Disclaimer: I own the rights to none of the characters in this story, even the characters that I created. If Disney wants to film this story and show it every year at Christmas, they have my permission.

Author's note: Rather than going back and padding Chapter 1, we'll just make Chapter 2 out of it, with a full-fledged update.

We had three big surprises awaiting us that night, but of course, at the time, we were completely unaware of that. Hence, our surprise.

"I don't understand," I told Miranda, as I climbed out of the SUV in Lizzie's driveway. The garage was empty. "Joey Kelley has played drums since third grade. I thought you were looking for a drummer."

"Gordo!" Miranda protested, tossing her purse over her shoulder, as she followed Lizzie and me up the walk. "Joey Kelley has been awful at it, since third grade, too. Plus, he drools. I can't have a drooler, for a drummer."

"It's not his fault, Miranda," Lizzie chastised her, while fiddling with the keys to unlock her front door. "I think it's genetic. Have you seen his little sister?" She was having a tough time with the key, struggling to turn it.

"The boy is a saliva factory," Miranda insisted. "The first three rows will have to wear aprons. No. Just…no. Witness my foot being put down."

"Well, if you want….Look," I placed two fingers on top of the doorknob. "You have to exert a little pressure here, on top."

Immediately, the latch clicked, and the door swung open. Lizzie gaped at me. "How did you know that?"

I shrugged as I entered the foyer ahead of the girls. "Uh, that's one of my powers."

Lizzie shouldered the shopping bag that she had been balancing in her other hand, and said, "You guys go on in; I'll just drop these in my room." She climbed the stairs, while Miranda and I made our way to the darkened living room, continuing our discussion. The house was apparently deserted.

"All I'm saying is, you've got a gig a week from Friday, and you still--" I stopped dead in my tracks, after turning on the overhead light in the den. Miranda bumped into me. We had met our first surprise.

Matt and Melina were lying together on the sofa, arms wrapped around each other, and lips tight. Well, that's not…entirely true. Actually, Melina's right hand was soldered to Matt's ass, and one of Matt's hands was…well, I couldn't really see where it was. I couldn't resist grinning a little through my shock, as Matt broke their liplock and glanced up at us, his eyes glassy, and his forehead smeared with faint smudges of lipstick. Now that he had moved his head, I could see a little more of Melina under him, and I couldn't help but notice that she had started to grow up. In fact, she was beyond starting. Actually, I had to remind myself that she was only fourteen. Her shirt had ridden up her bare belly, and I now I had a view of Matt's missing hand, which was hidden under the bottom of that knit top. I heard Miranda gasp behind me. "Heh," I said. "Hey, Matt. What's up?"

I felt Miranda poke me in the small of my back. Neither of them made a move to disentangle themselves, although Melina raised her left hand up to twirl a finger through Matt's hair. "I thought we were alone, Mattie…" she told him, ignoring me.

"I did, too," he said, watching us, then looking down at her briefly. "And don't call me Mattie." He lowered his head to kiss her again, briefly, before Miranda, still behind me, cleared her throat pointedly. "Guys," he sighed. "Could there possibly be just one Friday night, when you guys aren't over here, watching videos?"

Miranda nudged around me and crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, this is much better than watching any--"

But she was interrupted by Lizzie, pounding down the stairs. "Guys, I call dibs on first episode!" I could hear her at the bottom of the stairs, and turned to the lovebirds on the couch.

"Uh, guys, you wanna, uh…?" I was hoping they'd take the hint and disengage, but in response, Matt did something under that blouse, and Melina squealed. Oh, I so did not need this.

Lizzie was rounding the folding doors and entering the den. "Mine has a short season, so I…wanted…to…" and everything died out with that, as she finally saw Matt and Melina. Miranda and I blocked her view of the full tableau, but she could see enough. "What are you doing here?" she blurted, and then, noticing the lipstick on Matt's face, she said, "And what…are you doing, here?" Lizzie was bouncing up and down on the tips of her toes, trying to see over my and Miranda's shoulders. "Matt! You tard! You're making out, with Melina?"

"Give it a rest, Strawberry Shortcake," Matt replied, and kissed Melina on the tip of her nose, and Melina giggled in reply.

"I thought you two were going to a movie, with Mom and Dad?" Lizzie pressed.

"Oh, that," Melina addressed her first words to us, but never taking her eyes off Matt. "I wasn't feeling well, and so--"

"Like I believe that," Lizzie interrupted sarcastically. She tried unsuccessfully to squeeze between Miranda and me, then gave up and stuck one arm between us and snapped her fingers. "Well, up. Out! Matt, you know Friday nights belong to me." When he didn't get up, her expression changed from exasperation to almost concern. "Please?"

"No big, Lizzie," Miranda consoled her. "We can crash at my house."

