A week had passed since Miley's plan had tanked.
I hadn't spoken a single word to her – or even looked at her for that matter– with the exception of the few occasional grimaces I sent her way to show my annoyance. As easy as it'd seemed when I'd first thought about it, it truly wasn't; it wasn't until now that I realized that Miley and I relied on each other for just about everything. I could barely make coffee without losing my temper and cursing the stupid coffee pot out. And to add the missing cherry on top of a perfect sundae, she spent most nights curled on the couch watching Manhattan over and over again, chowing down on some Rocky Road and blubbering about how Mary and Isaac should have ended up together.
It was heartbreaking, really.
"Are you ever going to talk to me again?"
Looking up from the magazine I'd been flipping through on the couch, my eyes landed on the devil herself standing atop of the landing beside the door, a perfectly manicured hand on her hip while the other held a Macey's shopping bag loosely. She'd arched one of her eyebrows and pursed her lips in that manner she usually did when something was bothering her.
Instead of responding, like she'd hopped I would, I simply shut the magazine and stacked it on top of the twenty others sitting on the coffee table, picking them all up and starting for my room. I heard her scoff slightly but continued ignoring her, hoping she'd take the hint that I'd been dropping all week: I didn't want to speak to her.
"Taylor," she groaned, "this is so immature."
"Don't start with that," I replied as casually as I could, not stopping to look at her, "because sneaking a boy into my room just screams immaturity."
"I was just trying to help you!"
"I already told you," I spun around to look at her, "I don't want your help."
"Because you're doing so great on your own, right," she shot back, making me fume in my PJ's.
"Actually," I pointed out, "I'm not trying to fix anything."
"And that's exactly why I did what I did," Miley exclaimed, heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she made her way towards the kitchen island, too pissed to remain standing any longer. "You're too stubborn to fix this on your own so I had to impose if I wanted to salvage your friendship with those three."
"Why should I have to fix anything," I snapped, suddenly irritated by her constant persistency. "I'm not the one who lied for two years to my supposed best friends."
"Well, you're definitely not letting them fix anything either," Miley retorted, dropping her bag beside the mail I'd brought in earlier. "So that means either you let them or you do something about it."
"I'd rather eat–"
"Don't say it unless you plan to," she interrupted, holding up a hand. As she lowered herself into one of the stools, she let out a long, exasperated sigh before leaning her elbows against the marble counter top. "I just don't want you to lose him, Taylor," she admitted solemnly.
"Lose who?"
"Who do you think," she scowled. "Nick!"
Balancing the magazines on my hip, I stiffened at his name and what she implying. She looked up at me, those baby blues piercing right through me, making me feel naked as if they could see straight into my soul or – even worse – my heart. Holding the magazines in place with my left hand, I flexed my right one, feeling the muscles tensing up as the anxiety built up within me. I hated being caught of guard; this always happened to me when I was.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I managed to say without my voice cracking.
"Don't play stupid with me," she smirked. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Without warning, the magazines slipped out of my loose grip and scattered at my feet, getting a low, annoyed groan out of me. I glanced over at Miley briefly as I plunked my butt down on the floor and started piling them up again, one by one, hoping to God she hadn't realized how close I had been to having a heart attack.
"See," she pointed out. "You can barely function without going weak in the knees over a certain curly fry."
I heard the stool scrape against the floor and more clocking of her heels, heels that at one point had been mine. As she knelt down beside me and picked up a Cosmopolitan by her feet, I got a whiff of her perfume and couldn't help but let a smile spread on my lips. It was the new Sarah Jessica Parker fragrance, Lovely, that Lilly had gotten her for her birthday the year she'd passed away. The way Miley treasured that bottle was insane; she'd never once used it, seeing as how she never got a chance since Lilly had gotten sick soon after and left us barely weeks after she'd received the gift.
"Just because you keep things to yourself doesn't mean I'm oblivious to them," Miley chuckled softly, handing me the magazine.
"Right," I sighed, stacking the Cosmo. "I guess I should start working on that."
I avoided her eyes, for more than just one reason, trying extremely hard to concentrate on the task at hand. As I reached over to grab one of the Rolling Stones that had landed a couple feet away, I felt my heart stop beating completely when I saw who was on the cover of that specific issue. Rolling my eyes, I picked it up and thrust it under the large pile at my feet; it was hard enough hating the Jonas Brothers without having to constantly see them everywhere I turned.
"I just don't want you to regret anything later on, T," Miley nudged me softly, snapping me out of my thoughts. She let herself plop down beside me, kicking her heels off in the process, and crossed her legs.
"I know," I looked over at her. "But it's hard."
"I know," she smiled.
"For the record," I shrugged, letting my hands drop from the magazine pile in front of me, "it's been really hard not talking to you."
"I'll say," she laughed. "Watching Manhattan without you just isn't the same. Every time Yale betrayed Isaac, I just kept wishing you'd pop out of thin air."
"And that stupid coffee maker you bought," I scowled as I thought of the damn thing, brushing my bangs to the side and stretching out my legs, "sucks. My coffee's been practically water all week."
