Hey guys, I'm back. Okies this chapter is a little bit more mature, which
is why the rating has gone up to PG-13, there is some bad language, and a
situation, which I do not detail, but still a mature situation that I
thought you should realize is more than 'PG' cuz I don't want people to get
upset because of it.
BTW: THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! 45 Guys...that's insane!!! Thank you, thank you! And for those of you that didn't get a reply, GIVE ME YOUR E-MAIL! And if you don't have one...well say so and I'll put your reply in my next post. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Lizzie McGuire, I simply own this story...a few odd characters...and this tale that I have spun.
Chapter 2: The Wrong Life
~10 years earlier~
She lay backwards on the bed, her eyes drooping shut, after another long afternoon. It had seemed ages since she'd had the energy for anything.
And she knew part of that was because of him.
Lifting a thin, porcelain white hand, she rubbed her right temple feverishly. The satin coverlet beneath her was cool, unlike the sweltering May afternoon, and she wished desperately that they had central air, or for that matter, any air. Her head was throbbing with the heat, and an entire day of overly rambunctious teen-agers, who seemed to live, only to make her miserable. She used to LOVE teaching. What had happened?
There was suddenly a soft creak behind her, and she said up abruptly, her bedroom door was opening slowly, and she could feel the rhythm of her heart speed up, three times its normal pace.
She lightly licked her thin pink lips, parched from talking all day, she didn't want him to come in, and she didn't feel like talking to him, not just now.
But the door opened in its usual squeaky manner, and in strode a tall and handsome man. Blonde hair perfectly cut, blue eyes twinkling dangerously in the low mid-evening light. He smiled brightly at her, flashing a white smile that would have sunk any woman to her knees, and he came over quickly to sit next to her on the bed.
"Ahh, did we have a long day again?" He asked in a voice so thick with overly sweetness that you could have cut in two, and spread it on toast.
"Hullo, Derek." She replied, her voice shaking nervously. In her general habit she pulled her skirt down a bit farther to hide her left calf, a large and throbbing bruise only a few days young. She'd worn long sleeves that day too, so that no one could see the long thin black-and blues, up and down her arms, where a grip so tight had left their mark.
"Why so shaky baby?" he asked, stroking her long blonde hair, a little too harshly.
"The heat," she murmured, "you know how I get woozy from the heat."
"Hmmm, I see. Make me dinner will you precious?" He kissed her on the forehead, and got up, "I'll be in the den."
She nodded, and waited a moment till she heard the door close at the other end of the apartment.
She got up, slowly, but she didn't change out of her clothes, though she was nearly suffocating. Instead she walked into the tiny kitchen, and began making some roasted chicken.
Today was a good day, she deceived, today he would not get angry with her for no apparent reason, and instead it would be calm and wonderful...the way it used to be.
Beth wasn't sure when Derek Martin had changed from a kind, sweet, and sensitive man, into a rampaging tyrant with a quick and fiery temper.
He had never been like that; he was so romantic, and fun. Bringing her gifts, and making her laugh...he'd swept her off her feet. They'd met, Senior year in High School, because he had transferred from Los Angeles, to the tiny town in Pennsylvania where Elizabeth Brooke McGuire had been raised. He instantly became popular, with his good looks and charm. And to the great surprise of many, he chose Beth, then known as Lizzie to be his sweetheart. He'd simply asked her to Homecoming, and then started to seriously date her. Of course most of the popular girls were furious, but it didn't seem to faze Derek at all, he told Beth that she was the sweetest, most beautiful girl he'd ever met, and without a doubt Elizabeth McGuire was sweet and beautiful, but whether Derek had meant it, was a completely different story.
Within a year out of High School they had moved to California, and Beth quickly lost touch with all of her friends from home. It didn't matter what happened to any of them, all she could see, was Derek. He was her knight-in-shining armor, her night, her day, her whole entire life, because he convinced her that all they ever needed, was each other.
And she had been stupid enough to believe it.
Five years later she was teaching, and writing, her main passion, in her spare time. He was finishing law school, the whole time they had been sharing an apartment. They never talked about marriage, why bother? He loved her, and she adored him, what more did they need?
Over that time though, she began to notice Derek's anger, his depression, and restlessness. For sometime she was convinced that it was simply the pressure of college, and that sometimes, despite the fact that they both worked, and had money from their families back home (neither family, seemed to realize that they were living together) that sometimes things were tight, and they never really could do the things they wanted to.