Lizzie turned to me, as if to see which way I was leaning. I shrugged and said, "Yeah, it'll be cool, Lizzie. We can stop off on the way and pick up pizza."

Lizzie looked for a moment like she might continue the discussion with Matt, on her own, but then her shoulders dropped a little bit, and she said, "Yeah, okay. Whatever." She picked up the DVD boxes from the table behind us where we had left them that morning, and started toward the front door without us. "But at least half of it's Hawaiian." She paused for a moment and watched Matt with a sad look in her eye, as if she wanted to tell him something, but then thought better of it. She opened the door and stepped out into the front yard, leaving the open door behind her.

Matt looked up at us. "Thanks, guys. She can be such a bitch, sometimes."

Miranda reminded him, "She can be such a great sister, sometimes, too."

Matt glanced down, as if a little bit embarrassed about what he'd said. "Yeah, well. Maybe."

I raised my eyebrows. "Hey, uh, Matt. You, uh, need a…hand, there?"

Melina giggled again, and said, "My, aren't you the cunning linguist?"

I looked up for a moment in confusion, my brow furrowed, and almost didn't hear Matt answer, "No thanks, bro. Got it covered."

"Let's go, Casanova," Miranda said, as she shoved me toward the door. I followed her lead, without resistance.

By the time we arrived on the front porch, Lizzie was already in the SUV, starting the engine. I stopped for a moment, at the top of the steps. Miranda, who had reached the bottom of the steps, now turned to look back up at me.

"You know," I pondered. "A guy could take that two ways."

Miranda didn't have to give it much thought, before nodding. "Yeah," she agreed. "But knowing Melina, she probably only meant it one way." Then she left me, alone, to join Lizzie.

I studied that for a second, and then nodded. "Yeah," I reassured myself. "She's a nice girl." I descended the steps.

We pulled into Miranda's driveway, armed with a pizza and three DVD box sets. The pizza was half-pineapple (Lizzie's choice) and half-anchovies (Miranda's choice). Gordo, of course, didn't get a choice. As for the DVD's, each of us had picked a television series for our viewing pleasure. Lizzie had selected season one of Laguna Beach, of course; Miranda had insisted on Buffy, season seven, while I had scooped up Three Stooges.

And waiting in the driveway was surprise number two.

Leaning against the hood of his Bugatti, was Ethan Craft, bouncing a golf ball up and down off his golf club, as if he were Tiger Woods. We had always said Kate's dad was rich, but Ethan's dad was nasty rich, the kind of rich that you only get from selling your soul to the Devil, or starting up a dot com. Ethan's dad had given him the Bugatti as a reward for receiving an early scholarship offer from Florida State, after he had led North Hillridge to the state double-A championships. He snapped up the golf ball with his free hand when he saw us pulling up, and tossed it into the passenger seat.

We piled out of the Cherokee and greeted Ethan, whom we had last seen at the beginning of break, at the end of the previous week. "Lizzie!" he held his arms out wide, and wrapped her in a bear hug, as if we were at our twenty-year reunion. He tapped Miranda on her upper arm, and chuckled heartily, "Randa! Lookin' good, my doll!"

Miranda gave Ethan a sardonic grin, rubbed her arm, and said, "Whatever," which went right over Ethan's head. Miranda had gone through a really tough time, when we were sophomores, in an adventure we usually called the Tale of the Smiling Dachshund, where she had finally been forced to put her crush on Ethan behind her, and it still tugged on her heart a little bit, every time Ethan flirted with her. It had taken a long time for her to accept that flirting was all it was, to Ethan, and I don't think she ever reached the point where she could enjoy it, and flirt back, like Lizzie had learned to do. I think it always continued to hurt her, and I don't think that she ever truly got over Ethan, despite all her protests to the contrary.

But Ethan, true to form, noticed none of that. It wasn't his fault, or anything. Ethan wouldn't have hurt Miranda intentionally, for the world. But he had no clue that Miranda felt anything for him; he never did. There were a lot of things Ethan had no clue about. Florida State was in for a big surprise.

"Gor-Don!" He cheered, extending his hand toward me. "My man!"

"Eee-Than!" I returned the favor, shaking his hand.

"What, um," Miranda began, tossing her hair back. "What's the occasion?"

Ethan looked confused for a moment, then said, "Oh, yeah. I came by to ask you something."

Lizzie scratched her head briefly, before asking, "Um, Ethan? You do know that Miranda is over at my house, like, every Friday night, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

We waited a moment, hoping he would explain why he was waiting in Miranda's driveway, if he knew that Miranda would be at Lizzie's, but realistically, if one of us hadn't said something, this would be the end of my story, because we'd still be standing in Miranda's driveway, to this day.

"So," Miranda said, her hands out to her side. "I'm here."

It was Ethan's turn to scratch his head. "Yeah, well, it's kind of embarrassing. Uh…I kind of…sort of heard that…you, uh, lost your drummer. For Dark Journey, I mean."

