Hey guys! With Dear Stupid finally complete (cough, go check it out and review, cough), I can now post this other multi-chaptered story I've had buried in my computer for a while. I hope you guys enjoy it, but I don't think it'll be as great or successful as Dear Stupid was. Thanks a mill to all those reviewers, too. :)

The title of this fic really bothers me. It's so lame, I know. I might change it sometime in the future, I just can't think of a better title right now.

Also I tried extremely hard to the MAX to keep everyone perfectly in character. So I would really appreciate it if anyone tells me where I go wrong or right in characterization if I do, and just comments on that specifically. Thank you!

HUGE NOTE! I wrote this before I knew about the Oliver has diabetes thing, so in this fic, he's still a food/sweet-aholic. XD I didn't feel like changing everything, so sorry!

The point-of-view switches every chapter as well. Thought I'd do that to keep things interesting.

So, anyways, enough of my blabbering… chapter one!

Disclaimer: This goes for future chapters as well. I don't own HM. Hard to believe, I know. Hahaaa, jaykay.

Don't Kiss the Girl
by Broken Oken

Chapter One: Queen of the Flamingos (Lilly)

"I said no," he answered her like a robot with no emotion. He stood there in front of us, his back hunched from exhaustion, and one of his hands caressing the front of his stomach. Surprisingly enough, that stomach had somehow remained flattened throughout all the years I had know him… Also kind of hard to believe when I'd seen him digest just about anything edible that he could get his paws on.

With amused eyes, I watched as he practically thrust the yellow piece of paper in his hand back into my other best friend's hands for the third time. She blinked at the paper, her pink lips pursing into a frustrated line, then took it into her hands roughly with a look of utter annoyance. A strand of fake blonde hair escaped from its natural place on her head, and she flicked her chin to the side. The hair fell behind her shoulder as if it had never left, and sighing, she spun in her chair to reface the vanity mirror beside her.

"I don't think this is a good idea," my male best friend continued, seemingly too distracted to care about the irritation he was causing. "Now seriously, where are those 'heavenly' cupcakes you promised me?"

I remained silent, knowing the question was not directed at me, but at her. Looking into the mirror's reflection, I saw her nose crinkle in the make-up vanity's mirror and her angry eyes watching him.

"You didn't even read it," she protested, an edge to her tone that suggested she must've been trying very hard to not make her frustration so noticeable. "And can you keep your thoughts off food for like, one second?"

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms, knowing this was where my commentary would fall perfectly. "I can't believe you are seriously asking that question, Hannah. I mean, really… Oh, c'mon, just look at him!"

The timing was almost perfect – a man had just walked by to place a silver tray of glazed donuts on the table beside us. My guy best friend suddenly appeared starry-eyed, which, if you knew him as well as I do, was not much of a surprise.

"Yo," he said to the man, who glanced up curiously at the greeting. "Those aren't just for Hannah… riiight?"

'Hannah' hit him sharply on the arm. He immediately began to rub the spot, a glare forming in his brown eyes.

"No donuts, donut," she said to him, narrowing her eyes back.

He looked aghast. "Are you kidding me? You… I… I haven't eaten in about…an hour!"

"Twenty minutes," I corrected him smugly. I had felt the need to comment again.

"Actually twenty-three, Lola," he snapped at me, and I could already sense an argument beginning to form between us. It was a daily thing to me, like having an extra-annoying little brother as a best guy friend. "A very long, empty stomach twenty-three minutes at that!"

"It could've been twenty-three days, I don't care right now!"

At my other friend's yell, I turned to her in alarm. I don't think she could've looked more irritated with our bickering.

"Finally, your attention!" she breathed, sounding exasperated. "Now, guys, I really need to know if you both think the Hannah Montana kissing booth thingamajig in two weeks is a good idea or not! Daddy's not here tonight, and I don't want to have to make the decision alone!"

