A/N: Updates may be scarce what with school and nearby exams. I apologize beforehand. However, please feel more than free to leave your suggestions. As the author I love to hear what you think and what you'd like to see in my story. You're who I write for.
Rated M for language and … what else I'm not sure.
Disclaimer: I wish
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A pleasant tangible anxiety hangs over our heads as we scan our homework. School is inescapable but we both know it has to be done unless our future applications for college won't reflect our maximum potential. My guidance counselor once said that to me. Apparently I have the brains but I don't have the motivation. I remember scoffing and walking out of her claustrophobic office with her pathetic cries of: "Lillian! Lillian! What about your grades!" ringing in my ears.
Maybe it's just my stubborn nature. Maybe I'm not academically challenged.
That's why I'm trying to finish last weeks essay while Miley is scribbling ideas down for our current assignment: Lord of the Fly's. Having never read the book I have little opinion on shipwrecked children turning cannibalistic and trying to eat each other. I haven't even read the synopsis, how do I even know the basic plotline?
The book I'm holding loosely in my hands is about the darker side of our civilization, and the contrast between good and bad in every person. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde might have been enjoyable if it wasn't for the complicated language and strange ending.
Even though I should be writing (my deadline has been and gone) I can't concentrate on the book or the paper. Instead, I pick up my pen and twirl it idly in-between my fingers, glancing around my dining room. Since I've lived here my entire life nothing riveting catches my eye and I settle for a backwards sigh.
Miley looks up with an annoyed expression. I mouth an apology regarding my disgruntled noises and slouch down in the stiff chair. Why did my mom buy this table and chairs set? Not only are they butt ugly but they itch. I don't care what the auctioneer said. These may be authentic but its home not a museum. Maybe my family want to try treating it like a house and not like a sustainable historic building.
Once again I'm distracted but this time it's by Miley as she nibbles on the end of her pen in thought. Usually, in these silences I'd crack a joke or perform a witty anecdote about our day, but my mind remains blank. It's obvious she's working and I don't want to interrupt her. The thinking process she goes through is quite alluring to witness, and I watch her with rapt attention. Firstly, her eyes become unfocused and glassy. Secondly, she curls a fist under her chin, and finally she inhales and exhales in a meditation type state.
I find a word cropping into my mind that's not usually in my vocabulary. Cute. When Miley stops and thinks I find it endearing. With a small smile I pretend to look at my family portrait on the wall (me, mom, dad, older brother) but out of the corner of my eye I'm still staring at her. She quickly scribbles something down on the page, tongue sticking out of her the corner of mouth as she does so. Again that word springs to mind. Cute. When she makes that facial expression I find it hard to look away.
My hand twitches unexpectedly. A strand of hair has overlapped the side of her face, blurring one half of her vision. My heart lurches at this small movement and I find myself wanting to tuck it behind her ear for her. Admittedly, I've never been very girly and Miley's femininity appeals to me. Her hair in specific is the object of my admiration; it looks so long and shiny from any angle. However, before I can summon up the courage to reach across the table and finger her brunette waves, she deftly sweeps her hand up to the side of her face and holds it back as she scans the book.
Disappointedly, I tear my gaze away and reluctantly find the line I have read countless times. If I had the patience half of my essay could have been done by now. We could be doing something fun and exciting. Exhilarating. Spending time with Miley always seems to please me, though. The adrenaline rush I get when I'm near must be similar to exhilaration for she sure knocks the breath from my lungs.
"I know you haven't read the novel yet, Lilly, but I need a second opinion on this paragraph." Miley says and pushes her notepad over. It's pink with imprinted hearts on the top of every page. I smile at this. There's so much more to Miley than anyone could imagine, she has depths upon depth of meaning. That alone makes me want to be inside her head, share her thoughts and understand.
When a blind man regains his sight and praises God for the miracle, other people scoff and call it luck. Even though I'm not religious in any shape of form I can't help but think that maybe Miley is here for a bigger purpose. How else would that much perfection be among us flawed people?
Realizing that Miley is biting her lip in anticipation, I hastily read what she intended me to. If anything it makes me fall under more pressure. I have yet to write this.
Where were the days when life was without this burden of responsibilities? When did it change? Being a teenager is the answer to everything. Mood swings, zits, hormones. Growing up is a part of life, however leaving that childhood innocence behind is where the transformation really begins and adulthood is on the horizon. This change, this anticipation; does it explain why I feel so … so different. I only notice these foreign feelings when I'm with Miley. She stirs them up. Is it because we're both sixteen and going through the same physical and mental growth? Or is it … something else?
