Chapter Thirty (Part One)
Three days passed by quickly and something close to uneventfully. I mean, Harry and I did our lunch run at the diner again yesterday, and the day before we went walking in the city to get coffee at a Starbucks a few blocks away, but other than that, Harry spent some time with the guys, and Brady wanted me to join him in another interview (a radio interview, thankfully). We were both busy. And somewhere in the time span, I think Harry hung out with Katie Clemens again.
Here’s the thing with Katie (the ‘thing’ is actually a combination of bits and pieces of information about her I’ve managed to gather from either Lucy, Brady, or the rest of the guys in One Direction since I first heard of her). She and Harry were something of an item in the past, but like Lucy said, they’d only seen each other in person twice: the first time they actually met, and because Harry is the charming gentleman that he is, the day they broke up. The entire relationship lasted about a month before Harry realized he was simply too busy for a girlfriend, and this all happened a little more than a year ago.
Katie’s a year older than Harry; he ended up with her number accidentally. She works at a coffee shop somewhere in the city that I’m not aware of, and neither is Harry, for that matter. But apparently there’d been a guy she took the order of whom she found rather attractive, and she wrote her name and number on his to-go cup (he didn’t call), which later ended up in a trash bin at the very mall Harry had taken me to on one of our first outings. Niall spotted it sitting on the very top and dared Harry to call Katie’s number, so he did. He tried keeping his identity a secret for as long as possible, but she was a fan and hesitantly recognized his (honey and summer) voice.
For the next week they kept in touch through phone calls and text messages, which led to meeting up for lunch one day where Harry suggested they consider themselves an item, which led to more phone calls and text messages while he was away working, which finally led to him making a special trip all the way back to LA from wherever he was to apologize and end the sort-of-relationship.
And I didn’t really care, honestly, about their past relationship or anything. I’d just been curious, so I asked around. I reasoned that it’d probably help me out in the long run with convincing Harry that it’s alright and actually encouraged that he make this thing work with Katie, even though it was beginning to appear that he didn’t seem to need very much convincing.
Absentmindedly, I let out a bit of a sigh. Nothing about that last thought was satisfying or gratifying in the slightest, and that worried me because if it wasn’t, then what ever would be? What’s missing?
I was staring at myself in the mirror as Lucy pulled another strand of the hair left to frame my face to the back of my head. She did this multiple times, and I’ve yet to figure out exactly what she was doing back there; I just knew it was already looking like a masterpiece (in the front) and she had just started.
In order to distract myself from everything I’d just been thinking about, I focused my attention on what was to come tonight. I had been dreading this movie premiere for the last two weeks, ever since Harry mentioned it, and now it was here, and now I don’t know how I’m feeling about it. I’m torn between knowing I should be dreading it because it was the epitome of all things I could possibly dread this summer, the one place where everything I hate about my brother’s lifestyle will exist in unison, the one thing with the one person after such an undeserved amount of time that literally grinds my gears at the thought, and between knowing I definitely don’t. I don’t dread it at all.
What is actually wrong with me? Why was I…anticipating tonight? The very idea of myself anticipating such a thing had me nearly cringing.
“Almost done,” Lucy mumbled offhandedly, three bobby-pins between her lips as she used both hands to arrange some part of my hair in the back. I felt it tugging at the nape of my neck, but the little pain hardly bothered me.
Speaking of this premiere and the mind-blowing idea of me not hating my life right now, I realized suddenly that there is actually something I’m a bit worried about, and I probably wouldn’t have thought about it had I not done a thorough investigation of my makeup and my almost-finished hair. I thought it was great and practically hardly looked like the every-day me, but even a Lucy-fied me will never be good enough or look good enough or dress good enough to be an acceptable date for Harry freaking Styles who, while most days dresses like A wannabe hipster or a hobo or some sort of combination of the two, can really clean up when it comes to events such as this movie premiere. And there is no way I will be able to stand beside him, probably holding his hand or his arm, and be comfortable calling myself his date, because I am going to look like an imbecile next to the glorious dream that is Harry freaking Styles in a suit.