But now, he was a member of a prestigious practice, members of the firm represented some of the most famous people in Hollywood; Derek himself had a few wealthy clients that paid *extremely* well.
But there were was *still* something wrong, that Beth just couldn't put her finger on.
--
The door of the den opened, and Derek came into the tiny kitchen, taking a seat at the white Island. Beth had made chicken, potatoes, salad and had even heated up a few white rolls.
He didn't say anything as he sat down, he only served himself some chicken, a few brown potatoes, which were brown only because of the large quantities of paprika on them, and after applying a little dressing to his salad (Thousand Island) he began to eat.
Beth didn't speak either as she too placed a few things on her plate. They ate silently; the only sounds were the tinkling of ice in their glasses of ice tea, and the sounds of silver hitting the china.
And then, he took a bite of the potatoes.
Now any smart person who has ever eaten a potato before, knows that the ones right off the stove, after being fried so that they are soft enough, realizes that this makes them very hot.
He had obviously forgotten.
Derek took a bite, the steamy brown cubed potato touching his tongue for only a second, when it scalded the very tip.
"JESUS CHIRST!" He screamed, jumping up from his stool. "GOD DAMNIT BETH DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT SO FUCKING HOT?" His voice tore through the tiny apartment, as he knocked over glasses, hitting his fork, and splattering potato against the cupboards. "AHHHHHH!" he hollered, so loudly that the walls shook with his voice.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She began to say, shaking so hard that she almost died of fear. Her heart was going a mile a minute and she could feel tears welling up behind her light brown eyes. She didn't like it when people yelled, it startled her, frightened her to death.
"I'M GETTING THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE!" he boomed, and he marched to the door, grabbing his jacket from the hook, and disappearing into the evening.
She stood up very quietly, fighting the urge to fall to the ground and sob. It was deep within her heart, and it made every last part of her hurt, with fear and distress...
Beth surveyed the damage done. Two broken glasses, a chipped plate, spilled ice tea, and splattered potatoes.
She clutched her chest, and before she could stop herself, sank to her knees, tears running down her soft cheeks.
"Oh, God..." she murmured, "Oh, oh...God..."
Today was not a good day.
--
Beth reclined on sofa, the smooth cover of "Gone With the Wind" by Margaret Mitchell, underneath her slender fingertips.
She was trying to tune out that afternoon's events. She was attempting to ignore the fact that the man she loved was insane...and she was powerless to do anything about it.
The clock in the corner struck 12 times.
Wow, it's late, Beth thought, sitting up, Maybe I should go to bed.
She'd been so absorbed with her novel that she had totally forgotten, she was just sitting up, when the door to the apartment opened, and Derek staggered in. His perfect hair mussed, clothing wrinkled, the smell of liquor radiating off of him.
A gasp escaped from her throat, he was drunk, *again*.
"You!" he cried, Derek moved toward her, and grabbed onto the corner of her shirt, "You burned my tongue, and where in the hell is my drink? Huh? Can't a man get anything good out of his wife anymore?" His words where so slurred, so bunched together that she could barely put them together.
"Let go of me." She said hoarsely. Good God, the stench nearly knocked her out.
"No...I need you for something." He murmured, and he pulled her against him, trying to kiss her.
He was holding so tightly onto her that she could move neither her arms nor legs, and she couldn't escape him, he kept trying to kiss her, and not just on the lips either.
"Derek, STOP!" she cried, but to no avail, he was beyond hearing. He lifted her up and pulled her into her bedroom, tossing her onto the satin coverlet.
She opened her mouth to scream, only for him to slap her face harshly, sending pain searing through her whole body.
Oh, God, she though, God bless me please, and everything disappeared into a sea of black.
--
Beth awoke the next morning, too stiff to move. Every part of her body ached. She couldn't open her eyes, she knew that if she did she would see the bruises on her arms and legs, the welts sticking up at her leeringly. She didn't hear any other breathing; he was obviously gone, off to work, pretending that this had never happened.
But had it happened? She remembered only a few moments, brief but vivid, and she realized in horror that this was just too far.
He had never done something like this before, he had never gone so far...so far as to actually...oh God what had he done?
