A/N: Thank you for your review, StillreadingLiley! It's great to see another Liley shipper. (: Don't worry, I already completed it and will post all 22 chapters.

Chapter 8

Miley's alarm clock shrilled throughout the room. Lilly's heartbeat was propelled up a few notches and she screamed on the inside. The bed next to hers squeaked, and the alarm stopped. Lilly pressed her hands against her face. Today, she would stay in bed. Why should she go to Pinewood High? A school where no one wanted to talk to her, a secret boyfriend who ignored her with the exception of the occasional smile, and a (hopefully) rumor-spreading bitch who shot daggers at her whenever they ran into each other, (all while dating a hot guy she didn't deserve).

Two minutes later, Lilly's cell phone buzzed on her nightstand. She ignored it.

After the anaphylactic shock yesterday, she had intended to sleep, but she had spent the entire time lying awake in bed, listening to the muffled voices and laughter coming through her closed window, until it grew quieter and quieter, and the pick-up trucks' roar of the last remaining guests had faded into the distance. She had debated whether she should fly home, whether the rumors about Miley were true, whether she could trust Oliver, and whether she should attend the Hannah Montana concert. Her pondering had lasted all night, and she still hadn't found an answer to any of her questions.

The buzzing of Lilly's phone stopped, and the familiar raspy voice drifted over to her. "Stop playin' possum. I know you're awake."

Lilly drew the covers up over her head.

A hand touched Lilly's arm through the comforter, and she tensed. "Are you all right?"

"Tired." Lilly breathed into the warm, stuffy darkness.

"Even though you've been sleepin' all day… " Miley's voice was tense.

The few times Miley, Aunt Dolly, and Mr. Stewart had come upstairs to check on Lilly, she had closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. In the evening, Mr. Stewart had "woken her up" by banging down a tray full of cut fruit on her bedside table. As she had inhaled the sweet smell of ripening pineapple and the citrusy aroma of oranges, emptiness had gnawed at her stomach. She had swallowed hard and told him she wasn't hungry.

Lilly's mattress lowered.

"Y'aint feelin' worse again, are ya?"

Lilly removed the comforter from her head.

Miley's brow creased.

No one could pull off being that concerned if they weren't, right? "I'm fine. Just beat."

Miley's shoulders sagged.

Last night, Miley's voice had cut through the silence with mumbled apologies, but it hadn't bothered Lilly. She couldn't sleep anyway.

Miley stood up, grabbed her clothes, which she always neatly arranged on her desk chair, and left the room.

The splashing of the shower penetrated the bedroom. Lilly rolled onto her side, her eyes drooping shut. She was going to stay at home today, and when Miley was at school, look for the other adrenaline injectors…

Knocks hammered through the fog of Lilly's half-sleep. She groaned and her bleary gaze fixed on Mr. Stewart beneath the door.

He ran a jerky hand through his hair. "Are ya still feelin' under the weather?"

Lilly didn't know what that meant. She made a noncommittal sound.

"Ya look a bit peak-ed." He sat on the edge of Miley's bed, his hands resting on his knees.

Lilly propped herself up against the bed's headboard. "I've barely slept."

"Understandable given what happened. I apologize. I should've made sure Miley and Jackson knew about your peanut allergy."

Lilly crossed her arms.

"I finally got hold of your mother this mornin' and told her everythin'. She was right worried and wanted to talk to ya, but I told her you were still sleepin'. She asked that ya call her as soon as you're awake. "

"Okay."

"Are ya sure I shouldn't take ya to a doctor? Your mother said it was necessary."

"It really isn't." Mr. Stewart had asked her yesterday, but Lilly had never experienced a second anaphylactic attack. When it came to her allergy, her mother always turned into a know-it-all.

Mr. Stewart clapped his knees, stood up, and walked to the door.

Lilly sighed and uncrossed her arms. "Mr. S?"

He turned around.

"I'm dead beat. Would it be okay if I skipped school today?"

Mr. Stewart's lips curved into a faint smile. "Of course."

Shortly after he left the room, a door in the corridor creaked open, and his voice reached Lilly. "Lilly is plum tired. She'll be stayin' at home today."

