CHAPTER 6: THREE CONVERSATIONS

Jo McGuire pulled the car up to the curb and Lizzie got in the front seat. Nicole had asked Lizzie if she could also have a ride home, since it was on the way, and she also was "done" with the evening.

"Hi, Nicole, honey," Jo said. "Nice to see you again. You live in St. Andrews, right?"

"Yes, Mrs. McGuire. Off the end of the main road. I'll direct you when we get there. Thanks so much for the ride."

"No problem," Jo said. "I'm just wondering why you're all breaking up the party so early. Lizzie, you sounded terrible on the phone! What happened?"

"Oh, Mom, it was awful! Brett and I had our first fight. In front of everybody. Well…almost everybody."

"Lizzie!" Jo exclaimed with motherly concern. "What did you fight about?"

"That's the worst part," Lizzie cried. "We fought about Gordo. Brett's jealous. I guess he thinks Gordo likes me."

"But Gordo does like you, honey."

"I mean for some reason Brett thinks he likes me likes me."

"But Gordo does like you like you," Jo insisted. "He's had a little crush on you for ever so long. You know that."

"No, I don't know that!" Lizzie lamented. "I thought I did, but now I'm not sure. I'm so confused, Mom. Gordo hasn't really been around much lately, and even when he is, I have no idea what he's thinking. But Brett is there all the time, and I always know what he's thinking, and I like him so much. I mean I really like him like him…"

"Lizzie," Mom said. "Boys like Brett will come and go in your life. But Gordo will always be there for you."

"Will he?" Lizzie sniffed.

"Oh, honey," Jo said. "I'm so sure of it."

The moment Nicole got into her house, she picked up her phone and dialed Miranda. The bus ride took much longer than a car ride, however, and it was a half hour before Miranda returned her call.

"Just got in," Miranda said. "What's up?"

"I'm wondering about Dave," Nicole said. "Is he okay?"

"He's kind of down," Miranda answered, "but he'll be okay."

"Oh, I hope so!" Nicole lamented. "Brett can be such a jerk, can't he? Sometimes I don't know what Lizzie sees in him. Sometimes I don't like him at all."

"But I know someone you do like…!" Miranda teased.

"Who?"

"Someone you met tonight, someone you called to ask me about…"

"Yes," Nicole admitted. "I do like him! He's so cute and funny and smart. Don't you think?"

"Are you gonna go for him?" Miranda asked, excitedly.

"I don't know. Should I? I think there might be a problem."

"What problem?"

"Well, in the car on the way home, Mrs. McGuire said Dave's had a crush on Lizzie for a long time. Is that true?...Miranda?...Miranda?"

Miranda sighed. Quietly she confirmed, "Yes, it's true."

Now Nicole sighed. "Then that's that."

"That's what?" Miranda demanded.

"That's the end of that story," Nicole said. "There's nothing worse than going for someone who's crazy about someone else. It's bad enough when your heart gets broken all on its own. It doesn't make any sense to set yourself up for it."

"But it might not always be that way with Lizzie and Gordo," Miranda said. "Something could change." Of course Lizzie and Gordo were Miranda's two very best friends, and she only wanted what was best for them both, but lately she wasn't sure they were really best for each other.

"Well, if something changes," Nicole said, "you'll let me know, won't you? In the meantime, like my mom always says, 'I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.'"

Gordo lay on his bed, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the Beatles Abbey Road CD playing quietly in the background. Subconsciously he had chosen the Beatles because he and Nicole had been talking about them earlier in the evening. Nicole had gained her appreciation from her hippie grandfather. Gordo, oddly enough, had been turned on to their music by his cousin Adam who, though only four years older, enjoyed a quirky interest in classic rock and roll. Gordo envied the way Adam carried off his quirkiness. He always seemed so full of self-confidence.

Gordo had also spent most of his life feeling relatively self-confident, but these first two months of high school had done a lot to turn that around. Tonight had probably done more damage than any other single incident.

He didn't care about Brett calling him Shorto. Brett was an idiot. What did Lizzie see in that guy anyway? He was sure the old cliché about love being blind entered into it somehow.

Lizzie herself was more of a problem. She had been so much a part of his life for so long that he didn't feel like himself anymore now that she was drifting further and further away. There was a hole in Gordo's heart where the depth of their friendship used to reside, made even worse by the deeper feelings he had for her. Which were obviously not reciprocated. He stared at the ceiling and felt a heaviness in his chest.

He heard the phone ring beside his bed but didn't move to answer it until his dad yelled up the stairs, "David! Phone!"

"Who is it?" he called.

"I think it's Miranda."

Gordo sighed. He had left Miranda less than an hour ago. She had asked him to come over to her house, but he didn't feel like it. She wondered if she might hang out for a while at his house, but he said he wanted to be alone. He reached for the phone now and said "Miranda, I know you're concerned about me, but—"

"I am concerned about you, Gordo. But I'm not Miranda."

He lay down flat on the bed again, his chest hurting worse than ever as he breathed, "Lizzie…"

"Your dad's losing his touch," Lizzie said. "He used to know my voice every time."

"Well, he hasn't heard it in quite a while." Now why had he said that? Why was he being mean?

"Ouch," Lizzie said quietly. "I guess I deserved that one."

"I'm sorry," Gordo said.

"No, I'm sorry. That's why I'm calling. To apologize. What happened tonight, it was awful. But Brett just called me to apologize, and he's so truly sorry for everything he said and did—"

"Wait," Gordo interrupted. "Are you apologizing to me…for Brett?"

"He's really upset about what happened—"

Gordo choked back a laugh. "I'll bet."

"No, he really is!" Lizzie insisted. "If only you could have heard him. It was the sweetest apology in the history of apologies—"

"And you fell for it?"

"Gordo!"

"Lizzie! The guy is…he's…C'mon, Lizzie. I thought you were smarter than that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lizzie asked defensively.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he said, apologizing again. "Scratch that from the record. Can we start over?"

"How far back do you want to go?" Lizzie asked. "Back to the part about your dad losing his touch?"

Gordo closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. The perfect reply had magically occurred to him. In his head, he could hear himself saying, "No, Lizzie. Let's go all the way back to Italy, when you kissed me on the rooftop." If he could make himself say that, how might she respond? Would she go back that far with him? Could he really call "Do Over!" as if their lives were a game of kickball?

"Gordo…?" Lizzie questioned quietly.

"I…I…"

"Are you okay?"

I can't breathe, he thought. I can't do this.

"Gordo…?"

"I…I miss you, Lizzie."

There! He'd said that much. It wasn't what he really wanted to say, but it was a start.

"Oh, Gordo!" Lizzie exclaimed. "That's so sweet. I miss you too. I miss the way you, me and Miranda always used to hang out. We have to find a way to do that again. I'm going to talk to Miranda, we're going to figure something out. I don't want to lose you, Gordo. I don't want to lose our friendship."

"Friendship…" Gordo repeated.

"Three Musketeers and all that."

"Yeah. All that. But…Lizzie, what about Brett?"

"What about him?"

"He hates my guts. I'm sure you've noticed. He's not gonna let you hang out with me."

Lizzie gasped. "What do you mean 'not let me'? He doesn't own me. He can't tell me what to do."

"So…like…" Gordo began, feeling encouraged enough to be bold, "what if he were to say—"

He was going to ask, "What if he were to say 'It's him or me, you have to choose'—" but before he could get that far, Lizzie suddenly announced, "Oh! I have another call. It must be Brett, I told him to call me back. Talk to you later, Gordo. Bye!"

A moment later the phone lay dead in his hand. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the Beatles, afraid he had the answer to the question he had not been able to ask.