Was it just me or did your closet turn into a clothesless waste land when you really need something to wear? I tightened the knot on my fuzzy white robe and scanned my closet. I don’t really go out and I’m not quite sure what is appropriate attire to go out in.
I could base my outfit on the media and wear a skimpy dress and high heels that will eventually break each of my ankles if I walked the wrong way or I could trust my fashion goddess Emma Watson and reveal less so people could wonder more.
Oh, Emma, you always know how to save the day.
I turned quickly from my closet and headed into the bathroom. I brushed out my brown hair, that looked jet black when it was wet, until it was completely free of knots. After blow drying it and running my flat iron through my thick waves, it looked the most decent it was going to get.
I huffed before marching back over to my closet. I picked out a pair of tight black jeggings, a sheer white blouse, and a black lace bandeau that was completely visible under the shirt. I paired the outfit with a velvety pair of ankle boots and a gold Chanel chain I had saved up my Christmas money from last year to buy.
I sprinted back in the bathroom and swiped cherry red lip stain over my lips and threw the tube into my beaded handbag along with my cell phone and money. And now there was nothing left to do but wait for that mysterious car that Zayn said was going to pick me up.
I sat on my couch in an awkward position, the tightness of the skinny jeans made sitting a challenge. My nervous stomach began to churn and my breathing got deeper. All day I was frantic about tonight. I tried calming myself by doing a multitude of things.
I listened to Ed Sheeren for about an hour, hoping that his voice would somehow subdue all the crazy feelings I was experiencing. And that helped for awhile until I unknowingly watched his music video for his song “Drunk” and saw Harry’s charming smile for a split second.
I drank about a gallon of warm tea. But that only resulted in several trips to the bathroom.
I finished my trigonometry homework. And I’d have to say, that seemed to get my mind off of my nerves the most. The numbers and problems became my first priority and not what I was going to wear to a stupid club with boys I’ve known for less that 24 hours. It almost got to the point where I was sad when I saw that I was finished with the problems I was assigned to finish.
Maybe Louis was right... I was nerd.
My phone rattled on the inside of my clutch and I quickly tore it out. I wrinkled my nose in confusion when I saw the sender of the text message’s name.
From Zayn Malik: Our driver should be at your flat soon J
I don’t recall every giving him my phone number. I don’t recall him giving me his in return. I knew they were in a boy band and they could pretty much find out what anyone was doing at any waking moment of the day, but this was just plain creepy.
To Zayn Malik: Alright... question: how did we exchange numbers?
I quickly sent back and bit my lip awaiting his reply.
From Zayn Malik: We made it a point to add all our numbers when Haz stole your phone, haha.
I assumed “Haz” was some kind of nickname for Harry and immediately rolled my eyes. I pushed myself from off the couch and stumbled to gain footing on my high heels. Sometimes I blame my lack of balance on me being forced to quit ballet. I strolled over to the window and saw a large, black SUV pull up next to the curb of my apartment. A man dressed in a well fit suit hopped out of the driver’s seat and skipped up the steps before pressing a button on the call box. I heard the buzz in my room.
