A/n: it's mainly rated M for language and suggestive content and i don't know, to be safe. I have also decided to make up Miley's sister and both Nick and Miley's parents. So if you see a name you don't recognize, it's because they are fiction. Joe and Nick aren't related. Nick is an only child. :]

Vamoosing Hearts

Chapter 1

You know what's awesome? Being woken up on a Saturday by the sounds of your sister and her fiancée fucking. It doesn't help that her room is right next to mine… but she's just that considerate. I don't know why I didn't just move into the room in the basement when I was given the chance… oh, wait, yes I do. Basements terrify me. There's something about being underground that creeps me out. If we were made to be underground all the damn time we wouldn't have an aboveground.

I sighed and wrapped my pillow around my head, trying to block the audio out. When that didn't work, I angrily threw the sheets off of me and kneeled on my bed, facing the headboard. I banged the wall with my fist three times before shouting. "Hey horn dogs, wanna quiet down before I physically separate you by the hair on your head!" The disturbing noises stopped for a moment. I smiled to myself, feeling accomplished, I lied back down and sighed contently at the warmth of my bed. Oh, but did I underestimate my sister or what? I heard snickering and they were back at it.

I was going to be so grumpy today, I could feel it. I got up once more, figuring out that I wasn't going to be going back to bed until they were out of bed. Dumb newly engaged couple. I changed into a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt then slipped on my running shoes. I like to run out my anger. It takes me away from the scene and gives me time to think… if I stayed there to think, my thoughts would be contaminated with disturbing images of them 'getting it on' and yes, I'm using finger quotes.

Now you're probably like, what the fuck? Why does her older sister still live at home? Well here's why. Marissa graduated high school with a 4.0 grade point average. That is the highest. She got into Yale University and was going to major in… ugh I don't even know because she changed it so many damn times. Anyhow, in one of her classes she met Patrick. Patrick… her fuck buddy down the hall. Well they fell in love instantly and before we all knew it they had both transferred and moved back here where they both now go to college. She didn't have a job yet and no job means no money and now that I think about it I'm really pissed off at the fact that they are here and not his apartment. Sidetracked, sorry. So they moved back here, where he coincidentally grew up also. She lives home because like I said, no job, no money, no apartment. She doesn't live with Patrick because then she'd have to pay half the rent. Again, no money.

Now I'm basically being forced out of my own house because they don't know how to keep off of each other. My dad is so lucky he works on weekends. Then again if my dad were home, they wouldn't be doing that shit. Damn you, dad. My mom died when I was ten. We actually moved away and then when Marissa said she was moving here, my dad got the bright idea of moving back. I don't really mind it. I just wish that if we were to move back it was into the old house. But my dad sold it 8 years ago. Why I would choose my old house over this one? Well… he lives in this neighborhood. He sees me every day and he doesn't remember.

So now I'm leaving my new house and going for a run in my new neighborhood.

I took off the front step and as soon as I came face to face with that drawing of a missing cat the memory came back.

Let me start with this.

You can tell a lot about a person by the way that they color.

I used to think that there were two kinds of Crayola holders: Ones who color inside the lines and ones who don't stay within the rigid boundaries set by thick black perimeters that make up a koala bear. But, it seems that inside and outside of the lines is just the main basis for comparison.

You have those that color lightly inside and fill each space according to the chosen and appropriate shade.

You have those that scribble and slap any color anywhere. And sometimes these people have purple turkeys and shit that drives me absofreakinglutely crazy because, seriously…who has purple turkeys?

Anyway.

Then you have people that take the time to outline each portion of the picture with color before filling it in, so that it not only looks cohesive, but it seems like they actually give a damn about the Precious Moments big-eyed-freak they are giving definition to.

Or, you have those that make little polka dots in the middle of a bear's face and then cry excitedly that the bear has chicken pox.

See where I'm going with this? Society has pretty much taught us that it's inside the lines, or outside. But…there is so much more in between.

Take the kids I sit for, for example. One likes to color only half of the drawing. And the other likes to color one wing of a bird red, the other one brown, the face yellow… etcetera, blah, blah, blah.

Why are you telling me this?You're asking and rolling your eyes. I can feel it.

