Hi :)
As promised, here is Part 17 :)
Madeline
In every adventure I’d ever read about, there was always a part where the main character realized how much their life had been turned upside down. As I walked down the busy, bustling streets of Sydney, I had that moment.
How was it, that six months ago, my idea of an adventure was going five miles over the speed limit on Interstate 77, and now, somehow I’d ended up in Australia? What was even more miraculous, was that in Sydney the sun actually existed. In London, you could go weeks with nothing but clouds and rain and fog and some snow to break the cycle of more clouds and rain and fog.
“Like in the Wizard of Oz, when the landscape changes from black-and-white to vibrant colors,” I explained the sensation excitedly to Kate, as we moved down the sun soaked streets arm in arm, dodging people on bicycles.
Kate nodded in understanding, “Or like in the Hobbit, when Bilbo realizes that his life won’t ever be the same after his journey from the Shire,” she chimed in.
“Lame. Can we just take the Lord of the Rings references and put them in a dark closet where no one can find them?” Angelina asked, popping up on my other side and bumping my shoulder with hers.
“Can we put you in a dark closet?” Kate snipped, just low enough so that Angelina could hear without directly speaking to the taller blonde.
I stopped paying attention right before Angelina’s snarky reply. Instead I admired the city around me. Blue sky peeked over the tops of the buildings. Warm air brushed through my hair and picked up the threads hanging from my cut-off shorts.
It was such a perfect day.
We had three hours to kill between studio rehearsal and sound check and I’d begged the girls to come with me and explore downtown Sydney. I peered in the window of every shop and restaurant and bar that contoured the streets, my attention lingering on the display at a bridal shop. Ivory dresses in every fabric from lace to tulle were draped over mannequins. It reminded me of the photograph of my Grandmother and Grandfather on their wedding day. I couldn’t even dream of my wedding day, it was so far off. But there was one thing I knew, and that was that I was not going to wear an elaborate, expensive gown. I was going to wear my Grandma’s dress, outdated as it was. I had made my mind up about that long ago.
You make me happy, he’d said, lying next to me on the middle of an empty beach, with the entire sky stretched over us like a blank mural, ready to be painted.
“What’s his name?”
My eyes darted from the window display to Angelina’s questioning gaze. She removed her Ray Bans from her eyes and perched them on top of her wispy blonde hair, revealing raised eyebrows.
“Huh?”
She gave me a knowing smile. “What’s his name? The boy you’re pining after.”
My eyes widened. “Oh. No, I--” I shook my head fervently, feeling my cheeks flush their usual embarrassed pink.
“Yes, you are. I know that look. You are in love.” Angelina hooked her arm through mine and pulled me away from the bridal shop. The other girls exchanged coy giggles.
“See, you’re blushing. Go on, spill.” Quinn directed my attention to my reflection in a store front. My cheeks were wearing their trademark rosy hue.
“Is it a boy from your home in Alabama?” Angelina asked eagerly.
“She’s from North Carolina.” Kate was quick to correct Angelina, who waved her off.
“Same thing. Is he a cowboy?” Angelina continued to question me, “Is he in university?”
I shook my head and giggled, staring fixedly at the dried gum that decorated the brick sidewalk underneath our feet.
“Maddie!” Quinn whined, displeased at my unwillingness, “Tell us!”
“Does he drive a tractor? What’s his name, Buck?”
“Is it Wilbur? Or, I know! Clive!”
“Rowdy? Shane? Tex?”
Sima began sprouting all of the cowboy names she could think of. A lady wheeling her son in a stroller turned and gave us a peculiar stare.
I laughed and laughed as they tried to think of more rancher names, calling them out in what was supposed to be a southern drawl between giggles.
“Let’s go in here,” I pointed to a small souvenir shop with the Australian flag strung across the window. A bell dinged as I pushed open the door and the other girls trailed after me, still snickering.
“She needs to buy a postcard for her booty call,” teased Quinn. I rolled my eyes good naturedly at her banter, before spinning the rack that displayed all of the colorful cards. I selected a shiny one with a pretty picture of the Sydney Opera House. I wanted to buy postcards, just not for anyone named Buck.
