A/N: Alright I know, I have no excuse for taking so long. But its summer now so yes I will try to continue with this story. Anyways to answer Smiley756 question, yes and no. I am doing a cover of the book, but I'm not copying it word for word. So without further ado I give you…

Rehab

Chapter 2

"Hard partying ingénue Miley Stewart made the rounds last night, circling from Teddy's to Les Deux to Leopoles on the Strip, downing shots and dancing the night away. Accompanied by her attached-to-the-hip acolytes, scion-turned-club promoter Jake Ryan, celebrity hatchling, Johnny Collins, and, ahem, "personal assistant" Mikayla Gomez, Miley brought her trademark giggle, sexy wiggle, and (contrary to her wholesome image) overly sexual moves to all the clubs. She stayed longest and latest at Leopoles, where she stripped down to her skivvies, wrapped herself around the club's signature stripper pole, and belted out Beyonce's inescapable "Irreplaceable." Word to the wise, Miley: No one, including you, is irreplaceable."

Miley had just one foot inside her trailer, eager to peel off her restricting dress and take a shower. Her friends Johnny, Jake, and Mikayla, or better known as Mickey, were hunched over a laptop. Mickey was reading aloud from an online column. She looked up when Miley came in, explaining. "It's from TMZ."

Of course it is, Miley thought. In high school, before she'd come to Hollywood, TMZ had been the go-to website for the juiciest, most salacious gossip. Back then, they sure weren't writing about her and she loved reading it. Now? Not so much.

She should have had expected it, she guesses. Gossip was about the only downside of fame. And as much as she hated the roller coaster ride, she still pursued her dream.

Miley Ray Stewart, also called Miles or just plain Miley, had always dreamed of becoming big when she was younger. Nothing stopped her from pursuing her dream, not even when her mom died. Sure it slowed her down a little bit, but she still had the inspiration from the sad feelings. She knew she was destined for stardom. She grew up with the absolute knowledge of it.

Mostly every one not directly related to her did not see it this way. What shot did she have? Growing up in the outskirts of Crowley Corners; the cross clan had no connections, and not a lot of disposable income. To be clear: she was not My Super Sweet 16 bait; she had little access to plastic let alone cosmetic improvements. No one was going to wave a magic wand let alone a green Bank of America card and whisk her off to Hollywood.

The girl was small-time. Heck there was some times when she even thought she'd never make it. The big dreams had come courtesy of her mom, but once that situation had fizzled, Miley had to settle for the local drama coach, dancing class, piano and singing lessons. She performed in school plays and Community Theater, with her head up, tatas out, optimism undaunted.

Teachers, neighbors, and even the cops had serious reservations about Miley ever making it out of Cowley, let alone all the way to Hollywood. They tsk-tsked her partying, the revolving door boyfriends, staying out late on school nights instead of studying. The nonbelievers pegged her as "most likely to end up reciting today's special at Hooters." None of that fazed her though. Her dad was a Miley-believer; her younger brother, Jackson, worshiped her. But most importantly she believed in herself.

Miley knew her strengths. She could be a very good actress, given the right part. Plus, she attracted people like ants to a picnic.

Partly it was her looks. Guys found her irresistible, a hottie with a tawny-bronze complexion, long brunette hair, huge swimming pool blue eyes that were, her dad used to joke," the size of salad plates". And partly it was her personality. She was friendly to everyone (even the nerds and losers), she never flaunted her A-list status (was not a bitch), was funny, smart, outgoing, and threw the best parties. Everyone in high school had wanted to be on "orbit Miley". Miley wanted in on "orbit showbiz" though. When it happened though, thanks to an insanely amount of inventive series of webisodes on YouTube, one of her Crowley buds actually came with her.

Miley Stewart and Mikayla Gomez grew up on the same block. In grade school they'd become BFF's, always together, so close that Miley's dad used to call them "Mickey and Minnie" for Mikayla and Miley. It felt natural that when Miley, eighteen at the time, got cast in Spywitness Girls, and moved to Los Angeles, Mikayla would come along. Miley dubbed her a "personal assistant," and paid her well for the "job" she'd always done: being her best friend. These days, there were amazing perks to Mikayla's job. The buxom brunette shared the freebies that came Miley's way: luxe designer duds and eye-popping accessories. Mikayla got in to all the cool parties, hung out in private clubs, and met stars. It was like living inside the pages of Us Weekly.

The girls had met club scenesters Jonny Collins and Jake Ryan at a party their first week in L.A. Over bottle services and banquette dancing, the foursome had connected. That's been last summer. Now, just shy of a year later, the guys had become Miley and Mikayla's most trusted allies, the inner circle.

