During The X Factor (One Direction)

Chapter 7 - Replaced?

The next three weeks fly by. I had made a deal with my mum that we won’t go to see the show every week, and in return she would give me a pay rise at the bakery. This was a pretty good deal, really, because I’d be able to go shopping with Gemma during our days in London.

I watch the show every week, though. I would curl up on the couch under the purple blanket and stare at the television. I was once tempted to make some popcorn, too, but …effort. Mum knew I wouldn’t answer her, never mind actually use my legs to do chores, so she left me alone for the duration of the programme.

That was perfectly fine by me, obviously, because I was sat drooling over the boys most of the time.

Every show was like a little marker on my calendar, telling me when I could go back to the studio to watch the show live, instead of in our cluttered living room. It was a long wait, but finally, there was one more week of boring college work to do before I could hop on that train to London.

I was most looking forward to seeing Harry again. We haven’t spoken properly for about two weeks. It was rare that he would ring me, so I wasn’t expecting many phone calls, but I had hoped for a text every now and then.

Yet there were none.

A few days before Saturday I decided to text him, something else that’s rare, seeing as the ever-talkative Harry usually messages me first.

I hope you know that I’m skipping Trick or Treating for you! x I had joked, hoping that he would quickly reply and we’d start talking again, but no.

Haha x was all that he said. And it was several hours before I got a reply, so naturally I was exceptionally hard to work with that day (Luckily, I had art and finished early, so few people received the Death Stare).

I messaged him back, but didn’t get a reply. I jumped to allsorts of crazy conclusions, but eventually calmed down and convinced myself it was merely because he was so busy –I mean, he said so himself a couple of weeks ago– so I quickly dropped that thought and filled my head with expectations of Saturdays Halloween Extravaganza.

My mum absolutely loves Halloween. She always goes OTT by decorating the outside of the house too much, as well as the inside, and even the back garden. There are always nets of fake spiders’ webs to walk into around the house.

So, of course, my mum always goes a bit crazy with costumes, too. She doesn’t go out to any parties or anything, she just answers the door and gives out sweets. Actually, we just answer the door, complete in our extravagant costumes.  

She dresses as a witch, the same witch every year. She wears a long black dress with green ribbon crossing across the front and back, along with a long wavy green wig and a big pointy black hat. Her face is always painted white as a sheet, making her look even less recognisable.

Again, I envy her and her hidden identity. I don’t go that far with the spooky attire, I just throw on a black dress and a spider web cape, pin my hair back and paint my lips blood red. I pile on bucket loads of eyeliner and mascara, and if it weren’t for the pale foundation or red lips, you'd think me and Beth (with her permanently orange face and tarantula lashes) were twins.

Mum wasn’t too pleased she’d be missing the trick or treaters this year, but I eventually convinced her by telling her that I will dress up to go watching the show.

I wasn’t going to turn up dressed as a witch or anything like that. It took us a while stood in ASDA, but we finally decided I would go as a black cat. I only had fluffy ears on a hair band and a tail attached to a belt, but it was good enough. I also had to make sure that Gemma was dressing up, so I didn’t feel like a complete fool, but she confirmed that she was going as a witch.

Thank goodness for that, because otherwise I would be the only one on the entire train who was dressed up. It had taken me a while to get mum out of the house and towards the station without her black witch dress, but I had managed it, and she next to me with her stupid pointy hat atop her (thankfully not green) hair.

Apparently, after the first week of the X Factor it was decided that families could go backstage on the Saturday, as well as on Sundays, so we were round there in a flash, straight after One Direction’s performance had ended (they were second last, so it was fine).

We greeted them similarly to the last time, the only difference being that this time Harry barley spoke to me and gave me a one armed hug before turning back to his band mates. I was kind of dazed for about five minutes.

After those five minutes, I was a bit more than dazed. More like catapulted all the way to cloud nine.

“Loving the costume,” laughs someone behind me, and I turn to see Liam the Vampire smiling at me.

My face reddens and I have to look away from his gorgeously deep brown eyes. “Haha, thanks. The vampire look is very…” I scan my brain for the right word, preferably a word that isn’t attractive or sexy, “Very…impressive.” The word slips from my tongue, and doesn’t even sound like a compliment.  

Inwardly, I cringe, but I smile at Liam and he smiles back.

“You did brilliantly tonight.” I say to avoid those annoying awkward silences, “I think your voice is absolutely amazing!” I sound like an obsessed fan, but I quickly compose myself and flick a piece of hair from in front of my eyes.

“You do? Wow, thanks so much!” he says with genuine joy and happiness, smiling down at me. I look away when I begin to think of how people say he never smiles, but he hasn’t stopped smiling yet.

I begin to get really exited, thinking that this is when my plan finally falls into place.

Then, from nowhere, Harry the Vampire jumps between us.

“Nice costume, C,” he says as he plonks himself on the nearby table  “But I prefer the other one, your Gothic look.” He laughs. I feel myself glowing crimson, and it’s slightly reassuring to see that Liam is equally embarrassed. Only slightly, mind.

Harry looks fine. He’s smiling hugely at the pair of us, his legs swinging through the gap separating Liam and me.

He suddenly jumps up, like he’s been electrocuted by a sudden thought,

“Oh yeah! Liam, we need to go back over there, Ted wants a word with us.” Ted is the cameraman (like the one from Grease, I randomly think), so the two vampires leave to join their brethren. 

I sigh, so close, but so frikkin far, again!

I look down and see a phone lying on the table. On the black screen I see dozens of scratches and cracks, and I realise its Harry’s. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when he jumped on the table.

I pick it up and press a button, taking away the black screen to reveal the wallpaper. I prepare to laugh at the horrendous photo Harry put here, one of the first pictures of us ever taken where his hair is a lot shorter and mine is much longer and knotty, my face full of freckles. It was his payback for the purple-face photo.

What I’m looking at, however, is the biggest insult ever.

Our photo has been replaced. Now hanging in the background is a group photo of him and his new best friends, Niall, Zayn, Louis and Liam.

They’re taking over, his new best friends. He’ll forget you, soon…

I hate when I’m right.