If it was a snake, it would have bitten you.
Southern saying: It's been right in front of your face the whole time, but you never noticed it.
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Lilly Truscott is a huge Hannah Montana fan. At her mother's insistence, she leaves her sunny California hometown for a school exchange in a tiny Tennessee village. She has no idea Miley Stewart, her hostess, is actually Hannah Montana. Neither does she suspect Miley has a dark secret that she is determined to keep hidden at all costs.
A/N: A huge thank you to loganX5 who did the beta reading for me!
Chapter 1
A serial killer was on the loose, preying on girls with scars.
Lilly rolled down the sleeves of her hoodie to hide the scar on her forearm and ran her black manicured hand over the front to smooth out the wrinkles. Crap, they stayed right where they were. She tucked a long lock of honey-blonde hair behind her ear, only to yank it out again. This way, she could better conceal her sweaty face and smeared eyeliner.
She tried not to take too many deep breaths, the pungent country air a stark contrast to the fresh sea breeze of her hometown.
If it had been up to Lilly, she would not have gone on a student exchange, but her mother had insisted. After all, it was a Truscott family tradition. Lilly's mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had gone on one when she was sixteen. Besides, she had told her, she needed a female friend for a change.
But girls were all about relationships, endless shopping trips, and catfights—everything Lilly despised. What the heck was wrong with the skater and surfer boys back home? They were hella fun. Her mother shunned her for hanging out with them, though. She insinuated they smoked all the time (which they did, but cigarettes, not joints) and drank too much (hot summers on the beach, duh), but her mother was probably thinking beer.
What was true or false didn't matter in the end. All of this resulted in Lilly being positioned between her host family's front door and screen door, her hand frozen in mid-knock. Something strange was going on with her. She could do a hardflip on her skateboard in front of large crowds, but couldn't knock on a stupid door. Ridiculous. She let her hand fall back to her side for the fifth time and wiped her clammy hands on her washed-out jeans.
Above her, the second story of the yellow wooden-fronted cottage pitched over, supported by three white pillars. The setting sun simmered at the horizon of the dim fields surrounding the cottage. Hues of boiling orange set the sky ablaze, creating long shadows of the trees looming in the front yard. The rope swing under the weeping willow behind her squawked in the slightest breeze.
Lilly had taken a taxicab from Nashville International Airport. She had gotten out at the highway's turn-off to Old Mill Road after seeing the fare on the taxi meter: more than a hundred dollars. And all for a broken air conditioner and a cabbie who belted out along with a Britney song—a two-octave lower, hillbillified version.
Lilly had checked the internet at home, and according to the map, her host family's farm was the fifth house on Old Mill Road. Walking shouldn't have hurt, right?
Oh boy, she was stupid. How could she have known that country folks had front yards the size of football stadiums?
Lilly's sweaty hair stuck to the back of her neck. She should wipe her face and comb her hair before introducing herself to her host family. She hoisted her suitcase to carry it back down the front porch steps.
The door crashed open, and her suitcase thudded on the wooden floorboards next to her feet. Lilly sucked in a sharp breath. She found herself face to face with a girl around her age. The girl's long, brown pigtails settled over the puffed sleeves of her flowered dress. An amused gleam flickered in her eyes, and her lip gloss-coated lips curved into a toothy smile. The girl yanked Lilly into a hug, drowning her in a scented ocean of freshly cut grass and honeyed hay. Before Lilly could even consider hugging her back, the girl let go.
"I'm Miley Stewart, an' you must be Lilly." Her voice was raspy and her southern drawl thicker than Lilly had expected.
Lilly merely nodded.
Miley dragged her suitcase through the front door. "Come on in."
The russet oak flooring creaked under Lilly's feet. Even after she shut the door behind her, the pungent smell lingered in the foyer. On the way from the highway, she had dodged some dirt that had looked like horse droppings. God, hopefully, she hadn't stepped into any of it. Miley banged the suitcase next to the stairway leading to the second floor and gave Lilly another smile. If that was the case, Miley didn't let on.
