Tonight was the night. I was finally a legal adult, and Uncle Simon could no longer dictate what I did or didn't do. He could no longer tell me when to be home, where to hang out, or who to hang out with. It was completely my choice. I was finally eighteen.
I stood wrapped in my towel, staring into my overflowing closet. I searched through the multiple racks of dresses until I found the perfect dress for tonight. I pulled out the white dress that was body hugging and revealed a lot of leg. Perfect fit for America's rebel, right? I quickly dropped my towel and stepped into the dress. After looking myself over in the mirror over a dozen times I went back into the closet to decide on a pair of shoe. I instantly spotted my bright red, sparkling pumps. They would compliment the dress perfectly, and now, the last thing I had to do was hair and make-up. I returned to the bathroom and whipped the steam from the mirror. I looked at myself in the reflection. Without make-up I looked like the old Rachel Paxton; young and enlightening, with big, dark blue eyes shining and fizzy auburn hair. I hated seeing the old me. It was just a reminde of my troubled past and haunted memories. I pulled out my straightener and began to work on my frazzled mop of hair, straightening it to perfection. I sprayed my hair with a light layer of sparkles and applied thick, black eyeliner that made my eyes pop. I added a bit of blush to finish off the look. I smiled at the new Rachel in the mirror and finally grabbed my purse before heading to Neon, the club that had been rented out for my party, over an hour late.
Once I arrived, all of my friends flocked to me. I spotted my best friend, Zoey, immediately. She waved me over to a table that was in the far back only to be highlighted by the many lights and balloons attached to it. I laughed to myself and waved back at her. I began my walk to the table, only to be pushed from behind by a guy with extremely curly hair. "Sorry," he said, in a British accent, before returning to his group of friends. I brushed the encounter off and continued towards Zoey. She had been so excited for tonight that she practically planned it all herself. I had no idea who half of the people here are. Mostly the younger Hollywood A-Listers and other friends of ours.
"Hey! Happy birthday!" Zoey screamed over the blaring music and loudness of the crowded club. "Do you think Davie would get us some drinks?" I rolled my eyes. I loved Zoey to death, but she had been obsessing over my co-star, Dave Franco, ever since I introduced her to him over a month ago. He was an actor, and she was a regular California girl. In his mind that would never work, but in her mind it was meant to happen. He was twenty-six, and she was nineteen. She was head over heels for him, and he had no idea. There were way too many flaws in their non-existent relationship. I still wished that somehow she would get her fairytale ending, no matter what the situation may be.
"We can try," I offered. "Where is he?" Zoey turned her head from side to side, looking for him. Finally, she squinted her eyes and pointed towards the bar. There Dave was, carrying three drinks over towards us. "Looks like we don't even have to ask him to get us drinks." I smiled when he placed the glass of tequila in front of me.
"Happy birthday, Rach," he said. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on my cheek, and I could see Zoey boiling over in frustation. I downed the glass of liquor as Zoey began to ramble to Dave.
"So, Dave, how are you liking the party?" she asked him in her sweetest tone.
"It's nice. Now that the birthday girl is here," Dave responded as he put his arm around me. Zoey's eyes immediately grew sad, and I was quick to wiggle out of the booth and out from under his arm.
"I'm gonna go find some loser to buy me some more booze," I explained as I left my friends alone. I weaved my way through the crowd and inched closer to the bar. Once out of the crowd I spotted the bartened. He seemed to be in his early twenties, so I decided on a different approach for obtaining more tequila.
I took a seat at the bar and flashed my best smile at the man. He had black hair that was styled similar to bed-head, and his eyes were a gorgeous light blue. Had he not been working I would have asked to dance with him. He came to me almost instantly, and in return I batted my eyelsahes at him. "What can I get for you?" he asked with a wink.
"Well," I began, "I would really love a shot." He looked at me skeptically, so I added, "I would do anything." I gave him a flirty smile, and batted my eyelashes at him a few more times. When he didn't respond I leaned over the counter to whisper in his ear. "Anything," I repeated, more seductively this time.
