A/N: Bonjour, fellow readers! Hey, long time no see! So, I was online yesterday and I decided to come on here since I hadn't visited in a while. And, quite frankly, I was a bit disappointed. I mean, have people not noticed the lack of decent Loliver on here (even though the writers finally got their act together and made Loliver a reality)? Honestly, it's been so long since I've had a story genuinely captivate me, where going to sleep wasn't an option because I had to finish this story, even if it meant failing my Spanish test the next day. Really, am I the only one who hasn't had that lately?

Anyways, I thought of this while at the grocery store with my sister and some guy in my grade walked through the doors . . . just as I was racing my cart down the aisle to get to the popcorn faster. And really, he seems like a cool guy to talk to, I just haven't yet. So, yeah, this idea popped into my head. I actually think about this a lot. Just another day in my crazy little world. Haha. Anyways, enjoy!


God. I hate this. I really hate these kind of social situations. Especially this particular social situation. I really can't wait until I can drive and go to the grocery store by myself, that way when something like this pops up, I won't have to deal with it. I can just merrily skip along to the next available aisle, and act as if my face wasn't turning a bright shade of red, almost similar to a tomato. But no. Instead, I came with my mom to make sure she bought the right kind of Pop-Tarts, and this happens.

Have you noticed that every time you tell your parents how hard school is and that they wouldn't understand anything, they get all defensive? Like, I'll mope about the seriously congested hallways lacking any room to breathe, and my mom will just roll her eyes at me, claiming she was fifteen once, and I'm just exaggerating.

But then this happens, and they have no clue. And this isn't the worst of situations, so normally I'd just stay quiet and shuffle through all the magazines, but my mom is out to make my life a living nightmare. Oliver Oken, from my ninth period Biology class, is manning the register.

And right in front of him is a huge package of tampons. Mine, to be exact.

I told you this was bad.

Even worse? Instead of just letting him do his job, my mom's on a mission to find the coupon she cut out earlier. So he's just standing there awkwardly, holding the pink box, waiting patiently for my mom to find what she's looking for.

God, I've reminded her of this multiple times. Is she really that dense? I mean, we've been over this. Anytime we buy feminine products, we get a girl cashier to check us out. Not a male classmate of mine. Anything but that.

But on the bright side, at least he isn't seeing what bra size I wear.

"Ah, here it is," my mom said, feeling accomplished. Oliver put on his fake smile, showing off his pearly whites, which looked even whiter against his work-required red polo shirt.

"Great. So, your total comes to . . ." he read the amount off the screen and my mom fished around in her wallet for the exact change. Oliver looked at me for a moment, our eyes meeting briefly, but I turned away instantly.

Sure, he seems nice. In fact, my best friend, Miley, and I both think he's a really cool person. But there's that nagging fear in the back of your mind that you can't shake off. If we go to talk to him and make total idiots of ourselves, what will happen? I mean, we still have to see them in school for the rest of the year, as short as it may be, not to mention the rest of high school. Who knows what they'll tell their friends? What will they really think? We'll never know.

So for now, my mouth is staying sealed.

My mom grabbed the four plastic bags, handing me two of them, and smiled at Oliver. "Thanks, have a nice day."

"You too," he replied, and out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed he stole another glance at me before turning to the next customer. I faintly heard him greet the elderly man, the usual required words spilling out of his mouth.

My mom and I walked to the car, set the bags in the trunk, and drove off. Aside from the radio, it was silent for a few moments before my mom turned to me. "So, Lilly, who was the boy?"

I inwardly groaned. She's more observant than I thought. "What are you talking about?" I asked in an exasperated voice, pretending like I had no clue what she meant by the question.

"Oh, come on. You're my daughter. I know you like the back of my hand. And normally you're begging me to buy you some gum or are talking about what television show is on tonight, but you were quiet. You knew him." Darn, she was smarter than I thought. "So, I'll try this again, who's the boy?" She repeated, a smug smirk playing on her lips.

This time I groaned both inwardly and outwardly. There was no way to get around this. "His name is Oliver Oken. He's in my Biology class," I explained simply, not revealing too much. I didn't want to say anything that might give her ideas. It was silent again, and I knew wheels were turning in her head.

"Mom, please don't try to do anything . . ." I started, already pleading with her to not make a fool of me. It's only been a minute and she has me at my knees.

"I'm not thinking of anything like that," she explained, turning left on to our street. "His mom and I were in the some maternity class, in preparation for you two. Of course, you were born two months earlier than him, so I didn't see her throughout the rest of the time, but she was nice to talk to. We got along really well."

Whatever. We pulled in to the driveway and I hopped out, yanking the two heaviest bags out from the trunk. She was still reminiscing from the days of nearly sixteen years ago, and I would let her stay that way. I may not like that she's thinking about calling up Oliver's mom for a get together, but my mom doesn't have that many girl friends. After the divorce, she kind of only continued to talk to people she worked with, in fear that others would betray her, like my dad did.

Sure, I'm pissed that he cheated on my mom four years ago and made my family split, but maybe it was for the best. At least they weren't at each other's throats. Luckily they got the divorce before things got too ugly. So now my brother and I spend every other weekend at my dad's place a few hours away. I don't mind. Besides, his girlfriend makes really good brownies.