As Lucy finished her masterpiece, I began drowning in my own internal despair.
“There you go,” she said then, backing away, an extremely proud expression on her face. “I have no words; I’ve never created anything greater; you can thank me later.”
I stood and smirked. “You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it.”
She waved me off. “Go get dressed.”
In my room, I laid eyes on the dress I’d placed on my bed carefully to avoid wrinkling it. The longer I stared at it, the more it seemed to be less perfect than I thought it was originally, and the further I sunk in that internal despair. But because Harry would be here soon to pick me up and I had zero other options, I pulled the thing on. And after I tied the neckline into place, I hurriedly slipped back into the bathroom where Lucy had already gathered her things and vacated.
There was a full length mirror that I really wished wasn’t there, but I gazed at myself nonetheless. I eyed everything from the dress that was so expensive Brady declared it had be considered as a birthday and Christmas present for the next three years, to my slightly glittered hair and equally dazzling makeup, all the way down to my dark brown, almost black ankle heel-less boots that tied the entire look together. And even though I knew that none of it was worthy enough to accompany Harry Styles to this red carpet event, I found that I no longer cared.
Because since when do I?
Brady and Lucy hadn’t been gone for five minutes before there was a knock on the door and I knew it was my ride; I’ve no doubt that the love birds and Harry had either met in the elevator or passed each other somewhere.
“Bye,” I called out to my parents as I approached the door. With a hand waiting on the door handle, I paused for their response.
“Have fun,” Mom responded at the same time Dad said, “Be safe.”
And instead of being annoyed enough to say something back to him, I simply rolled my eyes and opened the door to the expectedly, devastatingly handsome fake boyfriend of mine. Instead of letting him inside, I quickly stepped out and shut the door behind me; no need to involve my parents for anything more than necessary.
Harry greeted me with one of the largest grins I’d ever seen on him. Literally. “Uh, hi,” I said to him, beginning to walk toward the elevator.
“Lexie McAllister,” he said real slow, drawing my name out and then pausing afterward for some kind of effect. Then he shook his head, still smiling, but it was becoming smug and I wanted to slap the expression right off of him.
“What?” I frowned, pressing the down arrow on the elevator and then turning on him.
He said nothing. I had a feeling this was going to become a lot like the other day at the diner when I’d asked him what was so funny after I freaked out at the security guard (who was demoted), and he refused to give me anything close to an answer, so I didn’t press the issue this time. I’d just let him be weird about whatever he was being weird about.
But after we stepped onto the elevator and I realized Harry was staring at me – like, openly and unabashedly – I crossed my arms over my chest and raised a brow at him. The worst part, I decided, was that the creepy huge smile had never gone away, and he was still wearing it as he openly stared at me.
“What is your issue, Harry?” I finally asked, unable to handle his undivided attention any longer.
He scoffed a bit. “No matter what I do, whether I compliment you or not, you’re angry with me. How is this supposed to work? Like, how does one go about winning this game?”
I just stared at him.
He was still smiling. “I might as well enjoy the view silently for a while if I can’t voice what I’m thinking.”
We were definitely close enough in the elevator that if I raised my knee quickly enough, I’d hit him directly where he’d least appreciate it (or inflict multiple other types of pain), but instead, I chose the power of words because quite frankly my body did this weird shiver thing from his indirect compliment, and I’m not sure if I have complete control over it currently.
“You’re full of shit,” I informed him. “So shut up.”
I’d never in a million years admit how appreciative I was of him in that moment, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t show it. So after averting my gaze (also partly to avoid his stare), I leaned into him; it was like a side hug without arms. And I was positive that he knew what it was supposed to mean.
When I stood upright again, I cleared my throat and glanced at the numbers above the elevator doors, watching as they slowly dropped to the bottom floor. My face felt hot and I didn’t understand why, so I chose to ignore it, and I prayed Harry had stopped staring by this point.
Once we finally reached ground level, Harry seemed to be in a hurry. Were we late? I worked to keep up with him even after he’d grabbed my hand, so I often found myself fast-walking some steps and then jogging the next few until we were outside and quickly climbing into an SUV similar to the one Brady’s driven in except impossibly larger on the inside.