Fine.

I say all of this because before I met Nick Jonas, I was the girl who colored inside of the lines. I traced the outlines first, thick and heavy before filling in each section with the corresponding color. I prided myself on it, actually. And when I was ten years old and my mom and his mom were best friends they decided to set up a play date… for ten year olds… I don't know what they were thinking either.

It was the first time I met Nick Jonas. Ten years old. Big ambition and a mom that kept him on one of those baby leashes when he was younger. I know because I saw a picture of it once. He wanted to color for the two hours that I watched him and halfway through the first picture, I looked over and grabbed hold of his hand, gently stopping him from what he was doing with the wax sticks.

"You need to color inside the lines," I admonished him as only a ten year old girl with a superiority complex could do.

He didn't even look up from the paper. "You're mean," he whispered and continued to make sweeping motions across the paper, coloring in wide strokes in every vibrant hue he could get his long, spindly fingers on. It was probably the first words he'd spoken to me, and they would reverberate through my brain for years to come.

What? Don't judge me, people. I don't like people being mad at me, or not liking me. So, I tried to make up for it.

"Wanna go outside?" I'd asked, afraid that he'd tell my mom I had hurt his feelings.

"It's raining." He'd said it so matter-of-fact, like he was the adult and I was some stupid little kid.

Nick Jonas was not going to get the best of me.

"It's not raining that bad," I'd egged him on.

And that was the very first time I'd gotten him to do something he didn't want to do. We'd gone out into the rain on that balmy summer day. He'd kind of looked up into the sky with wide, brown eyes that appeared much too mature for his age, and he'd simply muttered something about the chances of getting hit by lightning.

I didn't really hear him, though. He had a bad ass swing set in his back yard and I was too busy trying to get up the slide from the front instead of taking the ladder because I wanted to be one of those chicks on television who kicked ass. And my first step would be to get up a slide. In the rain.

It's called 'preparation', people.

Long story short...

He bolted back to the house leaving me on the metal slide.

Alone.

Where I actually did get hit by lightning.

Well, not me. The slide. The slide got hit by lightning and I was holding onto it and so I sort of just spazzed out and my hair was standing up by the time I shook hard enough to get my fingers to let go of the side of the slide. And then I fell back into a puddle and blacked out.

Needless to say, I'm still alive. I guess Nick ran out and dragged me into the house and then called 911.

Nick Jonas had essentially saved my life.

I felt my heartbeat increase as I approached his house. His car was parked in the driveway and I slowed down once I found myself directly in front of his driveway. I completely stopped when I saw his car door open. I watched as he stepped out and slammed his door angrily. Any other day and I would have minded my own business and kept on running, but it wasn't any other day, it was today and today I remembered the day I met him. Today, he was on my mind more than any other day.

"Shit…" I vaguely heard the word escape his lips and he pounded the roof of his car with his fist then looked over a piece of paper he pulled out of his back pocket. I couldn't help but be curious, plus the fact that I'm not afraid to talk… sue me.

I bit my lip before calling out, "Are you okay?" He looked over at me and scratched his head. I realized only two idiots would converse by yelling across a yard, so I cautiously began walking towards him. I watched as he looked me up and down and then licked his lips. Perv, not to mention I am incredibly sweaty.

"Who are you?" He asked in a 'no to be rude, but I'm gonna be rude anyways' tone. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Dumb jerk. It's me! Destiny! If someone had told me that moving would make nobody remember me than I would have fought my dad until he said we could stay… but no, that wasn't the case. The case was that we moved and I changed my name to Miley permanently. Miley was my nickname that my mom gave me because she always called me Smiley and it warped into Miley. You're probably like, what the hell kind of name is that? Well what the hell kind of name is any name?

"Miley. We have a few classes together," I informed him and he nodded slowly. He can act like he knows who I am now, but I know he doesn't. Now let me break something down for you. School is Hell with fluorescent lighting. And Nick is the devil. Wait- scratch that. Nick's friends are the devil. He was pulled into the loop. There's this thing called the food chain and Nick and his friends just happen to be at the top of that food chain. What I'm about to tell you next just might shock you, but please don't let your panties get in a bunch.