"Well!" Miley clasps her hands together and nods at her notepad in expectation.
With no word of a lie I hand it back to her and say, "A baby."
"Shut up," Miley smiles, her cheeks a little pink.
"What?" I laugh innocently and put all four chair legs on the wooden floor. "I couldn't even understand it. That's guaranteed full marks!"
Rolling her eyes, Miley takes the compliment and leans back.
For some reason she's more comfortable with dishing out praise than receiving it. I suspect it's to do with Hannah Montana and how she's treated with the blonde wig on. Maybe as Miley she prefers to turn the tables.
"How's Jekyll and Hyde?" Miley's voice turns sympathetic and I shrug with no commitment.
"A working progress." I reply bitterly and rub my temples. When she shows that she cares I feel light headed and it hurts.
"I can help you," she offers sincerely. "I don't want you to fail."
"Don't worry," I whisper as the throbbing deceases. "I'm not going anywhere." Her concern spurs me into the motivation I've been recently lacking. For Miley I'd withstand almost anything. I want her to be proud of me, the way I am for her since she has many great accomplishments.
After I higher my grade point average I want her to engulf me into a suffocating hug. Not having been the most feminine growing up what with my skateboarding and clothes, I'm not fully aware on how to initiate psychical touches. With Miley I feel connected to her. She's the only one I'm relaxed with while we touch. She'll grab my hand and I'll (jokingly) sit on her lap. That action always makes her giggle, it lights up her eyes with an unfamiliar glow.
The clock on the wall screams it late and I'm reluctant to inform Miley her dad will expect her home soon. Is it selfish that I don't want her to go? I'm a better person when she's around; don't take her away from me.
Frown lines are present on her forehead. They crinkle the features I admire from afar. However, even though she's obviously stressed I find it … alluring, enticing.
"Why don't you take a break?" I suggest and gently close my own book, "You don't have to finish it until next week and we're only on Thursday."
"Hmm." Miley mutters and pulls up her bra strap as it falls down her arm. Without even realizing it my mouth dries up. "I really need to get this done, Lil. The only way I can get a car is if I keep my grades up and my daddy has put his foot down on this one."
"You still need to take a break," I insist. Seeing her worked up in this manner makes me want to soothe her. Her life needs no more difficulties, as Lola Luftnagle I understand.
Miley looks at me suddenly and it makes me nervous. What is she thinking? Oh to be a mind-reader! But then the moments gone and she gathers her things and stands up.
I automatically guide her to the front door. If she wasn't holding her books and papers I might have grabbed her hand. Obviously I'm not a touchy-feely person but with Miley I want to make an exception. She's so touchable and untouchable at the same time. I can't explain it but the privilege to hold her makes butterflies erupt in my stomach. Yes, it makes me feel different but I do not ponder it. Never think about it.
My mom always said that the person who asks the question must be prepared for the answer. For now at least I don't dwell upon this change, this difference. I think I'm scared and unwilling to accept what it means.
"Do you want me to walk you home?" I lean against the door as she walks down the sidewalk. A shadowy figure under the setting sun.
"No, I'm fine." She smiles and waves and I watch her walk away, a little regretful she didn't want my company. However, she's probably just being polite by refusing my offer. I know Miley.
The sky above is a palette of neutral oranges and reds, splattered against a fading canvas. The Malibu sunset is like no other. A calming effect lingers over the vicinity; the beach is quiet. Distantly, waves are lapping against the shore but the sound of my rapidly beating heart drowns out any other noise.
Miley has disappeared from sight. Overhead the oranges and reds are replaced by dulcet grays and blacks. The canvas is no longer bright and positive but dark and forbidding. A tingle runs up and down my spine and I fold my arms and head back inside.
My parents are still at work. My dad is accounting, my mom is out shopping (she calls this work) and Matt, my older brother, is serving his shift at the local café. Once upon a time I might have been tempted to go and poke fun at him while he earns his wage but I feel hollow and empty. Miley has gone and her absence rains down like a storm.
Finding nothing more productive to do, I collapse on the couch and flick on the TV. This is only fun when Miley and I do it together. We'll sit here and throw pillows at the TV when our favorite reality show contestant has been kicked out, or coo over the latest guest star on whichever soap opera happens to be on. It's now I realize it's not the programme that is so entertaining but Miley herself.
