Chapter 19

Miley examined her outfit in the full-length mirror from every angle: pink leather gloves, an azure denim jacket, and white jeans. Hmm, it still looked too basic—too much for school, but not wild enough for the stage. She opened the top drawer of the white wooden dresser by its diamond-shaped knobs, took out a pink belt, and looped it around her hips. Much better, but… The mirror reflected her scowl. Even the most perfect outfit couldn't make the net wig cap she hid her hair under look stylish. Miley snatched the blonde Hannah Montana wig from the bust on top of the dresser and threw it over the cap. She hadn't hired a stylist because she couldn't trust anyone with her secret double life, so she was free to pick her own makeup and outfits from the pieces provided by New Southern Dimension. Hannah threw herself an artificial smile in the mirror and left her dressing room.

Mr. Stewart paced in front of the pick-up truck parked in their driveway, his cell phone against his ear. It was most likely another Hannah-related business, such as a talk show appearance, a photoshoot, or even a role in a movie. Hannah stopped beside him and wrapped her arms around herself.

Fairy lights twinkled on the fir garland draped across the front porch railing.

Singing and performing on stage had been one of the few things that had brought her joy over the last two years, but when Jimmy Fallon had invited her to his talk show the other day, she wanted to cancel. Her father had warned her that cutting herself off from the rest of the world would make her feel worse. Whether she wanted it or not, she would be performing in New York tonight.

Mr. Stewart slipped his cell phone into his jeans pocket. "What are ya pullin' a long face for?"

"I don't want to go."

"Darlin'?"

"I'd rather stay in my fluffy jammies, watch a chick flick, an' spoon chocolate ice cream straight from the carton."

"Come here." Mr. Stewart coaxed her into his arms, and Hannah buried her head in his chest and relaxed into the warmth of his embrace.

The fresh scent of icy air mingled with his musky aftershave, and Hannah was immediately transported back to her carefree childhood, when she hadn't yet destroyed someone's life, when she didn't know what it meant to be unhappily in love, and when she still had her friends.

"There will come a time when you'll look back and wonder how ya could ever be anythin' but happy."

"You said that two years ago."

Mr. Stewart stayed silent.

A breeze wailed through the front yard, jingling the golden Christmas bells he had hung from the front porch ceiling.

He let go of Hannah, but she tightened her grip around his waist. "Darlin', we've got to get goin'. It's a live broadcast."

"The plane can wait."

"Now is the time to act like an adult."

Hannah looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest. "Daddy, I'm sixteen."

"Then like a mature sixteen-year-old."

"Or," She buried her face in his shoulder, "I'm just goin' to stay here forever."

"Miley—"

"—ain't here."

Mr. Stewart exhaled a sigh. "Hannah—"

"—Nor is she."

"Miley Ray Stewart."

With a groan, Hannah drew away from him. She wrapped her open oversized hoodie around her.

"I believe it's time for forgiveness."

Hannah stuck out her bottom lip as she gazed out into the barren fields. "Mikayla will never forgive me."

"And what about you?"

"I don't have to forgive her. If bullyin' me makes her feel better, I'm fine with it. I don't deserve it any other way."

Mr. Stewart's eyes softened. "Maybe you do." He reached out to brush a fake curl from Hannah's face. "Think about it. You're already closer to the truth than you realize."

He dropped Hannah off at Nashville International Airport. Roxy had already boarded the private jet that would take her to New York. Hannah couldn't stop biting her nails the entire flight, and by the time she arrived in New York, she was staring at chipped nail polish and a bloody index finger instead of a perfect manicure.

In the airport lobby, a swarm of screaming fans rushed up to her. They held out CDs, posters, and body parts for her to sign. Hannah drew a star on the arm of a fan and hesitated. What if she signed Miley by mistake? It had never occurred to her that something like this could happen. Where did this sudden fear come from?

Roxy's hand landed on the small of her back and guided her to the exit, where the glass doors slid open. Their chauffeur leaned against the front door of their limousine. A cigarette hung from his lips, and smoke curled around his head. He met Hannah's gaze, straightened up, tossed the cigarette to the floor, and ground it under his heel. He showed his teeth in a practiced smile, pulled open the back door, and motioned for Hannah to get in. Hannah sank into the back seat cushions.