"I hope you like our home's interior as much as our front porch."
Lilly cocked her head at Miley.
"I was worried you'd spend the entire night out there."
"You were spying on me?"
"I'm sorry." She giggled. "I couldn't wait to—"
"—Darlin', d'ya wanna scare tha girl away before Ah git uh chance tuh meet her?" Cowboy boots clomped through the door on the right, and a middle-aged man stopped in front of her. "I'm Robby Ray Stewart, and I'm Miley's dad."
What did he say? Lilly showed him a wavering smile.
His large hand gripped her clammy one in a rough handshake. "Miley can be far too nosy for her own good." Mr. Stewart let go and wiped his hand on his shirt.
Lilly cringed.
"Daddy, the things you say about me—always so flatterin'." Miley's smile was strained. "Please, don't listen to this man. He don't know what he is sayin'."
Mr. Stewart motioned for Lilly to follow him into the kitchen on the left. "Did ya have a tirin' journey?"
Lilly wiped the back of her hand across her brows. If she had known that it would be so hot in Tennessee at the end of August, she would not have changed her t-shirt for a hoodie. "Not at all."
She adjusted her skateboard-strapped backpack on her shoulders. She should have listened to her mother's advice and left it at home. On her way to the farm, she had noticed that the roads didn't appear to be particularly skateboard-friendly. They were either highways, dirt roads, or cracked asphalted roads smeared with muddy tire tracks.
Mr. Stewart handed Lilly a glass of water, which she downed in one go.
Miley refused any help from Lilly's side as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs to show her her room with a wave and groaned, "You're my guest."
Floral wallpaper covered the walls, and curtains in nearly the same pattern framed the windows. Below them sat two beds separated by nightstands, with bed covers that seemed to be made of the same fabric as the curtains. The tacky animal posters plastered all over the walls stood in jarring contrast to the rest of the furnishings' old-fashioned yet high-quality feel.
Miley slid the suitcase beside the bed, farthest away from the door. "This is your bed."
A woven basket in the center spilled a waterfall of yellow blossoms over the edge. A variety of chocolate bars, lollipops and wine gums poked out between them. A cluster of stuffed animals in all shapes and sizes crowded the comforter of the second bed.
"And this one… ?"
"Is mine."
"Yours?"
"Yes."
"Your house seems so huge." The implication hovered between them.
"We-we hadn't discussed anythin'. You'd rather have your own room." It was more of a statement than a question.
Lilly opened her mouth to agree, but when Miley's forehead creased, she snapped it shut and cleared her throat. "No."
"Daddy wanted you to move into the guest room, but I insisted on sharin' one."
A picture of a whinnying horse hung in a heart-shaped frame above the desk and seemed to grin wryly at her as if to say, You brought this on yourself. Only a year. She would make it in this nightmare of a room.
"D'ya like Butterfly Weed?"
"Weed?"
"The flowers?" Miley indicated the basket. "I couldn't decide between them and Goldenrod."
"Oh."
"Because I didn't know what your favorite flower was… "
Favorite flower? Miley might just as well have stuffed grass and leaves into her welcome basket. Lilly pulled a package of multi-colored chocolates from among the flowers. "I can't eat these. I'm allergic to peanuts."
"I-I'm sorry." Miley took the package from Lilly's grasp. "I had no idea."
Lilly most likely forgot to mention it during their email conversation. "That's okay."
A shaky smile twitched Miley's lips.
"I've got something for you, too." Lilly unzipped her backpack and handed Miley a snow globe with two dolphins leaping out of a wave side by side. If she had known Miley still liked stuffed animals, she would have bought that grinning stuffed palm tree instead, which said in a robotic voice, I'm a grinning stuffed palm tree when she pressed a button on the back.
