When In Rome

Quando A Roma Faccia Come Il Romans

When In Rome, Do As The Romans Do

"Stick with Jackson," Mr. Stewart said as we walked to the entrance of the concert hall. "Stick with Jackson and we'll meet you back here after the run through at say, four o'clock?"

I nodded, and Oliver did the same. Why we're being asked to stay with the childish nineteen-year-old, when we're both way mature seventeen-year-olds, I don't know, but why bring that up?

"Look after them." Mr. S turned to Jackson and warned. "Which means ignore all Italian girls."

I snorted. Like that was going to happen. Miley grinned at me, obviously thinking the same thing.

"Sure thing Dad," Jackson said, standing up a little straighter.

Beside me, Oliver was trying not to laugh. I mean, come on, leave us in the hands of the not-so-capable Jackson Stewart? Whose idea was that?

Miley, who was dressed as Hannah Montana, was attracting a few points and stares, and she grabbed onto her dad's arm, telling him that they had to move.

"Well, have fun guys," Mr. Stewart said, with one last departing smile, before he and Miley walked to the arena, slipping in a side door.

Jackson turned to me and Oliver once they'd left, and looked at us in that was obviously supposed to be a commanding way. "Alright kids..."

I caught Oliver's eye, and we simultaneously looked over each of our shoulders, then back at Jackson, identical expressions of confusion on our face.

"Do you see any kids Lil?" Oliver asked, turning to me.

I shook my head. "None that are listening to Jackson anyway."

"So who is he talking to?" Oliver asked, looking around. It amazed me how he could keep a straight face.

I shrugged, forcing myself not to laugh. "Not entirely sure. Maybe himself?"

Jackson didn't look amused. At all. Which made it even harder not to dissolve into fits of laughter.

"That's the first sign of madness, that is," Oliver said to Jackson and I had to ite down on my tongue. Hard.

"Are you quite done?" Jackson said, eyeing us evilly. Well, as evilly as Jackson can look at anyone.

"Not quite," Oliver said, and I could tell that he was this close to laughing. "If talking to yourself is the first sign of madness... then why are we only just seeing these signs in you?"

That was it. I started laughing and Oliver joined me almost instantly. We calmed down after a few minutes of uncontrollable laughing, and managed to compose ourselves enough to listen to the rest of Jackson's well rehearsed speech. I wonder if he'd practiced it in the mirror...

"Now that you're quite finished... We are about to embark on an amazing adventure."

I coughed, and Oliver cleared his throat.

Jackson looked from me to Oliver, and then began to speak again. "This city is cultural, and I offered to take you narrow-minded children on an educational tour, that will expand your mind, and teach you things that you never even imagined you'd know.

He sounded so like a teacher, so I raised my hand like you do when you want to ask a question at school. Oliver grinned at me.

"What is it?" Jackson snapped.

"Okay, well I'm a little confused. These things that we're going to be taught; are you teaching us them? And if so, don't you need more than half a brain cell to be able to teach others?" I said, painting an innocent expression on my face, as Oliver laughed.

Jackson stared at me, and I could tell that he was getting more infuriated by the second. After a few minutes - just when I was expecting the top of his head to fly up in the air and release a dozen jets of steam from within his skull - he turned around and motioned for us to follow him.

Oliver caught my eye and I saw the idea forming in his head. Sure, Mr. Stewart had told us to stick with Jackson, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Plus, I just had this desire to be utterly reckless. Um... and there was also the fact that a whole day in Rome with just Oliver as company... yeah, it was awesomely appealing. With only a seconds thought, I nodded back at Oliver.

"Our first stop is the Pantheon," Jackson rambled, unaware that his two tourists were slowly getting further behind him. I watched him as he kept talking, my heart beating pretty fast. Then he obviously asked a question, and was expecting an answer, because he glanced back.

"Run!" Oliver hissed, and I spun around so that I was no longer facing Miley's brother, and followed Oliver out of the square.