Her fans' muffled screams reached her inside the limousine as they tried to push past the security guards who were blocking the way out of the sliding door.

Someone booed. A man.

A girl joined him.

No, a group of girls.

Hannah's breath stalled. Everyone booed. She whirled away from the window, and pressed her hands over her ears, blocking out any noise as she slid deeper into the seat.

Roxy shifted her gaze away from the tinted window and puckered her forehead. Her muffled voice penetrated her hands. "What's wrong?" Roxy placed a hand on Hannah's shoulder and turned toward the driver. "What are you waiting for? Now on to Rockefeller Plaza."

The limousine rolled forward, and Hannah removed her hands from her ears. The booing had reverted to its usual hysterical screams, which became quieter and quieter as they got further away. Was she having hallucinations? If she asked, her doctor would almost certainly prescribe her another medication for this.

Throughout the interview, Hannah painted her lips with a plastic smile, and whenever Jimmy Fallon cracked a joke, she forced out a fake laugh. Hannah was about to be put on the Hot Seat. The host would ask her questions, and she would answer the first thing that came to her mind. Jimmy tapped his cue cards on his dark wood desk. From the auditorium, a hundred pairs of eyes stared at Hannah.

"Which of your family members are you closest to?"

"My dad." Ha, that was easy.

"Christmas is only two weeks away. What are your plans for the holiday?"

"Nothing fancy. I'll probably sit in front of the fireplace and sing Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree."

"What's your favorite food?"

Fried Chicken. "Vegetables and fruits." Hannah's grin grew wider, faker. "I just can't get enough of it." She needed to set a good example for the children and teenagers. They were her intended audience, they were who New Southern Dimension hoped to sell to, and their parents provided the money.

"What's your darkest secret?"

"I—" A shrill cackle broke from Hannah's lips. She cleared her throat.

"Well?" Jimmy leaned forward.

My real name is Miley Stewart, and I almost killed a girl. "I enjoy midnight snacks." A lie.

"Raw carrots, of course, right?" Jimmy laughed.

"Of course."

"What's a lie you recently told?"

Hannah tensed. She never lied. At least, that's what the record label had drilled into her. You're perfect. You're happy. You're America's sweetheart. The camera to her right panned from the audience to her, while the camera to her left remained fixed on her, its huge beady eye staring her down. Hannah swallowed and lowered her gaze to her fiddling hands on her lap. "I… I… "

Jimmy turned to face the camera. "After the commercial, Hannah will perform her new single, I Wanna Know You for us."

Hannah sagged back in her chair.

After the talk show, the chauffeur drove her back to LaGuardia Airport. Hannah pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Gray clouds huddled together in the sky, displacing the last rays of evening sunlight, much like New Yorkers huddled together in warmly lit bars to protect themselves from the sudden cold.

"I always thought my career would end when my double life became public, but I think the performance I just gave was enough."

Roxy, who was sitting next to her, playfully punched her in the arm. "Oh, come on, I thought you were funny."

The stench of gasoline filled Hannah's nose. "I musta looked real crazy with that stupid grimace and all my cacklin'."

"Smile, not grimace. You have a beautiful smile. And yeah, you may have come across as a little crazy."

Hannah curled forward until her upper body rested on her thighs. "Great."

"Yeah, in fact, it is. What message would Hannah Montana send to her fans if she sang Nobody's Perfect but always appeared perfect and professional in interviews? Your fans love your crazy side."

Hannah gazed up at Roxy with round eyes. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely." Roxy leaned back in her seat and folded her hands on her round stomach. "I'm not just here to protect you from fans who want a strand of hair or a limb along with your autograph; I'm also here to protect you from anything else that could hurt you, including your own utterly irrational thoughts."

Hannah's gaze returned to the gray carpeting of the limousine. The car rattled beneath her feet, and she wished Roxy was truly capable of doing so.

