by Miley Cyrus
My dad’s advice was simpler: “You have to go. This part is meant for you.” (He really has a lot of faith in that intuition of his.) They told me to take my time and think about it really seriously.
So I thought long and hard. Cheerleading wasn’t just my passion. It was my salvation that year. It was the only way I was surviving sixth grade. If I quit and then didn’t get the part, which we all knew was the most likely sequence of events, I’d be left with nothing. But I didn’t plan to be a cheerleader for the rest of my life. This was my chance. And I was scared out of my mind.
I have always believed that the greatest opportunities in life come with fear and risk. I realized that taking the risk was like soaring in a cheerleading stunt and having faith that someone would catch me. Maybe cheerleading had been training me for this moment. I knew it was too much to hope for, but Hannah Montana was my dream role, and it was closer than ever. I wasn’t about to give up now. It was back to L.A.
The dreams that you hold for your future are what you dream about at night. They’re always at the back of your mind. They’re what your heart desires. They keep you going. Accept reality and have a backup plan, but always follow your dreams no matter what.
* * *
This time there were only two other girls in the waiting room. One of them was Taylor Momsen, who had been in Spy Kids 2 and now stars in Gossip Girl. She was gorgeous, with long, blond hair. (Things did not look good for me.) The other one was sixteen years old. I was like a foot shorter than both of them. When I got called into the audition room, I read scenes for the executives over and over again. I sang songs for them. I talked to them so they could “get to know me.” I read more scenes. I sang more songs. I read songs. I sang scenes. I would have hung wallpaper while wearing a tutu if I thought it would prove I was meant to play Hannah.
It was a long day, and finally it was over. My mom, my maternal grandmother (Mammie), and I were staying at the Universal Studios theme park so we’d have something fun to do if the trip turned out to be a bust. Auditions done, we went to dinner at a restaurant there called Daily Grill. We sat down, got our drinks, and I promptly spilled Mammie’s entire Dr Pepper all over my white skirt. (See? Life imitates sitcoms imitating life.)
As I was yanking paper napkins out of the dispenser as fast as I could, Margot called. She and my mother talked a little bit, then my mom hung up and turned to me. “They want us to go back to the studio right now,” she told me. “They want to test you with another girl they have for Lilly. Margot said we should drop everything.” I looked at my Dr Pepper–soaked skirt and said, “I thought I already did.” I couldn’t go like that! But they were sending a car for us! We sprinted back to the hotel so I could change before the car came.
My heart racing and palms sweating (I know. Real Professional.), I tested with the Lilly actress, a sweet girl with very dark hair. She and I whispered excitedly. We were the ones! Weren’t we? It seemed so promising. At the end I thought they were going to tell me I had the part. Instead, they just said thank you and sent me back to Nashville.
At first I made my mom call the agent every day to see if there was any news, but there was never any news. Weeks went by. Finally, we just stopped calling.
The Cafeteria
I never told anyone at school that I was auditioning in L.A., but it seemed like my torturers had a sixth sense about it and knew I was going somewhere. When I came back from L.A. the second time, the girls took it beyond normal bullying. (Can bullying be normal?) These were big, tough girls. I was scrawny and short. They were fully capable of doing me bodily harm. As if they weren’t already scary enough, then they sent me a note threatening me if I showed up in the cafeteria at lunch the next day. I’m not going to give any bullies out there ideas by saying exactly what they threatened. Let’s just say it wasn’t nice. And I know it sounds kind of silly and clichéd to be scared of a little note. You just have to trust me. These girls weren’t messing around.
I’d been trying to handle the bullying all by myself this whole time. I didn’t want to show my fear, not to those girls or to my friends or to my parents. I never cried (in public, at least). I didn’t tell my parents. I tried everything I could think of. Sometimes I tried to defend myself. Sometimes I apologized. Sometimes I just walked away. I always felt alone. But the night I got the cafeteria threat it seemed like Operation Make Miley Miserable was escalating to a new level. More like Operation Take Miley Down. I was so scared that I told a friend from cheerleading about it on the phone. Should I pretend to have the flu? Should I skip lunch? Should I arm myself with a ketchup bottle and prepare for battle?
