By Day and By Night

Chapter 1: How To Be Normal

Do you remember when Hannah Montana was who thousands of little girls idolised? I do. I remember having a poster of her face pinned above my bed for a while, until it fell off and gathered dust behind the headboard. I wasn't in my bedroom much after I turned 13, so she wasn't the only thing gathering dust.

There's only one problem with Hannah Montana. She's fictional.

No one ever thinks that leading a double life has any other meaning than your average adultery story, but I am living proof that that isn't true.

I am Hannah Montana, but real.

I consider this as I stand outside the main gates to Wychester College. The September sun is shining and I'm grateful for the excuse to slip my sunglasses over my eyes. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass of a bus stop advertisement board, and analyse every inch of my appearance.

I look too polished. I pull a few strands of hair from my half updo, and untuck my shirt from my jeans. The longer I look at myself, the more deranged I must look to passers by. In a last act of panic, I fumble around in my bag for a baby wipe, and scrub off the subtle concealer, mascara and lipgloss I had applied this morning. There's not a bin in sight, so I stuff the wipe into my pocket and heave my backpack over my shoulders. I wonder if I look like I've never been to school before. I watched all these youtube videos about college before coming, but I still feel out of place. To be without a team of people hurrying about behind me feels alien.

But, this is what I wanted. So, amongst the flurry of students arriving from buses and cars, I wander through the gates. I text my mum "Made it, text u later x" and receive a thumbs up in response. Then I switch over to my newly created email address and find the admissions instructions.

I bump into someone because I'm not paying attention and my phone goes clattering to the floor. I try to apologise, but they've already walked off in the other direction. A girl with two neat black plaits and round glasses hands me my phone, but her face is solemn.

"The screen's cracked. I'm so sorry, I tried to catch it but I missed." She says, taking her glasses off to wipe them on her shirt. I'm suddenly taken aback by how beautiful she is. She's wearing, from what I can tell, no makeup, and has gold earrings and chains decorating both ears. She has a gold nose ring in her left nostril, and perfectly clear skin. I never get to look at girls my age this closely.

"Don't worry about it, I'll just buy-" I stop myself just as the girl raises an eyebrow and seems to sink into herself a bit.

"-buy myself a screen protector next time..." I thank her and disappear into the crowd before I can embarrass myself further. I look down at my right wrist, where my usual sparkly silver engraved watch has been replaced by a simple leather number with frayed edges. The hands tell me I have 15 minutes to find out where I'm meant to be.

The building is huge, with four floors of long windows and various exterior decorations. There are metal letters above the main steps spelling out the name of the school, but the "r" from Wychester is hanging limply below its original position, and a man on a ladder is fiddling with tools on a window ledge nearby.

I have never seen anything like it in my life. The place is full of life, but not excitement as I'm used to. The air is full of frustration, exhaustion, and all I can smell is grass and coffee. I hear the noise of a phone camera taking a photo, and whip my head round, but it's just two girls taking a selfie behind me. I let out a sigh and thankfully, it's loud enough that no one notices. If anyone asks, I'll put it down to first day nerves. My phone buzzes but I don't check it because I've arrived at the doors and next thing I know, I've scanned my ID card and am stuck in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by people who know exactly where they should be going.

For the first time in three years, no one around me cares about me. I'm just another fish in the pond, and it feels wonderful. No one is bustling around me, no one is touching up my make-up, and no one is asking me for photos or autographs. Although the scene around me is absolute chaos, I have never felt so calm.

~*~

The administration office is fairly easy to find, given that it's signposted pretty much everywhere you look. I give myself a metaphorical pat on the back when I push through the glass door, not that I have accomplished anything particularly difficult. Most teenagers have done this time and time again in their lives. Unfortunately for me, I'm not a normal teenager, and it shows.

The office I've walked into reminds me of my record label's reception, and I'm overcome suddenly by a wave of sadness at my separation from my nearest and dearest. I still have my parents, but my professional support is all miles away. I try to push it to the back of my mind, that it doesn't matter right now, and I put on my best courteous smile. I've been practising in the mirror.

"Diana Miller." I say to the tired looking lady at the desk. I wonder how long she's been sitting there, and even consider if she'd been there all night. She has three coffee cups stacked up next to her, and I can see a Red Bull can sitting in the bin next to her. I pretend I haven't noticed. I know all too well the lengths people go to to hide exhaustion. I've spent months doing exactly that. I make a pledge to myself there and then to be extra kind to this lady. She stirs to life.

"Hello, Diana! We're so happy to have you! Take a seat and I'll let him know you're here." She returns to her screen, tapping away at the keyboard for a few seconds, before she stands up and bumbles through the wooden door behind her, which is labelled "Dr. Martin Preston, HEADMASTER."

I sit down, unused to this sort of waiting around. Being busy is where I'm mostly sat, and that doesn't involve much waiting. But I don't mind. I take a moment to familiarise myself with this room, and the corridor outside. A few students glance in at me on their way past, and it makes me chuckle inwardly to think they probably assume I've got some kind of disciplinary on the very first day. I'm not sure I look like the type, though, with my mustard coloured backpack and loafers. That's what I've deciphered from my research of places like this. There are cliques. The way you look gives off an impression. The way you talk, the way you act. Which subjects you take, what you do in your spare time. Even trivial things like where you eat your lunch. I have not once in my life (with the exception of the looks thing) worried about any of these things. But now I suppose I have to. I decide to check my phone, and find that the buzzing was a news update on the Football World Cup this year. Nothing interesting, just rumours of team selections.

The lady reappears from the door and gives me a kind smile before retaking her seat. She gives a little bum shuffle to readjust herself, and it reminds me of how my dad sits at home. He hasn't texted me yet, but he was at work when I left, and for all I know he's got patients all day. He'll text on his lunch break.

I wait a few more moments, still not sure what to do with myself. I hug my backpack to my chest, and then stop, wondering if I look a bit juvenile. Before I have time to worry too long about it, the wooden door opens and Dr. Martin Preston appears.

"Diana, welcome to Wychester." He shakes my hand and it's one of the firmest I've ever experienced. He almost crushes my fingers, but I'm quite grateful for the physical distraction from my nerves.

He leans down to whisper something to the lady on the desk, and then beckons me into his office.

I shut the door behind me before I take in the space; huge wooden shelves filled with books, a big writing desk that must have cost thousands, and multiple framed photographs scattered around the room.

"Don't trip on the rug; it's a bit of a hazard, but don't tell anyone." I make a pointed step onto the rug, and take a seat as directed in the seat across from Dr. Preston.

Before I can compose myself, I notice one of the framed photographs on the shelves. It's of a small girl, with blonde pigtails and the biggest eyes I've ever seen. She has a huge grin on her face and then I see what she's pointing at.

It's the t-shirt she's wearing, and it has my face on it.