On the two-hour flight back home, Hannah tried to sleep, but her heart thudded so hard in her chest that she couldn't relax. The constant lies that came with living a double life drove her insane. How long could she keep this up? As soon as she stepped out of the plane and breathed in the familiar Tennessee air, her body relaxed and she closed her eyes for a moment. The asphalt beneath the stepladder suddenly looked very comfortable. She shuffled down the ladder, across the airstrip, and into the airport.

A girl screeched.

Then another.

"Oh my God!" A boy pointed at her.

Hannah's hands shot up to her head and touched the wig. Dangflabbit, she had forgotten to change back to Miley. The girls dashed toward her. Hannah reeled around to look for Roxy, who burst through the double glass door behind her a second later. She put a hand on Hannah's back and guided her forward, while she simultaneously pushed the crowd back.

"Please move aside. Miss Montana doesn't have time right now."

As Roxy escorted Hannah out of the airport, Hannah put on what she hoped was her last fake smile of the day. She turned around and waved to her fans. "Sorry. Love you guys."

Roxy leaned in close as they strode across the soccer-field-sized parking lot. "What was that stunt you just pulled?"

"You shoulda reminded me to change durin' the flight."

"You were sleeping, and when we landed, you were out of your seat faster than your Aunt Pearl when she ate a slice of my extra plummy plum cake last Christmas."

Hannah grimaced on the inside. If brooding with her eyes closed meant sleeping, she had been in a coma for the last few days. They stopped in the middle of the parking lot.

"I'll stay here and make sure that no fans follow you."

Hannah stifled a yawn and rubbed her face. "Thank you, Roxy. You're awesome."

"That's my job, girl." A hint of a smile twitched at Roxy's lips. "Now hurry up before they catch up with you."

Hannah jogged to her father's usual parking spot on the far left, where a narrow tree-lined grass strip separated the parking lot from the street. She paused. Jackson's old blue convertible stood in place of her father's pick-up truck.

A long honk pierced through the air, and Jackson poked his head out of the car window. "Take your own sweet time, sister."

Hannah hadn't even closed the car door when Jackson backed out of the parking lot. "Can you please wait until I'm buckled in?"

"You're makin' me miss the Lakers game."

Hannah clicked her seatbelt close. "Where's Daddy?"

Jackson tapped the steering wheel to the beat of a radio song. "Remember that lasagna Uncle Earl brought over two days ago?"

Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. "The one I told you to throw away?"

"Well, refuse bin… refrigerator." Jackson ducked his head. "Sounds similar."

"Jackson, I don't believe you!"

"It's all your fault. Why can't you just say trash can like a normal person? But no, you had to go all Emma Watson on me."

Hannah had spent the last two weeks reading that fantasy book from England. It was the final one of the series, and she was already a year behind. Hannah blew out a noisy breath. "How much lasagna did he eat?"

"You know how hungry he is after a long day on the farm."

"Oh no. Poor Daddy. I'll make him Aunt Dolly's special chicken soup. That should get him back on his feet."

Fields, trees, and the occasional house flew by in a shadowy blur. The headlights of a passing car on the oncoming lane scurried across their windows.

An announcement interrupted the radio song. Breaking News: another victim of the Tennessee Killer has been discovered in Maury County, near Murfreesboro—

Jackson turned off the radio.

That was not far away from Crowley Corners.

After an hour, they arrived in the forest east of the farm, where the fields had been replaced by thick walls of bare trees that stretched along the winding road. For the fifth time, the car jerked.

"Why don'tcha slow down a little?" Hannah scratched her head through the wig, causing it to slide back and forth on her head. "Gosh, I hate this thin'." She yanked it off her head.

"What are you doin'!" Jackson jerked his gaze away from the road. "Put it back on."

"Hold your horses, will ya? Roxy made sure no fan was followin' us."

"Check the rearview mirror."

Miley turned around. Mist, surrounded by inky darkness, glimmered crimson in the shine of their taillights.

"There ain't—"

Two glaring dots popped up in the distance as the car behind them rounded a bend. Hannah swiveled around, slid deeper into the seat, and pulled the wig back over her head. "Roxy must've missed that fan."

"The car has only been followin' us since Springhill. Could be a paparazzo."

Hannah couldn't let them find out where she lived. She checked her rearview mirror once more. The closer the headlights got, the more determination they seemed to exude, like the eyes of a wildcat about to catch up with its prey.

