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When Gordo woke up this morning to brush his teeth, he sneaked a glance at himself. He looked clammy, and the slight shaking in his hands was indication enough that he was absolutely terrified of what today would bring him.
He is sure of many things. Number one: his favorite film is Jaws, his second favorite film is Amelie (but he wouldn’t admit the latter out loud even under the threat of death). Number two: he is proud of being Jewish, even though he was a little shy about it just about two years ago. Number three: Miranda is one of his best friends and he has her back even when she is aggressively in the wrong.
Lizzie was the only thing he was never really sure of, at least in the past couple of weeks. Clumsy, bright, funny, and kind Lizzie.
But he’d always been sure that she’d never reciprocate the feelings. In fact, it was one of the facts he was sure of, one that hardly budged in his line of thinking. Lizzie views him as a best friend, and his (stupid, stupid) crush wasn’t going to ruin a friendship he’d known since literally day one. There was that one time when she kissed him on the cheek in the school photograph, but they later laughed it off as something fun they did, even if it took a full month for Gordo to get over it. He was fine being brushed off by her, while she pursued other people who were within her league.
And then she kissed him on a rooftop in Italy exactly a week and a six days ago, and that fact, the only one he was so sure of, crumbled down in shambles.
He’d spent the night before his flight back home staring at his hands, his breathing constricted, as he replayed the scene in his mind, again and again. Ethan had even asked about it, but he backed off after Gordo had hysterically said that he was fine. He felt sick, in a way that a fever or flu or cold couldn’t measure up to be, because this sickness was actually a little close to giddy.
He and Lizzie were supposed to sit next to each other on the flight. But the McGuires rearranged their seats prior to the flight so that she would sit with them instead. Mrs. McGuire actually apologized to him for that, though Gordo understood. One would imagine that after seeing your daughter pose as a world-famous pop star would make you nervous and want to be protective of her now that Lizzie’s face was splattered around television and the newspapers.
So at the airport, before they boarded, Lizzie touched his shoulder (and that did nothing to assuage the buzzing in his head that erupted whenever she was in his line of sight) and whispered, “My parents want me to stay home for a week to wait for all of this,” she gestured abstractly with her hands, and it was ridiculously charming, “to chill out. When all of that ends, though, do you want to come over?”
His mouth had been dry as he nodded, and they spoke a little more about the events that transpired in the past couple of weeks before they had boarded and went separate ways. Her smile was bright as she waved, saying, “See you soon, Gordo!”
And now, here he was, trying to breathe properly as he washed his face.
Plans had changed a bit, and now she was coming over. His parents were at work, and the summer had only begun to die down to make way for fall. Miranda would be in Mexico for about a week longer, and school would start in three weeks. Plenty of time for him to decide if he should flee the country if today proved to fall flat on its face.
What was he going to do, if Lizzie came over and gave him the bright smile that often crossed his mind, and pretended like nothing happened? Or, maybe this was worse, said that the kiss had been a mistake, and she changed her mind? He peeked at the mirror again. His face had grown even paler.
He checked his watch. She’d be here in an hour.
It took some miraculous spirit to give him the will to step out of the bathroom, and choose something to wear. Maybe he needed to wear something that gave him a bit of luck. He settled on one of his comfier shirts, a black graphic tee that had the film poster of My Best Friend’s Wedding emblazoned on it (he tried not to think of the implications of that), a green plaid shirt on top of it, and jeans. And he passed the time staring at the many posters that lined the walls, quickly making his bed, and downing a glass of water because he was just so nervous.
Lizzie had been the only thing in life he’d ever been uncertain about.
Precisely at 10, because the McGuires had always been about punctuality, Lizzie knocked on the front door and he clumsily opened it to greet her.
“Hey,” He said breathlessly.
“Hey!” She said, already smiling. She wore a loose white shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, with a blue bandana and gold necklaces that brought out the glow in her hair and eyes. The water in his stomach turned uneasily. She always looked nice, but did she really have to wear an outfit that made him dizzy in the head?
“Do…you want to go upstairs?” He asked, his head continuing to buzz.
“Yeah!” She said, nodding and already entering the house, like she had a million times before. It really shouldn’t have been so nerve wracking – she was just entering the house, and there was nothing special about it. Still, it caused him heart palpitations to know that she was in his space, his home, and whatever happened today, there would be no going back from it.
They made their way up to his room, and when the door closed behind them. Lizzie made way to her usual spot: the bean bag chair in the corner of the room. He sat on his desk chair, words evading him as he watched her look back at him.
“So…” She seemed to finally pick up on the awkwardness he felt, now that they were in a smaller space confined by four walls and the movie characters on the wall staring at them. For the first time, Lizzie looked a little uncomfortable, “What’s up?”
Gordo somehow found the words to speak. A small miracle, “Well, I finally unpacked the rest of my stuff. And I’m saving up money on a new camera.”
“That’s good!” She smiled again at him, though a touch less bright from earlier, “I finished unpacking the rest of my things yesterday too. And we went out for dinner two days ago. I think that’s the first time I wasn’t being chased by the paparazzi.” She rolled her eyes.
