Proxy [l.h]

1. The White Picket Fence and the Girl I Love

The glass doors of the common room swing open, and I almost fall off my chair as somebody walks inside.

"Hi," I squeak, standing up quickly. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"That's okay. You must be Lissa," the brown-haired man who walked in says, shaking my hand. He wears a friendly smile and a pinstriped blouse. "I'm Ben, Luke's publicist," he explains.

"And this is Luke, as you know already," he adds, and then he turns around and grabs the collar of a lanky blond boy, pulling him into the room. So this is the famous Luke Hemmings.

He's good-looking, tall, and incredibly lanky - just like in the photos - and wears a beanie and black skinny jeans. My eyes focus on his torn-up face in surprise, noticing the scratches and bruises all over his pale skin. I don't even have time to wonder why he's hurt. Luke's blue eyes focus on me immediately, making me feel self-conscious. I smile nervously at him, but he scoffs at me, wearing the most disgusted expression. My smile falters. 

"She looks nothing like her," Luke says sharply. At his words, Ben's lips turn down, displeased.

"She has the same features. The same skin tone, body type, hair colour. I'd say she even looks like a stunt double," Ben argues.

"It doesn't matter. You bringing in some low budget actress to act like Amber: people aren't going to buy it, Ben."

"We'll make it work," the publicist replies calmly, as if speaking to a child.

I'm guessing the pop star and I have just got off at the wrong foot. I can't even look him in the eyes anymore, in fear of him shooting daggers at me.

Behind Luke comes in a very pissed-looking band member with platinum blond-white hair and an eyebrow ring. I recognise him immediately as Michael Clifford. At current state, both of them look very different than the photos from Google. Michael's nose is bleeding, and so is his lip.

And then of course, Ashton. The drummer with the brown-blond curls, and the tan bassist with jet black hair - Calum - enter the room. I offer them a smile that Calum thankfully returns.

Right as they enter, the sound of a melody begins to ring through the room from Ben's back pocket. "I have to take this call, excuse me," Ben says, pulling out the ringing phone from his pocket and leaving the room. He briefly brushes past the two members that just joined us and closes the door behind him.

I take a seat again, my legs shaking. The band members scatter around the room, looking me on with unanimous interest and curiosity. All except for Luke, who shows zero interest.

When I sneak a glance at him, he scoots away from me. No, really, he picks up his chair and moves to the other side of the room. Ashton sighs. Right away I can tell that he is, at least, the mature one out of the group.

"Don't mind him, he's just PMS'ing," A voice whispers in my ear, making me jump. I look up to see the bleach-blond guitarist, who grins down at me.

"Hi. My name is Michael," he says.

"I-I know," I tell him.

The door opens and Ben hurries back into the room as quickly as he left, his phone still at his ear. "It's late and we need to get going-" He says to me distractedly, and I jolt off the chair. He looks at my hesitant expression and adds, "Introductions and tours can be done tomorrow morning. Hurry, the boys will show you your room." Then he motions for us to follow, mumbling something else into the phone.

To my embarrassment, I start walking without realising that Luke's chair is in my way - the one that he had placed in the middle of the room - and within seconds I lose my balance, sprawling on the ground in front of the people I'm trying to make a good impression for. Luke snickers, passing by me with his hands in his pockets. Fighting back the tears that are threatening to form, I think of turning back right now and going back home. But I catch myself in the thought when Michael grabs my arm and helps me up.