Longass chapter. I kind of combined two into one, and something finally happens, although I know its way too fast. Whatever, this is AU anyways.

Btw, where in god's name are all the Liley writers?!? I hate to see the fandom dwindling down:'(

Anyway, here ya go—

I do not own HM or Won't Go Home Without You, in which two lines of are borrowed, by Maroon 5.

I gaze into the inky black night outside of the car window. Everything around me is edged in moonlight and the periodic golden street-light, or neon sign.

It's funny, how the first time you watch a movie you're sitting on the edge of your seat. You don't know what's going to happen next. There are some parts you don't really catch, and other parts hit you hard, affect you, sink in and teach you something.

When you watch the movie a second time, you catch all the things you didn't at first. And all those things it taught you… maybe they sink in a little further.

-

I swear to god there's nothing better than being able to wake up whenever you want. I roll around trying to find purchase on the mattress, a position to launch me back into slumber land.

Once I find it, I'm flicking through my mind for reasons why I shouldn't shut my mind and fall back asleep, even though its 1-something.

Then I remember—I'm going to Miley's today.

Satisfaction and excitement floods me, then a little nervousness trickles in. What'll we do? Will it be awkward?

I peel the bed sheets from me and head downstairs to begin the day.

-

I throw on some black soffee shorts and a tie die orange tank top. I swear I'm hearing the sounds of my feet trampling down the stairs before I even connect with them.

I find my mother and Aunt Tiff in the kitchen. Aunt Tiff ushers me to sit down and eat. I pick apart a croissant.

"Where are you headed?" my mom inquires, her and Aunt Tiff peering deeply at me. The kitchen seems silent and still, although the busy afternoon is in high-gear.

"Um," I swallow, "that Miley girl's house? Down the street?"

"Yeah?" says Aunt Tiff, "She's a sweet girl. You like her?"

"Wait, who's Miley?" my mom hops in.

"She's Lilly's age, lives down the street"

"The one that was here with, uh, Carly and Brooke a few days ago?"

"Yes, that's her,"

"Oh, she was so nice! Very cute."

I dip a brow at my mother's stated opinion.

"Ah, Lilly-bear," my mom turns her attention back to me with my family-only nickname, "I'm so glad you're making friends with her. You know how much I hate to see you sulking around with nothing to do here."

I instinctively want to spring to life and screech at her how that's her fault just because she misses her sister and doesn't know how to compromise with the lives of her children, but I chew a bit maliciously on my mouthful of croissant and suppress my urge.

"Yeah, she's pretty cool. We get along so well its almost scary."

"Mhm, and I like it that she's nice to the girls. And Chris has this little crush on her, it's so cute," Aunt Tiff goes on.

I grin, but find it's half-hearted. Chris's sickeningly-obvious crush on Miley is… well, sickeningly obvious.

But then I wrinkle my nose at the strangely misplaced thought. His stupid little crush didn't bother me before…? I guess it just got old.

I grab some strawberries and a glass of milk, say goodbye to my mom and Aunt Tiff, and head out down the street. I'm all nerves and butterflies, but its nothing heavy.

Here goes nothing…

-

"Lilly," Mr. Stewart greets upon opening the door.

"Hi Mr. Stewart. Miley and I made plans to hang around here today. Do you know where she is?"

He steps aside, the silver chain hanging from his neck jingling with the movement. I scan his clothes; he's wearing faded slim jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He dresses like he's twenty. It's interesting, how he's fashionable and so is Miley.

I enter Miley's house. The bright hallway and kitchen beyond it I saw when I came here yesterday is now defined. I see smooth tile on the floor and granite counter tops, an island and stainless steel fridge, oven, and dish washing machine. The kitchen table is glass and the chairs are iron. It's very modern, from what is in my view.

"She's, ahh, in 'er room, I think. Go on up the stairs there, it's the first door on the right side o' the hall."

"Alright, thanks." I give him the sweetest smile I can muster and begin down the polished oak wood floor. The hallway is small, the walls are a casual, dull-ish blue. There's photographs hanging up down the hall, some of Miley when she's a little girl, but mostly of Mr. Stewart and who I suspect is Miley's mother with other adults. I don't know, I don't take the time to look at all of them.