I looked at my male friend to see his reply, but then noticed he wasn't even paying attention – his eyes were cloudy and unmoving. He was still spacing out, licking his lips at the donuts next to us. I found it hard not to roll my eyes at the scene.

"Well, I think it's a great idea, Hannah," I said loudly. "You get to help little orphans in Honduras just by giving a couple hundred cute boys a little smoochy-oochy!" I winked and nudged her for effect about four times. Her response was a mischievous smile as she began to face donut-boy.

"And Mike, what do you think?" she asked as if he had actually been listening.

"Mfff?"

Turning to Mike, I saw his cheeks were puffed like a chipmunk, and was looking at us oddly because he probably had no idea what was going on. Ugh, boy brains.

"Quit feeding your bottomless pie hole and pay attention!" Hannah yelled at him again, and almost magically at her request, the boy somehow managed to swallow all of what he had in his mouth in one gulp.

"I was paying attention!" he argued with a scowl.

"What were we talking about then?" she interrogated.

"Smoochy-oochies."

I automatically smacked him on the shoulder.

"Ow, Lil-Lola!" he whined with his hand now stroking his pained shoulder. "Fine, fine, you want to know what I really think about this kissing booth deal? Go for it, I don't care, it's not like you're going to be playing tonsil hockey with some egocentric water bottle thief anymore… Cough, Jake Ryan, Couch. Oh, excuse me, I think I'm coming down with something seriously ill."

His opinion had struck a nerve with Hannah; I could see it clearly in her shaking eyes. She began to open her mouth to reply, but Mike, however, stopped her.

"Oh, c'mon, Hannah, you have to know I actually think it's a bad idea," he said, sounding sincere. "A really bad idea."

"It's for charity, Ol-Mike," she replied, catching her mistake just in time as a dark-haired woman, Hannah's make-up artist, hurriedly reapplied blush to her cheeks and left. "Those orphans are in dire need of my kissing skills."

Mike seemed bored, yet bothered by something else I couldn't understand. "Whatever. You seriously have no idea how many desperate losers are going to be in that line. Now, Hannah, those cupcakes…?"

I gave him a nasty look. "You know, Mikey, if Hannah hadn't told us who she really was two years ago, you would have been the first person in line to do this. Probably camping out in front of the stand the night before, too, hugging that," I changed my voice to a mocking voice you would use on a one-year-old, "widdle Hannah Montana doll of yours to get you to sweepy-bye."

"I would not!" he disagreed with an exaggerated amount of repulsion, and his face pinked slightly.

"You had a doll of me?" Hannah asked and blinked, looking a bit horrified as any normal human being should be when finding out that someone like Mike Stanley III used to clutch onto a doll version of them at night.

"Of course not! I wasn't that obsessed!" he said in defense.

"He also brushed its hair," I added bluntly.

Hannah's eyes widened in terror, and Mike threw up his hands, looking even more embarrassed as the pink in his cheeks had brightened to red.

"No I didn't!"

"Did, too!" I declared.

"Did not, did not, did not!"

For some reason, the boy thought that repeating his claim would allow him to win. He should've known better by now.

"Did, too, did, too, did, too," and I took a breath, "TIMES INFINITY!"

He raised his hand with a pointed index finger to counter, and then slowly lowered it in defeat. "Fine… maybe."

"Would y'all please shut up?" Hannah hissed at the two of us. We whirled around to her again. "You know what? I'm, I'm going to go through with this, no matter what you guys say now. Maybe I'll meet a really nice boy or something!"

Mike stared at her, amusement playing on his lips. "Yeah, a really," he used finger quotes, "nice boy who really," and again,"wants to really," and again,"eat Hannah Montana's face." He paused for a moment, and then raised his finger quotes once more, "Really."

She waved him away with a hand. "It's a kissing booth, Mike, not a buffet."

I smiled and took a donut for myself. The scene in front of me was becoming highly entertaining. I had a weird feeling that Mike's single chest hair was going to be threatened once again very soon.