He sighed, "Fine, but on one condition." I nodded at him to show that I understood. "Don't tell anyone that you got this from me." He placed the glass in front of me, and I downed it's contents in less than a second. It burned my throat as it rushed downward. He began placing more and more glasses in front of me, one after the other, and I just kept on drinking. It was a rush!
Once I had finally had enough I made my way to the dance floor. I had started off dancing by myself in the middle of the crowd, but soon there were hands on my waist and someone rubbing up against me from behind. I placed one of my hands on their head, running it through their hair, and the other on their hip. We stayed linked together like this without speaking a word, just dancing, touching, and laughing. It wasn't until Zoey came over and pulled me away when I had finally become aware of what I was just doing. My head was spinning, and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep. Zoey grabbed my wrist and led me through the crowd back to the booth we had been sitting in earlier.
"What were you doing?" she asked me, acting like my mother rather than my best friend. "Do you even know who that was?" I shook my head. "Well, I took the liberty of inviting them."
"Who the hell is 'them'?" I asked, using air quotes around 'them'. By the look on her face I knew that she felt guilty about inviting who ever they are.
"Well, you know that band that your uncle manages?" she asked. I just shook my head as I was too confused to even talk at the moment from the alcohol running through my system. "The British one? You know, the five boys?" Again, I shook my head. "Oh my God, Rach. One Direction. I invited One Direction." I was furious. How could she invite them? Especially him? She had listened to me talk for hours about how much I couldn't stand them. Sure, I had never met them, but Uncle Simon talked about them nonstop whenever he visited me. The boys this, and the boys that. I couldn't stand it. I had talked to Niall and Liam once over a video-chat, and I had to admit they weren't bad. They were actually really nice. And I had no problem with Zayn or Louis, they both seemed like a fun time, but Harry, him I couldn't stand. His overgrown ego and self-absorbed personality made me sick.
"Which one was it?" I was now fuming. I couldn't believe that she had gone behidn my back to invite them. She looked at my with innocent eyes, and I already knew the answer before it even came out of her mouth.
"Harry." I reached around her and grabbed my bag before spinning on my heels. I immediately headed for the door, pushing through the crowd to reach my destination, and soon the cold air was on my exposed body once again. I walked the paparazzi lined street without knowing where I was heading. I just needed to escape from there. I just couldn't stand to be in the same room as him, let alone my own birthday party. As I walked the paparazzi threw questions at me that even I had no answer to where they had gotten such ideas.
"Rachel, is it true that you're pregnant with Dave Franco's child?" No.
"Miss Paxton, are the alleged rumors about you and Zac Efron true?" What rumors?
"Rachel, is it true that your Uncle is making you shape up?" I stopped and turned around once this question had made it's way to my ears.
"What?" I slightly slurred as I asked. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't heard from Simon for over two months. He's too busy taking care of a bunch of British kids to spend time with his own niece!"
"What can you say about your uncle's work with One Direction?" another one asked.
"All I know is that he has basically all but forgotten me to run around taking care of five boys who are very capable of taking care of themselves." I replied. I kept on walking, but they kept following.
"Can you tell us about your feelings for Harry Styles? He's had the most female attention since coming over to states. What do you think of it?" I smiled. Now was my chance to lash out and use my title to my advantage.
"Harry Styles is just a kid who can sing. There is nothing special about him. He may be British, young, attractive, and all of his little fan girls can throw themselves at him whenever they want, but the press is building him up to be something he's not." I threw my hands up in the air to make my point before stomping off towards a taxi that was stopped a few yards away. As the cameras flashed in my face, I got into the taxi and slammed the door shut. I smiled to myself despite all of tonight's events. In the morning my face would be all over the front cover of every magazine. After being in "hiding" for over months, America's rebel was finally back in action.
