My limousine pulled up to the glamorous and overdone Octavian Country Day. I exhaled slowly and tried to collect myself. Would I fit in with these girls? I scanned the crowd for any Hannah Montana tees. I knew it was pathetic and stupid, but maybe I could find one person with that in common and we'd connect. But the majority of the girls were dressed to the nines. I stepped out of the limo with fake confidence. I immediately noticed a group of five girls whispering about me. I shrugged it off. But I took a more observant look and noticed at least ten other girl groups doing the same. All of the fake confidence I had washed away with their loud voices. I was reduced to nothing.
I walked up to a very pretty girl with long, black hair. She was Latina. She was talking with a group of equally pretty girls. "Um, hi, I'm Miley," I told her meekly. The girl looked at me as though I was crap. I didn't think I looked too bad. I was wearing one of my nicer outfits—a cap-sleeved turquoise short-sleeved shirt with a gray suede vest and a matching miniskirt. On my feet were silver ballet slippers. My hair was extra curly (I didn't know why) and down. I parted it so it fell past my chest and none was on my back. I pinned back each side near my temples with two unperceivable bobby pins. My makeup was subtle and yet not. I didn't think I looked that bad.
"Um, why don't you go talk with your LBR friends?" the girl asked mockingly, shooing me away and turning back to her friends. I was kind of offended, but not fully, since I had no absolute clue what an LBR was. I chuckled unsurely. "'LBR?'" I quoted. "That's really funny. Um, but I don't think you completely understand; I'm the new student and I'm—"
"Hold it!" ordered one of the girl's friends; a petite brunette with relatively short hair and very pretty features. "You're the new girl?" I looked around. Why was this so critical a question? Her brown eyes bore into me. "Well? Are you?" she demanded impatiently, tapping her Ugg-adorned foot. I bobbed my head up and down quickly. "Yes, I am. I'm Miley," I repeated. "Man, I'm sorry I'm being so weird," I apologized. "I'm just really nervous about being here. My old school wasn't even half this fancy!" The girls, having suddenly changed their mood around me, laughed forcibly. "Most aren't," commented one with extremely long red hair (down to her waist; I wondered if it was real or not). A/N: In the ninth book, Dylan gets extensions such as said hair. For those wondering. I checked the rest of my potential friends—there was the Latina, the brunette, the red head, and two blondes. The first blonde had a short boy cut and sport features. The second had the features of a fawn—shy but beautiful—and semi-long hair. She was very pretty, but in a different, quieter way than the others.
"Welcome to OCD. I'm Massie," said the brunette (no wonder they didn't make fun of me for having an odd name!). "This is Alicia"—the Latina—"Kristen"—the sporty blonde—"Dylan"—the red head—"and Claire"—the shy blonde. I grinned at each of them. "We'll show you around the school if you'd like." I nodded eagerly again. Massie giggled. "You are like my puppy, Bean! Full of energy and totally cute." I blushed. Maybe I could fit in here!
The girls showed me the dance studio, spa, kiosks, and main buildings. I was probably looking like a total fool, gawking at every luxury, but I couldn't contain myself! "What's that large parking lot for?" I asked. Massie moaned. "Ugh, don't remind me. When Briarwood had a total mysterious fire caused by nature"—she winked at her friends—"they had to come here for a semester. And because OCD can only hold so many people, a lot of the students were sent out here to live in trailers. Of course, we totally pimped the trailers. And Briarwood was rebuilt quickly, so the boys are off of are hands." She pantomimed washing her hands. I nodded understandingly. We retraced our steps back to the kiosks and they kindly purchase a Dr. Juice drink for me. I sipped it until the first bell rang. Then I had to leave my new friends and go to home room.