Lilly peered through the crack of the door.

Miley turned away from her, her hip-length hair settling against her back. "Then I'm not goin' to school today either."

"We had an agreement."

"But… I can't. Not on my own."

Mr. Stewart sighed. "You promised me you would. It was bad enough that you almost failed middle school."

"I'm not goin' to start skippin' again. Just for today."

"Darlin', I don't know… "

"Daddy, please."

A short pause.

"An' what if you decide not to go the next day as well?"

"I swear to you, I won't."

"I want to believe you, but—"

"—I'm no longer alone."

"She is keepin' an eye on ya, huh?"

"Yes, she is brave and strong—," Miley stopped abruptly and swung around. A ruffle-covered arm appeared behind the crack of the door before it creaked shut.

When Lilly blinked her eyes open, daylight streamed into the room. On her nightstand, her glass of water had been refilled. She reached for her cell phone and flipped it open. 11:13. The tiny screen's pixilated background displayed an image of a beach.

Malibu.

Now that her parents were concerned about her allergy, it shouldn't be too difficult to convince her mother that it would be better, if not necessary, to cancel the student exchange early. This was her only chance to return home.

Next to the scrunchie on the nightstand sat the purple Hannah Montana ticket. But it also meant missing the concert. Lilly grasped the ticket and stroked the smooth surface with her thumb. First-row seats were almost impossible to come by. This was her last and only chance. Lilly fisted the hair on top of her head. Would it be okay to accept such an expensive gift and then disappear?

She reclined into the soft cushions and stretched her arms into the air, turning the ticket back and forth. Light rays danced across the gold Hannah Montana lettering. The mini-print Hannah smiled down at her with her toothy grin. How could she say no to that smile? Of course, she would go. One step at a time. If she changed her mind, she could just fake another anaphylactic shock, right?

Lilly called her mother and calmed her down. Yeah, she was fine again. Obviously, she knew where the other adrenaline injectors were. Of course, she kept one on hand in case of emergency.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and the sole of her foot curled around the hard plastic of her injector. She lifted it up and twisted it between her thumb and forefinger. The search could begin. She pulled open Miley's nightstand drawer, pill bottles rattling against each other. Otherwise, it was empty. She padded to her closet and felt her hoodies and jeans' pockets. Nothing. The penholder on Miley's desk held only pens with Disney Princess toppers, feathers, and crystals, but no injector.

The clattering of pans and pots drifted up to her from downstairs. Miley wouldn't be back until three thirty p.m. That meant she had four hours to tear the room apart and peer into every nook and cranny.

Lilly's clammy hand clasped the iron handle of the dresser drawer and pulled it out with a scrape, the other two handles clattering against the white-painted wood. She rummaged through the neatly folded laundry, only to discover far too many ruffles and Disney prints, and she smoothed the fabric down again. Only socks protruded from the next drawer. The bottom drawer contained Miley's pajamas.

Lilly felt around the plushy fabric. A hard object pressed against her hand.

Beneath a nightgown rested a necklace of beige and brown shell-made beads, and three large animal claws set in silver hung from the chain's bottom. It was equally as unfashionable as Miley's usual frilly attire but far more unsettling. Between two folded pajama tops, a corner of leathery fabric protruded. Lilly yanked it out with her fingertips, revealing a long, narrow piece of fur. She dangled it in front of her face, dust particles floating in the air and flickering in the sunlight. She flipped it over.

The majority of the leather on the backside was stained a rustic-brown. Lilly's stomach tightened. Was this—? She held the scarf up to her nose and sniffed several times before the faintest stink of decomposition wafted up her nose.

This was dried blood!

She tossed it to the ground and shot up from her kneeling position. This had to be the animal fur Jake had mentioned. He had been right. He had been trying to help her, but she had not believed him, and she had nearly died as a result. And if he had been telling the truth, Mikayla's warnings had to be true as well. She should call Oliver and—what should she tell him? Your long-time friend is involved in something sinister? If Miley was, Oliver would know, and if Oliver knew, he had lied to her about the bloody fur.

