I Do

Chapter 1 *January 28, 2010*

-Hallie-

"He's looking over here again." I cast my eyes behind the counter and, momentarily, they meet his bright, twinkling green ones. Then mine flit away, back towards my best friend.

"Let him," she replies frostily, nibbling at her chocolate scone. As usual, Arabella is indifferent that she's caught the attention of yet another boy. With her honey-blonde curls, flawless skin, and large blue eyes, she practically sparkles. She draws in boys like a flower attracts bees. Only this time, though she'd never realize it, her admirer is more than 'just a boy'. At least to me.

I'm not sure when I first noticed Harry. For a while he just blended in, like most people tend to do when you're friends with Arabella. He's an attractive boy, even with the slight scatter of acne across his forehead, he has a brilliant sense of humor and he's simply... lovable. Nowadays, his enchanting smile and adorable curls send my stomach butterflies into a frenzy, but for years he just never seemed to stand out.

A few months back, I remember clearly, his friends taped his hand to a desk while he was dozing in class. When he woke up, after glaring at them and ripping it off, he glanced back in my direction and our eyes connected. It was then, for the first time, that I got a swooping feeling in my stomach just from looking at him.

Ever since, Harry's just been a little more there. When he saunters into the cafeteria, I sit up a bit straighter. When he lazily taps his pen on his desk during class, I can't conceal the smile spilling over my lips. And when our eyes make contact, cold chills run down my spine.

"I think he likes you." I grimace as I say it, the words sour in my mouth. Why wouldn't he, though? Everyone likes Ara. It would be much less heartbreaking if I gave up on him now.

"Fancies me," she corrects. "You're such an American."

My cheeks burn as I fix my gaze on a napkin. In the three years that I've lived here in Holmes Chapel, Britain has become a home to me. I've adopted their accent and as much of their vocabulary as I can. It's hard, though, after living for twelve years in America.

"Right, fancies you," I mumble. I honestly don't understand why she finds it necessary to point out my littlest mistakes. It's not as if 'like' is some sort of forbidden word here.

"Well, whether he fancies me or not, there is no chance in this lifetime that--- oh, God he's coming over here." I jerk my head up, gaping as Harry approaches us. Even though I'm painfully aware that he'll most likely ignore me, considering we've hardly spoken, my heart starts beating erratically.

"Hi, Hallie," Harry greets me, his slow, sleepy voice more quiet than usual.

I grin widely, my cheeks suddenly flaming. Please avert your attention to Arabella. Please, I beg silently. His eyes linger on mine, then shift to my friend, who is purposely ignoring him. Wait, look at me again, I think desperately.

"Arabella?"

She arches an eyebrow at him. "Yes?" Her voice is icy, flat.

"Erm, so basically I was wondering if you'd ever like to... to go out sometime." He looks at her hopefully and falters under her venomous glare.

"Listen, Harry, I'd like to make something clear," she announces sharply. "I'm terribly sorry, but you and I... we don't go together. I don't in any way fancy you. So no, not at all."

Besides her looks, her confidence, and her many past relationships, there's one more thing Ara's known for. Breaking hearts.

He flushes and a piece of my heart splinters off. I feel a sudden urge to stand up and hug him, comfort him. But Ara rises from her own chair, daintily plops down her half-eaten scone, and flounces out the door of our village bakery.

Biting my lip, I sweep my crumbs onto my napkin and drop it into the trash can on my way out. Unable to resist, I swivel my head back and lock eyes with him once more, wishing I could shout out what I really want to say.

*2 1/2 Years Later*

I'm jealous. The fiery, bitter, heart-shattering kind of jealous that barges into you and starts chipping away at your sanity.

I sprawl across my fuzzy grey carpet, glaring up at the subject of my jealousy: Arabella. Now, there're plenty of reasonable things I ought to envy Arabella for, but this isn't one of them.

See, over the years, I've blossomed. My boring brown hair is more gloss and less frizz. My braces have been removed, leaving behind sparkly white teeth. My skin is smooth, for the most part, and my curves have rounded out. All in all, I've become somewhat... pretty.