As soon as I hung up the phone, my dad came into the room. He sat down on the foot of my bed and told me he had overheard my conversation. I rolled my eyes. (The mean girls were rubbing off on me, I guess.) Dad wanted to know what was going on. I showed him the note, and told him I was pretty much scared out of my mind. Still I begged him not to do anything. I knew if he told my mom, she’d call the principal. She’s that kind of mom. If she called the principal, that was it. They’d destroy me. Dad listened, and said he understood. But then he added, “You know I gotta tell Mom.”
I followed Dad straight to Mom and said, “Mom, I will never speak to you again if you say anything.” But I could see from their faces that as soon as I went to bed, they were going to have a Conversation.
I went to lunch the next day, unsure of where the Conversation had ended. What else could I do? If I hid from the girls today, they’d just get me tomorrow. It was like an afterschool special about the runty girl who gets beat up. But instead of having a happy ending with an uplifting message about overcoming adversity, this plot would end with my living out the rest of my days a twelve-year-old hermit, friendless and alone.
As soon as I sat down at my empty table in the loser boondocks of the lunchroom, three girls strutted up and stood towering over me. My stomach churned. I clutched my grilled cheese sandwich like it was the hand of my best friend. It pretty much was my best friend those days. I was done for.
They started cussing me and telling me to get up. (You know, like “Get up and fight!” Aaagh!) I sat there, frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I looked over and saw one of the girls’ mother sitting at a nearby table. A mother! And she was laughing. (Had I entered an alternate dimension?!?) Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t a chicken. What could they do to me? I was surrounded by people. I stood up, still a foot shorter than they were (Why am I a foot shorter than everyone?), and said, “What’s your problem? What did I ever do to you?”
Before they could say or do anything, the principal walked in and interrupted, saying, “Girls!” That one word from the principal and all the kids in the lunchroom went “Ooohh.” (As in: “You’re all in big trouble.”) Talk about embarrassing—and relieving!
It turns out that after the Conversation, Mom had gone ahead and called the principal. At first my mom had thought it wasn’t that big a deal, girls will be girls or whatever, but Dad had told her, “You never know. Things happen in schools all the time.” Of course, that got my mom freaked out. And when it came down to it, I guess I was pretty relieved that my mom had stepped in. (Let’s keep that between us, though.) I honestly don’t know what those girls would have done to me, even with one of their mothers watching it all go down. The principal brought us into her office and forced us to “make up.” As if we’d been in a two-sided argument about who stole whose pencil, when we all knew perfectly well that this was a straightforward case of torturing the innocent.
Only three girls were picking on me that day in the cafeteria, but I got a sense that the other kids enjoyed the show. I’d always gotten some teasing for having a well-known father. Classmates would say, “Your dad’s a one-hit wonder. You’ll never amount to anything— just like him.” I just ignored it. I thought of him as successful and happy with his life. Maybe they thought I was snotty for being proud of my dad (well, he is the most amazing man ever), or for wanting to be my own pe
rson, or for wanting to be an actress and a singer. Maybe they just smelled insecurity. Maybe that was why they singled me out. Whatever the reason, to this day I still don’t know what it was. I probably never will, and at this point I don’t want to.
I don’t really blame my former best friend, Rachel, (Again, names have been changed!) for betraying me. She was never outright mean to me. Honestly, I think they bullied her into dropping me and ignoring me. I like to think I wouldn’t have ditched a friend the way she did, but I have a feeling she was as scared of her new friends as I was—the difference being that she was scared from inside the group and I was scared from outside.
I always find comfort, guidance, and answers in my faith. I turned to my Bible then as I often do now, and found this Psalm.