Rape? Was it that it? Could she technically call it rape? When he had slept with her so many times before, this time, even though she did not remember consenting, could it be consider it that?
Beth opened her eyes, her body numb with cold fear and dread. She lifted the covers and looked down at her thin body.
She couldn't breathe.
Oh Jesus!
Her whole body was bruised, with welts so large...deep gashes...there was something caught in the back of her throat, she held a sob deep within her, no longer in her heart, but in her stomach, and she could feel it there, jittery and nervous like butterflies gone terribly awry.
That was it, she couldn't take it any more, she was going to put up with this.
Beth jumped out of her bed, and gathered her things up, all the clothing she could fit anyway, into her green suitcase. She rushed to the bathroom, looking for her toothbrush, a few towels and some soap.
Money! She dug in her underwear drawer, grasping for her secret stash of about 150 dollars. It wasn't much, but with the help of her ATM card she could get enough...for...
For what? Where was she going to go? Where in the hell did she actually think she was going to go?
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, today was a Thursday, and she hadn't shown up at work. Surely they would worry...
But it didn't matter, maybe she would go back home...to her parents, get a job there...tell them that things...things just hadn't worked out with Derek.
But what if he came looking for her...?
Her mind was racing so fast that she couldn't catch each thought that went by.
Maybe she should report him to the authorities...but it might be better if she got far away from California first, Derek would never fly out so fast...but...
Oh God, just 'What If?'
--
Somehow, miraculously Beth had found the motivation to get herself to the Los Angeles airport, via a Taxi Cab.
After waiting twenty minutes for an available flight, and then getting her ticket, she found herself, staring out the window high above the clouds...leaving California and all her troubles.
She reached for her duffel, which she'd stored at her feet, and began digging.
It was funny, right now, the one thing she wanted to do was write down.
Throughout her High School years she had discovered her love of writing. She's always liked reading novels, why not write her own? But she could not find her suede Barnes and Noble Journal...where the heck was it? She reached deeper, and pulled out something, a book, with a bumpy black cover.
Her scrap book! It must have been with the pile of things she had grabbed from underneath her bead.
Wow...Beth hadn't touched this in ages. She flipped open the front cover, and there, sprawled across the first two pages in loopy bubble letters was the name:
Lizzie McGuire
Lizzie...when was the last time someone had called her that? Derek didn't like that name, he thought Beth fit her better...that Beth was the right name for someone so soft and sweet. She adopted it, and went by nothing else.
Someone else though had given her that nickname...she turned over the next leaf in the thick volume, and there was a pictures of her, and two other people. But the largest picture in the very middle, surrounded with smaller pictures of the boy standing next to her, stuck out, and she fingered the slick face of the old photo. There he was, in all his teen-age glory, her best friend from childhood.
David Zephyr Gordon.
And suddenly, although she was dieing inside, she suddenly felt as if a huge weight had been lifted of her shoulders, staring into his soft blue eyes.
How long ago had she talked to him last? He was the last person who called her Lizzie, even when Miranda, her other best friend, had started calling her Beth, Gordo...her nickname for him, Gordo wouldn't.
She remembered suddenly something he'd said...
"You're Lizzie McGuire, and that's all you'll ever be. Just Lizzie. And nothing else."
Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces...he'd warned her, hadn't he? Hadn't Gordo said a thousand times, "There's something strange about him Lizzie, something I just don't trust, he's so sweet it's almost slimy. You hardly know him, and you think you love him? Stop rushing into this, as your best friend I'm begging you, slow down, think!"
She hadn't listened.
Why the hell hadn't she listened?
"Gordo..." she whispered. "You were so right...you were right all along. What happened to us, in High School...I mean. I think you loved me...but I don't know. Did you? Did you love me Gordo? And I was to blind to see it?" She was talking to the picture as if it were real.
Beth leaned backwards, and closed her eyes, when an idea hit her.
Her eyes popped open, and she reached into her bag again, finally she found the book, the suede blue cover she'd bought on a whim when window shopping one day.
'Stuck' she scratched across the top of the first page...by 'Lizzie McGuire'...yeah that looked good, 'Lizzie McGuire'...
I didn't listen to you Gordo, Lizzie thought, But maybe now, in my dreams, I can change all of that.
--
Whoo.there you go. Soon I'll update...eventually.