Lilly grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand. She would first tell her mother. She pressed the first digit of her mother's cell phone number and paused. Her mother would not believe her. Lilly had no choice but to lie about still being sick from the allergy, and no other option but to return home immediately. Fingers skimmed across the keypad. Beep-beep-beep-beep—

"—Daddy!" The echoing voice from downstairs zapped through Lilly like high-voltage electricity. "Do we have any corn left?"

Lilly flung her cell phone onto the bed, stuffed the fur scarf back into the drawer, slammed it shut, and pressed her back against the dresser. Okay, she needed to calm down. She had found a bloodstained fur. That was unsettling, to say the least, but aside from Jake's suspicion that Miley was into witchcraft, she had no idea what Miley had been up to in the woods that night. She could have gone hunting. Southerners were notorious for shooting anything that moved, right? Although Miley didn't seem like someone who would harm animals. Hell, she seemed obsessed with anything four-legged, fluffy, feathered, beaked, or winged.

Hannah Montana's muffled vocals drifted up from downstairs, and Lilly listened. It was an acapella version of Spotlight.

She could tell Miley about Jake's accusations, and if she denied them, Lilly knew she had something to hide.

Hannah's voice drew Lilly down the stairs. It ceased, and Lilly turned into the kitchen. Miley stood with her back to the door, the ribbons of a floral apron tied around her waist. A tack-tack-tack broke the silence. Lilly gulped.

Miley turned and froze with a jerk before she relaxed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "You should rest." The butcher knife's long blade gleamed in her hand.

Lilly stepped back. It wasn't the right time to bring up the bloody fur. "I… heard a Hannah Montana song."

Miley scraped the sliced peppers off the cutting board into a bowl. "There was somethin' about her on the radio."

Cereal boxes buried the radio, which sat on the counter next to the door, the plug dangling over the edge.

When Lilly turned back to Miley, Miley buried her head in the depths of the fridge. Shutting the refrigerator door with her shoulder, she returned to the table with two tetra packs of heavy cream in her hand. "I hope you like Creamed Corn."

Whatever it was, she wasn't going to eat anything Miley had prepared. Lilly curled her upper lip.

"Oh my, you're allergic to corn."

"No."

"To heavy cream?"

"I'm not hungry." Lilly's stomach gurgled.

"Oh. But somethin' sweet will definitely do you good." Miley picked up a plate from the counter piled high with burned cookies. "I made these, especially for you."

Jeez, thanks. "Maybe later."

"I know they turned out a little brown, but they're still edible. I can make you a cake or anythin' else you want."

"I'm good."

"But… there must be somethin' I can do for you."

"How come you're not in school?"

"I… " Miley plonked the plate back on the wooden counter. "I didn't feel like goin'."

"Why not?"

Miley shuffled back to the cutting board and unscrewed the cap from the tetra pack. "Mikayla 'n em."

"She'll be there tomorrow, too."

"And so will you." Miley held Lilly's gaze longer than usual and bit her lower lip. "By the way, I found your other adrenaline injectors."

Lilly's eyes narrowed. "You did?"

"They were in your cosmetic bag."

God, of course. "You went through my stuff?"

"It-it was open on the bathroom shelf, and that's where I saw them."

Lilly's mother had mentioned putting them in her Hannah Montana cosmetic bag so Hannah could treat her allergy and watch over her. Lilly had rolled her eyes. She was no longer a little girl terrified of accidentally eating anything that might trigger her allergy. She didn't need silly stories to feel safe.

She had found her answer. Miley hadn't hidden her injectors, which meant she hadn't intended on hiding the other one in her nightstand drawer.

The contents of the cutlery drawer clattered before Miley pulled out a can opener.

Miley had forgotten Lilly was a vegetarian, and she could just as easily have forgotten she was allergic to peanuts, right?

Miley forced a short, strained smile. "Thank goodness you didn't return to the party. Jackson ate too much of Uncle Earl's casserole and puked all over the table. It was gross—" Miley stopped, and fumbled with the can opener. "Sorry."

A flush crept up Lilly's face. Yeah, no. It was the spiked punch.

"The same thin' happened to a cousin two years ago."