I head up the stairs, wooden, made of the same wood as the hall, but with one of those long rugs with flower designs in it lain down on it.

I wonder what Miley's room looks like. Is it big? What color are the walls? Is it old fashioned or modern? What does it smell like?

I reach the top of both sets of stairs; my questions will soon be answered.

Another narrow rug is lain out on the still oak wood floor. The banister and railing of the stairs are also made of the wood, but the bars are white, matching the walls. The door frames are oak.

At the farthest end of the hallway are two closed doors with blinds pulled down and light coming through. I realize they're windows. Maybe they lead to a balcony? I can't see why else two glass doors would be sitting on the second story of a house. Then the hallway curbs to the right. To my direct left are double doors that I guess belong to Mr. and Mrs. Stewarts' room.

I go down the hall, and find myself at the first door on the right. It's closed. The one adjacent to it is open, and with a glance I find a plain white room with an open window, white curtains billowing in the breeze inside. A little porcelain sign nailed to it says 'Guest Room'. I guess Miley doesn't have any siblings. I keep it in mind to ask her.

I turn and stop in front of the closed door. I knock on it lightly before I can stop myself.

"Come in," I hear Miley's voice, muffled.

My hand flies to the doorknob. I restrain myself from inhaling dramatically, and go right ahead and open the door.

I blink and focus on what's before me. Miley's bed protrudes from the left wall. The messy, just-slept-in comforter is white with pink and green roses and other flowers stitched in. Unlike the halls and stairs, Miley has rug in her room, cream colored. The floor towards the back wall raises a level to the huge, wide window; a crescent shaped one on top of a tall rectangle one, and a plushy-looking navy window seat. I look around to see the walls are a refreshing green color, closer to a blue-ish than any yellow. Her furniture is cherry-wood. A shelf containing some books, medals and photographs is tucked into the corner beside where the floor raises. She has a nice sized television across from the foot of her bed, on another cherry wood furniture piece containing more shelves with more books and trinkets and a few framed photographs. Beside me and the door way is a dresser with a mirror hung over it and ajar drawers with random materials of clothing flapped over them.

I'm not sure why, but the image of Miley's room burns itself into my mind this first time I ever see it.

I take a step in, and am acquainted with an unfamiliar scent. Vanilla… and laundry detergent… and something else, no flavor, or named aroma. It envelopes me, floods my nostrils. I don't mind.

And although I heard Miley's voice, I don't see her.

Right in front of me, where the bed is, I hear some rustling of paper, a resonating, hollow ring of what I believe is a guitar, and a quick clearing of the throat in Miley's tone of voice. She pops up on the other side of her un-made bed. She is wearing plaid girls' boxers and a hot pink fitted cami, the left strap of which curls around her tan arm instead of between her neck and shoulder. Her hair is tied in a messy bun that hangs down on her neck, chestnut strands askew.

But she glows. And I grin, on reflex, at the sight.

"Glad to see you cleaned up for me," I joke.

"Well jeez, not all of us wake up at the crack of… whenever you woke up this morning." Miley unexpectedly flops down on her bed, and I watch her body deflate into it. She's so slim.

I sit down, a tad awkwardly, on the edge of her bed, facing the dresser and the door, but twist my head down at her. "You know what? I'm surprised. I thought all of you country-dwellers got up at the crack of dawn."

Her next sentence kind of floors me. "I have this tendency to break stereo-types. You'll learn that." Because it's so true. "And I stayed up kinda late last night…"

The hastiness in the air moments before has not been forgotten by me. I try to peer out of the corner out of my eye over the opposite side of her queen sized mattress, to no avail. I nonchalantly fall over her legs to lie on my side, as somewhat overly-friendly it seems to be for me, for us, and get a look. I find, as suspected, a guitar.

But I swear I heard some paper movements… right?

"You play the guitar," It comes out like a soft statement, which kind of catches me off guard. Her hard shins don't mesh with my ribs and hip bone.

