizzie correctly.

"Of course. With the sparkles. Around the neckline. See? I know. I listen."

"Well, then, if you do indeed listen, what do you think about what we were talking about last night?"

Gordo cringed. It was a trick question. He smiled at Lizzie and opened his mouth---

"About the limo," she supplied. "Do you want to split a limo with Miranda and Charlie?"

"Oh, the limo…" Gordo remembered. Lizzie sure did love to spend his money. His part-time job at Starbucks didn't pay much, but after Lizzie and his car got through with his paycheck, there was hardly anything left.

"Oh, the limo!" came an excited voice behind him. Gordo spun around and smiled at Miranda, who had snuck up and was smiling back at him.

"Hey, Shaggy," Miranda greeted, as she mussed up his hair. Gordo's hair was now exceptionally long…and shaggy…and Lizzie had been ragging on him for weeks to get it cut. A few days ago Lizzie had complained that when she showed her grandchildren pictures of the Winter Wonderland Dance, she didn't want them asking, "And who is that shaggy sheepdog standing next to you?" Miranda laughed so much when she heard that, and had been calling Gordo "Shaggy" ever since.

Gordo happened to like his hair long…and shaggy…and no matter how much Lizzie ragged on him about cutting it, he had no intention of giving in on this point. Miranda's apparent amusement didn't make matters any better, but on this particular occasion, Lizzie chose to ignore her friend's comment and dove right into the topic of the limo.

"What do you think?" Lizzie asked Miranda. "What does Charlie think? Can we swing it? Wouldn't it be great, showing up at the Dance in a long, white limo…"

"I'll, uh…have to talk to him about it," Miranda said.

"That's what you said yesterday!" Lizzie pouted. "Don't forget! Talk to him today! If you don't," she threatened, "I'll have to call him myself."

"Be my guest," Miranda said. "But if you call my boyfriend, then I get to call your boyfriend," she teased, taking Gordo's arm in hers as they began to walk.

Not to be outdone, Lizzie took his other arm, and the three walked down the hall, forcing other students out of the way as they passed. Gordo felt warm and fuzzy inside. This was the first really good feeling he'd had all day. Being here like this with Lizzie and Miranda reminded him of the way they used to be, back in middle school, back when everything was simple, and made a lot more sense than it did now.

Lizzie kept going on and on about the Dance, but for once Gordo did not let it bother him. And then things got even better when Miranda leaned into him and whispered, "Olsen Twins…"

Gordo grinned, almost laughed. "When?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock tonight. Channel 25. Holiday in the Sun."

Now Gordo did laugh. That was one of his favorites. Of all his friends, only Miranda understood this Guilty Pleasure. In fact, she shared it, though for an entirely different reasons. As Miranda had once explained to him, "On some strange level, I want to be the Olsen Twins, and on some not so strange level, you want to do things to the Olsen Twins."

On some not so strange level, Miranda understood him oh so well.

But Lizzie jumped right in now exclaiming, "No, no! No movies tonight! Tonight is the beach party! Or have you both forgotten?"

Both Gordo and Miranda sighed at the same time. "Oh, yeah. The beach party."

The bell rang. "Eight thirty!" Lizzie called to Miranda as she grabbed Gordo's hand, dragging him into class. "Gordo and I will pick Charlie up first, then you! Don't be late!"

-

Ten a.m.

Gordo was taking notes in history class, but he felt his attention begin to wander. In the margin he found he had scribbled the likeness of a girl. She had long hair and big eyes, with long, curling eyelashes. He laughed quietly to himself. This must be one of the Olsen Twins, he surmised. He tried to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, but the Civil War was so boring, he'd heard it all before.

He felt he could barely stay awake. He really needed to get more sleep. Last night he had stayed up till well after midnight, first talking with Lizzie on the phone, and later completing a homework assignment. Now he felt himself dozing.

After a moment, his head popped up and he realized some time had passed. He looked at his scribbling of the girl in the margin. Her eyes were still large, smiling, but… he must have put his pen to the drawing without realizing it, because now her hair was dark. Sure, one of the Olsen Twins was now coloring her hair a darker shade, but this was surely no longer one of the Twins. But if not an Olsen…then who?

He was staring at his drawing, wondering if his subconscious was going to begin to betray him. What if Lizzie should see this? He ought to scribble it out. He ought to…but somehow, he could not. He debated within himself, and as he did, as if from a distance, he heard his name being called.

