its_theclimb: (neg: weary don't make me explain)
[personal profile] its_theclimb

The sequence of portals that had brought Miley to Standford on such short notice had not been pretty. No, not pretty at all. There had been a stop in a gangy and decidedly unDisney New York City neighborhood, a stop somewhere in the mosh pit of a very screaming-based concert, and -- perhaps most disturbingly -- a stop in a teenage boy's room that looked an awful lot like Jackson's.

But finally, finally, Miley had made it to Standford, and had managed to make it into the admissions office. She was hungry and irritated, her hair was a disaster, and she had a definite eye twitch, but she was there.

"There has got to be some kind of mistake," she growled, leaning forward on the woman's desk and eye-twitching all over the place. When that didn't immediately yield a result, she shifted to whining. "Lilly and I have just about the same grades, and she only did a little bit better than me on the SAT, and that's because my energy drink made me have to tinkle twice and Lilly can hold it like an animal!

Aaaaand breathe.

The admissions woman looked briefly sympathetic. "I must say," she said, "the fact that you came all the way here from Maryland to plead your case is very impressive. That's the kind of character we look for here at Standford!"

Miley beamed and moved to take a seat back in the chair she'd passed up in favor of standing. Clearly that was a good sign! And she was going to get her way! "Really?" she said brightly.

"We're going to be very sad not having you here," the woman finished, holding up a plate of baked goods. "Cookie?"

Scandalized, Miley held up a hand. "This isn't fair!" she declared. "I'm being discriminated against because I have a small bladder! And we are not a group that you want picketing in your lobby."

...well, it was true.

The woman sighed. Looked a little bit disgusted, but sighed. "I'm sorry, Miss Stewart," she said, "but the difference between you and your friend isn't academic. Or... fluid-related." She reached for the set of folders that Miley had insisted she take out as soon as she'd arrived here, adjusting her glasses as she turned her attention to Lilly's portfolio. "Miss Truscott held part-time jobs, she was a cheerleader, she played for the volleyball team, the skateboard club, the surf club..." Then she placed the folder back down and picked up Miley's. "And you... were a tricycle-riding pirate mascot for half a basketball game, and in eleventh grade... you climbed a rope."

Miley held up one finger. "That sucker went all the way to the ceiling," she declared.

"Yes," said the admissions woman, extracting a very familiar document from the folder and looking a tad appalled by it. "I believe you mentioned that in your application essay, 'To the Ceiling and Back: a Girl, a Rope, and a Dream.'"

"Which," Miley interrupted, standing back up, "was exactly the required five hundred words, and Lilly's was five hundred and two. Just saying. Rule follower," she said, indicating herself before gesturing at an invisible party next to her, "rule breaker."

The woman sighed again. She was doing a lot of that for some reason. "Miley," she said gently. "You're an excellent student. But you don't have any extracurricular activities. And here at Standford, we're looking for students with a scoach more."

"But -- come on, you have to let me in!" Miley insisted. "This is the only college I applied to!"

Horrified, the woman repeated, "This is the only school you applied to?"

Miley winced. "Now, on one hand that could make me sound incredibly dumb," she granted, "but on the other hand, it could be a display of admirable school spirit." Energized by this, she added quickly, "It don't show up on a test, but honey, at the pep rally, I can 'scoach' you up one side and down the other. I'll be like --" she launched into a dance, pumping her arms out around her -- "'Go Standford, whoo-whoo, go Standford, whoo-whoo--'"

"Miley, please," the admissions woman interrupted quickly. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but -- all right." She held up both hands, clearly trying to get at this from a new angle. "Tell me something you've done in the last four years that's been the least bit out of the ordinary. Other than that -- bizarre, uh, 'go Standford' thing."

Out of the ordinary? Miley could totally do that! "Are you kidding me?" she asked. "The last four years of my life have been anything but ordinary!"

"Wonderful! How?" the woman urged.

"I -- " Miley's eyes went huge and she opened her mouth, ready to explain everything -- the time she and Jackson had almost driven over a cliff, the time she'd accidentally been in jail for a few hours, the time she'd met the mayor of Crowley Corners and performed for the entire town, the thing with the people disappearing this past winter -- and then she deflated. "Can't tell you."

"Then I can't reconsider your application," the woman said gently, setting a hand on Miley's shoulder and coming around to escort her to the door.

All the way to the door, Miley insisted, "But -- but if I could tell you, you'd be like 'nuh-uh,' and I'd be all 'yuh-huh,' and you'd be all, 'no way,' and I'd be like, 'yeah way!', and --"

The door shut behind her.

"Wait, please!" she exclaimed. "I never even got a cookie!"

[[nfb/nfi, ooc cool, yes the misspelling is intentional tyvm. oh disney, whut. dialogue taken from hannah montana 4x09, "i'll always remember you."]]

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