I couldn't have been happier. The events of yesterday replayed in my mind, each detail standing out clearer than the next. I vividly pictured me ripping my wig off, exposing my best-kept secret, and imagined his face. He didn't answer for a couple moments, which initially worried me. But then he shook his curls and smiled at me. "You're even cuter as a brunette," he stated playfully. And then I had a true moment; something I learned not to have after what happened with Jake Fat-Head Ryan. I pulled Nick in and kissed him passionately. He—fortunately—returned the kiss. We just stood there, making out for a few seconds, and then he broke the kiss.
"Oh, man, I'd better be heading. My brothers were probably expecting me back a while ago; I said I was just quickly stopping by. And it's my turn to make sure Frankie gets to bed and all. Sorry, Hannah," Nick apologized sincerely. He turned to leave and I grabbed his hand. "Call me Miley. After all, that is my name," I teased. Nick winked at me and took off. I fell back onto my bed and fanned myself. Had that really just happened? I grabbed a complimentary pen off of my bedside and wrote I HEART NICK over every surface that I could find (making sure they all BELONGED to me, of course). My dad knocked softly.
"I saw that," he whispered, smirking. I blushed. "It doesn't matter, I'm in love," I cried, spreading out my body. My dad rolled his eyes. "I like Nick," my dad said, "I really do. But last time you got involved with a 'celebrity,' you ended up getting hurt and confused. Are you sure that you're going down the right path?" I sat up and put my hands on my hips. "Daddy!" I wailed. "Yes! And Nick isn't conceited and snobby—he's genuine and funny and super cute and everything. Plus, who else can handle my complicated life and complicated me than a person who totally understands? AKA Nick!" My dad nodded and disappeared, leaving me to bask in my happiness.
Then I heard a knock on our door. I pranced over to the door and pulled it open joyously. Standing there was the entire Pretty Committee—minus Claire, as I often found. I smiled. "Hey, guys! I have a huge story to tell you—it's worth probably a thousand gossip points at least!" I chirped happily, letting the solemn-faced beauties in and sitting them down on the couch.
Massie's expression immediately changed. "So do we," she said, nodding. "But let's go into your room first. I don't want anybody"—she shot an unnoticeable look at my father—"to hear. It's a mega secret." I nodded understandingly and bounced over to my room. I was overly happy and displaying it in a way that probably made me look insane, but I didn't care! The love of my life—for at least three months, anyways—was finally together with me! Nothing could go wrong.
Massie sat down on my bed. Alicia plopped down next to her, smoothing her pony skin skirt. I grimaced at the thought of a pony being skinned for a skirt, but I was so happy that I wouldn't allow anything to damper it—I told myself that the horse was probably already naturally dead. Kristen sat on the floor and Dylan propped herself up against the bed, munching on some fat-free Doritos.
"So, Miley," Alicia began importantly, "are you aware that Hannah Montana was seen entering and exiting this EXACT room earlier this week?" I froze inside, all of the happiness evaporating. I smiled nervously and chuckled. "I don't know Hannah Montana; I wish I did, but it's not going to happen. If you think she was hanging out at my house, I could ask Jackson if he's keeping a huge love-related secret for me…." I gagged silently at the thought, then added (for good measure), "Maybe they got back together! Jacksannah lives!" I punched the air with my fist. No one shared my reaction, so I lowered it, frantically chuckling nervously.
Massie shook her glossy curls ("Jakkob did them to give me a 'fresh look.'"). "No, Miley, we think that you're hiding a little something from us. And we've got major proof. I'll show you." She fumbled in her purse, trying to locate something. She pulled out a photograph. My muscles tightened, and I felt like I was in the top two of America's Next Top Model. Massie was like Tyra Banks, and whatever was on the other side of the photograph would either make or break me.
She turned it over, adding to the tension and suspense gathering in the room. I crossed my fingers behind my back and bit my bottom lip. When I saw what was on the opposite side, I realized that I was definitely NOT America's Next Top Model. I was the farthest thing from it.