Psalm 25: 1-2, 5-7
O LORD, I give my life to you
I trust in you, my God.
Do not let me be disgraced,
Or let my enemies rejoice in my defeat.
Lead me by your truth and teach me,
For you are the God who saves me.
All day long I put my hope in you.
Remember O LORD, your compassion
and unfailing love,
Which you have shown from long ages past.
After the talk with the principal, the biggest threat was past, but I was still alone. And after bailing too many times for auditions, I didn’t even have the comfort of cheerleading anymore. I just got by. I started hanging out with some older kids and tried to put it out of my mind, but the bully girls continued to give me a hard time every day. I hated school. I never turned my back to open my locker without being aware of who else was in the hall. I never lingered between classes or after school. Every time I went to the bathroom or walked around the corner, I was on edge. I didn’t feel safe.
The Bottom of the Ocean
Remember Lyric and Melody? Trapped in their bowl? Well, one of the fish died. I’m pretty sure it was Melody. I was upset. I know—weird to get that distraught over something you can’t even pet, but fish were my thing. Then my mom got me another fish. I should have named him Dissonance. He promptly ate Lyric. (A harsh blow!) After that, fish weren’t my thing anymore. I had had enough with the strong picking on the weak.
My perfect fishies were gone, but they taught me something lasting. Since then any time I want to write a song, I tell myself, Think outside the bowl. It’s a reminder to push myself, not to get stuck—not to see the world outside through a glass cage.
“Bottom of the Ocean” started off as a song about Lyric and Melody. But once I began writing, it was about so much more than my silly fish. (No offense to the fish. RIP.) It was about anyone’s dreams, boyfriends, a lost parent, an abusive relationship. It’s saying if there’s someone you’ve loved but for some reason you can’t love them anymore, you have to take your feelings, scoop them out, and put them at the bottom of the ocean. Hide them there, carefully and respectfully, in the one place where they can’t ever be found. “Bottom of the Ocean” is a “good-bye” song, a love song. You’d never think it was about fish. Well, except for the “ocean” part.
My friends turned into my enemies, even my best friend. I had no idea why I was the one they hated or what I could do to make it all better. I didn’t fit anywhere. Where does it all go? All the respect, all the friendship, all the love? I was powerless, lost, just kind of floating, and there was no end in sight. So I did what I talk about in “Bottom of the Ocean.” I put all the losses and pain and fear someplace where no one would find them again, down at the bottom of my own personal ocean. (And if you're wondering about Dissonance—he's long down the toilet.)
And then I got the final call about Hannah Montana. (Peace out, suckers!)
The Call
Not to sound like Susie Sunshine, but it just goes to show, when you are ready to move on or if you come to peace with pain, you’ll find a silver lining. Mine came in the form of a phone call.
I was on my cell (My parents caved and got me some minutes.) with Patrick, one of my oldest friends. He and I had just discovered iTunes, and he was playing some song off his computer for me. Actually, it was “I Can’t Take It” by Tegan and Sara. I’ll never forget it. My mom was nearby in the kitchen and answered the landline when it rang. She screamed so loudly I thought someone had died. Then, a moment later, she started yelling, “You got it! You got it!”
“It” was Hannah. It’s a strange and amazing feeling to get exactly what you want. It doesn’t happen very often, so when it does, your brain is kind of like, Whoa, hold on, what’s the catch? It’s tempting to dwell on what the downside might be or how much suddenly has to get done. But seeing my mom all happy and jumping—yes, my mom was jumping— I finally had to accept that this was just plain good. I told my brain to just be quiet. This was awesome! I had a part! A character that I loved! I’d get to sing and act. It was too perfect. As reality sank in, I started jumping and screaming too. Poor Patrick was left hanging on the other end of the phone. He must have thought a tornado was destroying our home.