Harry and I had to share a back seat with Liam while the other three sat opposite and facing us. It was like the interior of a limo with the exterior of an SUV, and I wondered vaguely if there were a lot of these hybrid vehicles until I was called to attention by a cat whistle that – surprisingly – came from Liam.
I immediately knew it was because of me, and my face became hot again. Louis decided to make my life worse by dropping a select curse word or two in agreement with Liam, and then it was Zayn who finally spoke in a language I understood.
“I think they’re trying to say you look gorgeous, Lexie.”
Before I could thank them, Harry mock-yelled, “No, don’t compliment her. She doesn’t like it.”
To which Liam laughed. “Harry, no girl ever means that, and if they say they do, they’re lying and don’t ever listen to them. Ever.”
“Sexist stereotype,” I muttered under my breath, but no one heard me because Harry turned on me immediately and nudged me as if I hadn’t already been paying attention.
“Lex, you’ve got to stop lying to me or our relationship is never going to work out.” I noticed that he was playing the part again, the one where he pretends our relationship is real and he thinks it’s funny even though no one else does. “It can’t be built on lies.”
But his face was so serious in a ridiculously unrealistic way, and because no one else was laughing at him (because they didn’t find it funny, like I said), apparently that suddenly meant I have to, because that was the only reaction I managed. It made no sense, and Harry smiled happily at my reaction, and the fact that I felt I had to appease him frightened and confused me.
If awkwardness was a tangible thing, Harry and I would be suffocating in the back of this SUV.
Actually, this time, it’d mostly just be me that would be doing the suffocating. Because we were about T minus three minutes away from our turn to get out of the vehicle and walk the carpet, and the five boys surrounding me found nothing nauseating or terrifying or crazy about this, so every time someone speaks to me I respond with things that cannot be categorized as words in the English language because I’m practically choking.
They all noticed eventually. And instead of making fun of me like I feared they would, all five of them were trying to calm me down, including – especially, bless his soul – Harry, who was putting up with my iron-clad grip around his hand. I may be a girl, but I grew up with an older brother, and while I’m no longer athletic I am no weakling.
“You’ll be fine, Lexie, honestly. It’s just a short walk.”
“Seriously, no one really pays attention to us anyway; there’s an entire party happenin’ at the end of the carpet.”
“Don’t tell her that, you ass. Lexie, there are people watching, but it’s literally not that big of a thing. Don’t be so self-conscious.”
“They’ll probably all be staring at me and my dashingly handsome face and my enormously beautiful backside anyway.”
“Dude, shut up.”
“Yeah, ew, Lou. No.”
Not a single thing that any of them said helped me in the slightest. “You guys don’t understand the struggle that is me under any sort of spotlight, okay, I’m probably going trip and everyone will see up my dress, or I’ll take all five of you plus the next guy down with me, or honest to God, I wouldn’t put it past me to spill something on someone even though I don’t have anything to spill. Ask my brother. I am a burden, and this was a horrible idea, and I should probably just stay in the car while you guys go and have fun, and I’ll just see you all tomorrow.”
“Dear God,” Harry breathed, bemused. Then he squeezed my hand and leaned forward to catch my gaze. “Look, I’ll hold your hand the entire time. Just like this.” He held our interlocked fingers up. “And I won’t let you trip – “
“Just in case he does,” Liam interjected, raising a finger, “we’ve mastered this nice little technique where we all will also fall with you, and then no one will know you tripped. Because, you know, we all tripped as well.”
“Right,” Harry nodded. “I won’t let you spill anything on anyone – especially me – either. Alright? Count on me, here. What’s a boyfriend for if not for that, right?”
I didn’t bother correcting my fake boyfriend because I was frozen in terror as our SUV pulled up to the start of the carpet. Harry was still holding my hand, but for some reason I felt like I’d lost his touch, and with my other hand I began searching for his. It was, of course, still around my other one, so I just held on, and Harry placed his other hand on top of mine.
“Ready, boys?” Louis asked, the first to move toward the door. The others were all standing, leaving Harry and I.