Miley is outgoing, fashionable, clumsy, a good swimmer, sarcastic, weird, and… musical?

"I do. I'm not sure if you put two-and-two together yet, but my daddy's was into the music business for a while…"

Stewart… Robby…

"Achy Breaky Heart!" Wow, Miley's the child of a celebrity?

Miley play-groans. "Ugh, yeah. Jeez, I woulda hoped you were a little more observant than that."

I just giggle. Yesterday during my introduction with Miley's father, I recall being far too nervous to actually think.

A quick Why? pops into my head, but I dismiss it. I focus on the reality of being in Miley's room and house and life.

"You should show off and play me something," I request. I'm interested in this newfound trait of Miley.

"M'kay… but, after I shower. You don't mind watchin' the TV for a minute, do ya? I'll be fast."

I let her go, across the room to a door beside the television, closer to the dresser than the window seat, and I can hear her shower water running.

So. Outgoing, fashionable, clumsy, good swimmer, sarcastic, weird, musical… D-list famous? Rich?

That's cool.

Seriously, Mr. Stewart's no different than, say, Amber and Ashley's parents. I'm used to being around successful people, I live in upper-middle class Malibu for Christ's sake.

So none of that cliché, oh, you're-only-friends-with-me-'cause-my-daddy-was-a-one-hit- wonder (no offense to him) crap will be going down, I'm sure—

"PLEAAAA-AAASEEE, DON'T LEAVE MEEEEEE!"

I mute the episode of Real World Cancun, and listen to Miley singing in the shower.

"I always say how I don't need yoouuu," she harmonizes really well, "But it's always gonna come right back to thisssss, please, don't leave meeeee!"

I begin snickering. Her voice overlaps the rushing water, I can't hear very clearly, but what I can hear is pure raspy Southern soul.

I absolutely need to hear this without interference of a shower head.

I listen to Miley sing one more song, "Birthday Sex," I believe I catch the chorus of, and by the time the shower water comes to a halt, I'm on my side, clutching my stomach, in Miley's bed with tears streaming down my cheeks.

I hear the bathroom door swing open but I don't hear anything, until I sit up to find a sodden-haired Miley staring at me with a quirked brow.

"Your—your singing abilities…" I choke out. I calm down and clear my throat. "Interesting song choice," I pipe, because I think I've insulted her enough, so I un-mute the television and train my eyes on that.

"Thanks. Thank you," Miley sighs sarcastically and heads over to her dresser, and shit, I think I really did insult her!

"No no, really, from what I heard your voice is great, and I'd love to see how you are on the guitar, it was just funny to—"

"Lilly," she cuts in, through grinning lips, "its fine, I wouldn't 'a belted out the lyrics to "Birthday Sex" if I didn't expect a laugh." She's looking up at me through her dresser mirror, and as unfamiliar as this room actually is, I already feel so accustomed to it, somehow. Why is that?

Miley and I became fast friends. I'm thinkin' it would be fine to ask her a question about it. I would be shocked if she didn't notice.

"We became friends pretty fast," I state. Just throw it right on out there.

Miley is fishing through a drawer. "Yes, we did."

"Honestly," I say, all buildup behind the single word, "I feel like I've known you for years."

She's peering at me through that dresser mirror again. "Do you?"

"Mhm," I try to act like her stoic-ish replies are nothing, which is bull crap. "Don't you?" It comes out a little more hopeful that I meant for it to.

"Well," Miley begins, turning to me fully now and leaning back on the dresser with her arms folded across her toweled chest, "yes, I do. You're friendly, I'm friendly. I was thinkin' you wouldn't wanna waste time, since you only got a summer here."

I blink. That thought—fact—never crossed me.

Miley's smart.

"Wow, that's weird."

"What?"

"You keep saying things that you know about me before I know them."

"Hm. Like what?"

"Well, that. And the stereotype thing. You have broken a lot of stereotypes so far."

Miley chuckles. "Yep. Gotta knack for that."

"Are you psychic?" She freezes and gazes at me because of the serious, honesty of my question. For a moment I actually consider this.

