DISCLAIMER: Disney owns Lizzie McGuire. I am just a humble FanFic writer. Humble, and poor, so don't sue, kay?


I don't know what just happened. One second it's all normal, the next it isn't. The world is swirling around me, and I'm zoning out. I try to form a thought in my head, but nothing comes. I'm blank, and I don't know what to make of it all.

I'm walking down the street, the orange streetlights guiding me home. The noise of the party is fading away behind me, the boom-boom-boom of the bass echoing through the night, and in my head.

I wasn't even supposed to go to the party, but as I kicked and screamed in apathetic resistance, Lizzie somehow convinced me to go. She has that effect on me. Just one "Gordo, plllllleeeeaaassse?" with her sad puppy-dog eyes is almost enough to make me melt. So I agree to go to the party.

I dress up, I spray the cologne, I head over to Larry's house and enter the throng of people I barely recognize – the ghosts of middle school past brought to unfamiliar high school ideals. I can hear myself thinking "I know that girl" but I don't really know her at all. A face, a shot in the dark, is all it takes to be a friend at someone's party.

The music is loud, obnoxious, and full of curse words. The beer tastes like the cheapest bottom-of-the-barrel garbage a person could scrounge up. The other people didn't care though. As long as they got drunk, as long as they had a good story to tell come tomorrow, then everything would be okay – results, not means.

I think you can tell by now that I was having a shitty time at this party. I didn't want to talk to anybody, didn't want to play their reindeer games, didn't want to be there. It was like I was sitting still and staring as the whole party revolved around me.

But then, just as I'm about to leave, she walks in.

It's no secret at Hillridge High that Lizzie McGuire can clean up really well when she wants to. That the beautiful, all-American girl is just waiting to step into the limelight with a certain outfit or a certain hairstyle. And it's true too. Lizzie is radiant, beautiful. In her t-shirt and short pleated skirt, hair just right and her makeup just perfect, she oozes sex and beauty and charm and god do I ever go on about her in the most excruciating way ever, don't I?

But with her beauty comes a price. I now feel plain, dull, unattractive. My baggy shorts and my plain t-shirt don't really scream out for people to pay attention. Sure, Parker won't stop staring or smiling at me from her little corner, but that's because I showed her my thing in the alleyway next to my house in grade nine. She showed me her goods too and it was innocent enough but now she thinks we have a connection. Parker and I don't. Lizzie and I do and that's what matters in this instant – right here, right now.

Lizzie sees me and smiles, coming over next to me. She reaches out her hand for me to take at it, and I look at her as if there's a trick involved somehow.

"Come with me" she says.

"What?" I ask. She towers over me as I sit on the couch. I am meek and nothing when compared.

"Trust me." I swallow a big lump and take her hand. I get up and she doesn't let go of my hand. It's like everything in the party slows down as we make our way through a large throng of dancing people towards the stairs leading to the basement. She opens the door and we shut it behind us. Neon lights guide us downstairs to a darkened area. I can hear couples making out in the corner and slow music quietly plays from a speaker somewhere.

Lizzie leads me to a couch near the back of the room and we sit down. She sits so close to me I can smell the shampoo in her hair.

"I know this is a little weird" she says. "But there's a point to it." I swallow hard.

"What is it?" I ask. My voice cracks. Whether it was nerves or puberty – that'll be lost in the history of time.

"One of us has always been afraid to take the next step. The whole world wants us to be together, we both want ourselves to be together, but we keep holding back. I thought it was time to take charge of the situation." She leans in closer and my dry throat doesn't seem to work properly.

And she kisses me and it's good. I run my hands through her hair, and hers through mine. My senses are fizzling out, overloading, going into hyperdrive. We pull away and smile at each other. Mines meeker than hers, but that's okay. Soon enough, we're kissing passionately, letting the pent up anxieties and feelings force their way out in the best way possible.

And before I know it, I'm walking home. I can smell her insides on my sticky fingers and smile at what just happened down in the dark basement. I knew after this we'd never be the same, that things could spiral downhill, but I didn't care. There was no looking back for me. How strange that years of waiting could so abruptly explode in one night. All I had to guide me home were the streetlights and the winding road. My head was so full of thoughts and smiles and ideas that I was barely paying attention to anything at all.

And for once, not having to overanalyze or overthink something actually felt good.