HANNAH

Not so surprisingly, Mister Fischer called my mom after my "little" outburst in his office and he suspended me for two weeks. He said I need to "rethink" my behavior and the way I speak to my superiors. So, they didn't understand shit about how I feel, my past and my problems—as I figured. They're adults after all, what can I expect?

My mom—as the excellent kiss-ass and actress she is—told him she would do anything for me to improve my behavior and manners. She also said that she'll make sure I use these weeks to reflect and apologize to him and Daniela Salvatierra. After that little chat, my mom yelled at me and cursed me for being—and I quote—the worst daughter a mother could possibly have. Oddly, she didn't mention anything about the bracelet and my dad, and I didn't either. I didn't want to start an endless argument with her.

Of course after that she forced me to leave the hotel and go back home, so she could "keep an eye on me" during my suspension. I didn't argue with that—although I really wanted to—since I don't have money to pay for my room anymore. Now I'm packing my stuff to leave the hotel and go back to my mom's dungeon—sorry, house. So... yeah, I'm doing great as you can see.

I finish stuffing the rest of my clothing in my case and zip it shut. I scan the room for the last time to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. Then, I grab the rest of my bags and head to the lobby, where my hateful mother is waiting for me.

I press the elevator-bottom and wait for the mechanic door to open. I look around one last time and I can't believe I'm leaving the hotel... It felt like home for the past few weeks I've been staying here. It made me feel more comfortable than my own house ever made me feel. Staying at this hotel was my first taste of freedom. It was the first time I lived all by myself and... it was where my first... kiss... took place. I shake my head and try to forget about that.

Anyway, apart from that moment, I enjoyed living in a hotel. I really enjoyed it and maybe that's why I feel so sad about leaving the hotel room number three hundred sixty-five.

The door slides open and I get my case, my bags and myself into the elevator. I press the button that says, GF—as in ground floor—and the door closes. While waiting to get to the lobby, the elevator makes a few stops and people start getting in and by the time we reach our final destination the elevator is way too crowded and I feel suffocated by all the bodies pressed against mine. This elevator is way too small for six people to fit in.

I get my stuff out of that tiny elevator and spot my mum sitting on a chair near the entrance. She's using her phone and seems like she's texting someone—maybe my dad, since they're fuck-buddies now. It's funny, though—my dad has time to fuck my mom, but doesn't have any time to be with his daughter. So funny.

I approach her and clear my throat to call her attention. She looks up to me with a disgusted look on her face—that's her usual face whenever she sees her rebellious daughter—and I say:

"Ready"

"Okay," she simply replies and stands on her feet.

We walk out of the hotel and I turn around and briefly glance at the lobby one last time.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," I say to my home in a whisper.

***

Home sweet home. Or maybe jail horrible jail. Yeah, that's better.

My mom opens the door and leaves her purse on the kitchen table. I walk in and close the door behind me.

"I'm going out," my mom informs me, while opening the door again and disappearing into the street.

What the fuck?

Seriously, what the fuck?

I'd like to say that I'm no longer surprised by her behavior, but the truth is, I am. I'm stunned by her coldness and her I don't-give-a-fuck-about-you attitude. And I know I always say that my mum hates me and that I feel alone and as if I hadn't a family... Yeah, I feel like that pretty much all the time, but it doesn't matter how many times my mum mistreats me, because I'll always be surprised and heartbroken by her hatred towards me. I just can't get used to that because, deep down, I'm a girl who longs for her mom's love. A love I'll never have.

I look away from the door, since I know staring at it waiting for my mom to show up is not going to get anywhere. I carry my case and bags upstairs to my room—which is harder than I thought—and plump down on the bed. I'm tired, really tired.

I pull out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and check my socials and WhatsApp. As I predicted, I have zero notifications. No one has texted me. And when I say no one, I mean Casy.

Yeah, call me stupid but, although I promised myself to forget about her forever and I want to keep that promise, I can't help but wish she would have texted me. Just to check on me, or just to say: Hey, I'm sorry for ruining your life and revealing your feelings to the whole school. You didn't deserve that. Btw, I love you. Yeah, that'll never happen, let alone right now... after I yelled at her and told her hurtful things in the ladies' room...

I get why she hasn't written to me and I respect it. I don't want to hear from her, anyway. I don't want to even think about her after what she's done.

I leave my phone on my bedside table and bend down to open my case and start unpacking. While doing so, my eyes catch my memory box. A weak smile flickers across my face and I feel the urge to open it up. Maybe reading about younger Hannah's dreams and hopes will distract me from my harsh reality.

I take off the lid of the brown-plastic box and take out a small pink notebook. The cover has Hannah Montana's stickers—my idol since I was five years old—glued on it and has words written all over it. Oh god, this little notebook holds so many memories and so much nostalgia...

