Miranda's World Chapter 4, a lizzie mcguire fanfic

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:

No Habla Espanol: can someone translate the convo between Miranda and her dad, back on feb 20?

Dr. Strange: Check the forum.

I took a moment, then followed Lizzie back into the garage, to enjoy the new Dark Journey's practice. I joined her on the sofa, where she now had one leg curled up under her.

"Where's your coffee?" she asked. She had to yell, to be heard over Candy, on the bass, and Ethan's drums, while Bethany and Miranda belted out, "What About Love?"

I didn't trust my voice, so I just made a face, hoping to indicate to her that it was too bitter. She nodded, then returned her attention to the band, bobbing her head, and swaying gently back and forth.

And I just sat there, pretending to listen, but instead I was concentrating on Lizzie.

"Lizzie!" I called out to her, even though we were close enough to almost feel each other's breath. She turned back to me, her eyebrows raised in polite curiosity. "About that, earlier? I--"

"What?" she interrupted me.

I swallowed, then gave her a small wave. "Never mind!"

God, my timing sucked.

A couple of neighborhood kids, middle school students who had been attracted by the noise, had gathered in the garage door now, watching from the driveway.

The practice continued for another hour and a half, perhaps, and over the course of it, Ethan continued to impress. He had obviously never treated his drums as just another toy, and for the first practice in weeks, you could feel an electricity.

After the last song, everyone kind of collected around Ethan, Lizzie and I included. "Well, guys," Miranda asked the other band members. "What do you think?"

Candy reached up and playfully mussed up Ethan's hair, which made him duck instinctively. "I think we're ready to rock their world," she said.

Trey lifted his guitar off his shoulders. "Marry him if you have to, Miranda," he advised. "He's twenty times the drummer Ryan is."

I was willing to cut Trey some slack for that, because he had no idea of Miranda's past feelings for Ethan, but it still had to be embarrassing for her. But if so, she hid it admirably, as she kept everyone's attention focused on Ethan. "We'd love to have you, Ethan."

Ethan responded with his patented head bob, followed by, "Kewl, Miranda, my sweet."

"Oh, but Ethan? One thing? Lose the Kabuki makeup." She laughed gently. "It's so not us."

"Really?" he asked. "Thank God!" He pulled up the bottom of his black t-shirt and started violently scrubbing the white off, and the eyes of all four girls in his audience instantly gravitated to the star quarterback's washboard abs. "I think I'm getting an allergic reaction."

He was only partially successful in getting out from under the makeup. "I think I'd better head home, guys," he said as he weaved his way through the various instruments and cables that littered the floor of the makeshift stage. "I'll have some workers in my dad's company bring my drums over, before the next practice." He turned back to us before stepping out into the front yard, and flashed a thumbs up. "It's gonna be a blast, guys," and then he was gone.

Miranda waited until she heard the sound of Ethan's engine before she whooped and flew across the garage and leapt into my arms with a big bear hug, followed by a tight embrace of Lizzie, and a whirlwind tour of hugs from every band member. "It's gonna work, guys!" she screamed in relief. "It's finally gonna work!"

Miranda had gotten a lift from Brody and Bethany to practice, but they were going on to San Diego from Candy's, so she hitched a ride back home with Lizzie and I. Which was fine. I wanted to touch base with Miranda, anyway.

"So, uh," I called to her over my shoulder. "Given any thought to your secret admirer?"

I saw her look out the window, in my rearview mirror. "Not really," she replied somberly.

Lizzie huffed indignantly. "Gordo thinks you're in danger. His spider-sense is tingling."

"Not…danger," I protested. My eyes met Miranda's briefly, in the mirror. "I just think, it may not be what you think. It could be…someone…who's got…something else, in mind."

"Someone like Ryan, you mean," Miranda said pointedly.

"Someone like him, yeah."

Miranda gave a tiny shrug. "I don't know. I just assumed it was someone…goofing around. Not serious. It's not like anyone could admire me, from afar."

Lizzie huffed again, exasperated. "Yes. Thank you so much, Gordo."

I took advantage of being stopped by a traffic light to put a hand to my forehead. "What? I didn't mean it, that way. I'm just saying…you can't know what you're dealing with, on the Internet. You have to be…careful."

"Don't worry about it," Miranda said in a tiny voice, as she toyed with the miniature crucifix that always hung around her neck. "I know that post last night was just so much…bullshit, I guess."

Lizzie didn't say anything else on the subject, but her nose was flaring, and her lips were pursed, and she was shooting daggers at me, with her eyes.

Fuck.

