Clandestine {Harry Styles Fanfiction}

Part 2

Second Chapter. Read and Comment :) Please give me feedback below. And if you comment or vote, thank you, I love you ;)

Madeline

                “So you’re, like, from South America?” Ruby, asked me. I remembered her name because her nails matched it; they were claw-like and bright red. She was a model for Burberry, like Isabelle.

                I shook my head. “No. I’m from North Carolina, which is in the Southern part of the U.S,” I said slowly. I was trying to be gracious like my Grandmother but it was proving to be hard when Ruby kept asking me dumb questions. Did she honestly not know where America was?

                “Okay,” Ruby murmured. It was clear that I had just confused her more. She nodded slowly, trying to process the information.

                So far, Ruby was the only person at this party—yes, party, that had actually been nice to me, including my own cousin. The second we had been seated, Isabelle left me alone at one end of the table while she socialized and tossed her hair. Originally, I had thought this was going to be a small get-together with Isabelle’s closest friends. Turns out it was just an excuse for Isabelle to throw a party—there were at least forty people here. Isabelle had only talked to me once—to tell me that I'd "Better not spill anything on that dress. It's Valentino."

If I'd known there would be this many people here, I never would've agreed to come. Isabelle's friends were all so...beautiful. I felt shy and inferior. Most of all, I felt hurt. Isabelle had promised that she'd introduce me to all of her friends, but now she was acting like I was her kid cousin that she was stuck babysitting.

                Ruby—obviously bored with our conversation—got up and left, leaving me alone at the table once more. I was almost relieved; Ruby was about as interesting as a paper bag. I watched Isabelle at the other end of the room. She was obviously trashed; she was on her fifth glass of champagne. But even when she was drunk, she still managed to look like the picture of grace and beauty. She was laughing at something one of her model friends had said. Suddenly, I felt incredibly lonely.

                I didn’t fit in here.

                The heels Isabelle had given me hurt horribly. They were causing my feet to swell. To make matters worse, they were part of the reason everyone was ignoring me. I had tripped and fell over my feet the second I got through the door. I just wanted to rip the sparkly silver material off and throw them at someone’s head.

                My stomach growled, reminding me how hungry I was. Turns out that French restaurants serve the tiniest portions. My meal, although delicious, had left me starving. Maybe that was why Isabelle liked to come here so much. She doesn’t eat. I just wanted a cheeseburger or a cone of Cotton Candy Ice Cream like the ones they sold at the CVS down the street from my Grandparent's house in North Carolina.

                I checked my phone. How much longer was I going to have to be here? I just wanted to go back to Isabelle's flat, change into my footie pajamas with the little reindeer on them, curl up on the couch and watch The Big Bang Theory.

                Ironically, the only person who looked more miserable than I did was Harry Styles himself. He was sitting next to Isabelle with a distant expression on his face. Every couple of minutes he would look at the clock, as if he couldn’t wait to get out of here. He wasn’t talking to anybody and he hadn’t even taken a sip of his champagne. I studied him curiously. His unkemp curls and multiple tattoos contrasted with his "pretty boy" image. I wondered if he knew how to change a tire.