“I can’t believe this is our only day in Sydney.” Angelina moaned to no one in particular.
“It isn’t. We come back the second of March. Didn’t you read the schedule?” Sima asked, running a finger over the carved wooden boomerangs.
“No,” huffed Angelina in return. She flounced away.
I chose three postcards for Thalia, Diego and Violet back in London. The postcard I’d decided on for my Grandfather made me giggle; a Kangaroo riding a motorcycle. I could picture him putting it on his fridge with magnets shaped like cardinals and blue jays. My Grandfather liked birds.
Come to think of it, I should probably get him some magnets, I thought to myself, and picked out a pack of ‘Landscapes in Australia’ magnets.
My fingers hovered over the last postcard I’d selected, wondering whether or not to put it back. It was a picture of the harbor at night with the city lights reflected on the rippling water like Christmas tree ornaments. The very same view I’d admired last night.
I wasn’t sure if I should send a postcard to Isabelle. I didn’t know where exactly I stood with her. I was so torn, torn between wanting to believe that Isabelle would never do something like what she did to him, to Harry, and knowing deep down inside that something in her had flipped. The Isabelle that I knew would never have used someone the way she did. But that was just it; did I really know Isabelle? Was she really the same girl that I’d grown up with or had she changed?
I was so confused. I didn’t want to lose her, lose the person that was the closest thing to a sister to me. But I’d seen the look of anguish in his eyes. I saw how lonely he’d been, how fearful he was of disappointing the people he loved. Didn’t she care? She had to care…
I cared. I cared a lot. Too much.
And what had she meant when she said that I was digging myself a hole?
I brought the postcard and the rest of my souvenirs to the checkout desk, deciding to buy the postcard before I changed my mind. Sima bought me a navy blue baseball cap with ‘Australia’ scrawled on the front, and stuffed it on my head. Quinn purchased a skimpy bikini with the Australian flag on the bum, claiming she planned to wear it at our next stop in Gold Coast. Angelina, not to be outdone, bought the same one.
Soon we were leaving the cramped souvenir store and stepping back out into the sunshine. I gripped the handle of the plastic bag that held my keepsakes as we crossed the street, heading towards the circular quay overlooking the Sydney Harbor. Restaurants and clubs lined one side of the street, while the other looked out over the ocean. Yachts of all different sizes were docked along the ferry quays. Birds wheeled overhead and the smell of the sea met us.
Plants with flowers the color of lavender silk were décor in the small park next to a jewelry stand. Or rather the jewelry stand was next to the park.
“I love those flowers,” I brought Sima’s attention to the delicate flowers by whispering in her ear.
“Me too,” she whispered back.
“Can you take our picture?” Kate asked one of the young men sitting on a park bench. He raised his eyebrows at how presumably touristy we looked, but quickly agreed. She handed him her phone.
We stood smiling with arms wrapped around each other and backs pressed against the railing, with the view of Sydney Cove behind us. I was in the middle, with Sima and Kate on my left and Quinn and Angelina on my right. I was sure from the guy’s perspective we must have looked like a bunch of University girls enjoying their Spring Break. I bet he wouldn’t believe me if I told him that I hadn’t known these girls three weeks ago.
After Kate had retrieved her phone from the man and thanked him, we circled back around towards the hotel, chatting about tonight’s show. As usual, I felt inexperienced next to the rest of the girls, who had all worked as back up dancers for all kinds of big names. I was nervous, like I’d been when I danced at the Jingle Ball. My stomach was in knots, fluttering fretfully.
The other girls had to return to the hotel to pack, but I didn’t, simply because I’d never unpacked. I’d rather avoid the scramble, which would inevitably turn into an argument between Angelina and Kate, who continued to dislike each other. Instead, I was going to head back to the venue, write letters on the backsides of my postcards, and ask someone how to send them to my friends and family back in the Northern Hemisphere. Or at least, that was what I told the other girls I was going to do.