"Are you serious?" she giggles, "No, I think you and I just… click. I was thinkin' about it the other day," Miley says, "and I think you were meant to come here this summer."

Once again, I am floored. "Yeah," I respond feebly. That I wasn't thinking. And I thought I was an in-depth thinker.

Well, shit, I got what I asked for—a straight-forward conversation. Miley is blunt.

"So," she continues, "I'm gonna throw these on, then we can go outside, or chill in here, whatever you want."

"'Kay." I'm so deep in thought I forget her whole musical-hobby revelation thing.

'I was thinkin' you wouldn't wanna waste time. I think you were meant to come here this summer.'

Her southern twang is on loop in my head.

-

"And this is Blue Jeans," says Miley, but I'm not looking at her.

I'm looking at the gray and white beast I'm no more than a foot apart from. Seriously, it could take one step and—

Cool it, Lilly. You're getting over this.

Blue Jeans huffs through his nose, and it only startles me a tiny bit. What an improvement.

"Well? Don't be scared. He won't bite. He's nicer than my Uncle Earl on Thanksgiving."

I laugh. I want to meet this Uncle Earl. Miley's been cracking jokes on him all day.

I reach out and lay my palm on Blue Jeans' snout. He lifts a large leg, god, its like, the size of a trunk of one of the palm trees back home. His hoof claps against the dirt.

"I think he likes you," Miley giggles.

When I look at her, I find one of her hands entangled in Blue Jeans mane and her eyes all over his face. I can see she loves the animal.

"Could I ride him?" I don't really know why I ask, I don't honestly want to. If anything, I want to get the hell out of the huge, fence-enclosed horse pen before Blue Jeans decides he's hungry…

Miley's a little surprised. But pleased. I immediately decide the request was a good idea.

Miley leads Blue Jeans and I over to a mini horse stable, compared to the one at the Trails, where she straps a saddle onto him.

I get my foot in the rung and am in the process of hoisting myself up, when I feel something connect with my ass.

Miley immediately begins laughing, and I turn to her, feeling a confused expression scrunching my face.

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

I'm up on a horse, again, still not adjusted to being this high in the air. On a mobile animal.

Miley gets onto one of her other horses, and leads me outside of the horse pen, then far away from her house.

"Where're we going?" I manage to squeak out. Really, some habits just never fade. Including my instinctive fear of horses.

"It's a surprise," she shouts over her shoulder.

I sigh, and let Miley's horse lead me. We're just traveling through open field.

The shaggy, but lush, healthy green field is dotted with clusters of wildflowers, here and there. Just tiny things no large than my big toe. There's lavender, yellow, white, hot pink…

I study the behind of Miley's horse, a chocolate brown and white specimen. The insanely long, silky, charcoal black strands of its tail sway side to side as it trots.

I scan up the horse after staring down at its hooves pressing rhythmically into the sea of grass below us, and my eyes land on the back of Miley's baby yellow cami.

I find the simplicity of her feminine build far more intriguing than the muscular horse she's riding. The sides of her waist are two perfect arcs, back to back. Her shoulder blades are popping out as she sits erect, reigns in hand. Her elongate arms point outwards at opposite forty-five degree angles.

I observe her hair. It shines brilliantly in the pure sunlight; it's like a metallic ribbon of chestnut brown flowing behind her as the rushing breeze pushes it. I'm in a daze, just watching the beauty of it.

I blink and finally catch the way Miley's entire body bounces up and down with the horse, the way her bare, tan legs bounce with it. She jostles forward a tiny bit, kind of like she's…

I cringe and actually shake my head side to side. That train of thought is far too awkward to pursue, especially when it's about a girl. Especially Miley.

I study the clear cornflower blue sky, the barrier of trees in the distance. Tennessee nature is something I never expected to be so spellbound by. Especially the tress and grass.

Eventually Miley leads me through a short beige dirt trail. I look anywhere but at her back, to avoid any more awkward thoughts. I study the bark of the trees and look up ahead at the green leaves, sunshine bleeding through them in patterns, making them nearly neon.

The trail leads us to a field with rows and rows of short, sparsely-leaved trees. I see trillions of skinny trunks, all lined up, going on almost as far as I can see.

