At the restaurant, Lilly hopped out of the limo and dashed towards the door. "Hurry up, you guys! I love this place!"
They sat at their table for maybe two seconds before Lilly and Miley ran off to the bathroom. "Why aren't you talking?" she asked, incredulous.
"I don't know! I can't think of anything to say to him!"
"But you're best friends."
"Sure, but he didn't used to be so—so—"
"Well-dressed?" Lilly supplied.
"HOT!" Miley burst out, and Lily squealed. "No, like seriously, how have I never noticed his great smile, or his hair, oh my gosh, and his eyes…seriously—make—me want—to die."
"So you really like him?"
"Yes!"
"And tonight you're hoping for…?"
"The best?"
"So get out there and work it!"
"I can't! Every time I even think about talking to him I start sweating and panicking that I'll say something totally stupid and he'll think I'm a complete idiot—"
"Hon, he's your best friend, he already thinks you're terrific."
"Yeah, but best friends and terrific—that's standard."
"Okay." She turned her towards the mirror again. "He thinks all of you is terrific. Seriously, I was watching him when he first saw you tonight. I thought he was going to blast into space or combust or something. You thought he was hot? I'm guessing that 'hot' doesn't even cover what he thought of you."
"Oh, Lilly, do you think so?" she breathed, reaching for Lilly's hand.
"Totally. Hey, we'd better get back out there. Just remember to be calm, be cool, breathe…and just in case I put your daddy's extra-strength deodorant in your purse."
Miley smiled gratefully at her. She squeezed Lilly's hand and then they ran back out to the table.