16 the war is over
It’s been three hours.
To the exact minute.
I’m waiting outside my van with my arms crossed over my chest. The wind is too strong for this time of year: it flutters the fly away hairs that are sticking to the sweat on my neck. I’m wearing my Picasso shirt I got for Christmas last year.
I glance back to the mansion. Harry’s still not in sight.
I sigh and kick a rock with my Converse. It skitters to a shrub and disappears underneath. I glance at my analog watch again. I told Todd I would be there at precisely four thirty. And the drive is a full four hours and it’s been getting dark early-
Crunching gravel makes my head whip.
Coming up to my van in a very slow and deliberate pace is Harry Styles himself. He’s chewing on something, his sun glasses slipping down the bridge of his big nose. As he smacks his lips around I roll my eyes.
“Nice shirt, Picasso,” Harry tells me rudely. He’s being extremely sarcastic and mean, by the way.
“Nice hair, Rapunzel.”
Harry grunts.
“You’re late,” I grumble and throw my passenger door open.
Harry scowls and says, “No I’m not.”
“Twelve. I specifically said we meet at twelve,” I say and wave my hands around for effect.
“And its TWELVE O’ THREE,” Harry snaps.
“Three minutes late,” I sigh. I plop into the seat of my van and start to lock my buckle.
Harry’s staring at me like the total idiot he is. With the snobbiest look on his rich face he states, “We aren’t driving this thing.”
“This thing is my car,” I say. I kick my feet up on the dash and stare straight ahead at the hills. “And Todd is my brother. So if you don’t like either one of them you can leave Prissy Pants.”
Harry curses under his breath and crawls into the drivers spot. He slams the door unrealistically hard and I glare at him. He pretends not to notice as he picks up the keys I left on the seat and switches the ignition.
“This is stupid,” Harry says just loud enough for me to hear.
Well no duh, Einstein. Putting two enemies in a metal box for eight hours is a bloody stupid idea. I should have never agreed to something so ridiculous.
So much for ignoring the bloke.
Harry jerks ungracefully off of the property. I stick my hand out of the open window and reach for the air that blows by. With my other hand I flip on the music system.
Harry scrunches up his ugly face and whines, “You’re still stuck in the nineties I see.”
I glare over at him. “This song is musical gold. At least it’s got a better name than The Best Song EVER,” I say.
Harry reaches up to shut the stereo off. Then he puts both of his clenched man hands on the steering wheel. The lines around his mouth are really prominent as he glances in the mirror and switches lanes.
I press a button. Voila the music is back in town!
Buzz Killington the Fourth leans forward and kills the tunes.
It’s my turn again and I switch it back to full blast.
The Backstreet Boys are serenading me.
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The Lena Diaries (One Direction Fan Fiction)
FanfictionLena Opal Edwards hasn't spoken to Harry Styles in five years. She's tried her best to forget about her best friend turned enemy. Things changed for both of them after that summer: Lena went to work as a nanny and Harry became one fifth of the famou...
