Drew looks at me, I fake a smile so he won't see

That I want, I'm needing everything that we should be

Lilly

"…Love is not love/which alters when it alteration finds,/Or bends with the remover to remove./O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark,/That looks on tempests and is never shaken,/It is the star to every wandering bark/Whose worth is unknown, although his height be taken."

I snap my poetry book shut.

I hate poetry.

I especially hate the type of poetry that speaks to you, like it knows what you're feeling. And no matter how many times you tell the poet to shut his big, fat mouth; he's just not going to. Instead, he's going to keep telling you something that you don't really want to here. Especially not from some old, dead guy who it doesn't affect anymore anyways.

"Okay, dude, you are my hero!" I hear someone say behind me. Stuffing my poetry book in my locker, I turn around to see a junior named Max clapping my best friend Oliver on the back.

While we're on the subject of English, let's discuss the previous sentence. The key words are "BEST" and "FRIEND." Words that do not appear are "BOYFRIEND," "LOVE," or "RELATIONSHIP."

"Yeah, dude," another boy, Paul, agrees, slapping Max a high-five, "That goal last night was totally sweet!"

I sigh.

You see, though the word "LOVE" cannot be used to describe Oliver and I as a pair, they can definitely be used to describe my feelings towards Oliver.

Yes, it's true.

I have come to accept the fact that I am head over heels in love with Oliver Oken.

"They're right," another voice says, a girl's voice this time. My eyes land on Amber and I grimace. "You are totally the best soccer player I've ever seen." She smiles a sickeningly sweet smile and places her hand on the small of his back gingerly.

I sigh again and turn back to my locker.

While I have come to accept my undying passion for Smokin' Oken, I have also come to accept the fact that he will never return my feelings.

And according to my poetry book, I'm never going to get over these feelings. A freaking tempest couldn't take the feelings away.

This sucks.

"Hey, Lilly Lou."

"Hello, O," I reply, knowing exactly who it is. When we were five we came up with super hero names for each other. I was Lilly Lou, queen of the crayons, and he was O, master of the jungle gym. The nicknames stuck; the titles didn't.

I brace myself before turning to face him, knowing that I'll be greeted with his lopsided smile, which never fails to make my knees week.

Yup, there they go again. Works like a charm every single time.

"Did you see the game last night?" he asks excitedly, tossing his soccer ball into the air several times. In the spring of our freshman year, I bet Oliver that he wouldn't last a month on one of the school's athletic teams. He'd joined the soccer team and, needless to say, had lasted more than a month. He'd discovered a natural talent for the sport.

"I saw it," I say nonchalantly, rearranging the things in my locker.

"And?" he urges, his big, brown eyes looking at me expectantly.

"And what?"

"And how did I play?" He crosses his arms across his chest in a huff.

"Oh, did you play?" I ask, turning to face him, a grin spreading across my face.

In the last ten seconds of an overtime round, Oliver had scored an amazing goal that had won our team the preliminary rounds of the state play-offs.

He had definitely played.

And I had definitely watched.

He rolls his eyes and punches me in the shoulder playfully. "You're a jerk," he mutters, pouting like a four-year-old.

"Pardon me for wanting to keep you on your feet," I say, slamming my locker shut.

When he looks confused, I flick his head of shaggy brown hair. "If your head gets any bigger, you're going to fall over for sure."

He rolls his eyes and follows me down the hall. "There's a party tonight," he says, nudging me with his elbow.

I shrug. "It's Friday," I say. "There's always a party."

"This one's different," he says, the lopsided grin spreading across his face for the second time that morning. My knees go weak again. "This one is in honor of my brilliant athletic ability."

I scoff and pretend to act cool, though my knees feel like jelly. "You seriously don't need any ego boosts from me, O," I laugh. "But that's awesome that they're having a party for you."

"You're coming, right?" he asks, stopping.

I stop too. "I don't know."

"Come on," he says, nudging me again. "I'll be your best friend!"

"Sounds tempting," I grin. "But I already have this best friend that's pretty cool, so-"

"Come on, Lilly Lou," he begs, though he doesn't have to. I'd be anywhere he asked me to go in a heartbeat. "Go with me?"

He doesn't know how much those words mean to me, how much hope they give me.

Does he feel the same way, too?

I sigh and throw my hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Alright, alright," I say, "But I'm holding you to that best friend promise."

"I'll do my best," he says and we continue down the hall.

A/N: Okay, new story! Another Lilly x Oliver story, I'm hoping that I can make some chapters funny and some dramatic, instead of all drama like "Breaking Point." I'm basing this story on the song "Teardrops on My Guitar" by Taylor Swift. I know there have been one-shots written to this song previously, but this is going to be a full-length story and will hopefully be fairly different. I'm seriously not trying to copy anyone, I don't even think I've read any of the one-shots based on this song. The quote from Lilly's poetry book is from William Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.

Please review! I love reviews! I love you! I love love!

Woohoo!

Okay, I'm going to stop now.

Have a lovely day.