So I've had a few things going on, hence my sudden (and lengthy) disappearance. Hopefully it'll all be okay from now on, and I hope you've all been able to bear with me. Anyway, I want to start this story, and When In Rome will be updated tomorrow. Or Monday. One of those days. I also have a one-shot in mind, so that will hopefully be up within the week. I totally plan on making up for all the time I've lost!
Anyway, you can ask why I've been AWOL if you want, but I'd prefer to just cut this note short, and get on with the story. If you've read any of my Phil of the Future fanfiction, then you may know that I've written a story like this for that category too, but I had so much fun writing that, and I want to recreate that here. It will have major differences though, so don't be put off by that.
Enough of the bold text now... so here's the story. I hope you guys like it. :D
I was sitting, minding my own business in French class, when it hit me. Literally. Now I'm not a highly academic student, and I'll be the first to admit it, so I wasn't exactly paying much attention to Ms. Whats-er-face and her conju-who-ha verbs. I was paying way more attention to the hair of the person sat in front of me, to be honest, but still - I don't think that I deserve to be hit in the head by a flying piece of paper.
Turning around in my seat, I found Miley staring at me, motioning for me to pick up the ball that had disrupted my very nice daydream by whacking me in the back of the head. I rolled my eyes, directing a quick glance at the teacher before leaning down and scooping it up, unfolding it in front of me. It better be important, otherwise she's knocked like, ten brain cells out of my head, for nothing.
Stop staring at the back of Oliver's head.
Oh yeah. That was worth losing ten brain cells over. Of course it was. I wanted to reply, and tell her exactly what I thought about her hurling accusations at me - literally, might I add - but Ms. Something-or-other turned around to face us, and I didn't have a chance to scrawl a reply and throw it back.
Stare at Oliver's head. Yeah, right. I wasn't staring at the back of his head... I was merely daydreaming, and the back of his head just so happened to be where my gaze landed. Uh-huh.
I looked up at the board, trying to make sense of the language that was written there. Okay, how does anyone understand a word of French? It's foreign. Which yes, is the point, but whatever. And you know what else I don't understand? Do French people actually think in French? Do they sit in English class, and think about guys in French? I don't even know how to say 'guys' in French.
I spun around to see Miley motioning to the floor again, where another paper ball sat, looking all innocent. Rolling my eyes again, I quickly picked it up, and unscrunched it, looking down at what it said.
You're going to freak.
I'm sorry. What is the point in throwing a paper ball AT MY HEAD and only write four words on it? Four words that mean nothing to me, might I add. FREAK ABOUT WHAT? THE FACT THAT SHE KEEPS HURLING PAPER BALLS AT MY HEAD?
Seeing as this note made no sense, I figured that there was another coming my way, and made sure that I was ready for it. Though how I'd be ready with my back toward Miley, I don't know. I was just ready for it, okay?
Sure enough, minutes later, I felt another ball hit the back of my chair. At least it wasn't aimed at my head this time. I bent down and picked it up, hoping that this one was slightly more informative, and slightly less annoying.
Teenage Kicks is looking for new contestants. Here, in Malibu. I saw it on the news this morning. I totally think we should audition.
I sat up, reading the note over again, before turning around to Miley, and looking at her as though she were insane. Which, considering she'd just thrown three paper balls at me to inform me of something that she could have told me once class was over, she probably was. Was she actually being serious? She wanted to audition for a show that basically took ten kids into a house, and humiliated them on national television? Who, in their right mind, actually wants to do that?
"Lilly! Tourner et faire l'attention!" A screech from the front of the class came, and I hasitly turned around in my chair, looking at the woman who was staring at me as though she wanted to hurt me. I had no idea what she'd just said, but it didn't sound like she was telling me that she liked my hat.
After a few seconds of her staring at me, and me looking back in fear of my life, she turned back to the board, and began talking about verbs again. I let out a silent sigh of relief, and smiled at Oliver, who'd spun around for a second to look at me. He smiled back, just before looking back at the front of the room.
Okay, I'm listening. I'm actually listening now. Because Ms. Psycho-teacher will probably like, kill me, if I don't pay attention, and that would be bad. Very bad.
Right. So... verbs. In French. Verbs are like, doing words, right? So 'go' is a verb. What's 'go' in French? Do people in France even say 'go'? Well duh, of course they don't, because it's a different language... oh my gosh, I'm confusing myself. I'm just not cut out to be able to speak French.
Sliding down in my chair, I looked back at Oliver's head, sighing. Only twenty more minutes, and then I'd be out, and I could talk to Miley about her insane decision to want to audition for Teenage Kicks. I mean seriously, what is wrong with that girl? She's already Hannah flipping Montana. What, is she fame-hungry or something?
My train of thought was cut off again, with yet another ball bouncing off my head. I turned around to look at Miley, a furious expression on my face, but she had looked back at the board, and was now ignoring me. Picking up the paper, I put it on the desk in front of me, silently cursing Miley and her amazing aim. Hadn't anyone else in the class noticed that I'd been hit on the head like four times with a paper ball? Then again, it was French class. They're all asleep.
