A/N: OHMIGOSH I AM SO FREAKING SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN 2 DEPRIVE YOU OF STORIES FOR LIKE TEN MILL YEARS I WAS JUST REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY BUSY. I know you're freaking out that I started a new story instead of adding to my combo stories (the clique/Harry Potter), but I will. This was just to remind you that I'm still alive and I still can write! ILY and I hope you forgive me for spacing out.

I smile at my fans as if they are my best friends. It's a trick of the trade, you see, in show biz. It's good publicity to make your fans think that they are your reason for existence.

"Thank you so much for supporting me!" I shout into the mike. "You guys are fantastic. I hope to see you on my next stop for the tour! I love you all." I get off the stage quickly after blowing a few more kisses. Part of my camp (my agent, Margot Klar; my publicist; Meghan Prophet, and my mother/manager) wait backstage, congratulating me for performing so well.

"It's not over yet," I tell them, chugging my bottle of purified (yet lightly flavored; guilty as charged) water. "I still have the encore to do. Listen to them cheering; it's as if they know I'm supposed to come out again. Okay, here I go." I reenter from left stage and wave. "You guys are such an amazing audience," I say, "that I just had to come out again and sing one more song for you. What shall it be?"

The audience shouts out varied song names enthusiastically. Of course, it's not like I actually get to pick. That would be cruel to my band, since they've only prepared one song. "Sounds like Nobody's Perfect," I lie. "Good choice. Ready band? Hit it."

The song goes smoothly until the explosive chorus. I'm supposed to strut down the portable walkway and kind of dance, I think, but you've got to understand; this is a totally high walkway. It's elevated to about ten feet above the audience so that I'm untouchable (we had this one scenario in Ontario where an over obsessed fan actually grabbed my hand and pulled me off stage; we've been taking major precautions since then). If I were to fall off of it, say bye-bye to Hannah Montana (and Miley Stewart).

So I'm walking down the runway, smiling, singing, and dancing, when it happens. I feel a little rumble in my feet and I begin to lose my balance. What's happening? I think silently, hoping my worry isn't displayed on my face. My dancers are safe, however, as they remain behind, giving me the full spotlight. But I feel completely vulnerable and alone; what's malfunctioning? What's going on? What am I going to do?

You may be thinking, Why the heck is she freaking out? So the stage made a little rumbling noise and moved to an angle. No problem.

Yes problem. We test everything before every show, and the attachable walkway has never been problematic. When something goes wrong in a business like this, it's a problem. The wobbling and rumbling gets worse. All of the sudden, during an instrumental break, the stage collapses.

I mean literally collapses. It's like an excerpt from a horror movie that was rated R. One second I'm up and dancing, the next I'm tumbling to my "death" from a high point and connecting with the ground.

Everything else is a blur. I can't see anything and everyone is fighting over me. Some fans are attempting to break through the barrier of overprotective and violent security guards (a celebrity passed out in the first row isn't a nightmare for them; more like their big break, cause they can snap all the pictures they want and maybe even touch me).

"Get her to a hospital immediately," a paramedic whispers to another. "This is serious; she may have lost part of her memory. When she comes to, she might not even remember who she is. Hannah Montana may be no more."

Ohmigosh. If Hannah Montana is no more, then what is Miley Stewart?

TO BE CONT'D...