Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Twenty One

Abi flicks a look to me.

"You're getting me in trouble," I whisper to her, playfully narrowing my eyes to the girl. She snickers and her smile has my heart folding in on itself.

"Well, Riley, seeing as you seem so enthused today," Harry says, sauntering over to me with a wild and amused gleam to his eyes. "You can pick a song."

I swallow, my smile having dropped from my face.

I feel like I was back at school, being called out for chatting at the back of the class by an old crotchety teacher.

"A song? What sort of song?" I mumble.

Harry lifts a brow. "Something that you listen to when maybe you've had a tough day," he's speaking loud, so that everyone can hear. "Something that gets your blood pumping. Something that speaks to you," he eyes me with a Harry stare. "Something to dance to."

Abi groans. "The only thing worse than singing. Dancing!"

Harry chuckles at her reluctance.

"Music can help us express our emotions when we struggle to understand them. It can help us work through difficult feelings. But also, sometimes, it's just there for dancing to. So go ahead Miss Smith, take your pick."

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping to convey that I'd get him back for this. He merely shrugs, as if to say 'do your worst'.

I take the phone from him, eying his Spotify, tempted to get a quick glance at what he'd been recently listening to, but instead go to the search bar.

I flick my eyes to his, seeing him watching me patiently, his arms crossed. I look to Abi, who looks bored to death, and little Fabian who's still laying on the ground - perhaps having given up participating altogether in favour of taking a nap.

Suddenly, I realise the power of having the choice of music in my hands, and am reminded of a time years ago when Harry had scoffed and been appalled at my music taste. I remember slapping a pink holographic sticker to the dash of the van. A sticker that's still there.

I smirk as I type, and when the opening beats of the song sound out - loudly - through the room, Harry belts a full laugh as he instantly recognises the song.

Crazy in Love by Beyoncé begins playing, and quickly Harry is turning back to the projector where the lights quickly change from placid and slow to vibrant and pulsating.

"Dance!" Harry shouts to the the young children - too young I realise to even know this song let alone appreciate it.

The kids are looking between one another and back to Harry and I, not moving a muscle.

Harry turns to me, a large grin pulling at his cheeks.

"Come on Buttercup, let's show them how it's done."

And then he's grabbing my hands, pulling them around and spinning me. I laugh, allowing him to guide me around - the same way he had done in my living room two weeks ago.

But I wasn't as hesitant to join in this time. If I couldn't dance in front of these kids - couldn't be myself and throw embarrassment to the wind - then I'd never be able to.

I wiggle around frantically, Harry doing the same with some rather enthusiastic arm movements. When suddenly, between the two of us, a little mess of blonde curls pops up - Fabian, arms above his head, hips swinging around.

"That's it Fabian!" Harry cries approvingly.

I turn to Abi, who's doing her best to look unimpressed. The others have already joined in - some of the younger ones skidding and rolling around on the floor, others hopping up and down or attempting to copy Harry's moves.