What did I say about staring at Oliver?
Scrunching up the ball again, I flung it on the floor. She's really very annoying sometimes.
"I'm not doing it Miley," I stated, sliding into one of the seats in the cafeteria, putting my tray of mystery meat onto the table. "Teenage Kicks is a show that dedicates it's airtime to showing America how stupid teenagers are. Now excuse me, but I'd rather not be one of those teenagers that get shown up on television. It's bad enough embarrassing myself in front of the kids at school. I don't want to embarrass myself in front of America."
Miley made a frustrated sound as she sat down opposite me. "You will not embarrass yourself. And you watch the show all the time! How is it okay to embarrass those kids, but not you?"
I picked up the fork and stabbed it into the meat. Just to, you know, make sure that it was actually dead. You never know what this school is willing to serve you. "Because they're stupid enough to audition for the show. I, however, am not, and so shall be the one sat at home laughing at those stupid enough to go on a show where they will inevitably be embarrassed."
"That sentence was way too long," Oliver said, sitting down in the seat next to me, and then staring down in disgust at the food on his tray. "Who makes this stuff?"
Miley shrugged, and then looked back at me. "Come on Lilly! You know that it'll be a laugh, and if we're all on it together, then it'll be way more fun. Plus, we don't even know if we'll get in. I'd be willing to bet that they don't think we're weird enough."
I looked over at Oliver, hoping that he didn't join the argument on Miley's side. I could win an argument against one of them, but both of them? I didn't stand a chance. Especially not an argument against Oliver. I never win any against him. "Miley, think about what you just said."
"Fine." She looked at me, a totally unamused expression on her face. "Don't even consider it. Don't even consider the fact that it could be a great experience, and just shoot the idea down without even thinking properly about it."
I picked up on the sarcasm. Really, I did. But there's nothing that infuriates Miley more, than taking her sarcasm literally. "Alright then. I'm glad we sorted that out. Makes me feel so much better about things." And then I prodded the meat with my fork once more, for good luck.
"You're so unbelievably annoying sometimes," Miley said, which was ironic, seeing as I'd thought pretty much the same thing when she'd been firing paper balls at my head. At least I'd had a valid reason for thinking that. "Oliver! You think that it's a good idea, don't you? Tell Lilly, that auditioning for Teenage Kicks will be totally fun, and that we'll have a good time if we get picked."
I rolled my eyes. "Because that isn't putting words into his mouth is it?"
Miley just shot me a glance that told me to shut up, and then looked back over at Oliver, who was looking totally bemused by the whole situation.
"Um... I guess..." he shrugged, which gave me the impression that he had no idea what he was agreeing to. Which, if you think about it, makes the whole scenario totally unfair. If he is to make an unbiased decision, he needs to know what he's making a decision about. That's only fair.
"See!" Miley said, looking at me as though I couldn't possibly refuse after Oliver had (sort of) agreed with her. She obviously doesn't know me all that well. "Oliver thinks that it's a good idea. I don't see what problem is."
I rolled my eyes and looked at Oliver. "Really? So you believe that getting locked in a house for two weeks, while the whole of America watches you utterly humiliate yourself, is a good idea? You think that not being able to have any privacy for two whole weeks is an awesome idea, do you?"
Oliver looked back at me intently, and for a second I forgot what my point was. But it was back in the next second, and I was listening to his reply. "I think... you're exaggerating. And I think that it'll be a laugh auditioning. If we get in, then we can discuss it, but what's the harm in auditioning? Like Miley says, we probably won't get in anyway. They like incredibly weird people."
Ugh. How can he agree with her? Why does he want to go on national television and humiliate himself? How can he want to spend two weeks in a house with a bunch of complete strangers? Although... spending two weeks in a house with Oliver seems strangely appealing. WAIT. NO. NO IT DOESN'T. THAT WAS AN ODD THOUGHT.
"Plus, like I'd let you get humiliated," Oliver said, looking at me.
I hate my friends, and their incredible persuading techniques. Pulling a face, I stared at my food, not wanting to look at either of them. I wanted to stand my ground for as long as possible. Although if Oliver kept saying stuff like that, it'd last for all of two seconds.
Miley folded her arms, and looked at me hopefully. "Please?"
I threw my fork down, and shrugged. I was going to regret this. I just knew it. "Fine. Whatever."
"Yes!" Miley cried, punching the air, and grinning at the both of us. "It'll be fun. And I'll say it again, but they're looking for really weird people."
Not looking up at either of my friends, who were now discussing what they thought the audition would be like, I picked my fork back up, and poked it into the meat - which I'm happy to report, was definitely dead. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? If they be looking for weird people, they'll love us."
And so there you have it. First chapter. Tell me what you think about it, and I'll maybe write another chapter for you.