"Step on it."

The car maintained its speed, and Hannah turned to face Jackson. His knuckles had turned white from his firm grip on the steering wheel.

"I can't."

The car jerked again.

"What's the problem?"

Jackson gulped visibly. "If I'd stopped for gas on the way, I woulda missed the start of the Lakers game."

"You can't be serious. " The red arrow on the dashboard's gas gauge pointed to E. "That idiotic game is now the least of our problems."

The car jerked once more, and Jackson pulled over to the side of the road. The headlights behind them also stopped approaching. Definitely a paparazzo. A fan would not pass up the opportunity to help. Hannah retrieved her phone from her shoulder bag and dialed the farm's landline. No one picked up. She tried to call her father's cell phone, but only the answering machine responded.

"Daddy is probably already in bed."

"Give me the map from the glove box."

"What for?" Hannah opened the box, and a slice of pizza, an empty beer can, and a map flopped onto her lap. She suppressed a dry heave and flicked the garbage to the floor. With her fingertips, she picked up the map and flung it to Jackson.

"What do you think?" He turned the map upside down.

Hannah shook her head and rolled down the window. The rushing of the river filtered through the woods to her right. She pointed in that direction. "That's the way home."

Jackson squinted past her into the darkness. "How d'ya know that?"

"Can't you hear it? We're not far from Crop Creek. We should be able to get to Mr. Baker's farmland if we follow the river, and from there it's only a fifteen-minute walk to home."

"Good." Jackson folded the map up. "What are you waitin' for? Go get Dad. He can drive by and bring new gas."

Hannah rolled the window back up. "You go."

"If you think I'm goin' to find my way around these woods at night… " Jackson tossed the map onto the dashboard. "That's your specialty."

"Sure, but—"

"—Listen. I'll either leave you alone in the car while that paparazzo back there," Jackson thumbed behind his shoulder, "grills you, or I'll wait here and make sure he doesn't follow you."

Hannah sighed. "All right, I'll go."

Jackson pulled a flashlight from under a crumpled greasy napkin and handed it to Hannah, who accepted it with a wrinkled nose. "Be careful."

"As if you care." Hannah zipped up her hoodie, and stepped out of the car.

She cut through the headlights of the rusted pick-up truck that had been following them, her shadow falling across the road, and stepped into the forest. Dried leaves and rotten branches crunched beneath her feet. The beam of her flashlight caught a deer. Its black round eyes shimmered in the glow, its ears twitched forward, and a second later it leapt into the darkness. An owl cooed not far away.

Hannah only cast fleeting glances in the direction of the nocturnal noises. The animals and she used to share one trait: they would only venture out at night. After the bullying and accusations began and she was forced to leave her middle school, her nightly walks in the forest had been the only time she had spent outside. The owls' cooing and the rushing river had given her a sense of freedom, while the dense thicket and the darkness of the night had made her feel safe.

Hannah followed the sound of rushing water until she came to a clearing in front of Crop Creek. Her flashlight's beam slid across the dark river, where the current foamed as it broke on protruding stones. Now Hannah had to follow the river against the flow until it turned into a creek, and from there the dirt road was only a ten-minute walk away. At its end, she would have to pass the totem pole, turn onto Old Mill Road, and walk straight ahead until she reached the farm.

A sob cut through the rush of the river. Hannah reeled around. She waved her flashlight beam over bare tree trunks and shrubs whose branches spun into each other like spiderwebs, blocking any view into the forest. The beam swept along the river bank. Hannah held back the scream that wanted to burst from her lips.

In the current, a girl stood up to her chest, her black hair fanning out behind her on the water's surface. The moon planted itself right above her in the star-dotted sky, surrounded by a silver glow that reflected on the water ripples.

Hannah's trembling hand tightened around the flashlight, its beam flickering up and down the girl's back. The girl sobbed again. The flashlight slipped from her grasp, clonked to the floor, and went out, leaving her in darkness. The girl jerked her head around. In a millisecond, Hannah braced herself for the disfigured grimace of a ghost, but nothing could have prepared her to stare into the dim eyes on Mikayla's ashen face.