"David Gordon?"

He looked up at the teacher. An Office Aide had come into the room.

"David Gordon," the teacher repeated, making an "Up!" motion with his hands.

A few other students droned in mock disapproval. Ethan Craft sat up straight and said, "Gor-don! Off to see the Prin-ci-pal!"

"Not the Principal," the Office Aide said. "Guidance."

"Guidance!" Ethan repeated. "I'd say you could use some Guidance, Gor-don!"

Gordo gathered up his books and left the classroom, the gentle sound of laughter following him into the hallway.

Ethan joked, because he knew the last thing that was likely to happen to good boy David Gordo was a request to visit the Principal's office. The fact that Guidance was calling for him could mean only one thing, and Gordo sighed as he trudged down the hall. He made his way to Mr. Simon's office and stood in the doorway.

"Hello, Mr. Simon," he said politely. "You wanted to see me?"

"David! Yes! Come in! Sit down!"

Gordo sat down, hoping to make this as brief as possible.

"So," Mr. Simon said, when Gordo was comfortably situated. "How's everything going for you, David?"

"Oh, fine, Mr. Simon. Really great."

Mr. Simon flipped through some papers on his desk. "I see you aced the SAT," he commented.

Gordo smirked, remembering this morning's conversation with his father. "It depends on what you mean by 'aced.'"

"You're doing fine, son," Mr. Simon smiled. "And I see you've secured the National Honor Society Scholarship, as well as first prize for Best Young Filmmaker's Award last year, congratulations."

"Thank you."

"And of course there's your standard Cal State Scholarship---"

"But only if I go to a Cal State University."

"And of course you're not limited to that---"

"But I want to," Gordo said.

"And a bright kid like you should be able to pursue any course of future education he so desires," Mr. Simon said. "And funds should not be a consideration."

"Oh, funds are not a consideration," Gordo assured. "That's not the problem."

Mr. Simon gave him a quizzical look. "But there is a problem?" he wondered.

Gordo did not want to get into this. If Mr. Simon should speak to his parents, that would only make matters worse. So he said now, trying not to sound too abrupt, "What is it you wanted to see me about, Mr. Simon?"

"Oh, yes!" Mr. Simon said, getting back on track. "Just in this morning I received the Coca Cola Scholarship information packet, with a top award, to a top student, of $10,000, towards the college of your choice. A Scholarship like that could be a real feather in your cap. And the money could go a long, long way."

Gordo smiled politely at Mr. Simon. "Funds are not a consideration," he repeated.

"Oh, I know!" Mr. Simon agreed. "But could you imagine….an extra $10,000…?"

Gordo sighed. He knew what this was about. If a student from Hillridge High should win such a huge scholarship award, it would be a real feather in the cap not only for that student, but also for Hillridge High. What good publicity for the school system! Mr. Simon's interest in seeing Gordo go for this scholarship was not purely altruistic.

Gordo knew that, as with his parents, there was no sense in arguing. "What do I have to do?" he asked resignedly.

Mr. Simon handed him a packet of papers. "It's all in here, David. Your standard application, thousand word essay, the school will provide the transcripts, of course, and I'll speak to your teachers for Letters of Recommendation. The deadline is January 5, so I'm sure you'll have no problem completing this over the Winter Break."

Gordo nodded, feeling numb. He felt his Winter Break slipping away. He felt his life slipping away. He stared blankly ahead for a few moments, and when he refocused, he noticed Mr. Simon giving him an odd look.

"David," Mr. Simon said carefully. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, sure," Gordo said.

"You're not feeling…maybe….a little burned out?"

"Me?" Gordo asked.

"I've seen it before, David. Over-achiever, pressured from all sides---"

Gordo p-shawed. "Not me. I'm fine, Mr. Simon. Really."

"You're sure? Because if you ever needed any help---"

"I'm fine," David repeated, beginning to feel irritated by Mr. Simon's insistent concern.

"Just remember, David. We're here for you, anything you need. We just want what's best for you."

Gordo nodded. "What's best for me…" he repeated absently, wishing with all his heart that he had the even the first clue exactly what that was.

-

More to come! Trouble with Lizzie, a fight with his best friend! Poor Gordo! Stay Tuned!