The Girl Next Door

Take It On

Torture, day three. All my friends and my family were probbably lying on a beach somewhere with shades and spray tan on, while I was freezing in a jumper in the middle of August.

"Hey, Car," mom shook my head the next day at breakfast. "Cheer up. The rest of your things are coming today."

"Is that supposed to bring me joy?" I replied, putting my dark brown hair back the way it's supposed to be. "There's still more than two weeks until school starts. Why couldn't I just stay back home?"

"Because it's good for you to get to know the neighbourhood. You know, make friends?" easier said than done.

"Make friends? Mom, did you see where do we live? Richie Stuck Up RichVille." She sneared. "Our next door neighbour is in a boyband, and I'm pretty sure I saw Oprah on the way here."

"Tell you what," maybe there was still hope. "You'll be eighteen in a few months, right?"

"Right."

"And you'll be moving out and going off to college anyway." she continued.

"Yes, but what does that have to-"

"If you can come up with let's say... 20.000 pounds, you're free to go anywhere." Boom! Just like that, all hope was gone. "It should cover an apartment, tuition, plane tickets... Maybe even an used car."

"20.000 pounds?" I protested, getting up from the table. "But, I've never even seen that kind of money."

"Maybe you should start saving up. Or get a scholarship." she went towards the door. "Oh, you should get a job." she said before slamming it directly at my face.

"Cruel." I thought. "Cruella DeVil." How are we even related?

I ran up to my room, nearly falling. Only once. That was an accomplishment for me. I sat on my bed, taking out my bupmer sticker covered guitar.

"Huge houses, spoiled brats, expensive cars, annoying cats," I sang. "Boyband singers, Richie Rich, bad weather, all so kitsch. If I don't rob a bank, I'm stuck in here forever, and I'm not going home, not now, not ever." 

"Maybe I should rob a bank? It's the only way I'm ever getting home." I sighed. I'm not the brightest pea in the pot, so there's no way I'm getting a scolarship. I spent all of my savings on my new guitar. And who's crazy enough to give a job to a teen? A loud noise echoed around the house, disturbing my "deep" thinking. I came down to realise it was coming from the back door.

"We have a back door?"

I opened it, only to find that Harry guy stairing at me again. He was sweaty, like he just ran the NYC Marathon. 

Disgusting.

"Hi,-" he said in a surprisingly slow accent I failed to realise the last time he "barged in". 

"How the heck did you get in my backyard?!" I nearly screamed at him, cutting him off.

"Uhm, let's just say I was on really good terms with the previous owner." he was holding a pair of keys in his giant hands. "You probabaly want these back." I grabbed them out of his hand before he even handed them to me. "Look," he looked around himself like he was being chased by zombies. "This is probbably going to sound weird, but... Can I stay hide here for a while?" he helped himself in without another word. 

"Yeah, sure, help yourself in. It's not weird at all." I mumbled in a sarcastic tone. "So," he was looking trough the blinds on the front window like he's starring in a Hitchock movie. "You flew into my house. Don't I get some kind of explenation?"

"Would you laugh if I said I was being chased?" I burst into laughter.

"By who? One of your fangirl followers?" he nodded.

"So you do know who I am?" I crossed my arms, pushing him away from me.

"Stop changing the subject, Styles. Isn't it?" he sighed.

"Well, they're maybe surrounding my house. And they maybe followed me here." Zombie apocalypse. A mocking giggle escaped from my mouth. "I'm guessing you're not a fan."

"Five points for boyband boy!"

"Chicks dig boybands."

"Not this one." I realised he was looking at me. "I'd rather be dipped into hot oil than listen to cheezy boybands. I wouldn't date you if you were the last person alive."

"So you're a hater." he pouted his lips.

"Not really. I respect you, but-"

"I respect you for respecting me."

"I respect that." he looked at my guitar. I realised I've brought it with me. Too late. He picked it up, and started playing. The beats were so irritatingly familliar.

"Baby, you light up my world like no body else." I covered my ears. "The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhellmed. But when you smile at the grou-" I jumped on him, taking the guitar out of his hands. 

"Sorry, but even having you in my kitchen is bad enough."

"Most girls would be jumping up and down from excitement."

"I'm not most girls." I got up from the floor where he was lying.

"I'm getting the idea you don't really like it here."

"Nope." I answered, emphasizing the 'p'. He looked at me like he wanted to hear more. I sighed. "My stepdad got a job here so my mom and me had to move. And now if I don't come up with 20.000 pounds, I'm stuck in here until the day I die."

"We're back!" Chris, my stepdad and my mom entered the house. "Who's this?" She looked suprised. Well, this was the first time there was a guy in our house. Not by my choice, but he was here.

"I'm-"

"Just leaving." I continued, escorting him to the door.

"Did anyone tell you that you're really polite?" the sarcasm in his voice was more than obvious.

"I get it quite a lot." I shoved him out the door without a single regret. 

"Oh yeah," he was already out the door when he peeked around it. "I heard your little 'show' earlier. Maybe you'll considering closing your balcony door once in a while? You're good." he smiled. Should I be happy because a chart-topping artist just said I was good? If it was Ed, or at least Biebs, I would. Not Styles. "'Puzzle', this cafe´ a few blocks away is looking for a guitar girl. You should consider applying." he winked at me before dissapearing in the night. 

"Can't he just fall into a hole already?"