Chapter 6

"All you have to do is ask what he wants done to his room! Paint, rug, comforter, plants, tables, wood!" My mother said, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Can you write it down?" I asked, staring at the table. I heard a pen tearing its way across a piece of paper.

"Here, take it." She said, handing me the paper. I nodded, taking it and examining it.

"Please, be polite." My mother said, rubbing her temples. I rolled my eyes.

"Of course. I love you, see you at 9?" I asked, looking at the floor.

"Yes. I'll be home around then. Order a pizza. Love you, too." My mother said, placing money on the kitchen island. I nodded as she stepped outside of our home. I had my keys in my hand and was dressed semiprofessional, similar as yesterday. We got into our separate cars, and I drove off.

___

"Hey Maverly!" Oliver says as I enter the large house.

"Hey, Mr. Oliver."

"Patty had an emergency so she can't make it. But just go upstairs and take a right; it'll be the 5th room on your left."

I nod and follow his directions. I knock lightly on the door with my clipboard clutched tightly in my hands. I hear a loud video game from the inside. He must be playing Call of Duty or something. I knock again, a little louder this time. I hear the game pause and I use this to my advantage, knocking the loudest my little knuckles can manage.

"It's open," the somewhat muffled voice says.

I slowly push open the door, slipping inside. I look to the far right corner, seeing my interviewee sitting on a black couch, in front of a T.V with a variety of game systems surrounding him.

"Yes, mom?" His voice sounds familiar, but the words throw me off completely. Mom? Gross.

"I didn't sign up for that job," I joke. Real professional!

"Who are you?" he asks again.

"Not your Mom," I reply awkwardly. Who am I? My mom's assistant? I don't exactly have a title. This is my second day on the job. The game pauses and he turns around, trying to find me in his large, dimly lit room. I just stand there awkwardly.

"Are you the designer lady?" he asks as I stare at his carpet.

"Sure," I mutter. I quickly glance up and see his back facing me, with a headset propped on his head. He clicks a few buttons on his controller to end his game so I move my gaze back to my feet. I wish Patty was here to make things less awkward.

"You gonna interview me or my carpet?" He seems amused. Still not looking at him, I slowly walked in the direction of the couch.

"You can sit down, you know," He says, amused. That voice! I recognize his voice. My head darts up.

"Cy...rus?" I ask, unsure. He turns his head towards me.

"Maverly," a moment of recognition, "are you stalking me?"

"What? No!" I reply quickly.

"Where is the interior designer lady? Did you tie her up and stuff her in a closet?" He asks, glancing around his room. Would he not have noticed me tying someone up and stuffing them in one of his closets?

"I'm right here. Well, I'm not an 'interior designer lady;' I'm her daughter. She couldn't make it today, so I'm here" I explain awkwardly.

"Okay then." He accepts quickly and motions for me to sit. So I do. Not because he said so or anything, but because I simply want to. He gives me a suspicious look.

"What colors do you like?" I ask as I examine the paper my mom wrote out for me. He glances around his room with a stupid look on his face.

"Are you seriously asking me that question?" He asks as my eyes do a quick tour of his room. Blue and black, blue and black.

"I'm guessing you like pink," I say sarcastically, writing down blue and black. My eyes jump to the top of the paper where it says: Daniel's room. "Why do your parents call you Daniel?"

"Middle name." He removes his headset completely and places it on the table.

"Okay, what material would you like for your couch?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"The most comfortable." The smirk on his lips causes me to pause for a second. Professional, I remind myself.

"Noted," I respond.

"What size bed do you have?" I ask as I look over at the bed. Bigger than a twin, that's for sure.

"Big enough to fit two people," he replies, smirking again. I roll my eyes and groan. Where's Patty when you need her?

"You need to take this seriously." I cross my arms.

"What? I am taking this seriously!" He counters as takes on a serious expression.

"Whatever," I mutter.

"King size bed," he tells me and I nod as I write that down.

"Posters? Paintings?" I ask. I'm grateful that he's getting straight to the point.

"None."

"Rug or hardwood?" I inquire.

"Uh, throw rugs... I guess?"

"Any particular pattern?" I ask.

"I like stripes," he answers halfheartedly.

"I hope you know this is going to determine how your room looks," I mumble as I continue to write down his responses.

"It's not like I can't add anything if I want to over time."

"What about the type of wood for your dressers, nightstands, and tables?"

"I like anything that is black or brown," he replies.

