Title: October Grace

Author: Tamara

A/N: Since I've pretty much forgotten how to write in first person, this is gonna be another third person deal. I have a tendency to write in short, choppy sentences and paragraphs. Don't know why but I can't help it, so deal.

This bit here is sort of a prologue to set the scene, if you will. It's a bunch of little drabble to give you background info. Nothing much is gonna happen until the next part, I'm just curious if anyone's interested in my continuing.

Comments are greatly appreciated, even criticism so long as it's constructive. Thank you and enjoy.

Disclaimer: Standard applies, I do not own Hannah Montana or anything/anyone affiliated therewith. This fic does contain femslash, i.e. female/female parings. If that bothers you, don't continue. If it's illegal where you live, move quickly. If you're not of age, that's too bad. Don't leave me reviews saying this it's wrong or disgusting or whatever, then don't bother, okay? Okay.

Summary: AU. Miley Stewart isn't Hannah Montana, she's just a small town girl from Tennessee that moves to Malibu. This is what follows.

Miley throws up her hands and her splayed fingers scatter the golden sunlight over her head. She's belting the words to "Achy Breaky Heart" but her dad's doing a lot better with the words since he all but idolized Billy Ray Cyrus in his youth. Even Jackson behind her is humming and Miley thinks this is the happiest she's been in a long time. Maybe, just maybe this move won't be so bad after all.

Then Miley sees the house. It doesn't look like it did in the picture. In the picture it looked demure but elegant, now it looks empty and daunting. It's a house and Miley wants a home. But she keeps her mouth shut, she's good at that. Stiff upper lip and all. Her dad wants this to work, so Miley does too. And it's not that awful, or it won't be once she gets used to it. She doesn't even have to fight Jackson for the bigger bedroom, so things are looking up. And when Miley looks up she sees a skylight. She hopes for a clear night, so she can see the stars.


Miley's head bumps the seatback when the car stops. Every time she gets into the car with Jackson, she swears it's her last and yet she keeps ending up in the passenger seat with white knuckles and a racing heartbeat. Even though Jackson has always been careful with her, or almost always, the boy can't be careful behind the wheel. Sometimes Miley can't believe he managed to get his license. If the school had been within walking distance, she would've hoofed it but as luck would have it, it was on the other side of town. The good side. Miley's just thankful Jackson's old car has functioning seatbelts.

She doesn't have too much trouble finding her classrooms but finding a seat at lunch proves almost impossible. Jackson doesn't have lunch this period and probably wouldn't sit with Miley if he did. Miley sucks at being the new kid. She decides to dump her lunch and head for the library. She wasn't that excited about the meatloaf surprise anyway. She likes her meatloaf surprise-free.

When she walks into the library, Miley thinks she's come home. One benefit of a big school? Big library. Miley contents herself in the stacks, buries herself among the volumes and editions and she feels better. The poets have a grace with words that Miley is all too happy to wrap herself in, so she sits alone, on the floor against a bookcase, with a heart in her hands. And Miley's happy.


There's a law against cruel and unusual punishment, isn't there? Miley's positive it's in the Constitution somewhere. She's only been in school a couple weeks, but she's sure of it. So then why does her school see fit to teach Chemistry to fourteen-year-olds? If you don't actually plan on being a chemist, what good is it to know the atomic weight of beryllium? Really, chemistry is just math with words. And Miley hates math. You can't make sentences with numbers and you can't compose with elements. There's no practical use for either subject as far as Miley can see. She understands basic arithmetic and has learned physical science. She doesn't need the rest. That doesn't mean she won't get an A, though. After all, chemistry is just math with words. And Miley is good with words.

This class is entirely manageable if Miley puts her mind to it and right now, it's got nowhere else to go. Miley takes a seat at an empty lab table and pulls out her notebook and pen. She's so busy writing, she doesn't notice the seat next to her gets filled until the bells rings and she looks up. A blonde head is obstructing her view of the board and the girl attached to it is chattering incessantly with the boy at the table in front of them. Miley tries to see around her and all but falls out of her chair.

Their teacher clears his throat loudly and begins to deliver the day's lesson. He mentions finally that he hopes they've all chosen their seats well because surprise, surprise, they were stuck with those lab partners for the rest of the semester. There are collective groans of disappointment and excited squeals when the girl next to Miley turns to face her. She smiling and grabs Miley's hand for a shake, says happily that her name is Lily. Miley knows she should probably return the gesture, maybe even offer her name, but she can't seem to remember it. It's been too long since she was welcomed amiably that Miley's at a loss for words. Which is weird because she's usually so good with them.

Continue? Comments, suggestions, hit that button and let me know.