oh, anna [-hs]

a pearl

The shots come fast, and as the time ticks by, they seem to keep coming, even though I only got five. After a couple of hours, not only am I absolutely plastered, but so is Harry. He's a happy drunk, laughing loudly at jokes people tell him and dancing around on the table. And boy do people tell him jokes, or just talk to him in general. Since we've been here I don't think I've had a moment alone with him. Everyone wants to meet Harry Styles.

But that's okay. I don't want a moment alone with him. That's why we came in the first place.

Despite this, I can't help but feel a little annoyed every time some model or actress wanders over to grab his attention. He leans into them, laughing, touching their knees. This is by far the brightest I've ever seen him. He's loose. Even when we smoked on my fire escape, or whenever we've been alone, he's never this happy, never this free. They wrap their arms around him, playing with his hair. He's like a Labrador puppy that they're fondling over. He's eating it up. I sit deep in my chair, running my finger around the rim of a shot glass, watching everyone.

Until a figure approaches me. "Quinn?" He calls over the music and chaos of the room. I squint, trying to remember his face through the alcoholic haze I've lulled myself into.

"Oh my gosh, Jack!" I shout and jump up to give him a sloppy hug. He laughs and hugs me back. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same to you, again," he grins, repeating his words from the studio this morning. "How do you know Miley?"

I laugh. "I'm here with Harry," I gesture to the couch. He's preoccupied, hasn't noticed either of us. At the sight, I bite my lip a little too hard and feel a sore form. I turn back to Jack. "Wanna dance?"

We leave the room and make our way outside to the backyard. I take a breath of the fresh air, feeling rejuvenated by it. He does the same. We wander across the back patio, dodging groups of people, until we've found our own little corner of space.

From across the backyard, a DJ plays songs. Everyone around me shouts out the lyrics. The beat is loud in my ears, so loud I hear it in my stomach. With the waves of vodka washing over me and pounding in my head, I jump up and down to the song, throwing my arms up in the air and joining the crowds' loud chant. Jack follows my lead, laughing at my bold display.

Song after song goes by like this, and the night begins to blur. I feel Jack's hands travel from my shoulders, to my arms, to my hips, and I don't mind. I let him touch me while we dance, partly because I know tomorrow all of this will be washed away, and in a few days I'll be leaving this city for home, and none of this will have mattered.

I wrap my arms around Jack's shoulders and we go from jumping, to swaying, to wandering off the back patio hand in hand and sitting against the side of the house, sharing a bottle of water. The night is loud, but oddly muffled. From our vantage point we can see miles of expensive houses, lit in a warm late-night glow. The familiar sound of crickets chirping leaks into the atmosphere.

"So you're from New York," Jack starts, "you're in love with your best friend--"

"Ha," I laugh in his face, drinking from the bottle.

"You are," he grins, watching my features closely. "I saw it in the way you talked about her the other night."

"Yeah, I don't know how it happened," I trip over the words. "But she wormed her way into my cold little heart, and I will never be able to repay her."

He laughs and I offer him the bottle, which he takes, drinking. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and looks out at the hazy, mansion-topped hills in the distance. "Are you spoken for?" He finally asks.