Sighing, I walk into the kitchen instead. My appetite has gone. The casserole dish on the side creates an aura around it which I avoid and jog up the stairs in my room.
Opening the door, it screams individuality. The colors are bright and in-your-face. Miley says its pretty but I prefer to call it edgy. Needless to say it's messy and disorganized. Clothes litter the ground, my skateboard is propped up against my desk, posters and pictures splatter my wall. To Miley's amusement I have a huge Hannah Montana poster hung over my bed. I can't bring myself to tear it down, and besides it's a good one of her. I'm just being a supportive fan.
The real Miley is on the picture board on the wall and on my bedside table in multiple frames. Each one we're together, pulling stupid faces with our arms wrapped tight around each others bodies.
Just reminiscing through those memories makes me grin. Everyday with her is something to be cherished. We make memories wherever we go, whatever we do. We can be Hannah, Lola, Miley, Lilly or some unknown character and still be just us.
This one particular picture catches my eye. I pick up the frame and hold it securely as my eyes sweep over our still images. We're at the beach, the sun is shining and the ocean is gently stroking the land in the background. Being the affectionate girl she is Miley has her arms wrapped around my waist and is facing me sideways. I have my hands holding her arms in position and my mouth is open in a laugh as she kisses my cheek.
Where did those times go? Unexplainable changes have transpired since then, yet not one has been commented on. To pinpoint when it began to change is impossible. It just happened…
That fucking bitch! Who the hell does she think she is? Look at her! Just look at her! We're sat in science and Miley and I are sharing different worktops. Oliver is flicking his ruler so it makes an annoying sound right next to me and Jenny Brooke, a complete slut, is half sprawled across Miley's desk. Her stupid giggle sends my blood boiling, the way she looks at Miley makes my teeth grind, the way her beach blonde hair looks brittle and flat is the only sense of snugness I can achieve.
Seriously, what is her problem? Why does she need to be near Miley for any reason? They're not friends, they're not anything! From my position it looks like Jenny (the school whore!) is flirting with her. And Miley isn't doing anything! Why doesn't she tell her where to get off and come over to me and insult her? I have a few words to say on the matter!
"What's your problem?" Oliver cluelessly asks me as he loads up the end of his ruler with bits of eraser he's picked off the end of his pencil. "You look like someone's pissed on your bonfire."
My hands clench and I round on him. "Oliver! The school whore is hitting on Miley! Don't you see that-" I grab his chin and yank it to face the source of my fury. "She's all over her like a disease or something!"
"Ouch!" Oliver rubs his face and shuffles away. "You didn't need to hurt me!"
Paying him no attention I lean back on my stool to try and get a better view. Jenny Brooke (future porn star) can't get any closer to Miley without bumping noses. I want to break up their conversation. I need to warn Miley that Jenny will have anyone, anywhere and her affection is not platonic.
"Why her?" I hiss scathingly, "Why fucking her you bimbo-"
"Cool it!" Oliver orders and waves a hand in front of my dilated pupils to distract me. "God Lilly! Miley isn't stupid, I'm sure she knows that Jenny Brooke is hitting on her. Heck, she's so desperate she'd want me! You don't need to PMS about it; you're not Miley's 'protector.'" He snorted and scribbled on the corner of his page, which besides the title was empty. We're meant to be doing a chemical experiment but I couldn't care less.
"Right," I stiffly say and grip my pen tightly. "I know."
Oliver rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, "And you call me a doughnut …"
I'm itching to get up and go over there. I have no right, I don't control Miley but I'm shivering with curses. There's a twinge of something more deep down in my heart but I only concentrate on getting Miley safely away. No way is Jenny manipulating her. Not being able to sit still any longer I bound over to where the perpetrator is and fold my arms as I come within sight of them both.
I can hear Oliver calling my name, I hear our teacher rushing over to some ignorant boy as they gain an acidic burn from messing around with the substances. Most of the class is grouped around the casualty so I have no boundaries.
To my surprise Miley doesn't look like she's entirely thrilled with having Jenny so close and that alone raises my heart. When she notices me she practically beams, something Jenny might have mistook to be directed at her but she turns around and sees me. That smile slides off her face immediately.
"Truscott," she breezily greets me and sits up from the desk slightly.
"Hi," I reply fakely. Addressing Miley I continue, "Miles, I need your help with my experiment. Can you come over here a second?" We all know Miley is the worst in the class at science but the sooner I drag her away from Jenny Brooke's sharp clutches the better.
"Err, sure." Miley makes to stand up but Jenny leaps up and blocks her way.