I actually remember the moment I bought this notebook. I used to drive my mom crazy, asking her to buy me notebooks for me to write stories on them. I recall she refused to do so a million times till she couldn't stand me anymore and was forced to buy them so I would shut up and leave her alone. Being stubborn and annoying is worth it sometimes.

I open the notebook slowly and the first page makes me laugh immediately. It says, This is Hannah Rivero's property. Or rather, Hannah Montana's property (since we share the same name). Do not touch it or open it under any circumstances. Lots of love, Hannah Montana.

I giggle at little Hannah's writing. I can't believe I used to write silly stuff like this, but I guess when you're an innocent child who doesn't know shit about society, the world and its rules, nothing is actually silly. That thought alone sometimes makes me wish I was a child again. But then I remember that I was forced to grow up fast and that seventy percent of the time I didn't enjoy my childhood and that feeling goes away.

I flip through the pages of younger Hannah's mind and halt at a particular one that draws my attention. I hold the notebook closer to my eyes and start reading a long paragraph:

Today... was sad, like every other day.

It was lunch break. I was done eating my ham and cheese sandwich and went to the bathroom to change into my gym uniform. My mom had told me that on Wednesdays I have gym class and I need to wear sweatpants and a loose white T-shirt. Luckily, she puts my gym uniform every Wednesday in my backpack so I don't forget to bring it with me.

So, I grabbed my uniform and went to the bathroom. I took off my skirt and polo-shirt. I was naked (but wearing panties, of course) and that's when it happened. Melissa (the worst human being in the whole world) opened the door and saw me naked. But that wasn't the worst part, because behind her were standing three boys (one of them was Bruno, a boy I really really like, but thinks I'm an ugly fat monkey) and one girl; Anna (Melissa's best friend).

As soon as I saw them I tried to close the bathroom stall's door, but they opened it up again and started laughing, pointing at me and calling me names like: "fat fatty chubby girl". They even said: "Look at her tits, she has bigger tits than the other girls", "Look at her belly. Is that where you store all the fatty ham and cheese sandwiches you eat, Hannah?" And I could go on, but I'm staining the white paper with my tears as I write this.

They were so mean to me. They saw my whole body. They saw my teddy bear underwear and my fat horrible big belly. They saw me... naked. They saw the thing I'm most ashamed of. And I bet they already told the whole class about that, which makes me even sadder.

In moments like this, I wish I was Hannah Montana, like, for real. Her life seems so easy, so... trouble-free. She's everything I want to be when I grow up: a singer, a celebrity and an icon. I want to be just like her. I want her life, not mine. Mine sucks. My whole life sucks.

I hope that when I grow up, the adult version of me can accomplish all that... I hope that the Hannah of the future can live abroad, in the US, in NYC and have everything she wants. I hope she escapes from this prison and is finally free. I hope she doesn't have to put up with stupid-horrible-rude children like Melissa and her stupid crew. I hope she has a best friend like Hannah has Lola. I hope she and her friend can be together all the time and travel the world and do crazy stuff. I wish she had a best friend to trust... and I hope she finds a friend that treats her well and will be there for her all the time.

I wish that for Hannah. I wish her all that.

When I finish reading the whole three pages, I'm left with great tears overflowing from my eyes and I have to close the notebook as I don't want to stain the pages like little Hannah did.

That must've been the toughest thing I've ever had to read. More tears were running down my cheeks as my eyes were taking in the hurtful words a younger me wrote. An awful pain was taking over my chest and then my whole body as I read the misery of a little girl who didn't do anything to deserve it!

I didn't even remember that situation. Or maybe I did, but unconsciously chose not to think about it since this is how I react when I remember the moment my classmates saw me naked... But now that I read it, I remember everything. I remember the ache and the suffering. I remember the uncontrollable crying and the loneliness I felt when I came out of the bathroom, wearing my gym uniform, ready to do sport, but had to go back home since the whole class was looking at my body and laughing as if I were a joke or as if my body was the most hilarious thing they've ever seen. I even remember how I yelled at my mom when I got back home, blaming her for sending me to that shithole of a school. She grounded me and told me to stop lying and faking my crying. I went to my room and cried myself to sleep, waking up in the morning with sticky eyes, a hell of a headache and a broken heart.

Although I remember the whole thing, I still can't believe I wrote this. I can't believe that despite the pain and the sadness I was enduring at that time, I managed to put it into words and tell my journal what I had been through. That must say something about my love for writing.

I open the notebook once again, sniffing as I grab a tissue to dry my tears and blow my nose. I lightly touch the pages where little Hannah described the horrible situation and I have to close my eyes for a moment from the pain and suffering that can be felt just by glancing through these pages. You can actually sense the misery she was wrapped in in the tip of your finger just by stroking the paper...