He tried to laugh. He really did. It came out as a sad, “Ha ha ha.”
Lizzie looked crestfallen, “What is up with you? You’re acting…weird.”
He searched for a response, until her face looked even more defeated, “Was this about the rooftop thing? Did I make things weird? Ugh, I am going to kill Kate, she told me–”
“You didn’t make things weird.” Was what fell out of his mouth, “No, it’s just that–”
“What?” There’s a deep crease between her eyebrows, biting down on her lip like she does when she’s nervous. He tried not to look down on her lips and to only meet her in the eye.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to, y’know,” He gestured abstractly with his hands, not unlike how Lizzie was at the Rome airport, “talk about it. Like, maybe you decided you wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t know. You know. Do you? It’s fine if you don’t. It really is. Italy was a weird situation and it’s not like right now. You know? I don’t know.”
He sounded stupid as hell and he wanted to kick himself for it. He tore his eyes away from her and stared at the dark blue rug that his mom had salvaged from the discount store about a year ago.
“Gordo,” Lizzie’s voice was soft, a little above a whisper, “look at me.”
He prepared for the worst, and glanced up. She had stood up and walked closer to him, so that she stood above him, peering down. She looked hesitant, chewing on her bottom lip again. And not for the first time, he wondered what her inner monologue was telling her.
“Stand up, please?” She asked, and he followed. He would always follow. His voice, though, was officially gone and disappeared under the waves of uncertainty brewing in his entire being. Their slight height gap, which tended to miff him, seemed pointless at this moment.
“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” She said, tentatively placing her hands on his shoulders, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Could I? Um, well, could I–”
“Yes.” He croaked, feeling like everything was set on fire and doused with the ocean all at once, knowing what was to come.
Like in Italy, like his memories recalled, she moved and cradled his cheek with her hand and leaned in. Like in Italy, his head became overcrowded with questions and an unquenchable joy.
It was a touch of the lips, and he found himself reacquainted with her cherry lip balm and the cotton candy spray that he used to tease her about. His eyes fell shut almost immediately, and his hands, which he didn’t realize were balled up into fists, relaxed as he mirrored her stance and clasped her shoulders.
She pulled away after a few seconds, beaming at him, with the light in her eyes swiftly returning, “Do you believe me now?”
He gulped and nodded.
“Don’t freak me out like that.” She lightly scolded, smacking him in the shoulder, “You’re going to make me run away from the country and high school hasn’t even started.”
Gordo felt a rush of affection wash through him. This was Lizzie, his best friend in the world and his crush for the past-how-many-years and a newly minted sorta-pop-star, standing in his arms like it was the most normal thing in the world. The ball was in his court now. She made the first and second move.
“If you don’t mind,” He asked, his voice less hoarse though still a little rough from the anxiety he felt earlier, “I’ll go return the favor.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened a little, and he took that as an opportunity to take the leap. Screw the pleading voice in his head that he was still not reading the situation correctly, that he would bite back his words somehow, he pulled her back in and cradled her face too. He felt her smile into their kiss, and he couldn’t help it, he did too. Taking another chance, his hands left her face and shoulder to carefully place on her hips, to impossibly bring her closer. Lizzie sighed and brought one of her hands to intertwine with his dark curls, and his heart leaped to land right under his throat. He took a page out of the romance books that his best friends had forced him to watch by deepening the kiss, tilting his head so he had better access, making sure that he restrained himself from accidentally making her fall to the ground. She responded by ever so slightly opening her lips, and he was flooded by a warmth that he realized, with startling clarity, that this moment would live in his mind for a long time.
This whole time, he thought he’d never have a shot at feeling the way he did when Lizzie kissed him in Italy. This was a million times better.
They kissed for a few minutes, before he pulled back and, to his own surprise, huffed a laugh.
“What?” Lizzie asked in amusement, tilting her head.
“I have to admit, this wasn’t what I was expecting today.” He told her.
“Why?” She asked. Good question. He knew the answer. But he was uncomfortable telling her. Yet – he could never hold back anything from her. It was one of the few weaknesses he had.
“I figured you’d want to forget about it. I wasn’t sure, you never said anything immediately after it happened. Or,” This was a confession that he hadn’t even fully admitted to himself, “that maybe you changed your mind and wanted to kiss someone else.”
She looked scandalized at the very idea, “What! No! Ugh, Gordo!” She smacked his shoulder a little harder this time, and he mouthed an ow. She continued on, “Of course I wanted to talk about it. I didn’t change my mind at all. But I wanted privacy,” She looked down at her feet, “I wanted to be alone with you.”
Oh.
In retrospect, duh. That made sense. Still. With Lizzie, very little made sense.
“I’m glad we’re alone right now,” He said honestly, “I’m still a little bummed we had practically no time together in Italy alone.”
“Who said we can’t go back to Italy?” She looked shy, “Maybe we can kiss again there. In front of the Trevi.”
He felt his heart flutter, a familiar sensation around her, and this time, at least, he didn’t have to be so scared of it, “I think I’d rather kiss you again now.”
She beat him to the punch.