"For me?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you." Miley shook the snow globe. A cloud of glitter rose inside the glass orb, mirroring the sparkle in her cobalt eyes as she watched them slowly trickle back to the ground. She placed it among the stack of girl magazines on her desk and fiddled with her fingers. "D'ya want me to help you unpack?"
Despite the hideous sheets, the bed seemed to entice Lilly to lie down. She stifled a yawn. "I think I'll put that off until tomorrow."
Miley shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze falling to the ground before springing back up. "Then I'll show you around the farm." She scurried into the corridor before Lilly could react. "We have twenty-four chickens, thirty horses… " Her voice faded away, and a second later she called up from downstairs, "Lilly?"
Lilly should have just told Miley the truth—I'm so hecka spent I would crash in a pajama made of the same fabric as the curtains and bed covers. Well, damn. Lilly dragged herself down the stairs.
Mr. Stewart emerged from the kitchen and wiped his hands on a towel. "What are ya two up to?"
Miley leaned against the doorframe of the open front door. Pitch blackness cloaked the front yard, and the trees' shadowy outlines loomed in front of an ink-blue sky. "Lilly wants to see the animals."
"Supper is ready, and it's gettin' dark outside."
"Please?" A smile stretched over Miley's face.
"Look at ya, grinnin' like a possum eatin' a sweet tater. I haven't seen ya smile like that in a long time."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's already too dark. I don't want ya to get lost in the fields."
Miley pffed. "As if that would ever happen."
"How about last month?" A boyish voice rang from the kitchen.
"Fine." Miley pushed herself off the doorframe and banged the door shut. "I just know my way around the woods better."
Lilly followed Miley into the kitchen. Stuffy air carrying the scent of overbaked pasta hit her face. Her cheeks flushed, and her skin turned hot under her hoodie, and she rolled up the sleeves. "Mac 'n' Cheese?"
"I reckoned I couldn't go wrong with that." Mr. Stewart opened the oven door, and a surge of heat simmered through the air.
Chestnut-colored cabinets lined the kitchen's walls. Dried herbs hung from the wooden ceiling beams, and forest green curtains draped the windows.
A boy who appeared to be a few years older rested in one of the chairs surrounding a rustic table, fanning himself with a cap. He raised his head to meet Lilly's gaze and slipped the cap over his dirty blonde hair. Miley had only mentioned her brother once in the emails, and she had attached a rather unflattering photo of him. She introduced him to Lilly as Jackson and left the kitchen to get napkins.
Jackson cast Lilly an indifferent glance and tugged the cap with the NFL logo further down his face.
NFL? Was he a football fan? "That game last week was insane." Lilly rested her hands on the back of the chair across from him.
Jackson pushed his cap back out of his face, and his brows shot up to his hairline. "Twenty-two to twenty-one… "
"I know, dude."
They exchanged grins.
Lilly helped set the table, and they settled down. Waves of steam billowed from the casserole.
Miley chewed on a nail and stared at Lilly's arm, at her scar, which was bulging and lighter in color, like a shriveled worm beneath her skin. Miley thought it was ugly. Everyone did. Lilly ripped her sleeve down, and Miley's gaze slid up to meet her eyes. Lilly waited for her to ask how she got it, but her gaze fell away. Okay, wow, that was unusual.
Lilly sunk her fork into the layer of crispy baked cheese. "That touchdown hella slapped."
"Right?" Jackson topped his plate with a second piece of casserole. "The way Williams puked all over his own goal line, hot dog bits an' all."
Mr. Stewart clattered his fork onto his plate. "Some people here try to enjoy their food."
"I always enjoy it." Miley nibbled on a single macaroni.
Mr. Stewart sent her a warm smile, and Jackson snorted. "Oh, Dad, come on. It's not like you weren't roarin' along with me."
"All right, all right, it was a great game."
Buttery cheddar sauce melted on Lilly's tongue. "Which opposing player scored the final touchdown? Gracia?"
