I do not own a hand massager, but that is not the point. I also do not own Hannah Montana or any of its characters. I am not making money off this. Trust me, if I was I would tell you and like the whole world because I can't keep a secret 3.

I will not make another chapter unless a good amount of people tell me to. At least 3. This is only chapter 1, so make sure to read and review and tell me to make more!!!

OLIVER'S POV HOMESKILLET

Miley had a great performance that night. My heart pounding, my eyes still kind of fuzzy, and my dong hurt like a bitch (Sorry for the cussing, I lost a bet). She was so hot. Her hair flowed like the first flowers of springtime. Her eyes were sparkling like the wheels of a '08 Chevy Hatchback, her boobs more busty than Buster Busty McBusterson could ever dream of. She was one hot piece of babe pie. I walked to her like the lonely warrior after battle. My hand reached out like the lost dove in winter.

"Whew." She whooed. "That was one performance. I'm sweatier than a backwards snake in the tulip patch after 4 o'clock happy hour!"

"You and your similes." I said, chuckling to myself.

Back at Miley's house, we sat on her bed. She had a strange magazine on it with some woman who I don't think was wearing a shirt. Her face was like the Chinese sunrise before the workers go to the factories, but that was nothing compared to Miley's. In the middle of my staring contest with her face, she interrupted me.

"OLIVER?! WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?!" She asked calmly.

"…your beautiful face." I muttered.

"Boy, you are as quiet as a cricket chirping its terminal breath now what did you say son?"

"…um…uh…" I panicked. "You have zit." I stammered. Stupid. I thought. Don't tell her that. She'll hate you and it might ruin the relationship. I mean you don't have a relationship. Friendship. I thought to myself.

"OH NO!!" She screamed and ran into the bathroom. I shed a single tear like the first raindrop of a New Year.

"SON, WHAT YOU CRYIN' ABOUT?!" yelled a voice.

"WHO'S THERE?!?" I screamed, panicked. I hope I don't get raped.

"Look down." Said the voice, so I did. Nothing. "Left." I followed the voice's instructions. "Down. Left. Left. Keep going NO STOP! Ug you passed me. Right. STOP!! Down. Down. STOP! I'm right in front of you." I was so confused.

"All I see is a dumb glamour magazine!"

"Look closer." Said the voice. It was the black topless chick on the glamour magazine cover! "And I ain't dumb." She added.

"Why are you talking to me??" I asked, confused as a football player with a concussion.

"I see you like this girl." Said the magazine.

"How do you know?"

"I've been reading all yo' dumb metaphors. They're mo' bo'rin than the Sunday paper on a Wednesday. Dear God, boy, get a new English teacher, please." She said in an "I-don't-really-care-cus'-I'm-not-in-the-mood-really-right-now-'cus-I'm-on-my-peroid-and-I-just-used-my-last-pad" voice.

"So what should I do?" I asked. "I'm as hopeless as a-"

"Cut that bull-bleep." She interrupted. "Here's what you gotta do. You gotta win her love before someone else does. I see her spyin' on that Jake Ryan fellow. Ooooooh he is sweet cookin on the barbeque! You need to show her how much you love in the form of a musical number!" The Blacktastic woman exclaimed.

"REALLY!?"

"NO YOU DUMB FOO'!! " she yelled, throwing a ball of paper at my head, which was weird because she was in a magazine. "You need to get yo' act togetha and win her heart."

"But I don't' know how! I'm as desperate as the morning wo-"

"Listen William Shake-and-Bake. Miley is a sucker for a good piece a poetry, and listeninin' to you, you seem to be mighty fien with words. I suggest you use'em to score with the lady-types."

At that moment the door opened to Miley's room and Miley walked in. "I popped it! Thanks for telling me. You're a true friend!" She said, hugging me. I blushed. "Who were you talking to by the way?" She asked.

"Um……my mom called." I lied. "I have to go home."

"Aw why?" Miley asked depressedly.

"I have a poem to write." I said, and swiftly bolted out the door. On my way out, I heard Miley say to herself:

"Aaaw….I love poetry."