"Yeah, Ethan," she reassured him. "I know that's what you meant."

"Well, um…" He suddenly seemed intensely interested in his golf club, but finally worked up the nerve to look up at her. "I happen to be a little familiar with…the black arts of percussion."

Miranda took a small step back and raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "You…?"

"Heck, yeah," Ethan exclaimed, growing excited. "When I was eleven, I wanted to be the next John Bonham. When my dad found out, he got me a set of Rolands."

All of that meant nothing to me, but Miranda's eyes bugged out, just a little. "No shit," she whispered. "Really?"

"Yeah," he told her, then grinned sheepishly. "Took me a year and a half to learn how to play them all."

Miranda laughed aloud, then put a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said, but she was still laughing.

"Nah, it's okay. It was funny." He shrugged. "But I got better."

"Uh huh," she smiled.

"So, uh, I was sort of thinking to myself, Hey! Miranda needs a drummer. I'm a drummer! So, what if--"

"Oh, Ethan," she told him, giving him a sorrowful look, her laughter from a moment ago vanished. "Oh, Ethan, I don't know…" She looked to us out of the corner of her eye, for support, but from our position behind Ethan, we were giving her our what-are-you-crazy look.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned. "Is it the dark look? You think I can't be dark. I can be dark. I can be goth. They'll call me Dark Ethan, the Darkest of the Dark. Darth Vader will have nothing on me. The Undertaker will run, screaming for cover. Martha Stewart will-"

"No," Miranda put up her hands, and shook her head. "It's…not that…"

"Well, what, then?" he pressed her.

"Well….." she looked around, her mouth working, struggling for something to say, and her eyes finally settled on "Your car. It's your car."

Ethan glanced at his car. "What? The Bugatti?"

"Yeah!" Miranda said, warming up to her argument. "Yeah, uh, see, Dark Journey is kind of a…counter culture band, and your car…well, it just…screams preppy." Behind Ethan, Lizzie and I looked at each other, and shook our heads in bewilderment.

He studied his car for a moment. "Really?"

Miranda sighed sympathetically, but nodded. "Yeah. Sorry."

Ethan shrugged. "I'll dump it."

"What?" Miranda blurted, only half a second before Lizzie and I could echo "What?" from near the rear of the car.

"Yeah," he shrugged again. "I'll get my dad to sell it. What do I care? Just a car. I'll get a motorcycle. Motorcycle's counter culture, right?"

"Huh?" Miranda asked, distracted. "Yeah. No! Wait! What are you, a loon?" she chastised him. "You can't get rid of that car! That's a frickin' awesome car! What are you thinking?"

"Well, I was thinking I wanted to be your drummer. But now, I'm thinking maybe you don't want me." The realization seemed to hurt his feelings.

Miranda stepped closer to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. "Nooooo, Ethan, no. It's…more complicated…" she paused, maybe hoping that Ethan would understand, but since I was just beginning to twitch to what was happening, it was going to be a long time, before Ethan came around. "Okay," she sighed, licking her lips. "Uh, look." She dropped her hands from his shoulders. "Um…we're practicing tomorrow at one, at Candy Southern's house. You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah," Ethan nodded. "I dated her little sister, last semester."

"Right," Miranda agreed. "I remember now. Well, stop by, and we'll see--"

"Yes!" Ethan spun around, pumping one fist.

"We'll see…how you play," she promised reluctantly.

"Awesome, Miranda, my doll!" He popped open the door to his car. "I'll bring the Rolands!"

"No!" she overruled him. "Just…just use the set we have, for tomorrow. Then…we'll see."

He dropped behind the wheel, and slammed the door, but even then, its closing was almost silent.

"Later, Gor-Don!" He called to us, as he backed out of the driveway. "It's been a blast, Lizzie, my sweet!"

Lizzie waved at him, as he peeled down the street, then turned on Miranda once he was out of sight. "Miranda!" she called to her best friend, but Miranda already had her back to us, walking toward the front door. Lizzie rushed to catch up with her, and turned her around to face us. "Miranda! What's that all about?" she asked. "The drummer of your dreams falls into your lap, and you're acting like you don't want him."

Miranda wouldn't look at us, was instead looking down to the side. "I don't," she told Lizzie quietly.

"What?" Lizzie asked, not because she hadn't heard, but because she didn't understand.

"I don't," she repeated, finally looking at Lizzie. She brushed at her eyes, but they were dry. "I don't want him…in the band."

"But, wh--" Lizzie stopped, then reached up to cup Miranda's face in her hands. "Oh, baby," she cooed, but Miranda's eyes were now again, off to the side. "I know, it's hard, but baby…Miranda…think about how much of your time, your soul, your…. you that you've put into this. This band. You're two weeks away from your big moment, and you had no drummer, and now, the hand of God has reached down and placed this big gift in front of you, and you're going to say, 'No, thank you, big guy.' Well, color me stunned, because the Miranda Sanchez that I know would grab this chance to live her dream."