"Miller. He slipped on Williams' vomit and slid right into a touchdown."
"That was sick."
"From now on, you're not a true hero unless you're covered in vomit."
Mr. Stewart motioned to Jackson with his fork. "That boy was spittin' beer all over my expensive carpet."
"I'd say I'm sorry, but every boy and girl in the US was spittin' their beer all over their dad's expensive somethings."
"Not me," Lilly mumbled through a mouthful of macaroni.
"Liar."
"It was cola."
Jackson grinned, and they high-fived each other across the table.
The pounding of metal on ceramic replaced the soft clicking of cutlery beside Lilly, and a sidelong glance revealed Miley stabbing her casserole. Lilly had never asked if she was into sports. After receiving her first email from Miley, she had already decided to do the student exchange with her.
The chair creaked as Jackson leaned back. "Have you ever been to a Laker's game?"
"Yeah." Lilly squinted over at Miley. "A couple of times, actually… " What did she like to talk about? Was she one of those girls who only cared about clothes and boys?
Miley looked up, their gazes met, and she let out a giggle.
Lilly blinked at her.
„Here, let me fix that for you." Miley reached over and stroked a strand of Lilly's hair out of the sauce puddle on her plate.
Oh, jeez. Lilly snapped her gaze away, the hot air intensifying the blush on her cheeks.
Another giggle left Miley's mouth. "Don't be embarrassed."
Jackson slurped a macaroni into his mouth.
"I'm used to worse from my brother."
"Look who's talkin'." Jackson turned to Lilly with a smug smirk. "Just wait until you hear the story about Miley enterin'—"
"—Hush your mouth—"
"—that raspberry pie eatin' conte—"
"—Jackson—"
"—For land's sake!" Mr. Stewart jerked up, his chair scraping across the floor. "Behave yourself. Both of you." He shook his head and sat down again.
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest.
"Lilly, what is your favorite food?" Cobalt eyes glowed questioningly in the gleam of the ceiling light.
Lilly picked up her napkin and ran it through her sauce-sticky hair strand. "Pancakes and wine gummies, but anything sweet will do."
"Then you've come to the right place. Daddy makes the best pancakes in the entire universe." Mr. Stewart reached across the table and ruffled Miley's hair, prompting her to press her eyes shut and giggle.
"If they're half as good as this, " Lilly pointed her fork down on the plate, "I'm never going back home."
"I reckon I'll have no choice but to give you my secret recipe book then." Mr. Stewart propped his elbows on the table.
"Hell, yeah."
"Y'all lookin' forward to your sophomore year?"
Lilly waited for Miley to answer, but she remained silent.
"Sort of."
"Got the jitters?"
"Maybe a little."
"Since there are two of you, you might as well share the excitement. It's also Miley's first year at Pinewood High."
"You went to another high school last year?"
"I… " Miley fidgeted with her fork. "I was homeschooled durin' my freshman year."
"Are you for real? That's ill."
"Ill? What does—"
"—Cool. I think that's cool."
"Well, yes." Miley set her cutlery down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "It has advantages… and disadvantages."
Jackson scoffed from across the table. "She hated it."
Mr. Stewart gave him a barely noticeable headshake.
Weird.
Miley wrapped a pigtail around her finger. "Anyway, what is your favorite—"
"—Then why did you do it?" The question tumbled out before she could stop it.
"I-I didn't have much of a choice." Miley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's complicated. I-I can't… " She furrowed her brow at Mr. Stewart.
He eased himself up and grabbed his plate. "Lilly, you must be tired."
No, not anymore. Why would Miley refuse to tell her why she had been homeschooled? Lilly stayed silent as Mr. Stewart clattered her empty plate on top of his and reached for Jackson's.
"Hey, I was goin' to get a refill."
"There's nothin' left. You can eat your sister's leftovers."
The casserole piece lay tattered in a puddle of cheese sauce on Miley's plate, but she didn't appear to have eaten anything.