Right now, said peeps were relaxing in Miley's trailer, taking turns reading aloud from the gossip blogs and the tabloids. The one from TMZ had recapped last night's antics pretty accurately. Good thing they missed the Vicodin washed down with Ketel One, but Mikayla knitted her brows. "What do they mean by her 'ahem, personal assistant'?"

"They're insinuating that you and Miley are friends of Ellen," cracked Johnny, whose lean frame filled a tall, plush armchair. "You know, gay?" At this accusation Miley's and Mikayla's cheeks went red with blush. Both boys laughed at this.

"You should be flattered. They just put you in the same category as Oprah and Lindsey," Jake pointed out.

Miley chuckled while nervously looking at Mikayla, who was trying to desperately cover up her blush, out of the corner of her eye. She use to assume it was only fans devouring tabloids and gossip blogs. But supermarket shoppers and web surfers had nothing on actual Hollywood scenesters and celebrities. They read everything that was written about them. It was like their lives weren't real unless they were mentioned in the media. She decided against over thinking that concept.

"Miley Stewart-Partying Too Much? Will everyone's favorite shooting star fade too soon, become a falling star? My spies caught her at Leopoles on Sunset, the newest hot spot on the Strip, where she switched clothes with the dancers . . .'"

Time to tune out. Miley knew how this one from ended. Besides the writer had answered her own question. As long as the tabloids kept covering Miley's every move, fading away anytime soon wasn't likely. She retreated to her private bedroom, and peeled the tiny sticky dress off. Maybe she'd donate it to a needy toddler. Yet, not so long ago she was the one wearing the secondhand clothes. These days though, Miley needed nothing.

Halfway through the Spywitness Girls season, when everyone realized how popular Miley was becoming, the producers "incentivized" her (a bribe, basically, to ensure her loyalty) by paying her a lot more money, as well as giving her a sleek, silver Airstream trailer to use as a dressing room. It was more like a luxe mobile home: big enough for a full-sized and well-stocked kitchen, a living room, and a private bedroom with its own bathroom. The giving of the Airstream made Miley an envy target.

Her costars, Amber Blue and Ashley Arrigota, the other Spywitness Girls, who was relegated to mere dressing rooms on the set, were incensed. They demanded upgrades-only to be told that they were replaceable. Miley felt guilty about the whole thing. To her, Amber and Ashley were every bit as talented as she was, more sophisticated, genuine beauties, in fact. That viewers had chosen her over them in popularity… well, it wasn't her fault.

Amber had a tempered attitude which had caused her to get on the bad side with the producers, while Ashley just usually followed along with whatever Amber said.

Still, she badly wanted to say something, make a peace offering. Something like "We'll share the trailer. We can rotate- each uses it for a few months." She would have done it, but agent Alex nixed the idea. He'd acted personally offended, sniffing, "Miles, if you can't take being treated like a star, get out of the Porsche." (Word had it; Alex was angling to get her a free sports car from the producers.)

After that, Miley hadn't known how to act toward Amber and Ashley. They had no such problem. They simply iced her. Maybe next season, she thought, but in no way believed, one of them would be the popularity-magnet, and get her own trailer.

"'Exclusive to the Enquirer! Miley caught canoodling! She fronts with underwear model Austin Rain, but the proof is in the pictures. Check it out: Last night at Leopoles, out eagle-eyed photographer found a sloshed and slovenly Miley Stewart getting busy in a back booth, with her newest boy-toy, Jake Ryan, a charter member of Slackers Ubiquitous. Imagine how proud his hardworking parents, Los Angeles Opera stars Donald and Michelle Ryan, must be!'"

Mikayla was reading aloud when Miley returned to the living room, showered, toweled off, refreshed. She caught Jake's look. He was trying not to show it, but the item rankled him. Johnny on the other hand, was completely transparent to his glee. He pumped his wiry fist in the air, triumphantly. "This is sick, every single column mentioned Leopoles! It's better than if I wrote them all myself."

"Did you?" Jake asked. "'Because I wouldn't put it past you, dude."

"Awesome, Johnny!" Miley congratulated her friend. "This calls for a toast."

"I'm on it." Jake made a beeline for the fridge.

Miley was sincerely proud of Johnny. The boy was only twenty-one and already the hottest club promoter in town. He did come from a super rich family; what'd been reported in TMZ was true, but Johnny was all about making it on his own. Miley supported that. Not just in concept either. She helped him.

Since most people wanted to be where stars hang out, whenever she appeared at one of Johnny's clubs, other young stars inevitably followed, and the club became the new hot hangout. Business boomed. Miley & company got the best tables, primo bottles of booze, were never carded nor charged. Best of all, Johnny snared a nice commission, and proved to his family he didn't need their money. Totally win-win and Miley was glad to be part of it.

