Author's note: This is a short story I wrote for an assignment in my writing class. I have adapted it and turned it into a Loliver story. I know this is odd since I usually don't write "straight couple" stories, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. It is loosely based off and inspired by the song "Crashed the Wedding" by Busted.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hannah Montana.

Almost Crashed the Wedding

I enjoy doing mindless activities. Like this, for example– lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, tossing the old football up in the air and catching it again. It's simple, nothing to think about. Up, down, up, down. I roll it from one hand to the other, feeling the worn bumps on the skin then throw it up in the air again. Simple, easy, mindless… Perfect.

"Does this look okay?"

I turn my head to see my roommate and best friend, Jake, standing in the doorway. He's decked out in a white dress shirt, black pants, and has a red, untied tie slung around his neck.

"No," I deadpan.

He nods and walks further into my room, using the mirror above my dresser to look at himself while he ties his tie. He has to bend down a little in order to see because he's so much taller than me. I'm only a puny five-foot-four, and Jake's six-foot-three. Dude should have played basketball in high school and college, not football.

"I can't believe you're going to this thing without me," I grumble and roll the ball back and forth between my hands.

"You were invited." He finishes with the tie, runs his hand over his gelled-back dirty blonde hair, and turns to look at me. "How do I look?"

"Like shit."

He walks over and snatches the football from me. "This is mine."

"I was using it." I sit up, smoothing down my black Blink-182 t-shirt.

Jake sets the ball on my messy desk and grabs the wooden desk chair. He turns it around and sits in it backwards, facing me.

"Oliver…"

I roll my eyes. "What?"

"Why don't you want me to go to Lilly's wedding?"

"Because I don't." I swipe my long, brown bangs out of my eyes and fix him with a hard look.

He gives me one right back. "Is it because you're still not over her?"

I point a finger in his face. "Don't you go all psychologist on me. You're studying to be one. I support that, but you leave that crap in the classroom. Don't bring it home."

"Fair enough." He holds his hands up in surrender and stands from the chair. "I'm going finish getting ready."

Jake grabs the football from my desk and heads out the door.

"Hey, put that chair back," I call to his retreating back.

"No." His door closes.

I exhale loudly through my nose and stand. Maybe I have some kind of a ball that I can throw buried within the depths of my messy closet.

I have to kick aside a few dirty pairs of jeans to get to the closet door, and once I open it, I find the shirts I wore with them. I pull the string and turn on the light, illuminating the junk I don't bother to find a proper place for, and there's a lot of it. The shelves are so full that I'm amazed they haven't fallen from the weight of my crap. The funny thing is, with all of the stuff in my closet, hardly any of it is clothes. There're a few shirts hanging along with one more pair of clean jeans. What else does a guy need to wear? I wouldn't be caught dead in some stupid suit like Jake.

"Let's see… I think I have a baseball or something in here."

My eyes scan the shelves, trying to find an object that may jog a memory of where I've placed said ball. I decide to try a black duffel bag because it looks promising. I take it from the shelf, finding it surprisingly light. Upon opening it, I discover it is filled with my miss-matched sock collection. I hate buying new socks, but I always lose the matching ones, so I put them all together in a bag in hopes of someday finding its pair. I've been doing this since I was eight. I'm twenty-four now. There's a shit ton of socks in here.

The duffle bag is deposited onto the floor and I move onto the next thing on the shelf. They're the spare sheets for my bed, folded up and clean, never been used because I've never bothered to clean or change the sheets I have on my bed now. I give them a sniff and can still smell the laundry soap on them, so I shrug and throw them into my room. Maybe I'll finally get around to that today.

There's a big paper box and a shoe box next to the spot where I found the sheets. I decide to check what's in the paper box first, but when I give it a tug, I discover it's a lot heavier than it looks. I grunt and tug again, only managing to move it slightly at an angle. One more tug and it comes forward, knocking the shoebox next to it off the shelf. It falls directly on my head before tumbling to the floor, the lid coming off and its contents spilling.

"Well shit." I rub my head where the corner of the box caught me, probably making my brown mop stick up in all directions even worse than before.

Bending down to pick up the stuff that fell out, I notice that no, there is no ball in the box, only photographs. What a waste; if there had been a ball in there then getting hit in the head might have been worth it. But no, it's just some crummy pictures… Awesome.

I pick up the box and kneel on the floor. I don't even know what these pictures are of. Curiously, I pick one up and give it a closer look. I catch a breath and my stomach does a flip just like it always does when I'm caught off guard. This is the box where I put all of my pictures of Lilly, my ex Lilly, the Lilly whose wedding Jake is getting ready for.

After we broke up I put all the pictures in a box with the intention of burning it, but when it came time to do it, I couldn't go through with it, so the box was put in my closet for the day I had the strength to carry out the task and forgotten about until now.

