Disclaimer: The mentioned quotes and reference to Mr. Heathcliff belongs to the book, Wuthering Heights; Hannah Montana related characters are still Disney's.
Author's Notes: Okay, to be completely honest, I have no idea what inspired me to write a story like this. I re-read a few earlier chapters of the book, The Stranger, then proceeded to mull over how terrible the plot in Wuthering Heights was; yet how beautifully written it also was, and suddenly this idea popped into my head. It's a one-shot, so don't ask me to update please. However, a side-story through Miley's or Lilly's eyes might be applicable.
This is also in Oliver's POV and, unlike his rather ambiguous character, he thinks and rants, a lot. But I suppose he could smarten up as he grows older.
You know it really sucks that I never applied myself in school, at least, not as much as I should have. Maybe then I would've been placed in an English class with relatively sane teacher, although, this particular subject never promised much. Most of my past teachers whom brought it upon themselves to teach uncaring and unconcerned students the art and language of English were completely lunatic though. So I suppose this nutcase standing in front of me wasn't much different from the rest.
"Mr. Oken, since you seem to assume you're the one who runs this class and do whatever you please, I'd really enjoy a five-hundred word report on Wuthering Heights discussing the main conflict held throughout the story."
"Five-hundred?" I repeat, scandalized. "On Wuthering Heights? But I never even read th–"
I definitely shouldn't have said that, because evidently, although I have never heard of the book, my teacher had, and promptly shoved the thick novel in my hands. It was paperback, a little tattered and a little abused on its yellowed ends but nonetheless in moderate condition. On the front was a painting of some sort compacted and printed into a smaller image to fit the cover.
"It's due tomorrow," she smiles sarcastically, the bell echoing right after her. I manage to bring a sharp sneer to my face before roughly shoving the prized book into my bag along with the rest of my other school items, sauntering my way out of the forsaken class.
Quickly a bouncing blonde is at my side and she greets me with one of her cute smiles, her eyes dimming when I force a crooked one back. I don't see why I try to pretend to be okay around her, seeing as she can decipher between what's real and what's not. I try not to lie to her, even when it comes to the little things, but it's hard and kind of moot. I don't want to damper or soil her pristine world with my messy problems but I always seem to manage to.
"Hey Lilly," I greet lowly with a melancholy tone to my condensed voice.
"Oliver," she frowns, "what's wrong?"
"Mrs. Byrd," I answer quietly, trying to contain the rant lingering in my throat. It manages to escape despite my attempts. "She's so stupid, seriously, I made one comment on the book we're reading and she flips a bitch! Now I'm stuck with writing some five-hundred word report on some book called Wuthering Whatever."
"You mean Wuthering Heights?" she supplies which doesn't lessen my mood the least bit and she quickly corrects herself, "Well, that's stupid of her. Five-hundred words? That's a bit harsh."
"You think?" I snap and she shoots me a dark glare. My mouth shuts when I realize my mistake, carefully apologizing, "sorry, I've just been. . . pissed lately."
"You can say that again," she responds and I eye her wearily.
Lilly's always been the one to be brutally honest and, when I say brutal, I mean it. For instance, when I decided to grow out my hair in fifth grade she kindly informed me I looked like I was wearing one of my mom's cooking bowls on my head. Though, she has gotten used to my hair now. It is pretty irresistible if you look past its bowl-cut shape.
Carefully, I inquire, "Where's Miley?"
"Home," she replies crisply. There's an edge of bitterness to her already sharp tone and I can tell I just strung a soft spot. Nice one, Oken.
It's been about a week since their little fallout out had taken place between them – meaning Miley and Lilly. At first, I thought they'd make up within an hour if not a day, but apparently not, seeing as it's been at least six days of complete tension wedged within our little group. Being in the middle I obviously found it difficult to remain neutral because the girls seemingly had built their trenches for the next World War and I, unfortunately, was standing in no mans land, waiting for the bombs to go off. I wasn't sure which way I'd run for cover, but either outcome wasn't ideal to say the least.
"She's got a concert or something tonight," she added, "I really don't know and I don't care."
But Lilly does and she just doesn't want to admit it.
"You two are going to have get over yourselves sooner or later," I say as we pivot to the left and head down another busy hallway and towards our lockers. Amidst our conversation and my consuming thoughts I almost forgot it was the end of the day. "This can't go on forever."
"Oh but it has," she quickly informs me, "we haven't talked for a week, which is equivalent to an entire month in girl terms."
I blink. "Is that why you guys freak when a guy doesn't call you?" She nods and I groan inwardly. No wonder why Becca freaked on me whenever I didn't call her back in exactly fifteen minutes like I promised. It was hell after that.
"Are you going to the concert or whatever with her?" she prods.
I shrug indifferently, although the idea of spending time with the resident pop teen queen sounds quite appealing, I had that damn paper due tomorrow. Still, I think I could totally skip it all together to see Miley belt her heart out to the crowd of little pubescent girls that praise her like God himself. Then she'd glance at the venue's sidelines and smile that pretty smile of hers – way prettier than Becca's, even if her bottom teeth are a bit crooked and whatnot – like she had just told me a secret, before returning her attention back onto the audience and continue with the next scheduled song.
My chest tightens. There I go again.
You know what really sucks being a guy? Having girls as your bestfriends. Not to mention, pretty decent looking girls at that. Sure, they'd never quite measure up to Amber and Ashley's flashy looks, but they had more a natural, sweeter appearance and way about them. Which may be a tiny itsy bitsy reason why I stick around them, aside from the fact of them being great friends and all. I notice those jealous, longing looks and glances guys give me whenever I walk down the hall accompanied by Miley and Lilly at my side, and I know I'm damn envied.