"I never knew your idea of fun was kissing a bunch of pathetic 'we have no lives' losers," Mike remarked sarcastically, gnawing off another piece of the glazed donut in his hand.

Hannah clenched a fist. "Oh, so you're saying if a boy wants to kiss me, he has no life?"

"If a million of them are paying a buck for a 'smoochy-oochy'," he gestured with an exaggerated imitation of a feminine voice, "I'd say so!"

"Well…" The frustration in Hannah's face and voice was growing. "Whatever! That makes exactly one million dollars then!"

She sprung to her feet suddenly, glaring all the while. "And if ya'll please excuse me, I have a concert to attend to. You know, those things where hundreds of people show up at because they, they, they love Hannah Montana? Y-y-yeah! Those!"

I struggled not to giggle as we watched her stomp off, practically trip in her heels, and disappear behind the curtains to the front stage.

Then I frowned, remembering something. Mike's chest hair had not been threatened.

Speaking of Mike, his face had become all scrunched up for some reason, and his arms were tightly crossed in front of him. I folded mine, too, and cocked an eyebrow at him, a suspicion abruptly clouding my head.

"What?" he asked snobbishly.

"Oh, nothing," I said in that voice that definitely meant a whole lot of something.

He lowered his sunglasses further on his nose to observe my face. I heard Hannah belting out "Life's What You Make It" in the distance.

"Spit it out, Luftnagle."

"Wellll, correct me if I'm wrong… Which I hiiiighly doubt I am," I smiled cockily, something Mike hated. "But I think you're a wee bit jealous."

He appeared skeptical. "Um, despite what you think, I would rather not kiss a zillion weirdo guys, thank you."

"No, idiot," I said angrily and stomped on his left foot with one of my pink heels. At this he began hopping up and down like the idiot I had called him. "I meant of the guys Mi… Hannah will be kissing."

"Why would I be jealous of them?" he questioned as his hopping ended. "They obviously are complete and total losers if they are honestly going to pay a buck for a stupid kiss. I can get a million free!"

"Yeah, maybe from your doll."

He glared. "Shut up. The point is, I'm not jealous." As if it was proving his point or something, he lifted his nose to the air.

"Then why are you overreacting so badly about this?" I edged, my once hidden smirk taking over my lips completely.

"Why are you annoying me with all this weird talk and not escorting me to the cupcake table?"

"Why does your other foot hurt?"

"It doesn't—OW!" he screamed girlishly as I pressed my heel harshly onto the top of his right foot as well. "What was that for?!"

"Because you're an idiot," I answered like it was obvious, which in this case, it was, since he was right back to hopping again. "And you know what they say."

"No, I don't know what they say," he replied, annoyed.

Waving my fingers, I changed my tone to a sing-song voice, "Deniiial is not just a river in Eeeegypt."

"I am NOT jealous!" he told me in a harsh yell. "So stop saying that I am! I just don't like the idea of one of my best friends getting mouth to mouth with that many guys in like, three hours!"

"I don't mind it actually," I said and heaved a dreamy sigh. "I would love to be able to kiss that many cute guys without worrying about the consequences. It sounds like a fun time to me…"

He turned away from me and murmured just audible enough, "Yeah, because the only way a guy would ever kiss you is to be paid for it…"

I kicked him in the back of the knee, and he hobbled over, wincing. "Mind repeating that, Michael?"

"Ack, no thanks?"

"That's what I thought," I said absentmindedly. "But anyways, I really don't mind Hannah kissing a bunch of random guys."

"Well I do mind."

"Because you want to kiss her, too," I replied.

He appeared shocked and blank at the same time when the remark left my mouth. He kind of stood there for about twenty seconds or so, frozen, like the idea had never passed him before, and he was just now taking it into consideration.

"No, I don't!" he finally voiced.