I'm at the bottom of that food chain. Being "new" can do that to a person. When you're new you have no friends and when you have no friends you're invisible.

Harry Potter take your fucking cloak back, I'm done with it.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked bravely, sneaking a look at the piece of paper in his hand. He looked at me strangely.

"I'm fine," he said softly and his eyes returned to the speeding ticket. If you saw his face you'd know he was full of shit, too. Well you know what I always say. When in doubt, mumble.

"Liar," I didn't think he heard me by the way his eyes were glued to that damn piece of paper. Our eyes connected and I shook my head to get a grip on reality.

"Maybe I am lying, Miley," he said harshly and my mouth formed in 'o'. Well with that tone of voice he was obviously lying.

"I got another speeding ticket and if it goes through then I can't play ball and I'm grounded till college," he suddenly explained, his tone was softer. Probably thinking about how much shit he is in.

Now please keep in mind that if I knew what I was about to do next would affect us the way it did, I wouldn't have done it. I promise you that. I never would have intended this… favor… to completely alter our lives. But does anyone ever intend for what really happens?

I could feel my eyes widen and the excitement surge through my veins at the indirect offer being waved in front of my face. So like any teenager, I took it.

"Let me see," I said and he handed me the slip. I looked over and nodded. "Who pulled you over?" I asked, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

"Uh, Orisno… or something like that?" He questioned himself and I smirked. At the time I thought it was perfect.

"Ted Orsino?" I clarified and he nodded and snapped his fingers.

"Yeah! Him." I nodded and bit my lip, trying to hide the smile that was forming.

"I can help," I stated and he looked at me, confused.

"Huh?"

"My dad's the Chief. Give me a sec," I told him and he raised an eyebrow, watching me as I went through my contacts. I found the one I was looking for and pressed call. My dad's best friend answered and asked me how I was and yada yada yada, small talk.

"You see I heard from a little birdie that you gave my friend a ticket and I was wondering if you could let him off easy this time around?" I asked sweetly and Ted laughed, I looked at Nick who had a wary look in his eyes. I held up a finger to signal one second. "Ted… do a favor for the chief's daughter?" My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when I was told how fast Nick was actually going. No wonder why it was a hefty ticket. "He was going how fast?" I shifted my eyes to him and shook my head, he shrugged. "I don't think my dad would be too happy to hear you denying my request… I'm not pulling anything, Ted, listen this kid feels really bad about what he did and if his parents find out then he's toast, you really can't pull any strings? Just this once?" I begged sweetly and when he finally caved, I mentally high-fived my badass self. "Byyyyeee Ted," I smirked and hung up. I put my phone back in my pocket and turned to Nick. I held the ticket in his face and ripped it down the middle and then put the two pieces together and ripped it again. Then I took his hand and dropped the ripped paper into it.

"You're free," I said quietly and turned to walk away but he grabbed my wrist lightly. I looked up at him in shock.

"You didn't have to do that," he told me, "I feel like I owe you something." In my mind I was laughing evilly at how the pieces fit together. I was such a fucking genius, Einstein was jealous.

"You do," I said simply. I could tell this intrigued him, dying to know what on Earth it was I had on my mind.

"And what exactly do I owe you?" I pulled my wrist from his grasp and sighed.

"The way I see it, Nick Jonas, you owe me your entire existence at this moment." His mouth dropped open in surprise and I smiled slightly, the happiness not quite reaching my eyes. "But I'll settle for you letting me hang out with you for the next month at school, meaning you pretend to like me, but just for a couple of weeks."

Let's pause right there.

In the movie Easy A, Miss Olive Penderghast deadpans that John Hughes didn't write her life story. Well, he didn't write mine either. You know how I know? Because in a John Hughes movie, the guy comes after the girl. He stands out in the rain or makes a grand gesture in front of his family and friends to show his true affections for the girl he's in love with.

In my life, I was the one considering the grand gesture… if you can call my blackmail-ish ways a "grand gesture."

Well.

It was a start.

A/n: Ten reviews for next chapter…? Just like… tell your friends about it. Haha I'm really into this story so I want it to actually go somewhere.

In the meantime, check out my story Roslyn, please.