A/N: I promise you, I will finish Chrysalis. Unfortunately, I've found that I can't write it very well when I haven't seen the show in two months, so I'll resume production of that fanfic when the new season premieres. Ah, did anyone watch Read It and Weep? Wasn't Allison fantastic?

Aside from that, this new fanfic is definitely a Miley/Oliver HM fic. Everyone I talk to in RL supports Lilly/Oliver but I just don't believe in that ship. Eh, we'll see. But this one's definitely MxO. I promise. I even have a set length—seven chapters, one for every day in the story.

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Seven Days and Counting (Down)

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Day Seven

1:14 PM

I was opening a kid's locker when my world flipped upside down.

Okay, scratch that. That's not true.

I was opening a kid's locker when my world collided with the Sun and exploded.

Yup, that sounds about right.

Because of this explosion, I am officially starting a journal to chronicle the last seven days of my existence.

You, the possible future reader if my journal somehow flies out into space away from this dreadful catastrophe, will be happy to know some basic information about me. My name is Oliver Oken, affectionately (and maybe not-so) called "Smokin' Oken" by my friends. I am fifteen and rounding out my last week of freshman year. Today, by the way, is May 21st, 2007. I have two exams per day starting tomorrow, which gives me today until seven o'clock to plan out my strategy for survival on this fireball of a situation, at which point I must begin studying for the terrible tests. Only three days of tests, then three days of pre-Apocalypse partying for me and my two best friends, Lilly Truscott and Miley Stewart. You probably know (or maybe not, considering you're in the future somewhere) Miley better as Hannah Montana, pop-star, girl-empowering, song-belting teenage music sensation. And this is where my life starts blowing up.

Don't get me wrong. Miley and Lilly are both amazing friends, and Miley's also a great singer. But her Hannah-ness is what kind of inspired the Sun to hit my small world.

You're probably super confused right now, so I'll start from the beginning.

As I was saying, I was opening a kid's locker when this whole thing started. See, around our school, I have a well-earned reputation of being able to open even the most stubborn lockers. This skill surfaced in seventh grade, and even on the lockers of my new school, Greg J. Harper High, it is almost like a superpower. I don't charge, because that would just be immoral. This morning I was working on a particularly stubborn locker with an equally stubborn resident, locker 204, resident Barry Dane. He's a regular customer; I think he's just too stupid to remember his combination. Anyway, this was right before lunch period, and I had just gotten his locker open when Miley came up to me.

Smokin' Oken: Hey, Miles.

Miley: Hey, Oliver.

SO: What's up?

M: I don't know how to say this, so I'm going to come straight out and just… say it.

At this point, I give her a concerned look and put a hand on her shoulder, wondering if her brother's sick or if her contract's been terminated.

SO: What's going on, Miley?

M: Um, I'm going on tour. Starting the, um, 27th.

SO: That's great! (relieved sigh, I notice she still looks sad) So what's the big deal?

M: Um, it's all over the world.

SO: Still better!

M: For the whole summer.

SO: (trying to hold a smile) Um, great!

M: Really? (relieved sigh) I was so afraid you'd be mad or disappointed.

SO: W-why? You love to sing and that's great.

M: Okay, thanks, see you at lunch.

Sounds innocent enough, right? See, I have this thing with Miley.

Or for Miley.

Yes, you read that right. I, Oliver Oken, locker-opener extraordinaire but general loser, have a massive crush on Miley Stewart, a.k.a. Hannah Montana, pop star/teenage phenomenon.

Except I don't think "crush" is the right word to explain my feelings. I mean, I've known her forever, and "crush" is more of a word used when you don't really know the person all that well. I wouldn't say "love" either, because I don't really believe in teenage love.

But then again, maybe I do.

Because what I feel for her is totally… loveish. Warning: mushiness.

Because, I mean, the word "crush" to me has always had stalkerly connotations, and it's more like pining away for somebody that you know you probably can't have, and it's wanting to have them—in an ownership way. I don't pine away for Miley, it's more of a happy-I'm-your-friend-but-I-secretly-wish-that-we-could-be-more-than kind of thing. And she's definitely not an item—not something to own. But, I don't know. I just wouldn't call it a crush. I probably wouldn't know what to call it even if the right words popped out of a birthday cake.

But right now, I have more important things to think about.

