"You said, no you sang, you sang that everything was gonna be alright. You said that we'll be alright, Harry. But did you mean that?"
Where Belle Olivia Granger encounters five young boys who happen to be in the biggest boyband on the planet, and sh...
When I realize he's talking to me, my face reddens and I turn, focusing my attention on the man. He looks like he's in charge solely based on the phone glued to his ear, the stack of papers in his hand, and the sharp suit adorning his body. "Sweetie," he sarcastically smiles, "I think your management might have gotten the dates wrong. We don't need the models on set until the end of August."
I hope I don't seem rude, but I must when the man narrows his dark beady eyes at me as I start to laugh. I'm truly flattered, however it's hilarious that he thinks I'm remotely pretty enough to be a model. I was about to tell him to cut the cameras dead ass, but something about the darkening of his sharp facial features makes me shut up immediately.
"Sorry, but I'm not a model," I squeak.
He must have really thought I was one, because when I tell him I'm not, all sense of decorum drops from his persona. "Then who the hell are you? How did you get on this set?"
"Um," I start to stutter, something that I never do, but something about this man and his sharp English accent is really intimidating. My eyes begin searching the lush green field behind the man, looking fo anything to focus on other than his cold eyes. That's when I spot them.
A wide smile spreads across my face as I see the boys acting like idiots in front of the camera that's filming them. Off in the distance, I hear what must be One Thing, and to my surprise it's actually really good.
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I watch as the boys break free from each other and start going absolutely crazy, running up and down the hill before Harry jumps in the little car and starts driving it around with Louis and Zayn pushing him. I can hear their screams and fits of laughter from here, and it's so infectious that my cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much.
"I'm a friend of the band," I finally say, brining my attention back to the man when the director yells cut.
He shakes his head, pulling his phone from his ear and putting it in his pocket. "That's what they all say. Can someone get Paul over here?"
Well that hurts. My mouth falls open, and the rest of my face goes slack at the fact that I'm probably about to be escorted off of this set. Paul knows who I am, but something tells me that he's at the liberty of whoever this dick is and won't get much say in whether I get to stay or not. Unfortunately for Mr. Tight Ass here, I'm not going down without a fight.
"Good thing I'm not like the other girls. Can someone get Louis over here?" I pout out my lip and mock the basic stereotype that is overused amongst today's youth. Girls at school make fun of me and call me stupid names that only take one brain cell to come up with, basically always telling me that I fit the stereotype perfectly. All it does is piss me off. I'm just Belle. I'm just me.