The next morning, I woke up spread out across my bed. My head was pounding and my body was aching. I attempted to get up, only to fail and fall head first off of the bed. On the floor I was able to crawl on my hands and feet to the bathroom without any difficulties. I stripped out of my dress and pulled off my one remaining shoe before climbing into the bathtub and letting the water pour down on me. It had really woken me up. Finally I was able to stand, so I washed my face, body, and hair. I climbed out slowly, careful not to slip and fall, and wrapped a towel around me. I walked into my closet adn pulled out dblack sweatpants and a bright purple sweatshirt. I pulled on a black sports bra and a black thong, and then I easily slid on my sweats without completely drying myself. I pulled my hair up into a loose ponytail and walked out into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice and make toast. I turned around to go into the living room but instead I froze. My glass slipped from my hand, glass shattered, and juice went everywhere. I was frozen; couldn't move, couldn't react, couldm't speak. I could only stare ahead at the man who sat in my lounge in front of me.
"We need to talk about your night out on the town, Rachel," he said. "What would your mother say?" He shook hsi head, but I just grew frustrated.
"What do you want Simon?" I asked as I rubbed my temples. My head was pounding once again, and this time the pain wasn't leaving.
"I just want to talk, dear." he said calmly.
"Why are you even here, Simon? The past few months have felt like you abandoned me to go take care of them. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? You're the only family that I have left, and you didn't even bother to check up on me." I was almost to the point of tears after letting my feelings pour out of me. Simon's facial expression dropped, and I could tell that he was feeling guilty now.
"I'm sorry, Rachel, but you have to understand that I'm just doing my job." he looked down at his feet and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Since when did your job's description include 'abandon family'?" I whispered. My gaze remained on the floor, but I looked up when Simon sighed.
"Like I said before, I'm sorry, but right now we have something else to discuss."
"But-" I began.
"No, we can discuss it later. Right now," he said as he grabbed something from the floor, "we have to discuss this." He held up the shiny magazine, and I saw the front cover. My picture was plastered on the front of it, and the headline read, "America's Rebel VS Britian's Boyband". I looked over at Simon, and he flipped to a page and began to read outloud. "Rachel Paxton, the beautiful rebel, emerged from her party last night, apparently fuming. When asked about her uncle Simon Cowell's work with One Direction she was quick to reply that she thought that they were "a bunch of British kids that can't take care of themselves", and when questioned about Harry Styles she said that "he may be British, young, attractive, and all of his little fan girls can throw themselves at him whenever they want, but the press is building him up to be something that he's not". What do you have to say about this?" he asked me accusingly once he finished reading.
"Nothing." I replied. I was lost for words. I didn't know that they were going to quote me word for word. And now I had an angry uncle to deal with because fo it.
"Well, to convince the public that you were just a little to buzzed to realize what you were saying, you're going to do everything and anything that I ask you to do for the next few months." he demanded. I could do nothing but nod, and while doing so, I gulped in anticipation for what was to be asked of me. "I'll be back at noon with the boys."
"What? No, they are not co-" I began but he cut me off as he stood up to leave.
"Looks like you have a date, Rachel." He walked over to the door, but before walking out, he turned around, and faced me. "Make it believable Rachel. I know how well you can act, and if you don't convince people, then you'll be coming to London to work with me for a year." With that being said, he left. I was left by myself to think over the possibilties. I crossed out going to London right away. I wasn't going to give up on my career just to go to London for a year to do studio work. My only option was to put a smile on my face, and act like I was having the time of my life when I was with the boys.
One thought remained on my mind as I stepped into the shower for the second time that morning. Simon had said something about a date, but with who? I was secretly hoping it would be with Niall, since Liam already had a girlfriend, or Zayn, he seemed like he would be a fun time, but even though Louis was newly single I wouldn't be able to step out in public with him because he was Harry's best friend. Then my mind went to Harry. Simon wouldn't put me through that kind of torture, would he?