Our little tableau was interrupted by the car behind us, which was honking its horn, now that the traffic light had turned green.

I had just turned into our neighborhood, intending to go to Miranda's first, since she lived about two blocks away from Lizzie and me, when Lizzie, who had been scrounging through her purse, panicked. "Oh, my God," she breathed. "I'm out of gum."

She always, without fail, chewed a stick of gum, just before entering her house, any time she had smoked a cigarette beforehand, compulsive about removing any possibility of any hint of any trace of cigarette smoke. She looked up at me, her eyes wide. "Do you have any?" despite the fact that I never chewed gum. Then she turned to the back seat. "Miranda?"

"Yeah, I might," Miranda told her, tossing her own purse up to the front seat. "But it's probably double mint."

"That's okay," said Lizzie, who usually insisted on wintergreen. She rummaged through Miranda's purse for a moment, before pausing, just as I was pulling into the driveway. "What the hell is this?" she asked herself.

She pulled out a clear, plastic case, originally designed to hold a small sewing kit of needle and thread. But the sewing kit had been replaced, by a lone, double-edged razor.

"What?" Miranda called distractedly, but when she saw what Lizzie was holding, her eyes grew bigger, and she bounced toward Lizzie in the front. "Lizzie! Stop. Give me that!"

"Miranda?" I asked her, confused.

She looked at me, her eyes pleading. "It's not what you think. I promise. I haven't touched it, since that night. I would never do that."

"This is…just…" Lizzie shook her head.

"Guys! I use this. To remind me of how low I felt that night, okay? And what you guys did for me. The case has never been opened, I swear. But I need it. It's…a security blanket."

"This is one hell of a security blanket, Miranda!" Lizzie blurted. "A security blanket is a photo, or…or your crucifix, or…Jesus, a real blanket, but a razor blade? You can't--"

In response, Miranda deftly reached into the front seat and swiped Lizzie's purse off her lap. Lizzie tried to grasp the strap, but it slipped out from under her fingers. I was reduced to watching helplessly.

"Oh, that's rich, Lizzie, you lecturing me about security blankets." Miranda didn't have to dig far, before triumphantly pulling out Lizzie's lighter.

"What are you doing?" Lizzie asked her.

"You take my blanket? I take yours." And with her lips pursed defiantly at both of us (although I hadn't really argued with her), she forcefully swapped purses with Lizzie and opened her back door, on the passenger side.

She put one foot out, on the driveway. "I'm sorry, guys," she said quietly, not looking at us, looking instead out the door, toward the sanctuary of her home. "But you have to let me make my own decisions." She stepped out of the car, shut the door gently, and ran up the steps to her front door, and disappeared from view.

Lizzie looked toward me, her face so sad.

"I guess we both fucked up a little, here," I suggested.

Instead of agreeing with me, Lizzie said, "You could have supported me, just then."

"Maybe I would have," I countered, "if I thought you were right."

While I was backing out of the driveway, Lizzie started to respond. "Gordo…" she said, then sighed, thinking better of it. "Whatever. Look, take me to the mini-mart, first. I have to find gum."

We stopped at the little convenience store where Lizzie and I had bought comic books in the fourth grade, and I went in with her. I picked up a bottle of Tylenol, and noticed at the counter that Lizzie was purchasing not only a pack of gum, but a new lighter.

I had about an hour to burn, before prepping for my date with Vanessa, so I spent the time catching up on all that had happened at Miranda's World, her blog, in the two months or so since I lost my other laptop. A lot of drama had gone down, in those two months, mostly thanks to Ryan Malone.

Their breakup had been a pretty shaky time for Miranda.

Eventually, I had read through about nine or ten pages of journal entries, and just for the hell of it, I revisited the comments page for Thursday's entry. To my surprise, Miranda's mystery paramour had posted again, apparently at right about the same time that I had signed off this morning.

I know you, because I see you, every day, between 2nd and 3rd.
And I'm nobody. Not like you. You're this...creator. You write, and you sing, and you give, I guess. I'm just a hold on a consumer. I just take. I wish I could create things, like you do, like a poem, or something, but I'm pretty awful at that.
I'm sorry, if I'm scaring you, or freaking you out or something. I didn't mean to, and I'll stop posting like this, if it's not right. I mean, I'll understand. I'll stop posting, but I'd never stop loving you.

My eyes narrowed.

Smooth operator, aren't you? Do you know just what buttons to push with Miranda, and if so, how? Who are you? What are you really after?