"Hey!" Someone yelled from behind us, but I didn't look back. Just ran up next to Oliver, grabbed his hand (ignoring the tingles that I'd been expecting) and ran through the busy streets of Rome.

---

When we'd ducked down a dozen narrow side streets, and run quite far, we finally stopped.

"We have to be clear of him now," I panted, trying to catch my breath.

Oliver nodded. He seemed incapable of speech and I laughed. "That workout too strenuous for you Olliekins?"

"Don't... call me... Olliekins," Oliver said, leaning against the wall of a restaurant.

I folded my arms. "So Sarah gets to call you it, but I can't?"

"She got to call me it... three years ago..." Oliver said, beginning to breathe at a more normal pace.

I laughed, and then jumped a little as my phone beeped in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw that I had a text from an unknown number. I read it, and rolled my eyes. "Jackson has my cell phone number and he says we're to come back now."

Oliver shrugged. "Do you want to go back?"

"Not especially," I said, shaking my head.

"Right. Well, do you have his number saved on your cell?" Oliver walked across to me.

I shook my head and let him prise the phone from my fingertips. I watched him as he tapped a message into my cell.

"There," Oliver handed my phone back, and I read what he'd written. 'SRY. DNT KNO WHO THIS IS. U MUST HAV WRONG NUMBER.'

"He won't fall for it," I said, but pushed send anyway.

Oliver shrugged. "Who cares? It'll just make him angrier."

"And what're we going to do when Jackson tells Mr. Stewart?" I asked, knowing that because he was Oliver, he'd probably have an answer for that too.

"If he tells him, we just say that he's lying. He saw a hot Italian girl, and left us to talk to her, and while he was away flirting, we got lost." Oliver shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "Two against one. Plus, Mr. S knows what Jackson's like, and it's a perfectly plausible story."

I raised my eyebrows. "Woo, Oliver knows a big word like plausible."

"Hush," Oliver said, but smiled nonetheless.

My phone beeped and I opened the message, smiling at what it said. "Very funny Lilly, where are you guys?" I read aloud before replying.

"What're you saying?" Oliver asked, looking over my shoulder as I typed a message in.

I pressed send and smiled up at my friend. "Told him to meet us at the Colosseum at three-thirty for negotiations."

"I like the way you think," Oliver nodded.

"Good," I said, before stepping out of the side street and into the busy crowds once again. "Okay, so we have no map, no sun-cream, and no clue where we are. Where do we start?"

Oliver just grinned. "Where's your sense of adventure, Lills? I can speak a little Italian, you can map read so when we get a map, you can navigate. We have money. All we need. And we start here. Piazza Navona." He gestured to a sign on the wall beside him.

"What exactly do we do here then, Mr. Know-It-All?" I asked, folding my arms.

He looked around at the traders and tourists and the locals. They were selling goods, eating lunch, eating ice cream...

"Aha!" Oliver cried, motioning to the ice cream cones and then to an ice cream bar a few buildings along. "When in Rome Lilly..."

I rolled my eyes, but allowed him to pull me along to an ice cream bar that amazingly, wasn't too crowded. I guess it was only eleven-thirty, so most people were opting to eat lunch first.

The middle-woman serving us, smiled down from behind the counter. "Ciao!"

"She said hi," Oliver said to me.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a complete moron. I know what ciao means."

"Ciao," Oliver said to the woman, and scanned the ice cream choices. "What do you want?"

I looked. "Vanilla."

"Right," Oliver said, and then turned to the lady. "Posso avere un cioccolato ed una crema del gelato alla vaniglia prego?"

He'd obviously made some sense, because the woman smiled and nodded. "Sì. Da dove provenite?"

"Proveniamo dall'America," Oliver said, still speaking Italian. Both me and Miley had opted to take French, but Oliver chose to do Italian, in an attempt to be different. Though I guess his attempt to be different paid off, because he's the one that can now have conversations in Italy.

