Lily's plan was fairly simple. I could pull it off. As quickly as it'd been announced, the time for Luanne to be at the studio, preparing for the interview, came. I snuck off to my closet, an alibi handy, and removed one of my hanging awards from its position on my wall. Underneath the picture was a combination safe. I turned the dial until the combo was entered. I gave it a little tug until a head mannequin was revealed with an identical Hannah wig. It was one of my backups. I combed it out gingerly and put it on my head, tucking in a few strands of loose brown hair.
I selected an outfit from my carousel of clothes. I had debated between pencil light wash jeans, black Uggs, and a black and silver striped square-neck line baggy top and white corduroys, pink ballet flats (not like actual slippers but the stylish kind), and a pink form fitting knee-length sweatshirt. I decided on outfit choice #1. It complimented me in many varied ways. I hurriedly caked on some makeup, wiped off the excess, and was ready. I looked pretty good for having done my own makeup.
I arrived at the studio wearing an oversized sweatshirt and equally oversized sunglasses. My hair was tucked in and I looked completely normal and unsuspicious. I snuck in through the back where there was less security guards to bamboozle. I miraculously got in unnoticed, so I crept back to where Luanne was supposed to be getting hair and wardrobe done. I (fortunately) found her looking in a small makeup mirror that magnified every single blemish on her face. She was dusting some concealer powder on a small, unperceivable pimple. I tiptoed slowly and precariously, holding one of my Hermes scarves in my hand. I was two feet behind her, ready to fasten her to her chair when she whipped around.
"Miley, Miley, Miley," she chimed in my voice. "How could you think I'd be so idiotic as to fall into your pathetic little trap? It's obvious what you were going to do. I can predict every move you'll make from here on out—or move you would've made if I hadn't discovered the plan. Why don't you just give it up? I found out I enjoyed the spotlight and I wanted to keep it on me no matter what. You can still be Hannah Montana when I'm finished—but everyone will think you're Luanne Stewart, not Miley. It'll be just like old times, except it won't be."
"I won't succumb," I snarled, proudly using one of my grammar vocabulary words (which was completely beside the point, but I couldn't help feeling "academically enhanced" as my teacher would say).
"Um, I don't really know what that means, but I'm supposing it's a variation of 'give up.' Fine, you can argue and resist all you want, but I think you should be thanking me. You don't want the secret out that Miley Stewart is really Hannah Montana, right? Well if the world thinks that Luanne Stewart is really Hannah Montana, then they won't even suspect Miley. And it'll be off your hands. You won't have to worry at all."
"You have the most twisted and stupidest logic I have ever had the misfortune to hear," I spat. Luanne bellowed a cruel and maniacal cackle. "Please, Miley, I wouldn't be so rude. Your life and your secret are both in my hands—one mistake and I might accidentally slip a detail that I shouldn't have. Or worse," she threatened. I was pretty angry. This situation was pretty much a lose-lose-lose-win-lose-lose situation. There were multiple paths I could take to failure and few I could take to success. So I decided to play it cool but believable.
"You know what? Fine. You do what you've got to do and I'll just stay back here, watching my life go down in flames. Have fun." Luanne smiled deviously at me. "Trust me. I will."
A/N: Super sorry for waiting so long to update and then leaving you with such an intense cliffhanger, but I had to leave the chapter off someplace! ReviewsMORE.