As for the stuff written about her personally? It hadn't taken her long to learn to let it roll. Most of it was exaggerated anyway, though that's not what she'd say if asked in a TV interview. She'd protest it was all a bunch of lies. In other words, she'd lie.

That was how the game was played. Tabloid tattlers, pesky paparazzi, it's the price you pay for fabulous fame, fortune, and for living your dream. Her dad always said nothing in life if free. She thought o fit like paying the toll collector so you can get onto the freeway with the fast lane, or paying two hundred dollars to pass "Go" in Monopoly. It's what's done here.

This particular Enquirer exclusive, however, was tougher to brush off. When she and Jake had made out, they'd been … not so sober you might say. Austin had wandered away, Jake saw a paparazzo approaching, and screwing with the guy had seemed like what Ashton does on his show, Punked!. A fun goof, just to prove that papar-idiots would believe anything. Only now, in the cold hard light of sobriety Miley wondered if Austin realized it was a joke. Jake, she could tell, was feeling ambushed by the crack about his parents.

Result? The joke had backfired. Time for a beer. Or maybe three.

The friends settled in and toasted Johnny, over and over. Miley hoped Austin would show up. He's said he might, and she kinda needed assurance he know the make-out session was bogus.

"Miles, you're not listening," Mikayla gently scolded her.

"Huh?" Miley had just drained her second beer, the Vicodin was in full effect, and she was settling into a lovely lazy buzz.

"You got a bunch of messages when you were on-set. Don't you want to hear them?"

"Sorry, Mickey. Just tell me the important ones, okay?"

"Your dad called twice, and Jackson once," she recited."Both to remind you about Jackson's soccer game. You said you'd go."

Of course she'd go. Soccer was the biggest thing in her ten year old brother's life. He puffed up like that cartoon Michelin man when his star-sister attended his games. "Can you make sure it's on my calendar?" she asked Mikayla.

"You're already booked on a flight up there."

"You rule Mickey, anything else I should know about?"

"Saved the best for last," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Cole called?" Miley guessed with hope laced in her voice.

"Better! The Ferragamo people called. A certain pebbled-calfskin shoulder bag you ordered is coming by messenger today. You are getting it first."

"Stop! No way! The list for that bag is crazy long. Everyone in Hollywood wants it." Miley's newfound stardom was one thing, but she'd read in In Touch and InStyle that A-listers like Charlize and Scarlett coveted that bag. Why was she getting it first?

"Everyone in Hollywood is not the 'it' girl. To the 'it' girl goes the 'it' bag," Jake slightly tipsy, pronounced.

"She's not the 'it' girl," Johnny corrected Jake," she's the 'next big thing.' That's better."

Miley felt weird being called that, like people expected perfection whether she was out for a Starbucks run or a red carpet appearance. She had to be careful not to make a misstep, anything that might taint her bright, shiny new image. That paled, though, in comparison to being treated like royalty, like in the ridiculously expensive bag-snaring game, she outranked so many celebrated stars. Would she ever get used to it?

"You can borrow the 'it' bag whenever you want," she quickly told Mikayla. Sharing her stardom gotten booty with her friends was a major plus. Speaking of sharing, and friends, and uh… booty… Miley fell into her obsession-du-boy: "Did Austin call?"

Mikayla frowned. Translation: yes. Mikayla was not an Austin fan. She insisted he was a serial suck-up into Miley only because of her current status. Miley didn't believe it. She could tell when a guy was really into her: Austin was. He didn't fawn or bring flowers or text mushy stuff, but he liked the same things she did, dancing, chilling, going out, and having fun.

They blended, photogenically speaking. Austin being the ripped, tan muscle boy model with the short, spiky, chocolate brown hair, and Miley being the curvy, brunette TV star with the ever ready smile and blue twinkling eyes. They looked good on each other. It wouldn't be long before they'd get a nickname like Zanessa or Brangelina. Miley wanted Misten.

Things were going well in the career matchup department. She was the star of a hit TV series; he had a new billboard for boy-thongs on which his body looked like carved marble. None of which impressed Mikayla." He wears guy liner! He puts lifts in his shoes and I just bet he stuffs his-"That last bit, Miley could've told her, was not true.

"Stop stalling, Mickey, what did he say?"

Mikayla sighed before answering. "That he got held up, he can't see you this afternoon, and he'll catch you later at Les Deux. Or, as he pronounces it, Lay Doo. Which probably refers to his two favorite things to do there."

"So he didn't take high school French." Miley waved her off. "Trust me. There are other areas in which he excels." She said wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Sorry, Miles. But it's in the best friend rule book that I make sure you don't get hurt. Being the 'next big thing' can't protect you from everything, you know."

A/N: So I hope you've enjoyed this. Once again I'm extremely sorry about the updating status, I will try very hard to update this and be loyal to all of y'all. Thank ya for your support!