I knew deep down the real reason I wanted to go back early was to see Harry. But to admit that to myself was to admit defeat, because then I’d be giving up trying to resist the draw he had on me; the unexplainable way that his effervescent green eyes affected me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the feelings to go away. It was a tug of war that I just wasn’t going to win.
But that didn’t mean I should stop trying.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in, Maddie? We have time to go swimming,” Sima suggested as we neared the hotel. Teenage girls were loitering around the entrance, with smart-phones out and ready to snap pictures.
“Why waste time in the pool when she could be writing love letters?” Angelina teased with a nudge. I fought the urge to sigh; Angelina had it all wrong. We didn’t really have any cowboys in the small suburban town I’d grown up in. But she seemed to think it was funny, so I just giggled along with the rest of the girls.
They disappeared through the elaborate doors that lead into the hotel. I took a cab to the arena. There were so many road blocks that the driver had to drop me off a block away, and I walked in the muggy heat the rest of the way, not that I minded. Victor from the security team recognized me, and let me past the barriers surrounding the venue.
There were more of those light purple flowers around the front and sides of the building. There were other flowers too, but the color and detail of those ones caught my eye. I stopped to smell them for a second, holding my hair away from my face as I knelt down. They smelled extraordinary.
The cicadas hummed as I took the worn path of trampled grass around to the back of the giant building, praying that someone from the crew would let me in. Sure enough, there were a couple of stagehands and lighting techs milling around on the hot asphalt outside the back with the buses. The stadium’s huge air conditioners revved and whirred as the men carried the last pieces of stage equipment through the loading dock.
One of the sound engineers on his cigarette break saw me and held open the door with a smile. I thanked him, before stepping inside to the backstage hallways that connected the many dressing rooms. They were completely abandoned; everyone must’ve still been at the Meet and Greet upstairs. My shoes squeaked against the tile as I made my way down the long line of doors until I found the one with the white and black sign that said Authorized Personnel Only. Taped under it was a white sheet of paper with One Direction and 5SOS printed on it. My hands pushed open the metal door, which was unlocked. I had to get the stamps I’d purchased earlier at the hotel and my favorite purple pen from my bag.
The carpeted room was large, and filled with couches and racks of clothes and open duffle bags. A mini bar sat on the far end of the room and a foosball table was pressed against a mirror. More doors to private dressing rooms lined the walls. It was completely abandoned.
Still holding open the door with my foot, I peered around the room. A game of Australian baseball was playing on the flat screen TV, but no one was there to watch it. How odd.
“Hello?” I called out into the empty room, placing my hand against the cool doorframe. The ceiling fan ruffled the tips of my hair.
Something brushed my hand and I whirled around with a start, running smack into the person standing behind me. The object that he was holding fell to the carpeted floor with a loud clatter and I gasped when I realized it was a guitar.
“Oh no!” I dropped to my knees next to the acoustic guitar, praying that it wasn’t damaged. Why did I have to be so clumsy? “I am so, so sorry,” I apologized to the boy I’d accidentally run into, who knelt beside me.
“It’s all good,” he said with an untroubled smile. His eyes met mine and he sat back on his heels, running his hands over the acoustic guitar, “It’s not damaged. Not even a scratch.”
He plucked one of the strings and it let out a loud twang, “It’s knocked a bit out of tune, though.” He laughed as my eyes darted worriedly from the shiny guitar, still lying on the floor, to him.
I tugged at the hem of my light pink shirt, sure my cheeks were probably tinted the same color. My head dropped in embarrassment.
“Really, s’okay,” he said softly, his eyes roaming my face, “It’s not even mine, anyway. I’m Michael.”
“I’m Maddie, hi,” I shyly spoke. He offered his hand out over the guitar and I shook it. His fingers were callused but warm.
“I…here.” My hands gripped the neck of the guitar as I held it out to him. He took it with one hand. I stood and he did the same.
“Thanks.” He mussed his already messy hair so it was standing straight up but made no move to walk away.
“I was just going to grab some stuff from my bag and then I’ll be out of your way,” I said, gesturing towards my dance bag which was slouched between Quinn and Kate’s.
“Alright,” he leaned against the doorframe.
