The Foster Girl || Harry Styles

- 7 -

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “I didn’t yell at you.”

“Sure you didn’t,” I joke. She sits up and pushes her hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me.

“What for?”

“Yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and left the way I did. I was just…mad.”

I shake my head. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back like I did. I was just curious.”

She smiles weakly and nods.

“I looked up Melissa,” she admits. “Looks like my mum wasn’t bluffing.”

“Really? What’d you find?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“Not a lot. I found her Facebook profile, but it doesn’t give me much information. I sent her a message, and I’m just waiting for a response at this point.”

She looks down at her lap.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods. “I’m fine.”

“Did you know that’s the most commonly told lie?”

“Seriously. You don’t have to worry about me,” she assures. “I’m gonna go get a shower. Thank you for waking me up.”

I nod and get up to leave her room.

“And Harry,” she adds. I turn back around. “Thanks again for last night. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t showed up.” She pecks me on the cheek and walks into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She just pecked me on the cheek.

***Nicole’s Point Of View***

After getting ready, I had to decide what to do with my day. It’s not like this place is boring. It’s actually very far from it. It’s just that Harry’s kind of my only real friend here. I’m also cyber schooled since I move around so much, so it’s not like there’s anywhere I can meet people. Plus, it’s summer. Of course there’s the rest of One Direction, but I’m not exactly particularly close to any of them. I could hang out with all of them, but I would have to deal with Liam and his flirty personality.

I step outside for a moment, thinking about taking a walk in the garden. That’s when I realize that it’s scorching hot. I look at the pool and smile before running upstairs to my room. I change into a purple and white polka dot bikini and grab a towel.

I notice my reflection in the mirror on my way out and bite my lip. I always hated wearing bathing suits. I’m not insecure about my body or anything, it’s just that I’m covered in scars and bruises. Many of my past foster families have abused me, and the evidence covers my skin. I ignore it for now, figuring no one would care, and head back downstairs.