Smacked. (A One Direction FanFiction) **[{ON HOLD}]**

Chapter One

“IF ONLY YOU SAW WHAT I COULD SEE, YOU’D UNDERSTAND WHY I WANT YOU SO DESPERATELY...” The radio blared.

“Ugh, turn that crap off!” I demanded, turning the volume knob to the left.

“Aw, come on!” Kendall complained while pulling into the pizza place’s parking lot. “They’re pretty good. And I’d LIKE to listen to my future husband’s beautiful voice.”

“Kendall. You are not going to marry Niall Horan,” I said, crushing her dreams as I got out of the car.

“I am, too! By the way, we’re flying to New York for one of their concerts,” she admitted, following me into the pizza parlor.

“WHAT?! I  am NOT flying all the way to New York to listen to mediocre music!” I protested. “Besides... I don’t have that kind of money, and the tickets sold-”

“Don’t underestimate my powers. We leave tomorrow at 3 AM. Anchorage to NYC is a very long trip. We have row 1 seats, Angela.”

“Those tickets are $13,000! Don’t expect me to pay you back; I told you. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Daddy’s covering everything. Don’t worry about it,” Kendall informed me. Her father had money running out of his ears, so I didn’t doubt her. I started to panic. I couldn’t get out of this if her father spent over $13,000 on me. She looked at me hopefully.

“Fine,” I let my breath go.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! I looooooooove you, Angie!” Kendall squealed.

“Yeah, yeah...” I muttered.

I was going to New York to see One Direction.

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“Aaaaaaaaaaangie,” a voice spoke to me. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGIE.”

“What do you want?” I growled into the pillow.

“Angie. It’s 1 AM. You have to get up and get ready if you want to make the plane,”

“If I remember correctly, I don’t WANT to make the plane,” I replied.

I looked up. Nobody was in my room. Strange. I went back to sleep.

“SURPRISE!” a familiar voice called out as a bucket of ice water coated me and my bed. I jolted up and looked at the culprit.

“KENDALL TYLER JOHNSON. I HATE YOU. SO MUCH.” She stuck her tongue out at me and pulled me out of bed.

“I hope you packed,” she said, worrying. I grinned at her.

“ANGELA NICOLE CAPRIO.”

“I was hoping I could get out of this,” I admitted sheepishly. She sighed and pushed me into my closet.

“Pick out an outfit for today and pack a carry on bag. Then get in the shower and get ready. I’ll pack everything you’ll need for a week.” She ordered me before walking downstairs to find suitcases.

I sighed as I looked in my closet. It was around 50 degrees in Anchorage during the summer, but I assumed it would be warmer in New York. I pulled out a red high waisted pencil skirt, a black undershirt, and a black and white striped cardigan. I quickly packed up a carry-on and hurried into the shower.

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I glanced at the wall clock as I slipped on my clothes. I quickly brushed my teeth and combed through my hair before applying eyeliner and mascara.