The Replacement || h.s.

33. Done {Franz}

33. Done {Franz}

“Rainy Season” by Hunter Hayes (preferably, the Jennette McCurdy cover – put it on replay because it’s too short; if you want to listen to the original version, just click the external link).

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The boys and some of the security (including me and Sheila) stayed behind in America while the others went back to London to prepare for Australia after September. The lads’ coming album was going to be wholly written and recorded here in Los Angeles.

But before that, they were in an interview right now in some tv show (well, I don’t really care what show because I don’t watch the telly that much – except for replays on HIMYM). Sheila is part of the audience while I’m stuck with waiting inside the van, because I just can’t deal with screaming girls right now. I have to make my ears rest for a month because I’m given the chance.

But, something bad is going to happen today, I just feel it.

I was listening to music again, tapping my finger on the steering wheel along the beat. The driver’s window was rolled down so I could watch people walk by and give me weird looks as I sing aloud the lyrics. Yeah, whatever – they’re just jealous; I’ve got pure talent.

The music ended when my phone buzzed an incoming call. I slid answer.

“They’re coming out,” I hear Sheila’s familiar voice and the line disconnected.

Immediately, I rolled the window up, turned the engine on and drove from my parking space a few buildings away towards the show’s building. Our second van followed me. Photographers were starting to crowd on the entrance and I pray hard that the van won’t be too far for them. American paparazzi could get really...harsh. And the fans with their posters and merchandise were starting to chant/sing one of their songs.

The blinding white lights started flashing when they came out of the exit, their shades on and looking like today’s just another time to spend with the camera (c’mon, they look like runaway ramp models). The securities were shielding them from the sides and front, and Sheila was right behind them, with Zayn clearly holding her hand. The paparazzi threw incoherent questions that seemed all over the place.

Man, I don’t even want to mention any one of the questions.

I heard the door slide open and the usual sound of people climbing inside. I gripped my hand hard on the wheel, watching them through the rear view mirror. Lastly came inside Zayn and the door closed. I pressed long and hard on the horn and many of the people jumped aside to give as space to drive through. It took a few minutes before we finally managed to get out of the swarming crowd. We were heading to the studio so the boys can start the writing and recording session.

“Everybody, don’t move,” Sheila said suddenly.

In the rear view mirror I watch her reach over from the last row of seat to the seats behind me, and then she slid herself to the second row, almost hitting Louis and Niall in the process. And then finally, she extended her right barefoot leg and landed it on the seat beside me and sat down, bringing her other leg in.

“The shoes,” she called.

Harry threw them to her one by one, and she neatly caught the pair. After wearing it, the people at the back went back to their usual business like nothing happened.

-:-:-:-

Harry’s head landed on my arm, his lock of curls brushing me softly. It made my heart stop. I turn to look at him, saying, “Oi, boy, don’t go all sentimental on me.”