"Any other things you want and or need in your room?" I ask. He smirks again, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Any inanimate objects that you'd like in your room?"

"A bookshelf..." He looks around at the walls as if imagining it now.

"You read?" I ask, a little shocked.

"No, gross. I need more space for my games, and a bookshelf is classy." He nods proudly. I wear an annoyed look on my face.

"Are you serious?"

"Does it look like I'm serious?" He asks. I sigh and just write it down.

"I need more pillows." He glances at his bed. I scribble 'pillows' onto the paper.

"Anything else?" I ask.

"No," he replies as he sits back on the couch.

"Now, what about your bathroom?" I ask, glancing at a door that I assume leads to the bathroom. I flip the page and try to ignore how empty the previous one was in comparison to the others.

"What about it?" He says, giving me a look as if I was stupid.

"The color, the floor, the wall, paintings, rugs, toilet seat covers, soaps, counters."

"You mean the stuff I don't care about?" I sighed in frustration, but then nod.

"Oh, green."

"What type of green?"

"What do you mean 'What type of green?'? Isn't there only one type of green?"

"No there is mint green, dark green, moss green, sea green, light green, green-blue green, turquoise-," I'm cut off by his groaning.

"Okay! Jeez; how about sea green?" He replies as I show him the palette on my phone. I nod, scribbling 'sea green.'

"Rug? Towels?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Dark Green," he confirms. I nod, a bit creeped out at his constant smile. I write down what he told me before glancing up at him.

"You're a plain person," I conclude, wrinkling my nose.

"Me? Plain? How?" He asks, tossing his hand around.

"Green, dark green, blue," I say, pointing as I go along.

"You have sloppy handwriting," he says distractedly as he peers over at my notes.

"That's mean. But it doesn't change the fact that you're plain." I reply, ripping the clip board from his sight.

"Me? Plain? No way."

"Yes, you. You're plain." I repeat, finishing the paper.

"I'm the non-plainest person ever," he confirms, crossing his arms.

"You mean creative?"

"Yeah, that." His grin tells me he didn't make that connection.

"Whatever." I say, shaking my head.

"I am!" I roll my eyes.

"Yes, you are." I respond, as if speaking to a 5 year old. We stop talking for a few minutes as I edited and rewrite my answers, not because of what he said, though.

-

"You really are mean," Cyrus concludes with a scowl.

"Who told you that I'm mean?" I ask in confusion. I thought he doesn't talk to anyone... other than me. I couldn't help but have a special feeling crawling around in my stomach? Am I pregnant? Maybe–no.

"That girl. What's her face? Marissa, Mariah, Maria, Marina, Maris, Mir- Miranda! That's it!" he says while snapping.

"Miranda? She told you? You talk to her? I thought you didn't talk to anyone," I ask with my brows tugged together. I couldn't help that special feeling in my stomach vanish as quickly as it appeared, making me frown deeply on the inside.

"She leaves notes in my locker. It started to get annoying in freshman year, but then I just started reading them and then created the Can. Look!" He says, wrinkling his nose and pointing to a can with a hoop above it.

About 3 bags full of crumpled notes, colorful and girly notes filled them to the top as he most likely struggled to tie them. Or with his big arms, he managed to close them without breaking a sweat, most likely with his shirt off and his ab-. Stop thinking like that.

Of course! She likes him...a lot. That's the whole reason why she started to dislike me in freshman year. Because I got partnered with him in science because he didn't talk and I was an amazing student who could probably break through to him. She was rude and a bully, too, at the ripe age of 14. 'And a-half!' her annoyingly squeaky voice piped in, making me cringe inwardly.

"Like?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I'd realize I escaped into my thoughts for about a minute. He opens his mouth and then closes it. He always smirks, and sometimes smiles. I'd prefer he just smile, though.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He grins mischievously, which earns a glare from me.

"Yes, I would. And no, it's not because I'm interested in you, it's because I want to know what type of rumors she's spreading about me, so I won't be surprised on Monday when people walk up to me and tell me about how this week I'm in love with Tanner Gray or Michael Presley."

"I think otherwise."

"Well, you think wrong," I quickly shut him down.

"I think that the front you put is just a wall that no one seems to notice or break down. I think that you really do care about what people say about you, and guess what Maverly? I'm going to be the one to break that wall," he confirms.

"Yeah, well...good luck with that. Now, I've got to go," I say when my stomach does a flip at his words.

"Denial! It's the first sign, Maverly!" He shouts after me as I exit his room. I can't help but laugh a bit.