Miley leads me straight between two filed lines of trees, and I take a closer look at the walls they make on either side of me… and I see grapes.

"Is this a vineyard?" I shout to Miley.

"Yup," she shouts back over her shoulder.

"And your family owns it?"

"Seems that way."

"Jeez…" that wasn't shouted.

It's gorgeous here.

I wish I could pick a cluster of grapes from the trees. They're a perfect navy blue color, and each grape is as big as a half dollar.

"Can I eat some of these?"

Miley laughs. It's raspy and it echoes. A cool breeze blows past me and the trees all 'whooosh' and shuffle. I close my eyes, and a pang, just a tiny one, of homesickness hits. It almost sounds like an ocean wave crashing…

Miley stops her horse and I pull back on Blue Jeans reigns.

I watch her swing a long, toned leg over and her bare feet hit the ground. I almost giggle at her liberating mannerism.

Her hair falls around her spectacularly as she inspects a few different eye level clusters. I watch from my seat on patient Blue Jeans' back.

Miley rips a cluster from the vine on the tree, and brings them to me. She holds them up to me.

Her eyes are once again that vivid cerulean color.

"Your eyes change colors," I can't help but say to her.

"Yeah. In the sun." She's still holding the grapes up to me. I finally take them, and somehow manage to hold them and both reigns in one hand so I can pick them and eat them with the other.

"They're insanely gorgeous," I add. They really, really are.

Miley gets all sheepish and looks down at the ground. "Thank you," she breathes.

I'm still looking at her bowed head. I'm almost entranced by the lustrous halo the sunlight makes around the crown of her head. She tilts back up to me after her bashfulness fades, and says, "If you, uh, can't hold them, I will. But I think you'll be okay, Blue Jeans'll just follow Daisy, and it's not like we're hikin' up a mountain."

"I'm fine. Thanks," I give her a smile, all my teeth showing, and watch an answering one slowly form on her face as she turns back to the waiting Daisy.

I watch her retreating, slim figure lift a leg and steady it in one rung, and the rest of her fly up while she swings her other leg over, and then she sits.

She has such a nice body. I'm not envious, like I was yesterday when I saw it mostly bare at the creek. I add the fact about her to my list.

We start moving again, the sun beating down hot but the movement making air hit me, drying the sweat coating every inch of me.

Eventually, we reach the end of the vineyard. Miley leads me towards a dirt trail wrapping around a grassy mountain.

We ride the winding trail to the top. Miley hops off of Daisy and ties her reigns to a wooden fence. She walks over to Blue Jeans and me, lending me an outstretched hand. I grip it as I swing my right leg over and drop pretty ungracefully to the ground. Miley steadies me by my shoulder with her hand I'm not squeezing the life out of.

She leads Blue Jeans to the fence, a peg away from Daisy, and ties him up, too.

"Close your eyes," Miley commands with a smile. I do so.

Then she presses a gentle hand between my shoulder blades and guides me forward. We're walking and walking.

"Look."

I open my eyes to find a stretch of land before me. It goes so far it fades into a foggy-like gradient. Patches of emerald trees are scattered across the majority of the land. We're up way higher than I thought.

There are some wildflowers at my feet, sprouting from around the fence, and unlike the ones in the field. These have long green stems, and are larger, with more pedals. Some are lavender and the rest are a sunset orange color than immediately makes me crave any kind of orange popsicle.

"Jeez," I say again, under my breathe.

Miley turns her back to the view, and leans back against the fence, arms crossed across her diaphragm, which makes me a little uneasy. There's a small grin on her face… its almost cocky.

"Lilly, I think you're a closet nature-lover."

I giggle. She's so right. I've been admiring everything in view since I've first stepped foot in Tennessee. "I blame you."

"Me? What'd I do?"

I find myself focused on her pronunciation. When she says 'I' it comes out "Ah". I can't wipe the silly smile from my face.

I'm just so happy at this moment.

"Showed me the finer things."

She nods, and looks away from me.

-

I remember those words coming out of my mouth.