"Well," Miranda sighed. "I guess we…should…listen to what he has," she suggested shyly, turning her eyes back to Lizzie.

"Couldn't hurt," Lizzie pointed out.

"Yeah…. And he doesn't drool, so he's kind of got that big mojo goin' for him."

"Darn tootin'!" Lizzie nodded emphatically.

"And," Miranda continued, her thoughts turning more inward. "He'll certainly draw in the female half of the paying audience."

Lizzie pursed her lips. "He's a chick magnet."

"Okay, Nurse Lizzie," she smiled briefly. "My semi-annual self-pity spell is about wrapped up, now."

"Okay," Lizzie told her, kissing her on the cheek. "I'll put you down on my I-pod for next October.

"Hate to break it up, ladies," I mentioned. "But pizza's chilling."

I reached in the Cherokee, and got the goodies, and with Miranda carrying the pizza, and Lizzie and I each holding a handful of DVD, we strolled from the car to the house, side by side, Miranda between us, our arms draped over her shoulders.

We had spent the first hour eating pizza and watching an episode of Laguna Beach, with Lizzie and Miranda swooning over Trey and Steven, and hissing whenever Kristen put in an appearance, and…well, I can't remember all their names. We spent the second hour downing popcorn swirls while an army of Slayers got wiped out by an ubervamp, with Lizzie screaming every time the Caligari wannabe showed up. For the third hour, it was strawberry frosted pop-tarts, and I was chortling out loud at the adventures of Moe, Larry, and Curly. Miranda and Lizzie sat on either side of me on the couch, totally disinterested. "Oh, wait a minute," I nudged Lizzie in the ribs, then laughed so hard, I started coughing. "This is the best part! This is when the bull comes running through--"

"I can't believe you think this is funny," Miranda shook her head at me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, clearing my throat. "This is Moe. And Larry, and Curly. Not Shemp. Not Joe DeRita. Curly. These guys created American cinematic comedy. There'll never be another…Three Stooges." I got a little choked up at the moment, and sniffled.

"And not a day goes by, that I don't--"

"I don't…want…to hear it, Sanchez," I cautioned her, holding one finger up, but eyes glued to the screen.

"Well, I'm gonna check my blog," she announced, rising from the couch for the computer desk in the corner behind us.

Lizzie uncrossed her legs and stood up and stretched. "I'll join you," she said.

"Heathens," I whispered as they left me alone, then laughed as Curly performed the shuffle.

I could hear Lizzie and Miranda in the background, groaning and laughing alternately at the comments left behind by friends and strangers who had visited Miranda's weblog. I was only half-listening, but my attention was grabbed, when I heard Miranda say, "What the hell is this?"

Lizzie said something. I'm not sure, but I think it was "Huh. Not bad, Miranda," to which Miranda replied, "Shut up."

"Gordo!" Lizzie called to me. "Pause it, and come over and check this out."

Intrigued, I paused the DVD, and left the sanctuary of the couch to join them in front of Miranda's computer. On the screen were some of the comments left by visitors. And here was the final surprise.

Hey, sweetie! Missed you last night at Cumberland's! Call me! brightpinklady

You're so wrong. Best steel guitar is the Superior, hands down. JoEyAcE

Hey, Miranda. I know you don't know who I am, but I think about you all the time. Whenever I see you in the halls at school, I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. I've wanted to tell you for the longest time about how much I dream about you, every night. Your eyes are so Beautiful, and your voice is so Tender, and you live life with such a Passion, that I wish I could know you better. You probably wouldn't care about me, as a guy, if you knew who I was, but that's okay. I mean, if you could love me, like I love you, I'd be in paradise, but I'd settle for being your friend, if that wasn't possible, just to see you and listen to your voice, up close, rather than far away, like I do now. So, anyway, I just wanted you to know that if you're ever down and feeling funky, that someone out there loves you, and wants all the best for you. I hope you have a lot of success with your band. In fact, I know you will, and I'll be there, for every performance. You are so beautiful. SecreTAdmireR

"So?" Lizzie asked me, smiling mischievously and chewing on one fingernail. "What do you think? Miranda has a secret beau?"

"I don't know what to think," Miranda said uncertainly from her seat in front of the monitor, between us, answering Lizzie's question for me. "It's probably a joke."

"I don't think so," Lizzie countered. "Admittedly, the ending is a little bit stalkery, but the first part of it's so sweet. And sincere. It's gotta be real."

"It's gotta be a freshman," Miranda shook her head. "That would be bad." She looked up at me. "That would be bad, right?"

I read the message again. What I said was, "I think someone's fallen for you, big time. Would that be so bad?" What I thought was, "Oh, this just can't be good."