"I thought we could carry on our conversation, Miley. Why don't you help me with my project?" she flutters her fake eyelashes and I feel the urge to rip them out.
"I can help bo-" Miley begins but I interrupt.
"Actually Jenny, I think I need her more than you do." I start to walk back to my seat, hoping Miley is in tow but a high pitched voice makes me cringe and I have to whip back around.
"Well, Lilly, you can have her after she's helped me." She laces her talon-like grip around Miley's arm and tugs.
How dare she touch her! She should never have that privilege, ever! Miley is looking a little perplexed and remains where she stands. At any other time I might have found her confused expression adorable, but I was too busy trying to tell Jenny very kindly to leave my best friend alone. Being the ditzy bimbo she is my subtlety didn't go down too well.
Jenny glares daggers and I give her a death-glare right back.
I march over to Miley and point to where Oliver is gormlessly slouching. "We need you." I state bluntly.
"No, I need you!" Jenny snarls. No, she wants to get in Miley's pants! It's sick!
"What is your problem?" My voice rings out cold and shrill.
"What is yours?" Jenny throws her hands in the air and I take advantage of that to purposefully nudge past her and grab Miley by the arm to lead her to where she's meant to be.
"Lilly, what the-" Miley looks nonplussed.
Another presence towers behind me and I hear Oliver urging me to calm down. To breathe.
"What the fuck, Truscott!" Jenny yells and steps closer, her true colors flashing through. "Are you jealous or something?"
Something inside of me snaps at her demeaning tone. "Jealous!" I shout and Oliver and Miley both jump. "Why would I be jealous?"
Jenny's mouth curls up into a satisfied smirk and Oliver pulls the back of my shirt to stop me lunging for her. Miley squeezes my arm, but I can't feel it.
"You want her!" Jenny deals her ace with arrogance, "You want her, Truscott! Don't even try to deny it; we all know it's true!" she sniggers and looks around for an audience.
"You fucking whore!" I charge at her so fast it's all a blur but before I can land any punches I'm being restrained by Oliver who has quick reflexes.
"Let me go" I demand and try to wiggle away. "What the hell, Oliver! Let me GO!"
He stubbornly refuses and Miley puts herself in the middle of me and Jenny, who looks furious and is bending down to remove her heels. Only because Miley is in the way do I stop my attack, I don't want her to get hurt. Our teacher finally notices what almost happened and the rest of the class chirp and cat-call at the fight that had nearly taken place.
Before he can reach us Miley grabs my arm and hauls me out into the corridor, the noise being cut off as the door closes. Without speaking she saunters down to the toilets and pushes me inside. Almost brutally.
My anger is ebbing away, I now feel ashamed and embarrassed. Why did I have to go over there? Why? Miley is entitled to interact with whomever she likes. She's going to think I'm crazy! … But what about Jenny? She said I was jealous! She said that I want Miley and everyone knows it. What the fuck was that supposed to mean. Want her? I was protecting her from blood sucking bisexuals who play with innocent minds.
"What the hell just happened?" Miley explodes and folds her arms crossly. "Dang it, Lilly! You almost hit her!"
I scuff my sneaker on the tiles and look away pointedly. My heart sinks; she's disappointed in me and I don't blame her. "She deserved it."
"For what!"
"Because she's a bitch!" I answer as though it explains everything.
Miley looks unconvinced and bites her lip. "She's always been a bitch. Why try and hit her now?"
There's silence and it's painful. I can't explain what I did or why. Even I don't know why I was so intent on knocking out Jenny's teeth. Her piercing words ring in my head and I wonder if Miley is thinking about them too.
"Someone had to stand up to her," I finally shrug. "She walks over everyone and gets away with it."
Disheartened, Miley walks over to me and adds quietly, "She was only talking to me. Okay, she was trying to hit on me but I hate her. You're my best friend, Lilly." She reassures me, thinking that the reason Jenny called me jealous was because I was afraid to lose my best friend.
"I know," I smile. "I'm sorry for overreacting. She just pushes my buttons."
Miley chuckles dryly, "You don't say."
"Can we just forget about this?" I beg and straighten up self-consciously.
"Sure, but the rest of the school won't."
"They don't matter." I say honestly. "I have the two best friends in the world and the rest don't mean anything."
Miley nods and walks out of the door but before it closes I see her reflection in the mirror. Is it my imagination or did that sparkle just fade from her eyes before she left?
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A/N: Let me know what you think.