'I may not make it through the night,

I won't go home without you…'

We're almost at the airport. The car is freezing, I pulled her hoodie on a while ago.

I remember those words coming out of my mouth, but it's not until right now, on the ride back to California, do I realize the gigantic foreshadow that entire exchange of words was.

Just now, in the rented silver Durango, cutting my path across the country away from her, do I realize how little I knew at that moment, and what exactly Miley Stewart was going to show me that summer.

-

I snuggle further into my bed, the warmth from my own body enveloping me by means of my fleece blanket.

I'm thinking about Miley. About the day. About how I finally have Miley as my friend.

I miss my friends. But I have Miley, and it's more than good enough.

I'm completely spent. Miley has work tomorrow, and she invited me to come visit around six, or earlier if I wanted, when she gets off and then we could go into town again.

I've never felt more satisfied in my entire life.

-

My hair is wavy today. I spent the majority of my day down at the creek with my cousins. I have terrible sunburn on my cheeks, shoulders, and chest.

I know the way to the Trails on my own. I walk beneath the shade of the trees, cooling me down the slightest bit, but my sun burn is heating me up.

I find Miley at the counter, head in palm of her arm propped up on the desk by her elbow. Her eyes are glazed over in boredom. Her hair is fashioned in a French braid today. Two short strands hang down the left side of her face.

She doesn't register who I am when I first pop into her view.

Her face lights up like a decked out Christmas tree when she does, even though she jumps a foot in the air, and straightens out her tank top.

"Sweet Jesus, Lilly, I 'idn't even see you walk up!"

"Sorry," I giggle. "Are you done here yet?"

"Erm…" she leans back to look at a clock on the wall.

I watch the jugulars of her neck stick out as she cranes her neck.

It happens again; the first time being when she grabbed my shoulders when that vulture scared the shit out of her. That feeling, a bolt of it slammed through my torso, leaving every inch of me tingling in its wake. One spot in particular…

"Should be," she mumbles, breaking me from my trance I didn't even know I fell into.

"JACKSON! I'm leavin'!" She shouts.

Okay, that's not normal. What the fucking hell is that? I consider asking my mother to take me to the hospital.

It's not a hot flash. It's not really painful; just like a shock. Is it something in the air? What the fuck's causing it? What the fuck is it?

"Lilly?" Miley calls.

I snap up to meet a curiously tilted head and concerned slate blue-gray eyes.

Shit, she has not one blemish on her skin… "What?"

I don't realize she's removed her work vest and lanyard, or that she stepped out of the log walled cubicle.

"Sheesh, what were you thinkin' 'bout? Not even Houdini coulda put you into that trance."

"Um…" Should I tell Miley? No. Something tells me no. "I was just spacing out. How was work?"

"Boring. But it's okay. I'm getting paid."

I giggle.

We start to go back down the trail I just trekked, until I hear foot steps scratch in the dirt.

"Miley, get back here," Jackson commands strictly. What a wonderful co-worker.

Miley rolls her eyes. "What?" She whines, "My shift is over, its past six…" She walks over to Jackson.

And I watch.

I study the perfected art of her braiding, her sun baked shoulders, her equally sun baked, smooth legs. God, she must have the softest skin.

My fingers flex and I feel my face scrunch at how random the urge to feel Miley's skin was.

I rip my eyes from her as she talks lowly with Jackson and look at the sky. The sun has dimmed; it's now shooting the type of golden rays that signal it to soon set.

Miley strides back over to me. I watch her long legs move despite she's facing my side, and it feels like I watch them forever.

…Why am I still looking at her? I know what she looks like. But I just keep staring…

"What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing," Miley sighs.

"'Kay. Where we goin'?" She sounds perplexed, so I change the subject. We begin to walk and I feel the urge to release the girl from all her troubles. She such an upbeat person, she makes me upbeat. This is the first time I've really seen her anything but.

"I'm hungry. I wanna get a bite to eat."

"Alright. What places do you guys have to eat around here?"

"Umm… Wendy's is the closest thing," she says with a slight grin, which I have no idea what is for.

"Sounds good."

Miley's telling me about this bratty kid that came to use the trails today, and this sickeningly sweet couple.

