About (Harry Styles)

8

"Niall! I just need to have a quick word with her!" Harry Styles' voice rumbles through the phone.

"Elaine," Niall says and I reply that I'm still here. "I'll have to call you back."

"Okay." I say, unsure of what the hell is happening on the other end of this phone call. As soon as Niall hangs up, I look at how long the bizarre conversation lasted.

0:56 blinks on the screen and I laugh. This is completely surreal right now.

Niall Horan just called me and Harry Styles is asking for my phone number. What the hell? Am I in some other dimension where dreams of fangirls come true?

...

It's been about a week since I've been back home and I missed London already. I miss my stuffy, little dorm. Even that old, ugly yellow futon.  It's been so long that I've forgotten the shade of it.  I miss my witty British professors. But most of all, I miss my British accents. The American accents around here seem so dull and full of boastfulness.

This entire week, Niall hasn't even called me back like he promised he would. But I don't really hold it against him. I mean, he has more important things to do than call some random girl who he hung out with just once or twice.

Also, this entire week, I've been so caught up in trying to find a job. Job searching literally sucks. Especially when you're in college and internships don't pay shit.

But most of all, when your best friend finds one first.

Marco found a job at a country club called The Four Seasons.

Go figure.

The guy loves that place. There's vast lanes of green and flag poles and golf carts and rich people. Did I mention I have a strong passion for disliking golf?

His uncle owns a place near Kaukauna which is just about fifteen minutes from Green Bay. The commute isn't so bad and it suits Marco perfectly. He gets discounts obviously, and gets to play for free if he does well.

I do wonder what happened to that golfing opportunity in London. He briskly mentioned it when I asked him, saying that it wasn't a big deal anymore. I didn't want to question it, actually I did but I didn't want to rub salt in his wound if things didn't work out.

"Come on, you'll love it here," Marco enthusiastically says through the phone. "The people are nice, good pay, and flexible hours. I could recommend you to my uncle."

"You really think I could work at that kinda place? You know how bad I am at interacting with people," I remind him.

"You're not too bad," he says unconvincingly.

"Please, the first time I met Harry Styles, I named myself after some plastic material used to transport fragile items," I try to suppress our first meeting by screwing my eyes shut while pinching my nose bridge. A sigh escapes before I retell Marco the story for the fifth time. "It's embarrassing as it is."

"Well, the chances of you meeting him again are slimmer than getting struck by lightning."

"I'd rather get struck by lightning," I sarcastically remark and he laughs quietly. I think he's on his break.

Obviously. Why would he be calling me when he's on shift?

Too bad for Harry Styles that Marco isn't here. I can't tell which direction Marco's feet are pointing. I haven't really put that to the test. Mostly because I keep forgetting but could also subconsciously be that I'm afraid to.

"I'm serious, El," Marco says more solemnly. "At least think about it. Not all jobs can be what we wish for. That's why they're called jobs. They're meant to be temporary. And I know you need the money."

After a brief silence, I hear him say something to someone.

"Look, I think it's time you stop doing those bracelets," he murmurs and I can't believe we are even having this discussion again. "I don't want you setting yourself up for disappointment."

"But there's still a --"

"Chance," he finishes my thought. "You really think he's gonna come back and find you?"

"Yes, he will. I know he will."

"Well then, if that's the case, you need money and I know you have more than enough pride to ask your stepdad."

I cringe at the word. I don't like using the word 'stepdad' for some reason.

"Sorry," Marco quickly says. "I know how much you hate me saying that word but it just slips sometimes. I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay."

I'm glad that Marco understands where I'm coming from. At least someone does. I just don't feel comfortable with calling him my dad, not even stepdad. That's why I refer to him as my mother's husband or Mr. White.

I hate this. I hate the whole concept of money, sometimes. It's freaking paper, people. Why are these pieces of paper so goddamn valuable? It's more valuable than my own life.

I have to give in. I have to take this job. And it's only a summer job which isn't so bad when I think about it.

"Tell your boss I need Saturday mornings off," I rush my words to Marco before I hang up. I can mentally see the ridiculous smile forming on his face right now.

I usually win at times like this with Marco because he backs down easily, but truth of the matter is, I need money. And in order to make those bracelets, money is my solution.

I can only hope that my decision brings me one step closer to the small chance of running into my biological dad.

Author's note:

In honor of reaching 1K reads and 600 followers, I'm updating today! It's currently 2:34 AM and I need sleep! I'm losing sleep for you so better vote/comment! Lol. (;

More mysteries to unravel later in the future!

Tell me, does this story seem realistic to you? I don't want to be writing something that seems ridiculously unreal. :///