---
Hanging up the phone, he sighed, leaning back into his armchair and shutting his eyes. Why was he always placed in the middle of every argument anyone in their circle of friends was having?
It was only a matter of time before Taylor found out about this and then, the hunt would commence and his head would be the target. He just hoped it took longer than just a few minutes for the news to reach her. That would at least give him enough time to skip town or think up a good excuse, not that he needed to. They were, after all, his friends. He couldn't just turn his back on them in their time of need because Taylor wasn't on good terms with them. Something about the idea, though, striked him as completely ridiculous, seeing as how Taylor was one of the most charitable people he knew. As angry as she was with the Jonas boys, she would never ask Oliver to turn them away; her heart wouldn't let her.
But she wouldn't be happy about it either.
The girls practically lived at his apartment, whether he was home or not. If she just happened to stop by one day and walk in on the three most despicable people – in her eyes- she'd ever met, things were likely to get messy quick. The least I could do is tell her, he thought to himself as he opened his eyes and stared out the balcony door.
As he made to stand up, a sudden pounding on his door startled him, scaring the crap right out of him. The shock the sudden noise gave him practically made him jump out of his skin, a thought he was still significantly aware about as he opened the door with a huge scowl to greet none other than Miley Stewart.
"Don't scowl, Oliver," she frowned. "It makes you look bloated."
"What a lovely surprise," Oliver deadpanned.
"Isn't it always," she grinned as she breezed past him.
"Yeah," Oliver humored her, closing the door. "Where's your key?"
"I left it at home," she shrugged, settling down on the couch and crossing her legs as she propped her purse up on the seat beside her. "Now please explain to me what the hell you were thinking when you agreed to let the guys stay here and how the hell you're planning on telling Taylor because bluntly is not an option."
Mentally slapping himself, he plopped down beside her, moving her purse aside, and gave her a defeated glance. That had been a mouthful but it was Miley after all and whenever she got worked up, she tended to speak a little more rapidly than what was considered normal for her. Keeping up with what she said at these times had proved – on countless occasions – to be freakishly difficult, but for some reason, Oliver had no difficulty keeping up with her heightened speech today.
"First of all," he began slowly, "how the hell do you know about that?"
"I know everything," Miley huffed. "Now answer my question."
"Actually," Oliver smirked smugly, "I think you asked more than one."
"Stop being a smartass."
"They needed a place to stay," he shrugged. Motioning around the room, he raised his eyebrows. "Note, a place to stay. I have two extra rooms with no one in them. How could I say no, Miles?"
Miley crossed her arms and pouted, looking around the spacious apartment, her eyes lingering on the bedroom hallway. True, the place was large enough for four guys and since the Jonas' apartment had been sold months ago, they needed a place to stay and it couldn't be just anywhere. It had to be somewhere where they'd know they were safe and if Oliver's place wasn't safe, then no place in Chicago was.
"And about Taylor," Oliver continued meekly, keeping his eyes glued on the floor. "I was actually hoping maybe you could think that part up for me."
"You mean tell her, right?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"You're crazy," Miley shook her head.
"But you live with her!"
"Exactly!"
"Then why—"
"Do I look like I want to be smothered in my sleep?"
"Ugh," Oliver groaned obnoxiously, letting his head fall back against the couch. "She has a temper. How could I forget?"
"Besides," Miley shrugged, "we just made up and I don't want to jeopardize that by telling her something that's going to upset her."
"Wait," Oliver interrupted her. "You guys made up?"
"Mhm," she nodded excitedly. "It all happened so fast I'm surprised it even happened at all."
"How'd you guys apologize?"
"It was more like a mutual understanding than actual apologies," Miley explained. "But the point is I've been telling myself all morning that we'd make up today and turns out, we did! Don't you just love how I'm always freakishly right about these things?"
"Uh, conceited much?"
"Gifted," she corrected him. "And truly talented."
"Alright, alright," Oliver rolled his eyes, getting up and pacing around the room. "Quit boasting, you freak." Ignoring the frown she gave him at being called a freak, he went back to mulling over any and all ideas on how to break the news to Taylor that her once safe haven was now going to be the mortal enemy's campground. "I got it," he announced proudly after a minute of nothing but silence and excessive tapping on Miley's part. "I just won't tell her." Sighing, Miley closed her eyes.
"Good plan. And when she finds out?"
"Hey," he snapped. "Don't be so quick to shut it down without even hearing me out."
"When she finds out, which she will, she'll be so caught up in the moment that she won't even have time to think about the fact that it's my place they're living in." He grinned at his brilliance like a joker. "It's a freaking fool-proof plan." Shaking her head, Miley stood up and grabbed her purse, too speechless to do anything else.
"Like I said," she sighed, "good plan."
Once again, sarcasm dripped off every word, earning her a scowl from Oliver.
"But it's just crazy enough to work," she added. "Just don't let the secret slip, alright? The last thing we need is the paparazzi snooping around and blowing our cover."
"Please," he scoffed. "I don't boast."
Rolling her eyes, she walked over to the door, ruffling his hair as she went – which made him scowl –, and opened it, giving him a small smirk as she stepped out into the hall.
"Keep telling yourself that."
I might add a little Jonas action later.