Walking through the door, I dodged a headlock from my older brother, Ben. We have the same colored hair, but his eyes are forest green, like my dad's. But other than that, were pretty much the same. Same skin tone, same facial features, even the same freckle behind our right ear. Someone might mistake us for twins. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Ben, honey, could you please start the pasta while I go make a quick business call?" My mom asked, already knowing the answer. He may be an eighteen year old boy almost out of high school, but my brother still does everything he's supposed to do.

"I'm on it," he replied, already digging through the plastic bags on the lookout for the rotini pasta my mom and I had just purchased. My mom was walking upstairs when he pulled the pink box out. Looking it over and noting my grimace, he smiled. "I have a feeling you didn't get a girl cashier."

"No," I moaned, plopping down on the stool nearest to me. "In fact, just the opposite. We got a guy. From my school. In my Bio class."

"Ouch," he laughed, turning the stove on to boil the water after successfully locating the noodles. "Eh, considering you aren't a tomato and faking an illness, I take it he wasn't a jerk."

I sighed. "No, he was really nice about it, but still. Awkward."

I slid off the stool, grabbed my backpack, and bolted upstairs, telling Ben to call me when dinner's ready. Surprisingly enough, homework is a good distraction for something embarrassing that happened earlier in the day. Not.

God, that was so incredibly uncomfortable. I can only imagine what he'll tell his friends tomorrow.

This'll be fun.


"So there I am, standing there, holding this pink package of tampons, and she's ruffling through her purse, trying to find the right coupon!"

Ugh. This is horrible. For the last ten minutes, Oliver's been telling his friends what weird things he's seen while working over the last weekend. Unfortunately, this is my part.

"Dude! That's so weird! Did you know the girl? Like, does she go to our school?" One of the guys asked, and all the others seemed suddenly interested. Psh, and they say guys don't get hooked on gossip. They so do. This is total proof.

But still. He's gonna blow my cover. Well, whatever cover I ever really had. But still. Sophmore boys are the worst. Maybe even worse than Freshman boys. Oliver is gonna say it was me, and then whatever reputation I've been trying to build up over the last two years will crumble. Make it quick, boy. Just get it over with. Like tearing a Band-Aid off.

"No, man, this was some old lady," he said after a brief pause, almost unnoticeable.

"No way! Ew, man, that's so gross!"

Wait, what? Did he not just say my name? I spared a glance forward, towards Oliver and all of his friends. I saw them cracking up like it was the funniest thing ever, but I also saw Oliver's eyes dart towards me. Multiple times.

"Lilly!" A voice from my left said frantically.

"What?" I asked back, just as agitated.

"What, were you sleeping with your eyes open or something? I've been trying to get your attention for the last, like, minute," Miley said, her southern drawl barely noticeable after living in California for so the past few years.

"Sorry," I said, tearing my gaze away from the guy and instead focusing on my best friend. "I was just staring off in to space. My bad." An excuse that always works. "So, what did you want?"

"Have you noticed," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper so no one would listen to the conversation, "that Oliver's been staring at you all period? Like, he looks at you every ten seconds. At first I thought it was cute. But now it's kinda creepy."

Once she mentioned this, we watched him from the corners of our eyes, and sure enough, he'd look our way every now and then. "Miley, he's probably looking at you. I mean, when's the last time a guy was looking at me? Especially with you right next to me?"

Miley rolled her eyes, exasperated. We'd gone over this before. For some reason, it appeared that no guy was attracted to the tomboy type, especially when her girly friend was standing only a few feet away. I told her that she could have any guy she wants, and she knew it. I mean, she's Hannah freaking Montana. She could have any guy in the world with a quick little snap of her fingers.

"Whatever, Lilly. Besides, I have my eyes of Derek, the cute skater boy sitting next to him," she stated, leaning a little to the side to get a better view. "But honestly, I think he's in to you. He's never done this before."

I looked away, another good thing to do if you don't want to raise suspicion. As long as you didn't do it too obviously, people just think you're focusing on your homework. And hopefully that's what Miley was thinking right now.

"Wait, did something happen between you two? Like, did you run in to him at the mall? Or does he mow your grandma's lawn? Or, oh my god, did he save your life surfing?!" Typical Miley. Always thinking about the most dramatic things first.

Starting to get annoyed with my impossible Geometry homework and Miley's nagging, I freaked. "Of course, the only time a guy would ever notice me is if we had some kind of interaction with each other," I said, exhausted. But after seeing her look so upset, I apologized. "It was nothing Miley. I just saw him at the grocery store. Nothing major. And sorry I snapped, but I just want to think. Well, and this homework is torture."

Pleased with my answer, Miley shrugged, stole another look at Derek, and turned back to whatever song she was currently writing. When I took one last glance at Oliver and he caught me, I almost blushed. But then I remembered what Miley told me one time. Whenever you feel embarrassed because he caught you looking at him, just remember something. He was looking back.


Ha, I know. Kind of a sucky first chapter, but I like it. I had to start things somewhere, right? Right. So . . . yeah. This isn't the story I had mentioned at the end of Anything But Up, but the idea of that faded from my mind, and was replaced by this one. I have the same ending planned, though, so it's kind of a combination. Anyways, tell me what you think. Should I continue? I'd love to hear your opinions and ideas! So drop a review, I swear I'll respond. Pinky promise.