I had been seeing Vanessa Echols for several weeks. She was a perky sophomore with the blackest hair, and bright blue eyes that sparkled electrically. She was fun, and flirtatious, and didn't mind showing everyone how much she liked me. In fact, it was something that took a little getting used to. I've never been one to…gush over a girl, and I kind of liked to keep a low profile, but after seven or eight dates, I was beginning to loosen up and enjoy myself.

Oh, and the best part? I was an inch taller than her.

We spent the first part of our date that evening actually playing Liverpool with her parents, an involved card game, that takes about an hour and a half, giving the Echols the opportunity to "get to know" me better. But it was a fun game for four, and gave me ideas of introducing the game to Lizzie and Miranda. In the back of my mind, I had thoughts of them bonding with Vanessa. That was important to me.

We went in to San Diego for dinner, and I took her to Emerald's, this nice Chinese place. She taught me how to use chopsticks, while I convinced her to try the dim sum. I told her about Miranda's aborted attempts to chase Ethan away, the night before, and she laughed so hard, the tears came to her eyes, which got me laughing, and she kept saying, "Stop! Stop!" and I kept going on, until she warned me she was going to pee, if I didn't stop.

Vanessa and Miranda had known who each other were. I mean, they had seen each other in the hallways, but they had never met, until recently. You have to understand. North Hillridge has over thirteen hundred students, and you can go through your entire high school career and not meet everyone, especially if they're in a different grade. Vanessa had only met Miranda a couple of weeks ago, at the birthday party that Lizzie had thrown for me, but they had seemed to hit it off pretty well. And again, you see, that was important to me.

Then we went to an outdoor amphitheater, and watched a performance of "Betrayal." But after the first act, Vanessa began to grow bored and started mocking the actor's lines, like an episode of Mystery Science Theatre 3000. At first, I tried to keep her quiet, embarrassed, but she persisted, and later, I thought, "Who cares?"

We were far enough away from everyone else that no one could hear us, and before long, she had me laughing again, and I thought, this isn't like me.

I mean, I don't laugh. I never have, not really. Oh sure, I smile, I grin. I can chuckle with the best of them. But with Vanessa, it was none of that. These were full-on belly laughs and giggles, the kind that get you plenty of uncomfortable stares from the stuffy snobs, the nouveau elite, the…people like me. And you know? That night, I didn't really care. I had found someone that I could have fun with, be romantic with, share secrets with, and be sensual with.

We left the play early (I'm sure to the delight and relief of theater management), and it was only nine-thirty, while Vanessa didn't have to be back until one. So I parked in one of the beach parking lots, and we removed our shoes, and took a walk on the beach. There was only a sliver of moon, and the lights from downtown prevented any of the stars from shining through, but still. We were teenagers, and maybe starting to fall in love, and my pleasures have always been simple.

She took my hand as we walked, and I twined my fingers through hers. "David Gordon," she asked me. "What do you want to be, when you grow up?"

"I want to make documentaries," I confided in her. "Everyone knows I want to be a director, but I'm not interested in the commercial blockbusters. If you want to be successful in that, you have to design a line of toys first, and then sign a marketing deal with Burger King, and then you make the movie that the studio tells you to make, and then, after submitting your baby to focus groups and test audiences, you go back and re-shoot scenes, to make sure you're giving the audience what it wants."

She stopped walking, and since she was holding my hand, I was forced to follow suit, and turn to her. "In other words," she observed, "you prostitute your soul."

"No," I corrected her. "Not in other words. Those are pretty much the exact words."

We had reached a pier that stretched a hundred yards or so out into the ocean, and we stepped up on it, and walked out over the waves, this magnificent beach all to ourselves. "So, I guess it'll be documentaries for me, or maybe small independent features, where I can share my vision. It won't be much, and I won't get much attention. But it'll be mine. You know?"

We stopped about midway out, and she leaned against the railing, and looked back toward the beach. She had grown silent, and when she crossed her arms, I said, "Cold? Do you wanna head back?"

She shook her head, and said "No," while the sea breeze twisted her hair in front of her face, and I reached out and brushed it away. "I want to stay out here, with you."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" she asked, perhaps a little confused.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Vanessa Echols?"

She looked up at the moon for a moment, before responding. "Well, first of all, I want to get out of Spring Valley."

"Really?" I asked. "Hunh. Always pictured you as the small-town girl."

She laughed. "Oh, I'm a small-town girl, all right. I love the size. I just want to get out of the shadow of the big city." She closed her eyes dreamily. "I want to open up a coffee shop. And right next door, I'll run this intimate cozy, movie theatre. And I'll show first-run art films, and documentaries, and small independent features." She opened her eyes and glanced at me in wonder. "Hey!" she said, and draped her arms around my neck, looking up at me and leaning her body into mine.