I turned and crossed the room towards my overstuffed bag, which I’d left at its spot earlier that morning, before I’d left with the other girls.
“You weren’t in my way,” Michael called across the room as an afterthought. I looked back to see him still standing where he was before and I giggled. As I knelt by my bag, he left his position and set the guitar on an empty guitar stand, next to the foosball table. He leaned against the large piece of furniture, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I could feel his gaze on me as I took out my stamps and rummaged around in my bag for my purple pen. It was overflowing with all my things, and I couldn’t seem to find my pen anywhere.
Frustrated, I held the bag upside down and dumped all of the things onto the floor. Michael laughed, coming over to sit next to me as I picked through the disarray. His sparkling eyes playfully glanced at me as he held out the purple pen he’d found among my things upon sitting down.
I took the pen from him, thanking him and giving him a grateful smile, “I’m so disorganized,” I told him, and then proceeded to stuff all of my dance clothes back into my bag even messier than they were before. I mentally added disorganization along with clumsiness to my list of things I needed to work on.
“Me too,” he admitted with a smile. He caught hold of my hand, tugging me to my feet.
“You’re in Five Seconds of Summer, right?” I asked, realizing aloud where I’d seen him before. He was in the band that would open for One Direction, “I’ve heard y’all are great. I can’t wait to watch you guys play.”
He smiled a genuine smile at my complement.
“Are you a back-up dancer?” the boy inquired.
“I know it may be hard to believe because of my clumsy episode back there, but yes,” I confirmed, feeling my nervousness settle back in the pit of my stomach at the reminder that in a couple of hours, I would be onstage.
“Why weren’t you there when we met all of the dancers in December?” he asked and then, “I definitely would’ve remembered you.”
It wasn’t the words he said, it was the way he said them. Like I was someone worth remembering.
I felt the ever-present heat creep onto my cheeks as I replied. “I was hired last minute. They only had four and they needed a fifth…I don’t usually do things like this. I’m a ballet dancer, so this is the first time I’ve ever been on tour with a band,” I admitted in a rush.
“Then this should be a piece of cake for you. I know less than nothing about dancing but isn’t ballet, like, really hard?”
I knew most people were under the impression that ballet was the hardest type of dance, simply because of the strict and precise way it had to be done, but I thought the hardest type of dance was what you made it. So I told him that.
“Well, it’s always good to try different things. Maybe you’ll find that you like this better,” Michael said softly. Despite the fact that he was almost a stranger, he seemed very warm and genuine.
“Maybe,” I agreed with a small smile. I looked around the room, suddenly remembering that we were alone, “Where is everyone?”
“They’re either down setting up the stage, or over in the other room playing Call of Duty. Or upstairs at the meet and greet with One Direction. You wanna go up?” He pointed his index finger upwards.
I nodded, swinging my bag over my shoulder. He lead the way out of the room, down the hall and towards a dimly lit staircase. We emerged out onto the second floor, bathed in bright artificial light to see a whole bunch of mothers milling outside double doors. Some were talking on phones, and others were talking to each other, and none looked particularly thrilled to be there. I knew we’d come to the right place.
“Here we are. Enter at your own risk,” Michael joked, and then held out his hand for a high-five to the security guard. The security guard returned it with a grin.
The muscular man let us through the doors to reveal a long, long line of girls. Some were as young as six or seven, others were older than I was. They were all quite loud, and had to be shushed from time to time by the people managing the line. They jumped around, a rainbow of wide smiles and brightly colored flip flops. Some of them called out to Michael in excited voices, and he gave them a wave and a sure smirk.
Some of the crew members were gathered along the wall in chairs with their iPads. A huge banner with One Direction written across it was hanging between two metal posts at the far side of the large room. In front of it stood the five boys who posed with their tongues hanging out with two teenage girls, who were grinning ear to ear. None of the boys had made an effort to dress up for this event, I noticed. Liam was wearing joggers and Zayn looked barely awake. But the girls didn’t seem to mind.