Oh! And I didn't fail my Algebra final.
I just got a 'C' :/ Blauek...but it's better than failing.
Ciao!
Jen
BTW: THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! 45 Guys...that's insane!!! Thank you, thank you! And for those of you that didn't get a reply, GIVE ME YOUR E-MAIL! And if you don't have one...well say so and I'll put your reply in my next post. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Lizzie McGuire, I simply own this story...a few odd characters...and this tale that I have spun.
Chapter 2: The Wrong Life
~10 years earlier~
She lay backwards on the bed, her eyes drooping shut, after another long afternoon. It had seemed ages since she'd had the energy for anything.
And she knew part of that was because of him.
Lifting a thin, porcelain white hand, she rubbed her right temple feverishly. The satin coverlet beneath her was cool, unlike the sweltering May afternoon, and she wished desperately that they had central air, or for that matter, any air. Her head was throbbing with the heat, and an entire day of overly rambunctious teen-agers, who seemed to live, only to make her miserable. She used to LOVE teaching. What had happened?
There was suddenly a soft creak behind her, and she said up abruptly, her bedroom door was opening slowly, and she could feel the rhythm of her heart speed up, three times its normal pace.
She lightly licked her thin pink lips, parched from talking all day, she didn't want him to come in, and she didn't feel like talking to him, not just now.
But the door opened in its usual squeaky manner, and in strode a tall and handsome man. Blonde hair perfectly cut, blue eyes twinkling dangerously in the low mid-evening light. He smiled brightly at her, flashing a white smile that would have sunk any woman to her knees, and he came over quickly to sit next to her on the bed.
"Ahh, did we have a long day again?" He asked in a voice so thick with overly sweetness that you could have cut in two, and spread it on toast.
"Hullo, Derek." She replied, her voice shaking nervously. In her general habit she pulled her skirt down a bit farther to hide her left calf, a large and throbbing bruise only a few days young. She'd worn long sleeves that day too, so that no one could see the long thin black-and blues, up and down her arms, where a grip so tight had left their mark.
"Why so shaky baby?" he asked, stroking her long blonde hair, a little too harshly.
"The heat," she murmured, "you know how I get woozy from the heat."
"Hmmm, I see. Make me dinner will you precious?" He kissed her on the forehead, and got up, "I'll be in the den."
She nodded, and waited a moment till she heard the door close at the other end of the apartment.
She got up, slowly, but she didn't change out of her clothes, though she was nearly suffocating. Instead she walked into the tiny kitchen, and began making some roasted chicken.
Today was a good day, she deceived, today he would not get angry with her for no apparent reason, and instead it would be calm and wonderful...the way it used to be.
Beth wasn't sure when Derek Martin had changed from a kind, sweet, and sensitive man, into a rampaging tyrant with a quick and fiery temper.
He had never been like that; he was so romantic, and fun. Bringing her gifts, and making her laugh...he'd swept her off her feet. They'd met, Senior year in High School, because he had transferred from Los Angeles, to the tiny town in Pennsylvania where Elizabeth Brooke McGuire had been raised. He instantly became popular, with his good looks and charm. And to the great surprise of many, he chose Beth, then known as Lizzie to be his sweetheart. He'd simply asked her to Homecoming, and then started to seriously date her. Of course most of the popular girls were furious, but it didn't seem to faze Derek at all, he told Beth that she was the sweetest, most beautiful girl he'd ever met, and without a doubt Elizabeth McGuire was sweet and beautiful, but whether Derek had meant it, was a completely different story.
Within a year out of High School they had moved to California, and Beth quickly lost touch with all of her friends from home. It didn't matter what happened to any of them, all she could see, was Derek. He was her knight-in-shining armor, her night, her day, her whole entire life, because he convinced her that all they ever needed, was each other.
And she had been stupid enough to believe it.
Five years later she was teaching, and writing, her main passion, in her spare time. He was finishing law school, the whole time they had been sharing an apartment. They never talked about marriage, why bother? He loved her, and she adored him, what more did they need?
Over that time though, she began to notice Derek's anger, his depression, and restlessness. For sometime she was convinced that it was simply the pressure of college, and that sometimes, despite the fact that they both worked, and had money from their families back home (neither family, seemed to realize that they were living together) that sometimes things were tight, and they never really could do the things they wanted to.