When I gradually return back to reality, I find myself rambling on about something to Lilly as I gather textbooks and binders into my backpack. She nods, agreeing and frowns when she doesn't, following me to the buses lined up to leave. We depart, hugging before I step onto my bus and she heads to her ride home.
I swagger through the isle between rows of seats, deciding to take the empty one at the back. When I feel the elongated vehicle begin to move, I rummage through my bag and pull out that book Mrs. Byrd gave me earlier.
But before I could crack it open, my cell phone vibrated violently in my shorts' pocket and I quickly extract it, flipping it open to read the damage. Surprisingly, it isn't from Lilly but from Miley.
Hey what did I miss in chem today?
I think I'm going to ignore it, because if she really wants to know, she can text Lilly, and also because, truthfully, I think she just wants to ask me how Lilly was today. It's sort of sad I'm the happy medium between the two. Well, not really, seeing as I can spend time with them separately without their girl talk creating a barrier between the two and myself. Sometimes I really feel left out, though I'd definitely worry if I was actually able to understand them.
My stop finally comes and I quickly hop off the bus and head towards my house which is within my peripheral vision. As usual my parents aren't home and I amble up the stairs, not bothering to close my door when I reach and enter my room. Quickly spreading out the contents within my bag across my desk I decide that I should just get on the paper because something will eventually distract me later on.
-
-
It's about seven-fifty now and I'm about three quarters done with my paper, which is pretty bad, considering I haven't even attempted to do the rest of my homework. I'd blame Mrs. Byrd, but this book just really sucks.
"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Edgar's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."
What. A. Bitch.
Degrade yourself to marry Heathcliff, a perfectly suitable man despite his miserable exterior, though you can sure as hell blame his depression because of you, Catherine?
Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.
It vaguely reminded me of Ashley when she might have liked me last year. She'd never bring herself to my lower stature, of course, and that really stung.
Rubbing my eyes tiredly, I glance at the computer screen glaring coldly back at me and I shift my hands to ghost over its keyboard before continuing to type.
Catherine struggles with herself throughout the novel because she finds herself weighed with what she should do and what she wants to do, ultimately marrying Edgar believing she's doing the right thing for herself and as well as Heathcliff. Heathcliff also struggles, not only with Catherine and his consuming love for her, but for his constant thirst of revenge. Both drive him to brink of near utmost insanity, which results in him growing into a bitter man with an equally bitter heart.
I begin to find my mind wander for, what seems like, the fiftieth time this night. My thoughts drift to the previous read chapters, trying to picture Catherine's beauty and questioning how she was able to capture and hold tightly on Heathcliff whom is quite detached to begin with. My matured image of her quickly fades, however, and her tight brown curls fall into loose long ones, and her pronounced cheekbones round and soften, her curt nose smoothing out.
Suddenly I'm looking at Miley.
My head jerks back from the sudden surprise and I sharply shake my friend's picture embedded in my mind away. Where the hell did that come from? I glance at the book placed astray of my computer and I wonder what Mrs. Byrd was thinking when she gave me the proclaimed novel. Did she really think I could relate to it?
…because I damn well just might right about now.
Shit. Does that mean I like Miley? Wait, what about Lilly?
I shudder at the thought of splitting the three of us. I would never sacrifice anything for our friendship we established years ago – I mean, that's what I told myself when I discovered Miley was really Hannah Montana. Managing to shake my school boy crush on the blonde make-believe popstar, I thought I cured myself of such harboring thoughts only to provoke them once again by discovering I could actually identify with some stupid English book.
My vibrating phone politely interrupts my terrifying thoughts and I gratefully open it to read my newly arrived text:
Oken I really need you to come to my concert. Jakes here…
Frowning, I find my fingers willingly type as a reply: yeah okay. Ill get there as soon as I can and that's when I know I'm a complete idiot. I'm ditching my homework – homework that manages to suspend my grades between the passing and failing zone – for her. And to top it all off, because of Jake. I'm not jealous of him, but I certainly am not a fan.
"It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?"
I eventually arrive at the concert after party in my Mike getup. Truthfully, this hasn't been my kind of scene as of lately. The celebrities are just so. . . bland and every party there's always those regular ones getting their drunk asses kicked out and dragged home. I don't see the particular reason why even Miley wants to attend these anymore. They've gotta deem themselves redundant after awhile. I mean, considering how many parties she's thrown and gone to. But maybe it doesn't and I haven't a clue what I'm ranting about.
I ignore my thoughts when I spot the mentioned celebrity and tap her lightly on the shoulder. She stiffens the slightest and I figure she thinks I'm either Jake or someone she doesn't want to bother with but when she politely turns around I see gratitude light her eyes.
Miley smiles sweetly at me and my breath hitches.
And then I think tomorrow I'll have to discuss Mr. Heathcliff's inner turmoil raging within his darkened soul and that, perhaps, Catherine is the only ray of light in his life. But I don't think he can grasp the light or Catherine yet.
Miley's hugging me tightly now, her arms wrapped around my shoulders and her lips innocently pressed against my neck.
He's going to have to admit he's in love with her first and that's a lot easier said than done.
"I'm so glad you came."
A hell of a lot easier.
A/N: Yeah, pretty pointless, and the plot just focuses on Oliver's realization that he may harbor a crush for Miley and his conflicting feelings that come along with it. I mean, I think he'd obviously panic if he felt anything other than platonic feelings for either Lilly or Miley. It'd definitely break up their best friend foundation they created or, at least, threaten to. So, yeah. I'm lame. But you guys definitely aren't and feedback would be more than amazing. :)