I move into a sitting position while still holding the photo, examining it closely. This was one of the first pictures we ever took as a couple. We were sixteen. Back then she was as thin as a twig, and she still was when we broke up five years later. This particular picture was taken at my family's Christmas party. Lilly and I are standing in front of the tree, its lights shining off the ornate ornaments. I'm wearing this horrific Christmas sweater she got me as a gag gift and begged me to wear. On her wrist dangles a silver charm bracelet, my gift to her. I gave it to her for our first Christmas as a couple. At the time it only had a tiny, silver tree hanging on it. Further down the line in our relationship I added a charm to it for every special occasion: a heart for Valentine's Day, a cake for her birthday, an O for Oliver on our first anniversary.

I put that photo back in the box and pick up the next one. It's a picture of just Lilly, the day during senior year when we cut school and drove down to the beach. She's facing me, her back to the water, with the sun setting behind her. There's a one-thousand-watt smile on her face, and if they weren't hidden behind my favorite pair of aviator sunglasses, it'd be obvious that it reached all the way up to her ocean blue eyes. Her blonde hair is being blown by the wind, framing her face in a crazily perfect way. Her tiny bikini and perfect body are covered by my Greenday shirt, a shirt she claimed as her own on more than one occasion. I love this picture of her; it's always been my favorite.

The next picture I pick up is one of the last ones we took together, about two or three months before the breakup. It's from our college graduation. We're both in our cap and gowns, holding our diplomas in front of us and beaming proudly. By this time her charm bracelet is weighed down by dozens of charms from half a decade of dating. Hanging there amongst the others is the last one I ever gave her: a tiny graduation cap.

We were both proud as hell to graduate. At the time those diplomas were the most beautiful things in the world to us. Mine proclaims I've earned a degree in music, a degree I have yet to do anything significant with. Hers celebrates her hard work and hours in the library studying sociology.

In the end, that's what tore us apart. She wanted to get married, get part-time jobs, and then both of us pack up and move across the country to go to graduate school in Boston. I thought that's what I wanted as well. But when I got my acceptance letter to the graduate school that Lilly chose, and not the one I wanted to attend, I realized I didn't want to go to graduate school at all. I was just doing all of it to make Lilly happy. I didn't want any of that. So, I avoided packing, didn't express any interest when she tried to talk about finding an apartment together, and basically lounged around my parents' house instead of going online and scheduling my classes.

I avoided everything I needed to do, which drove Lilly crazy. When I finally came clean that I didn't want to go to graduate school, we got into a huge fight which resulted in us both crying. Yeah, I cried. I'm a man, and I'm not afraid to admit I cried.

She left that night in tears, but the discussion wasn't over, at least not to me. Apparently it was to her, though, because I woke the next morning to find a note on my car. I can still remember every word of it.

Oliver,

I've been thinking about everything you said last night. You're right. We do want different things. And that's why I need to go to Boston, without you. You've been my entire life since I was sixteen. It's time for me to find out who I am without you, and for you to do the same without me. I love you, but this is just something I need to do.

~Lilly

I have read over that note at least a hundred times. Moving a few pictures aside, I find it, faded and worn from multiple attempts at folding, crumpling, and even a burnt edge from when I took my lighter to it. I never could get rid of it, so I just put it in the box with the pictures.

"What are you doing?"

I jump at the sound of Jake's voice and drop everything in my hands. I spring up and hit my head on one of the shelves.

"Ouch!" I rub the tender spot, knowing a knot will be forming there soon. "Nothing."

Jake's now wearing a black jacket over his dress shirt and shiny black shoes. He's ready to go. His eyes travel to the floor. He spots the pictures, looks up, and gives me a knowing smile.

"I'm leaving. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"No thanks, traitor." I push past him and into my bedroom. I go over to my bed, pull the blanket off, and start taking off the sheets.

"Suit yourself." He shrugs and walks to the door. "Hey, Olli," he says, turning.

I stop what I'm doing and look at him. "Huh?"

"The wedding's at the church on Gordon Street, just in case you change your mind."

"I won't." I start busying myself with the sheets again, putting my back to him.

"Whatever you say."

I hear his footsteps as he walks away, then the sound of him walking out the front door. There's the sound of his car door opening, then closing, and him starting the engine. I go over to the window and look out just in time to see his silver Nissan pull out of our two-car driveway. Now only my dark green, beat up Honda occupies it.

I throw the pillowcase in my hand to the floor in frustration. What could make him think I'd possibly want to go to that damn thing? Lilly broke my heart. She left me, just straight up left. If she would have just given me a little time I might have changed my mind about school. True, it's been almost three years and I'm still working for minimum wage at the record store, but maybe that wouldn't have been the case if she hadn't been so selfish.

Why'd she invite me to her stupid wedding anyway? To show me how successful and happy she is with this new, overachiever of a fiancé? Does she just want to rub in my face what a loser I am? Well I've got news for her. I'm happy… I think.

She's got some nerve.

I don't need her, no matter what she thinks, and I'm going to prove it to her by giving her a little piece of my mind.