“Maddie! Come sit by me!” Ingrid called to me from her chair. Ingrid was the personal chef for the five boys, and as it seemed, for everyone else as well. We’d had a long talk in the Hong Kong airport at 1 AM about our shared love of red velvet cupcakes. I’d confessed that every time I tried to bake, something went wrong, and the food ended up burned, stuck to the pan, or awful tasting.
I waved and smiled to her, indicating that I’d be over in a minute.
“It was nice meeting you,” I told the messy-haired boy standing next to me, “Thank you…for not getting mad about the guitar.”
“No harm done,” he shrugged jokingly, “If I see a scratch, I’ll just smash it on stage like Pete Townshend.”
“That would make one hell of a show,” I laughed.
“I’ll see you around…Maddie,” he stuffed his knuckles into his pockets. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, then shut it and turned to walk away.
“Bye, Michael,” I called behind him. He turned and began to walk backwards, giving me a salute, before twisting back around. I giggled, because he was kind of cute in a messy-hair, holey sock sort of way.
I went and sat down on the floor next to Ingrid, who offered to move her laptop off of the chair next to her so I could sit down. I told her that I was fine sitting on the floor with a smile, and after repeatedly asking me ‘Are you sure?’ she finally gave in. She frowned at the computer screen, hunching her shoulders over and squinting at the tiny print.
“You know you’re getting old when you can’t even read your horoscope anymore,” she joked in her cheery British accent.
I reassured her that she was not getting old. She reminded me of Libby, my Aunt and Uncle’s housekeeper, when she laughed.
I sat with my back against the wall and my knees bent in front of me, staring down at the first blank postcard. The front was colorful, but the back was a plain, stark white, waiting patiently for someone to write words onto it.
Dear Grandpa,
I was writing against my knees, so my handwriting was even more blotchy and careless than was normal for me. I pulled out my copy of Robinson Crusoe and slid it under the postcard and tried again.
Bare white paper stared back at me. Well, almost bare.
I sat and stared at the postcard for ten minutes, the excited chattering of teenage girls a hum in the background, my pen hovering above the paper, before realizing that I didn’t know what to say. I never knew the right thing to say.
My concentration left the task in front of me and shifted to a boy standing twenty meters away. A black Henley hung loosely over the tanned skin of his torso as he stretched his lanky body upwards, the collar brushing the baby curls at the nape of his neck. A smile flickered on and off his features as he surveyed the room.
His eyes came to land on me, and the intensity of his green eyes startled me into dropping my pen. The whole room spun around me, a wild blur of colors. And I didn’t know how he could make me feel like that. I didn’t know how he did it. Everything was black-and-white until he looked at me, and then like I'd told Kate, it became technicolored.
Green eyes met mine and it was like we were the only two people in the room. Like I’d gone deaf and blind at the same time. Did this sort of thing happen to everyone? It was like trying to breathe even though you’d already fallen through the ice and hit the bottom.
Then just like that it was over. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear and he turned away.
I picked up my pen and began to write, scribble even, my thoughts onto the postcard. It started out like a normal letter, and then took a drastic downward transition as the words got smaller and more cramped. I knew there was no way my Grandfather was going to be able to read this. And I wasn't sure I wanted him to read it anyway.
I folded the postcard in fours, stuffed it between pages seventy-eight and seventy-nine in Robinson Crusoe, and tried to think of everything except it.
I'm sorry this chapter was so short and blah :( I haven't really been feeling myself lately.
I just moved, and I miss my friends and I want to go home.
Anyway, thank you again for all of your sweetness on the previous chapter. You guys always make me feel so incredibly special. Thanks for reading, and thank you for the support. : ) As always, vote and comment. Thank you and I love you x 81764981302198323875.
What did you think of me introducing 5SOS into the picture? I wanted to, because I think they're so cute and I love their music <3 I can never decide which one is my favorite, but I think right now it's Ash.
Notice I didn't include the color of Michael's hair because we all know it changes with the seasons. ;)
Song on the side is Vegas Skies by the Cab.
Kms because shirtless Harry----->
I wish you guys lots of love and strawberry ice cream. Thanks again for how sweet and patient you guys are. I know I barely ever update, but you guys seem to love me anyway.
<3 <3 <3