I do not own any of the characters or the shows. They belong to Disney and ABC Family. So thanks. P.S. Author's Note. Holy crap, I haven't been on this thing in EVER. I have so many stories unfinished that I kept intending to add on to, but my life has been ridiculously hectic lately. I one hundred percent apologize and hope my fans are still with me.

Very important, haha—I changed around the plots a little bit. I reversed it back in time (haha) to before Amy has the baby. This is like in the middle of her pregnancy. Miley is a freshmen and so is everybody else. Ricky, Adrian, Jack, Grace, etc. are all 15, not 16 here. Okay, thank you.

LAST THING, I SWEAR. Does anybody know where Secret Life takes place…? I know the high school and stuff, but where is it? Haha. I'm just gonna say California, okay?

Miley twiddled her thumbs anxiously against the dashboard of her father's car. The first day at a new high school—how many times had she gone through this routine before? And it never got less nerve-wracking. When she'd gotten news that her father wanted to relocate the family to Toluca Lake (A/N: ONLY TOWN IN CALIFORNIA I COULD THINK OF, OKAY!? Haha), a Los Angeles suburb, and away from her best friends, the news hit her hard. That meant a new house, a new school, new friends, new everything—yet again.

"Are you alright back there?" Robby Ray asked anxiously. Miley knew the moves were becoming tediously difficult for him too as time went on. That's why she didn't understand the point of the move whatsoever. But he had his reasons—they just didn't make any sense to her. "Yeah, I'm fine," Miley snapped, still a little sour. Jackson was sleeping (and snoring noisily) in the front seat. "Will you shut up?" Miley groaned, whacking him with her pillow.

"Miles—I know you're upset about this, but you need to calm down. You aren't too far from Lily and Oliver, and you've got your license. I give you permission to drive down and visit them, when I approve the trip. It'll be fine. And if you're worried about adjusting to a new school, well, you've done it before. Why not now?" her father said, attempting to reason with her. But Miley couldn't be budged—she knew what she wanted and knew that moving was not okay with her, no matter how her father tried to explain it.

"Whatever," she said lamely, sinking back into her seat. After driving for a little while longer, the car made a sudden turn ("Oops, I almost missed the turnoff.") and found itself in a quaint gated neighborhood. With a glance, Miley saw 50s-resembling diners, freshly paved roads, and rich inhabitants strolling down them. She disliked it almost instantly. This looked like the kind of neighborhood that Hannah Montana would live in, not Miley. She didn't want to spend her entire after-school hours surrounded by people that reminded looked like they belonged in her alter ego's life. Part of the reason she had a double life was to avoid the constant celebrity.

When they pulled into her driveway, Miley realized she'd been right about the neighborhood—every house was expensive and built uniquely. "Here we are, bud," announced her father, like this was an accomplishment. Miley grunted without a word, removed only her necessaries, and entered the house.

"Welcome to hell," she whispered under her breath.