It amazed me, how the curves in her body interlocked so well with mine.

"Hey," she repeated, much softer this time. "Maybe I can show one of your movies."

"Yeah," I smiled back, getting lost in her eyes. "You build the theatre; I'll make the movie."

She inhaled, then exhaled a long, slow breath, and I could feel her breasts swell against me. "What would your first movie be about?"

"I'm thinking, maybe…a beautiful, small-town girl, who captures the heart of a young director."

Her pupils completely filled her eyes, as she said, "Really, David? You'd do that, for me?"

"Vanessa, it's the least I'd do for you."

She kissed me, and her mouth tasted of peppermint. I never knew how she did that. One day, the week before, I had caught her in the hallway, right after lunch, and I surprised her with a kiss, right outside her Biology class, and she had tasted like peppermint, then, too.

She molded her body next to mine, and I could feel every part of her. I knew she could feel me, too, but there was no embarrassment, or even discomfort on my part, which surprised me a little. I wanted her to know how much I wanted her. I couldn't tell the difference between the pounding of the waves beneath us and the pounding of her heart against mine. And at the same time I was tasting her tongue, I was also smelling the strawberry scent of her hair, and for a brief moment, I was afraid I was going to enter sensory overload, and pass out.

And after about twenty minutes, she broke our kiss. Well, okay, maybe not that long, but it didn't matter, because I wasn't ready for it to end. So I kissed her again, and again we were swept away, lost in time. She twirled her fingers in my hair, and I twirled mine through the belt loops of her jeans.

When our kiss finally ended above the surf, she ran her tongue over her lips, swallowed, blinked, and said, "You taste good." I never knew guys had a taste. She hugged me, and nestled her head against my cheek, and all I could think about was her hair, and her lips, and her eyes, and everything else about her. "Take me…somewhere, David," she whispered. "I want to ride."

One of my hands was brushing through her hair, and the other was caressing her back. "Where do you want to go?" I asked.

"Doesn't matter," she said in a faraway voice. "It's all about the journey, not the destination."

So we spent the rest of our night together, taking the long slow roads back to our little hamlet of Spring Valley. We could have taken I-8, or Highway 94, but instead, we cruised down Market Street, and actually came back to town on the other side, from the east. Everything was quiet, but alive and vibrant at the same time.

When we pulled up to Vanessa's house, about a quarter 'til one, we saw that her parents had been considerate enough to leave the front porch light on for us. I walked her to her porch, and we stopped at the front door. "Hold on," she said with an impish grin, cracked open the front door, slid her hand just inside that opening, and flicked off the porch light. Then she withdrew her hand, closed the door, and clasped my hands in hers.

"I had fun," she assured me with a playful smile. "Again." Her smile kind of faltered, as some kind of realization hit her. "I always have fun, with you."

And it was at that moment that I had my first epiphany. She was right, for me, the yin for my yang.

I chuckled and told her, "I think you're very good for me, 'Nessa."

She tilted her head and crinkled her nose at me, just like someone else I knew. "Really? How?"

I kissed her briefly, and again felt the tang of peppermint. "I feel…liberated. Like I can do anything. No pressures, no expectations. We can just live for the moment."

"You should, David," she scolded me, as she toyed with the collar of my shirt, and for the twentieth time that night, she molded her body to mine. "You really are entirely too serious."

"You can help me with that?" I proposed.

"Oh, I'm gonna teach you how to have fun," she whispered, and pulled my lips down to hers. And a moment later, our lips parted, and she said, "Better be ready."

I released her, reluctantly. "I'll call you tomorrow," I promised.

She nodded, with just the tip of her tongue peeking through her lips, and then she started. "Oh, wait! I almost forgot." She popped open the front door once more, and entered the foyer, leaving just one foot still out on the porch. She brought back out with her a delicate white treasure that she cupped in both hands. An origami rose. "I made it this morning. For you."

I took it tenderly in both hands, almost afraid to touch it. I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Thanks." As lame as that sounded to my ears, I believe she understood what this really meant to me. I wanted to take her in my arms again, but I knew my rose would never survive. So I simply repeated, "Thanks."

She nodded, as if she knew everything about me, this little tenth grader, and said, "See you tomorrow." She stepped inside and the door softly clicked shut behind her, and only then, did the porch light come back on.

I walked back to my car and climbed in, but only after making sure the rose was safely ensconced on the passenger seat. I turned the ignition, and was prepared to back out of her driveway, but my senses were suddenly captured by some odd déjà vu. I picked up the origami rose and held it to my face, and inhaled.

Peppermint.