I look at the clock on the wall. It should take me about five minutes to drive to the church. It's not far. I grew up going to that church, so I know all the back entrances from my years as an altar boy (Mom made me do it). I can slip in and find her right before the service starts, but only if I hurry.

I grab my keys off my nightstand and rush out to my car. I jiggle the key in the lock and hop in. When I turn the ignition, though, my hunk of junk car just sputters and dies.

"Are you kidding me?" I punch the steering wheel and the horn goes off. "Oh shut up."

I turn the key again, hearing the engine grind. It's been doing this lately, but it always starts with a little trying. I try the key again, and this time nothing happens at all. Boy, my car sure picked a great day to die.

I get out, slam the door shut, and give the tire a kick. Hands on my hips, I hang my head. Maybe I should just let it go.

My head snaps up. No. I let it go last time, and what good did that do me? Nothing.

I go to the end of the driveway, look both ways, deciding the best route, and take off down the sidewalk. I sprint as fast as my Converse will carry me. There's no time to lose. The drive takes five minutes, but I have no idea how long it'll take me on foot.

The sun beats down on me, and I'm so out of shape that I'm sweating and panting by the time I get two blocks from my house. By the time I get another block, there's a stitch in my side but I don't stop. I pass by a house with a sprinkler going in its lawn and briefly consider running through it, but decide against it. A dog sleeps on the porch of the next house, a Chihuahua. When it sees me running past, it springs up and starts chasing after me.

"Shit."

I'm not sure how my body does it, but I speed up. The miniature mutt is right on my heels, nipping at them every time they hit the ground. Even though I've always sort of liked animals, I'm about to stop and kick this little bastard if he doesn't bug off.

Once the little demon and I round the corner, I see a wonderful sight. It's the answer to my prayers. I push myself forward as fast as my aching legs can possibly go and zoom past a mailman.

"Heads up!" I tell him.

Rover's paws skid on the pavement as he realizes he's met up with his mortal enemy. I stop to watch, trying to catch my breath in the process. A small growl emits from the Chihuahua's throat, and the middle-aged postal worker's eyes grow wide. The man takes off, his mailbag bouncing against his ass. The pooch lunges after him, and I'm free.

I pump a fist in the air triumphantly and resume my trek. Only about ten blocks to go…

By the time I reach the church I am nearly out of breath and drenched in sweat. My bangs stick to my forehead and my black shirt is soaked. I stand across the street, gazing up at the intimidating building. No one's outside, so that means either the service is getting ready to start or it already has. I run across the street, not looking where I'm going because I'm focused on the church in front of me. A car slams on its breaks and honks at me. I wave a hand as if to say sorry as the driver yells out his window that I'm a maniac, but don't stop.

Around the side of the church I go, through the crowded parking lot, and to the back. I look around quickly to make sure no one is looking and slip in through the door leading to where I used to hang out before services. This is where the dressing rooms have always been. The cool air from the air conditioner is welcoming. I lift my shirt and wipe sweat off my face as I walk down the hall. I see a door open on the right and look into it. There's no one there. All of rooms have their doors open, and every single one is empty. Damn. That means the service has started.

I stop and strain my ears to listen. I can faintly hear the voice of Father Benjamin, the old as dirt priest who taught religion classes and always clapped me on the back after each service, telling me God was proud of my dedication to the art of altar serving.

I creep slowly towards the entry way for the front of the church. There's a pair of curtains hanging in front of the doorway, shielding me from view. I peek out from the crack in the curtains and see a church full of people. The first row of pews has Lilly's parents and other immediate family members sitting in it. The rest are filled with some people I know, but most I don't… Wait, is that my mother? What the hell, Mom? I need to have a talk with that woman.

Finally I look to the front of the church, and my heart nearly stops. This is the first time I've set eyes on Lilly in the flesh in three years, and she has not changed a bit. She's just as gorgeous as ever. Her long, flowing, white wedding gown hugs her frame perfectly and trails off behind her. She wears no veil, but her hair is in a bun. A few loose strands of golden hair have fallen from it and frame her face, but I'm sure it's not supposed to be like that. Even with a professional stylist that woman can't keep her hair neat; typical Lilly.

The look on her face is one of pure bliss. She's absolutely beaming, starring directly into the face of a man whom I can only see from the back. She's radiant and glowing, and even from this distance I can see a look in her eyes that I know all too well. It's one of absolute certainty. I've seen it a million times before: taking a test she ended up getting a perfect on, playing darts when she'd hit the center every damn time, and the first time she ever told me she loved me. She knows she's doing the right thing. I can feel it.

She's genuinely happy, and I can feel a smile etching across my face and a warm feeling in my gut. I'm actually happy for her. She's getting what she's always wanted, and somehow knowing that settles me. It diminishes all the resentment and anger I've kept stored inside for so long. I feel at peace for the first time in a long time.

Slowly and quietly, I back away from the curtain. I exit the church through the way I came and step out into the sun. I let the sun warm my face for a moment, take a breath, and head home to finally move on with my life. Who knows, maybe I'll even make that bed.

The end.