I scarfed lunch down (not easy, considering my stomach was not all that willing to accept the mystery glop into its territory) and went to the library. I've never been one for studying, which is good, because it means if someone's looking for me, they'll never look in the library. And then I realized I needed a notebook, so I ran down to the bookstore and purchased this—a nondescript navy notebook that will fit in very well with the empty ones I have in my locker. I only take notes on the really important things.

And this is very important.

Unfortunately, lunch period's over, and now I have to go to Algebra. Fortunately, it's the last day, so we're not doing anything.

1:20 PM

I was right. We're allowed to do whatever, so I asked if I could come back to the library. She asked for what, and I said for personal work. She bought it. Thank God.

Now I'm here again, in the cold library, scribbling furiously away in this notebook with my Algebra textbook open in front of me so it looks like I'm studying, not writing down my innermost thoughts in a journal.

It's kind of funny that I'm worried about this, considering I had a very public obsession with Miley's alter ego, Hannah Montana, until I found out who she really is. Then my obsession became less stalkerish and more private.

And now the nowordsforityet-of-my-life is leaving me in six days for all over the world, and I just know she'll find a cute guy or something, or change, or become popular, or not want to be my friend anymore. And I just know I have to do something about it.

But what?

I suppose I could tell her. I mean, the worst that could happen is that she says she doesn't like me back, flies away on a jet plane, hops around the world, comes back, and thinks I'm a complete utter freak.

Not a good route. What else?

I could ask her on a date. That would be more low-pressure. The worst she could do then is just say no. And I suppose that wouldn't be that bad.

Except I'd still nowordsforityet her.

I could just give her this journal when she leaves and tell her to read it on her travels.

But then there'd be so much suspense in waiting, even if she did call me to tell me she whatevered me back.

Or, you know, I could kiss her.

Hmm, only downside is…

Warning: large secret.

…that despite pretending to be Smokin' Oken, I've never kissed a girl. Yes, you read that properly. I have never had a serious enough girlfriend to kiss. I went out with Becca a couple of times in eighth grade, but she just wasn't Miley. So I wouldn't know what to do.

The whole reason I have to do this is because I was planning to do something about it this summer anyway, like ask her out or whatever, and we'd actually have time for a relationship. I also know that eventually she will get a boyfriend, and it won't be me unless I step forward. I just feel like I have to do something.

The period's almost over and, well, I have no clue what I'm going to do.

6:42 PM

I talked to Lilly on IM this evening. I can't believe it. She knows. Here, I'll print it out and tape it in here.

Smoken6: hey Lilly

Sk8rgrrl: hey, did miley tell u a/b the tour?

Smoken6: yeah, why?

Sk8rgrrl: well, i knew you were gonna ask her out this summ

Smoken6: I don't know what you're talking about.

Sk8rgrrl: oh come on, anthony told me about ur conversations with urself about her

Smoken6: I'm going to kill that kid!

Sk8rgrrl: while ur at it, give him a blow to the temple for me, cuz i loaned him my wheel-replacing kit and he hasn't given it back yet

Smoken6: will do :)

Sk8rgrrl: so, what r u gonna do?

Smoken6: I don't know.

Sk8rgrrl: u could tell her

Smoken6: somehow, I think that would be a very bad idea.

Sk8rgrrl: y? what if she likes you back and you never do anything about it?

Smoken6: why? has she said something?

Sk8rgrrl: um…

Smoken6: UM WHAT? you can't just say 'um' and not finish the sentence!

Sk8rgrrl: it's im, i can type however i want! besides, dinner's ready

Smoken6: it's not a matter of grammar, it's a matter of cliffhanging!

Message could not be sent; user Sk8rgrrl is offline.

Damn. D-a-m-n.

And I really am going to kill Anthony. That four-years-younger brat has crossed the line.

Tonight at dinner I told Mom and Anne about it, omitting the fact that Miley is Hannah Montana, of course.

Oh, minor explanation needed. Anne is my mother's sister, and Anthony is her son. When my uncle went into the military, they moved in with us, because Anne didn't want to raise a son alone. My parents divorced when I was six, so now it's just me, Mom, Anthony, Anne, and my ferret, Lettuce.

What can I say—I was a kid on a salad kick at the time.

Anyway, I don't have much time left, so I'm gonna head downstairs and bring my study materials up. Yuck.