The whole morning—my mom answering the phone and screaming that I got the part—makes it sound like I bought a ticket and won the lottery, simple as that. But now you know it was more like a slow-motion lottery, during which there were plenty of opportunities for pain, suffering, and one way-too-long trip to the bathroom. I’ll never forget how it felt to be that girl. You know the one. That friendless girl who sits alone in the cafeteria every day and is clearly just trying to survive, but the other kids go out of their way to pick on her anyway, and half of you feels bad for not doing anything to stop it, but the other half of you is just really, really relieved it’s not you sitting there? That was me. And it was awful.
Getting the part did change everything, suddenly and irreversibly. I was moving forward and leaving the past behind, but I didn’t dare forget the struggle. There was a reason for it. I brought that girl with me, and she reminds me to be compassionate. To not hold grudges. To be supportive. To be there for others when I know I’m needed. My dad likes to remind me of Newton’s third law of motion—that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. For all I’d struggled during that year, for all the hours I sat alone at lunch or retreated to my room, writing songs, there was a balance. A balance in my life, just like there is a balance in the world.
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. You never know what it’s going to look like on the other side, but you’ll see it eventually if you keep your eyes open.
I really believe that.
Here it was—one single phone call that was more than payback for sixth-grade hell. The jumping. The screaming. The madness. (Dad just said, “See? I told you. It’s meant for you.”) I had flown to Los Angeles to audition and/or meet with Disney executives at least four times. I had been too small for the part. I had been too young for the part. They wanted someone taller. Or someone older. Or someone with a better singing voice. Or someone with more acting chops. Or someone with all of the above. They had tried really hard to find anybody other than me for the part. I’d been working and hoping for Hannah and warding off a pack of (well, three) teenage bullies that whole sucky year of sixth grade. I was eleven when I first auditioned. Now, after a year, I really was twelve. (Still not very big, but...) Now, amazingly, incredibly, impossibly, the part was mine.
This had been my dream for about as long as I could remember. But oddly enough, now that it was actually happening, my excitement wasn’t so much about what I’d achieved and where I was going. It was about escaping. I wasn’t thinking, “Great! I’ve got a part in a Disney show! I finally landed something! I’m going to be a big star!” Hannah Montana should have been something I was running to, but instead it was an excuse to run away from what had been the worst year of my life. I was determined to get out of Nashville before starting high school. So when I got that call, it felt like God saving me from an impossible situation. My first thought (after the screaming, crazy, holy heck one, of c
ourse) was, I’m outta here!
Chloe Stewart
Can you imagine being bullied by your classmates, not even having a best friend, then moving to Hollywood and getting to audition crowds of eager girls who want to play your best friend on a TV show? (Yeah, it rocked.) The would-be Lilly I had tried out with months earlier—the dark-haired one I’d hurried to change out of my Dr Pepper–stained skirt to meet?—I never saw that Lilly again.
While the new potential Lillys were trying out, my mom got friendly with some of the casting people. They joked about my dad being a hunk. And my mom joked about how they should bring him out here to play my dad on the show. And then (as my mom tells it) everyone was like, “Wait, seriously?”
My mom sat me down at the kitchen table to talk about it. I loved the idea of having Daddy around, but I was worried that if he got the part, people would think that he’d been cast first and I’d been hired because of him. (After all my hard work!) Dad worried about the same thing. He said, “This part is meant for you. What if I mess it up?”
But we all really wanted to find a way for our whole family to be together. Dad had been in Canada for so long. He was always traveling back and forth. If the show was successful and they decided to make it into a series, then I’d have to move to L.A. Would we uproot the whole family? How was it all going to work? That’s when Mom said, “Well, we’ve talked a lot about how Hannah Montana is meant for you. What if Hannah’s dad is meant for Billy Ray?” We decided to leave it up to fate.
They had already narrowed it down to two potential dads for me—or rather, Hannah Montana. Now they added Dad to the mix. He came in, took one look at the other dad actors, pointed at the best-looking one, and told the producers, “Hire that dude. Make my daughter’s show a hit.” But then they called him in to read lines with me.