The sun is streaked orange and pink when we hit the street of town. Miley says 'hello' to a handful of people.

"You're so famous, Miley," I say to her after we part from an older man sweeping the ground in front of a barbershop. This town is so old-fashioned, although there is a mall a few streets away, according to Miley.

She chuckles. "I guess. You know me. I'm just friendly. And my dad has been getting his hair cut at that place for the past two decades, so I think it's liable for me to know the owner."

Now I chuckle. "That's true." And we continue in silence.

We turn a corner and a thought pops into my head.

"So… no offense or anything… but do you have a lot of friends around here?"

"None taken," Miley sighs, "my closest friend lives half an hour away."

I dip a brow and turn to her.

"I go to a boarding school in Chattanooga," she explains.

"Oh," I say, dragging it out. "How come?"

"Well," Miley says, "The school here is low-budget… and, I dunno, we have the money."

As logical as the answer is, I detect a lie.

I continue to peer into her profile; downcast eyes, chewing on her lip. Miley's so easy to read.

"Are you sure that's why?"

Miley breaks into a giggle. "No… there's more."

"Go on."

"I did go to the school here for a little while, but had some drama with these bitchy girls," the curse sounds foreign coming from Miley, "so daddy pulled me out. This was, like, three years ago."

"What happened? If you don't mind talking about it." My eyes are still all over her face. Hers are still all over the sidewalk.

"They found out my dad used to be famous, and faked bein' friends with me to use my house. I heard them talkin' 'bout it one day, and stopped invitin' 'em over. But they got mad and started rumors about me that no one even believed. It was just a mess."

"That's ridiculous," I comment.

"Yep. Boarding school's so much better. Everyone's so down-to-earth, even when we were younger. I have a nice amount of friends there."

"I believe it."

Miley looks at me and just smiles.

Now I'm looking at the sidewalk. After returning it, of course.

-

"Lilly, it's fine, I'll treat you. Get something."

"Are you sure?" I feel funny letting her pay. I don't want her to think I'm taking advantage of her, after that story she just told me about those girls.

"Positive, I have a twenty; I'll still have ten bucks left anyhow."

"Alright…" I order a regular cheeseburger, a small soda since there are refills, and small fries.

We sit in a booth beside the window, and I peer out at the hot pink sky and cherry red hemi-sphere of sun gradually sinking below the trees.

For a fast-food restaurant, this Wendy's is pretty clean.

I go to inspect the shiny floors when I catch Miley's eyes on me out of the corner of my eye. I turn to her instead. After a long second, she breaks her stare and looks down the junior bacon cheeseburger in her hands.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Something on my face?"

"No."

For a second, the air is awkward. So she was just staring? But her lips I didn't even know my eyes were all over split into a pearly white grin and she chuckles. So I chuckle. And the awkwardness is gone.

"I like your hair like that." She says honestly, a corner of her lips still tugged up in a lop-sided grin.

I go to say thanks, but I've never seen this lop-sided grin of Miley's, and when I catch sight of it, I can't look away. Or function.

It's just so… so…

So cute.

"Thanks," it comes out choked.

I dive into my fries, burger long gone, and oh my god, that's it.

Outgoing, fashionable, clumsy, a good swimmer, sarcastic, weird, musical… and cute.

Miley's cute.

Miley's cute. She's cute.

Not puppy dog cute. Not little shimmery-eyed baby cute. Not fashionable, flattering shirt from the mall cute.

But the cute you just can't stop staring at…

-

Longest chapter I've written in a while… but I like how it turned out. FINALLY some liley. Sheesh, even I was getting impatient.

There are probably a good number of mistakes, and I'm sorry, I kind of wrote the majority of this in one sittingD:

Oh, and if you didn't really understand, the scene in the very beginning of the chapter and the one where lilly is talking about what miley will really show her are of Lilly in the car on her way back to California, at a future time than the rest of the chapter. She's in the same tense as she is in the very first part of the first chapter.

Hopefully I didn't rush this and it's not too confusing. Next chapter should be up soon, and I think it's gonna be another long one.