But Arabella was already gorgeous. So her version of blossoming was going from cherry blossom to, well, cherry blossom tree. Her heart-shaped face is heartbreakingly pretty, her thick golden locks are flawlessly straight (or curly, depending on how she styles them) her clothing is far more stylish, and if anything, her confidence has doubled.

"Yes, obviously we'll be there. Oh my God, I absolutely can't wait to see you," she murmurs coyly into her phone. "I love you too."

And there you go. I could wish I had her figure: a full ten pounds lighter than me but still a cup size larger. I could want her amazing home or brilliant wardrobe. Her stunning looks or ability to flirt. But I'd sacrifice any of that for her boyfriend.

There. It's out there. And please believe me, I'm not proud of it. Every time I catch my brain fantasizing about his sparkling green eyes or precious curls, I want to slap myself silly. Something about him, no not something, everything about him just captures my heart.

"Guess where we're going?" Ara's voice is bright and I immediately perk up. She doesn't hesitate for my answer. "Disney World! And then some fort for a concert and after-party."

My jaw drops and I leap off the ground, twirling happily. "Back to America!" I exclaim excitedly. "I'm invited too?"

"You have to come," Ara assures me solemnly. "The only other girl there will be Eleanor." She scowls. For whatever reason, she and El have issues with one another. El considers Ar a spoiled snob, and Ar thinks Eleanor's overrated and, in her words, not even pretty. The entire situation is awkward, really, and completely bewildering.

"I'll go," I agree quickly. "But... I'll have to convince Mum." The delighted smile fades from my lips. My mother is friendly (well, occasionally), but extremely protective. She snorts. "Honestly, Hallie, you're an adult. You've got to move out already."

My cheeks redden. "Well excuse me for not having a boyfriend to share a flat with," I retort defensively. My eyes scan her beautiful living room and the jealousy bubbles up again.

"Get one, loser." Giggling, she chucks a pillow and it narrowly misses my face. I shield myself, fumbling for my phone.

"Shoot," I mutter, catching a glimpse of the time. "I'm late. Let's go."

She bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable. "Listen, Hal? I promised Harry I'd Skype him, so..."

I force myself to grin. "Right, of course." Snatching a clean shirt from my closet, I yank on my work clothes as she prattles about how annoying it is for your boyfriend to constantly expect your attention. I bite my lip.

"Um, hold on a moment," I interrupt sharply, realization suddenly dawning on me. "I've been saving all year trying to afford a flat by my university. There's no way I can afford a trip to America."

She rolls her heavily made up eyes and heaves a sigh. "Don't be an idiot. Harry, the member of a world-famous band, is going to expect us to pay. That makes complete sense." I quirk an eyebrow and she continues, "I've already asked him to reserve an extra hotel room and plane ticket. I'll be staying with him, anyways, and one extra room shouldn't be that expensive. Certainly not out of their price range, and besides, the tour people might pay for it."

I cringe as I pull my thick locks into a ponytail. I hate to accept that Harry and Arabella are an actual couple, but it's true. He genuinely adores her and most fans fully support Harabella. He does all sorts of romantic things with her, like pecking her cheek at random moments or sending her bouquets. Picturing them together in a hotel room late at night, however, is a little more mentally scarring than I can handle.

I wish Ara goodbye, blowing her a quick air kiss before heading towards W Mandeville. It's pathetic, but somehow standing in the cozy, bright bakery, leaning against the counter with my head propped on my hand exactly like Harry used to makes me feel a certain... connection to him. Which is why, the moment he left to compete in the X-Factor, I applied for the job.

Going to America will be difficult. Watching Harry and Arabella kiss, and laugh, and hug, and dance, and joke, and smile, and talk, and be painfully sappy will be practically unbearable. But I suppose I'd rather see Harry Styles's breathtaking green eyes staring lovingly at my best friend than not see them at all.

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Hey lovelies! I hope you liked it!

VOTE&COMMENT. DO THEM BOTH. A LOT. AND I'LL LOVE YOU <3

MWAH