But now, he was a member of a prestigious practice, members of the firm represented some of the most famous people in Hollywood; Derek himself had a few wealthy clients that paid *extremely* well.
But there were was *still* something wrong, that Beth just couldn't put her finger on.
--
The door of the den opened, and Derek came into the tiny kitchen, taking a seat at the white Island. Beth had made chicken, potatoes, salad and had even heated up a few white rolls.
He didn't say anything as he sat down, he only served himself some chicken, a few brown potatoes, which were brown only because of the large quantities of paprika on them, and after applying a little dressing to his salad (Thousand Island) he began to eat.
Beth didn't speak either as she too placed a few things on her plate. They ate silently; the only sounds were the tinkling of ice in their glasses of ice tea, and the sounds of silver hitting the china.
And then, he took a bite of the potatoes.
Now any smart person who has ever eaten a potato before, knows that the ones right off the stove, after being fried so that they are soft enough, realizes that this makes them very hot.
He had obviously forgotten.
Derek took a bite, the steamy brown cubed potato touching his tongue for only a second, when it scalded the very tip.
"JESUS CHIRST!" He screamed, jumping up from his stool. "GOD DAMNIT BETH DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT SO FUCKING HOT?" His voice tore through the tiny apartment, as he knocked over glasses, hitting his fork, and splattering potato against the cupboards. "AHHHHHH!" he hollered, so loudly that the walls shook with his voice.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She began to say, shaking so hard that she almost died of fear. Her heart was going a mile a minute and she could feel tears welling up behind her light brown eyes. She didn't like it when people yelled, it startled her, frightened her to death.
"I'M GETTING THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE!" he boomed, and he marched to the door, grabbing his jacket from the hook, and disappearing into the evening.
She stood up very quietly, fighting the urge to fall to the ground and sob. It was deep within her heart, and it made every last part of her hurt, with fear and distress...
Beth surveyed the damage done. Two broken glasses, a chipped plate, spilled ice tea, and splattered potatoes.
She clutched her chest, and before she could stop herself, sank to her knees, tears running down her soft cheeks.
"Oh, God..." she murmured, "Oh, oh...God..."
Today was not a good day.
--
Beth reclined on sofa, the smooth cover of "Gone With the Wind" by Margaret Mitchell, underneath her slender fingertips.
She was trying to tune out that afternoon's events. She was attempting to ignore the fact that the man she loved was insane...and she was powerless to do anything about it.
The clock in the corner struck 12 times.
Wow, it's late, Beth thought, sitting up, Maybe I should go to bed.
She'd been so absorbed with her novel that she had totally forgotten, she was just sitting up, when the door to the apartment opened, and Derek staggered in. His perfect hair mussed, clothing wrinkled, the smell of liquor radiating off of him.
A gasp escaped from her throat, he was drunk, *again*.
"You!" he cried, Derek moved toward her, and grabbed onto the corner of her shirt, "You burned my tongue, and where in the hell is my drink? Huh? Can't a man get anything good out of his wife anymore?" His words where so slurred, so bunched together that she could barely put them together.
"Let go of me." She said hoarsely. Good God, the stench nearly knocked her out.
"No...I need you for something." He murmured, and he pulled her against him, trying to kiss her.
He was holding so tightly onto her that she could move neither her arms nor legs, and she couldn't escape him, he kept trying to kiss her, and not just on the lips either.
"Derek, STOP!" she cried, but to no avail, he was beyond hearing. He lifted her up and pulled her into her bedroom, tossing her onto the satin coverlet.
She opened her mouth to scream, only for him to slap her face harshly, sending pain searing through her whole body.
Oh, God, she though, God bless me please, and everything disappeared into a sea of black.
--
Beth awoke the next morning, too stiff to move. Every part of her body ached. She couldn't open her eyes, she knew that if she did she would see the bruises on her arms and legs, the welts sticking up at her leeringly. She didn't hear any other breathing; he was obviously gone, off to work, pretending that this had never happened.
But had it happened? She remembered only a few moments, brief but vivid, and she realized in horror that this was just too far.
He had never done something like this before, he had never gone so far...so far as to actually...oh God what had he done?
Rape? Was it that it? Could she technically call it rape? When he had slept with her so many times before, this time, even though she did not remember consenting, could it be consider it that?