Or not.

"We always tell Uncle Earl not to bring any food, but he always manages to sneak some in. We don't invite him anymore, but he still shows up for holidays and birthdays. He is nice and I like him, but… " Miley shrugged.

"How about you? Are you a good cook?"

"Not quite as good as Daddy, but I'm tryin'."

"About that cake you offered to make." Lilly rested her shoulder against the doorframe. "I'm a sucker for caramel."

Miley's smile was less strained this time.

Within a week, half of the green leaves turned caramel, copper, yellow, and red, with the odd rosy leaf in between. Miley invited Lilly to join her in gathering them, but Lilly declined. A day later the chestnuts and rosy leaves vanished from the front yard. Miley had to have picked them all up.

The raucous clucking of chickens drew Lilly to the barn, her rubber boots squelching on wet grass.

The hen in Miley's arm yanked herself free with a frantic flap of its wings and a cacophony of clucking and dashed for the back, where she vanished behind a pile of straw.

Lilly plopped down on a hay bale. "The hens are doing well again?"

Miley wiped the dust off her bibs. "Why shouldn't they?"

"The hen house. You said that you put some of them in there because they're dangerous."

"Oh." Miley let out a long-stretched giggle. "Yes, they're all fine now."

"Cool. Then show me the hen house."

"Um, we should probably disinfect everythin' first. You don't want to get infected with the virus, d'ya?"

"Don't tell me I'm going to turn into a zombie." Lilly chuckled.

Miley lifted one shoulder and let it fall.

"That's mental. I had no idea chicken keeping could be so freaking complicated and dangerous. But then again, I'm just an unenlightened city kid. I'll have to tell my friends about it. They're into Resident Evil and all these zombie games. They're going to be so amped."

Miley snatched one hen after the other, which always resulted in wild flapping and clucking. "I want to kiss all of them good mornin'." She pointed out all of their differences. "The one with the light brown feathers around her neck is Squeaky." Miley grabbed the chicken from the ground. She kissed her red comb, and true to her name, she let out a row of squeaks, flapping into the air. "The one with the golden hackles is Goldy—"

Lilly's phone ringtone shrilled through the barn, cutting Miley's explanations short.

It was Oliver. Are you fit enough to go to the concert the day after tomorrow?

When Lilly had told him about her anaphylactic shock, he had stared off into space and only nodded occasionally, but she had also left out the fact that she had barely survived.

"Yeah."

That's great. Despite his words, he didn't sound particularly excited.

"It almost seems like you'd rather I stayed sick." Lilly knew Oliver couldn't see her face, but she put on an exaggerated scowl anyway.

WHAT? What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?

"A selfish one who can be sweet at times."

The chickens' cackling ceased.

I just take the sweet part and ignore the rest. Lilly could hear a slight whine in his voice.

"But seriously. Aren't you a Hannah Montana fan?"

Not really—

"—Lilly." Miley's voice drowned out Oliver's. "Can you spot the hen with light brown to lightish brown feathers?"

They all looked the same. When Lilly shook her head, Miley resumed her search. She raised the phone back to her ear. "Oliver, what were you saying?"

I'm not that big on Hannah.

"Then why are you going to the concert?"

To look after you, of course.

"Aww, that's so sweet."

Per Miley's orders.

"Oh?"

When Lilly looked up this time, Miley stuck her lower lip out in a pout. "You have to help me find Pecker. She'll wonder why she is the only one who don't get a good mornin' kiss."

"Oliver?"

Yup?

"I gotta go. Help Miley find Pecker."

Peck? Wha—?

Lilly pressed the red hang-up button. They searched behind every haystack, hay bale, and even under the crates, and when Lilly touched white-brown goo that looked a lot like hen droppings, she flopped back down and wiped her hand on the hay bale. (She couldn't tell the hens apart, so the search had been more for show than for real anyway.)

"I hope she didn't run off." Miley crossed her arms behind her back and leaned back against one of the wooden beams that supported the ceiling.

"I'm sure she'll show up later in the day. Instead of a good morning kiss, how about a good night kiss?"

Miley's face lit up. "What a wonderful idea."