"Cono?" she asked, and I nodded, understanding that one. Then she kept talking. "Quanto vecchi siete?"

Oliver paused, and I watched him as he thought about what he was saying next. "Vecchio diciassette anni."

"Voi due insieme?" the woman asked, nodding toward me as she scooped vanilla ice cream into a cone.

It might have been my imagination, but Oliver seemed to blush slightly at that question. Not that I knew what she was saying so that I could be sure.

"No." Oliver shook his head. "Amico. Amico."

"Corsa," the lady nodded, putting the vanilla ice cream in a stand and beginning the next cone. When she finished that one, she gave an amount of money. "Cinque Euro."

I tried to give Oliver some money, but he shook his head, giving the woman the amount. She smiled as though she knew something I didn't. Which, considering she was older and probably wiser, was most probably right. She knew way more than me.

"Italiano gelato: il gelato migliore nel mondo," the lady said as she handed over the ice creams with a smile.

"Grazie," I said, as I took the cone. She'd just said something about Italian ice cream, I knew that much.

I left the shop, Oliver behind me. "What did that woman say in there?"

"That Italian ice cream was the best in the world," Oliver said, avoiding eye contact with me. I think he knew what I was asking about - the question that had made him blush - but he evidently didn't want to talk about that.

I looked at him as I licked a drop of ice cream as it ran down the cone. "Wow. You really know your Italian." Well I wasn't going to bring it up if he wasn't going to. Even though I really wanted to know what she'd said. Note to self: bring Italian dictionary with you when going on vacation to Italy, just in case some ice cream seller says something that makes you best guy friend blush.

"Not really. That was a basic conversation. She could tell that I wasn't fluent." Oliver said, still seeming somewhat distracted. Ugh! I want to know what Mrs. Ice-Cream-Lady said to him! And I want to know now!

But, because I am a good actress, I pretended that I wasn't bothered about it, and focussed on licking my ice cream. "Cool. So, where next?"

Oliver shrugged, looking up at me now that I'd changed the subject. "Didn't we need to get a map?"

"Yes we did," I said, looking around for somewhere that looked like it would sell maps of Rome. "Although I guess we'll still need a destination, otherwise there's no point in getting a map."

"Very true. Sooo, let's go to the... Trevi fountain," Oliver said. "We can throw a coin in. Make a wish. Just please, don't run off with any Italian popstars. I can't be dealing with that hassle."

I laughed, rolling my eyes at him. "Jeez Ollie, how many times did your cousin make you watch the Lizzie McGuire movie?"

His face fell quickly. He used to babysit for his cousin if he ever needed any extra cash... and she had a slight obsession with Hilary Duff. "I lost count. If I ever hear that song again, I might have to kill myself."

"Aww, please don't Ollie," I said, spotting a place where maps could be sold.

"Enough with the Ollie. In Italy, I am Oliviero," Oliver said, holding his ice cream like a beacon.

I grabbed onto his arm. "Yeah, but I'm not calling you that."

"Lilly," Oliver began, as I pulled him over to the shop. "When in Rome..."

I rolled my eyes again. "Do as the Romans do. Yeah, yeah. Doesn't mean I'm going to call you Olive Oil or whatever."

"Olive Oil?" Oliver raised his eyebrows as I picked up a map, and searched the pockets of my board shorts for the necessary coins.

"Or whatever," I added, handing over a few Euros. "You can change your name to Crap Bag is you want, but you'll always be Ollie to me." I walked out of the doorway and began unfolding the map, one-handed - which is harder than it sounds.

Oliver grinned at me. "If I change my name to Crap Bag, will you change yours to Princess Consuela?"

Man, we watch Friends way too much.

"Only if I could still call you Ollie," I laughed, trying to find Piazza Navona on the map. Boy, Rome was one big place.