Beth opened her eyes, her body numb with cold fear and dread. She lifted the covers and looked down at her thin body.
She couldn't breathe.
Oh Jesus!
Her whole body was bruised, with welts so large...deep gashes...there was something caught in the back of her throat, she held a sob deep within her, no longer in her heart, but in her stomach, and she could feel it there, jittery and nervous like butterflies gone terribly awry.
That was it, she couldn't take it any more, she was going to put up with this.
Beth jumped out of her bed, and gathered her things up, all the clothing she could fit anyway, into her green suitcase. She rushed to the bathroom, looking for her toothbrush, a few towels and some soap.
Money! She dug in her underwear drawer, grasping for her secret stash of about 150 dollars. It wasn't much, but with the help of her ATM card she could get enough...for...
For what? Where was she going to go? Where in the hell did she actually think she was going to go?
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, today was a Thursday, and she hadn't shown up at work. Surely they would worry...
But it didn't matter, maybe she would go back home...to her parents, get a job there...tell them that things...things just hadn't worked out with Derek.
But what if he came looking for her...?
Her mind was racing so fast that she couldn't catch each thought that went by.
Maybe she should report him to the authorities...but it might be better if she got far away from California first, Derek would never fly out so fast...but...
Oh God, just 'What If?'
--
Somehow, miraculously Beth had found the motivation to get herself to the Los Angeles airport, via a Taxi Cab.
After waiting twenty minutes for an available flight, and then getting her ticket, she found herself, staring out the window high above the clouds...leaving California and all her troubles.
She reached for her duffel, which she'd stored at her feet, and began digging.
It was funny, right now, the one thing she wanted to do was write down.
Throughout her High School years she had discovered her love of writing. She's always liked reading novels, why not write her own? But she could not find her suede Barnes and Noble Journal...where the heck was it? She reached deeper, and pulled out something, a book, with a bumpy black cover.
Her scrap book! It must have been with the pile of things she had grabbed from underneath her bead.
Wow...Beth hadn't touched this in ages. She flipped open the front cover, and there, sprawled across the first two pages in loopy bubble letters was the name:
Lizzie McGuire
Lizzie...when was the last time someone had called her that? Derek didn't like that name, he thought Beth fit her better...that Beth was the right name for someone so soft and sweet. She adopted it, and went by nothing else.
Someone else though had given her that nickname...she turned over the next leaf in the thick volume, and there was a pictures of her, and two other people. But the largest picture in the very middle, surrounded with smaller pictures of the boy standing next to her, stuck out, and she fingered the slick face of the old photo. There he was, in all his teen-age glory, her best friend from childhood.
David Zephyr Gordon.
And suddenly, although she was dieing inside, she suddenly felt as if a huge weight had been lifted of her shoulders, staring into his soft blue eyes.
How long ago had she talked to him last? He was the last person who called her Lizzie, even when Miranda, her other best friend, had started calling her Beth, Gordo...her nickname for him, Gordo wouldn't.
She remembered suddenly something he'd said...
"You're Lizzie McGuire, and that's all you'll ever be. Just Lizzie. And nothing else."
Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces...he'd warned her, hadn't he? Hadn't Gordo said a thousand times, "There's something strange about him Lizzie, something I just don't trust, he's so sweet it's almost slimy. You hardly know him, and you think you love him? Stop rushing into this, as your best friend I'm begging you, slow down, think!"
She hadn't listened.
Why the hell hadn't she listened?
"Gordo..." she whispered. "You were so right...you were right all along. What happened to us, in High School...I mean. I think you loved me...but I don't know. Did you? Did you love me Gordo? And I was to blind to see it?" She was talking to the picture as if it were real.
Beth leaned backwards, and closed her eyes, when an idea hit her.
Her eyes popped open, and she reached into her bag again, finally she found the book, the suede blue cover she'd bought on a whim when window shopping one day.
'Stuck' she scratched across the top of the first page...by 'Lizzie McGuire'...yeah that looked good, 'Lizzie McGuire'...
I didn't listen to you Gordo, Lizzie thought, But maybe now, in my dreams, I can change all of that.
--
Whoo.there you go. Soon I'll update...eventually.
Oh! And I didn't fail my Algebra final.
I just got a 'C' :/ Blauek...but it's better than failing.
Ciao!
Jen