I smirked again. "Oh yes, you definitely do. The pause was direct indicaaaaation." I barely even noticed that my sing-song voice had returned.

"A pause does not tell you anything except… except…" his mouth was struggling with an explanation.

"That you want to kiss her?" I suggested helpfully, chewing on another piece of donut.

"No! In fact, the pause says that I don't!"

Unfortunately for him, I was not buying this. "Yes you do."

"ARGHHHH! I-I… I'm hungry! I'm going to go get me some of those cupcakes," he grumbled, sounding very much irritated (and hungry obviously) and headed off to the backstage dessert table.

However, giving up then would've been too easy.

"Think about it," I said as I skipped behind him in my hot pink tutu. He scanned the table of cupcakes in front of us and disgustingly shoved one between his lips and smiled in some sort of triumphant way after he swallowed. I didn't even bother to acknowledge this. So disgusting.

"If," I continued and dropped to a whisper, "Miley," then went normal again, "ever came up to you and kissed you, would you kiss back?"

My question left him unfazed, or at least, that's how he appeared on the surface.

"Um, no. So how about you leave me and my cupcakes alone now?"

His tone hinted that he actually thought I was really going to walk away from him – he should've known me better than that.

"I think you'd kiss back," I said.

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't." Mike's eyes were scanning the table again, evidently distracted. He picked a cupcake up, about to place it into his mouth. "Now go away. I'm being blinded by that flamingo on your head."

Outraged at the wig insult, I smacked him. He hacked a little at first before popping the cupcake into his mouth anyway.

"How about we make a deal then, Mikey?" I asked him as he pouted while rubbing his arm again.

"Wha ki-uh da?"

I made a disgusted face. "Chew, then talk, you idiot."

He glared at me and swallowed the rest of his cupcake. "Happy now, Queen of the Flamingos?"

"Actually, no," I said, glaring right back. I instantly stomped on his foot again, and he howled once more in pain. "But now I am."

He scowled at me, holding his foot. "Stop hurting me and just tell me about this stupid deal of yours already."

I rolled my eyes. Again. There always seemed to be a lot of that maneuver when Mike was around.

"Well, I was just thinking that if you're sooo sure that you wouldn't kiss…" I dropped my voice again. "…you-know-who if she kissed you, how about we make a bet out of it? You go to the carnival on that particular Saturday and stand in line, and when she kisses you, if you don't kiss back, you win. And I promise I will neeeever bring up this kinda thing again. But if you do kiss back, I win. And because I'm nice, all you have to do is admit that I was right and that you do love 'Hannah' after all."

He stared at me in shock. "For one, that is not going to work. She will die laughing if she sees me in line—"

"So we'll disguise you then," I interrupted, as that was no problem.

"You do realize I'll win this hands down, right?"

I shook my head, grinning doubtfully. "Actually, I'm pretty positive I'm right on this one. So, spit-shake deal?"

He grimaced. "I don't know… That's kind of me and Miley's thing."

I laughed on how oblivious he was to his feelings.

"Oooh, do we already have a winner?!" I then proclaimed excitedly in a loud, cocky tone a TV game show host might use.

"Fine!" He spat into his palm directly after and held it out, still frowning in disgust.

"Great!" I said cheerily and proceeded to spit into mine. I clasped onto his hand with my own, and we bobbed them up and down in unison as our saliva melted together in between our hands.

"Ughhhh," Mike groaned to my annoyance. "Despite the many years I've done this, I still want to puke, you know. It just adds to the grossness with it being your spit for once…"

I decided to ignore that. "Oh, shut up, you big baby. Is the deal on?"

He narrowed his eyes and gave my hand a firmer squeeze.

"Oh, it's on, flamingo woman, it's on."

Sooo, what did you think so far? Terrible? Horrible? Great? Awesome? Tell me in a review! I love feedback! Although I have to say that the beginning of this story is kind of slow, but hopefully you keep reading anyways. Thank-you and buh-bye!