"Deal." Oliver laughed too, before looking at the map and then back up at me. "And the map is upside down."

Hastily turning it the right way around, I stuck my tongue out at him. "I knew that."

"Sure." Oliver wasn't convinced; I could tell from the look on his face. "La fontana di Trevi. This way." He jabbed at a point on the map, before grabbing my arm (not the one with the ice cream in) and pulling me in a random direction. Well, to me it was random. Apparently he knew where we were going. Apparently.

But I trust Oliver. And if we don't end up at the Trevi fountain, what do we lose? Nothing that I'd particularly miss.

So, laughing, I let him pull me along, my ice cream dripping onto my hand, and getting weird looks from people passing by us. But did I care? Nu-uh.

---

The Trevi fountain was pretty busy. Packed with people getting their photos taken, and tossing coins in. We dodged through the crowds of people, the ice creams long gone, grasping each others hands so that we didn't lose each other in the crowds of people. Well... that and the fact that I didn't want to let go.

"It's packed!" Oliver yelled as we got closer to the fountain itself.

"I can tell!" I yelled back, rolling my eyes slightly. "Believe it or not, I'm actually in the same place as you."

Oliver found a patch of ground that wasn't mobbed, and looked at me, feigning shock. "No! Oh my gosh Lilly, what are you doing here?"

"Trying to pretend I'm not with you," I replied, laughing slightly.

"Trying but not succeeding. Everyone here knows that you love me really," Oliver joked, grinning.

If only he knew how true that was, I forced my eyebrows to raise, and made my expression unconvinced. At least, I hope it looked unconvinced.

"I'll take that as a 'yes Oliver, I love you. I love you so, so much. And I want to have your babies', Oliver put on a weird high-pitched voice, that had better not meant to be me. Seriously, I do not sound like that.

I had to laugh at him though. "I think I'll pass on that offer. Thanks anyway though."

"Your loss," Oliver shrugged. "Your kids won't be amazingly handsome now though."

"Maybe not, but at least they won't be doughnuts," I smirked, and then looked at the fountain beside us. "Lets throw some money in! Apparently, if you throw a coin in the Trevi fountain over your shoulder, it guarantees your return to Rome."

Oliver looked at me, his face filling with sarcastic excitement. "You know what else guarantees your return to Rome?" When I looked at him, he lost the fake excitement and said in a very unamused tone: "Buying a plane ticket."

I laughed. "That might just do it too. Aww, Oliver come on. I want to throw a coin in, and so you have to too. If you don't believe in the 'return to Rome' superstition, then just make a wish."

"I guess I can do that," Oliver shrugged.

"I know you can make a wish. I was there for every pre-teen birthday party, wasn't I?" I said, fishing a couple of coins from my pocket and pressing one into his hand.

"You were the only one invited to all of them," Oliver admitted, his fingers clasping around the coin that I'd given him.

I grinned. "Because even then, I was the best. And there is to be no denying that."

"I wasn't going to," Oliver smiled.

"Good," I said, and then turned my back to the fountain, holding my coin out in front of me. "On three?"

Oliver nodded. "No wishing for Italian popstars though."

"I'm not Lizzie McGuire, okay? Plus, I can't sing, and there is no way that any Italian person would look almost identical to me. So it isn't going to happen. Let it go," I said, wondering why he actually allowed his cousin to put on the Lizzie McGuire movie so many times. Then again... this was Oliver. "Okay. One..."

"Two."

"Three," we both said, and threw our coins over our shoulders.

I wish... I wish for the rest of this trip to be absolutely perfect. For nothing to go wrong, and for me to go back to Malibu having had the best holiday ever.

And I don't know what Oliver wished for, but when I turned to face him... he was looking right at me.

And there we have it. Day in Rome Part 1. Rome Part 2 might take a while. I just need ideas. But it will be up as soon as possible. Oh, and the Italian language may not be 100 correct. I do French at school, not Italian, and so had to use an online translator.