I didn’t want to be the first ones out, but I didn’t want to be the last either. However, it seemed I had no choice as I was unable to make my legs move. So I watched as one by one, the other four boys climbed out and onto the carpet, and there was so much noise and I heard so many voices and saw so many camera flashes in that short amount of time that the door was open that I nearly passed out. I worried that I was beginning to sweat.
“Ready?” Harry asked.
I shook my head.
“Where’s the unpredictable, impossible to understand, crazy, go-getter girl I’m used to?” he asked then, his voice more gentle than before. The door had closed behind the other boys, and I knew we were being waited for, and that did not help my nerves any. “Come on, I know she’s in there somewhere.”
I just looked at him.
“It’s probably a one minute walk. We don’t have to take our time or anything; I won’t stop and talk to anyone, I promise. And at the end of it, we’ll take a couple pictures – we’ll no longer be walking at that point – and then we’re done. It’s probably a five minute ordeal, if even that. Think you can handle five minutes?”
My lips parted, but before I could speak, I felt a quick peck on my cheek and Harry said, “I actually know you can handle it. Let’s go.”
His hand disappeared from mine, and I swallowed, sliding down the seat toward the door so that I exit the SUV more gracefully than he will. The door opened for him and he hopped out, and my eyes landed on everyone watching us which nearly caused me to faint until Harry appeared in front of me, blocking my view of everyone else. He gave me his hand again and helped me out of the car, a composed, chill smile on his face.
I switched to hanging onto his arm so that I hopefully looked a little less panicked, and then we were walking. By the power of all that is holy, I prayed that my smile didn’t look as fake as it felt. I prayed that I looked alright and that Harry wasn’t regretting bringing me and that I wouldn’t trip and that I wouldn’t spill anything on anyone and that I was looking in all the right directions and doing all the right things at the right times.
Living this life is hard; I don’t know how anyone does it. I really don’t.
I could see the other four boys up ahead; they’d made it to the end of the carpet, and they were waiting for us. I glanced up at Harry, and he grinned down at me as if he’d been waiting for me look his way. Though I’ve seen it myself in all of the pictures, I wondered if Harry and I really did look like the smitten couple we’re pretending to be. I can never tell, because although I see what everyone else gets to see in those pictures and stories and magazines, I’m also the subject of them. I live those pictures, and I know the behind-the-scenes story that everyone else doesn’t. It bothers me that I can’t tell.
The carpet was finally coming to an end. I literally tasted victory, and it was so sweet I nearly laughed out loud. I hadn’t tripped, knocked anyone down, or spilt anything on anyone.
“Alright, picture time.”
“More pictures?” I frowned, though I knew this was coming because he’d warned me.
“Yeah. Okay, so I’m going to step away for one second to take a few with the lads, and no one will bother you, and then I’ll be back and it’s our turn. Okay?”
I nodded, wanting to hug my arms around myself but knowing that’d look bad. I left them to awkwardly dangle at my sides as Harry jumped into the photos being taken of the other four boys, wrapping an arm first playfully around Zayn’s neck, and then simply around his shoulders for better pictures. And after just a few, like he’d said, he was back, holding his hand out to pull me forward with him.
While my gaze was stuck on what felt like fifty photographers aiming huge cameras at me, I tried gripping Harry’s hand tighter, but he pulled it away. I looked up at him immediately, and then I felt his arm slide around my back, his hand finding the other side of my waist, and tugging me into him.
He smelt like he smelt that first time we ever really interacted when he’d helped me with my knee wound after the football game and assisted in getting me out to the parking lot by my brother. What kind of cologne did he say he wore? I don’t remember the name, but I remembered the scent, and I was encompassed by it now, comforted. Calm. It completely eased my nerves, and he wasn’t even looking at me; he was smiling for the cameras, professional as always, while here I was, ogling up at him and drowning in his smell and loving every second of it for some strange reason. It was oddly pleasant.
I had to focus, though. I probably looked ridiculous. So I shook myself out of it as best I could and turned to smile at the cameras as well; I was nearly blinded at first, and I’ll probably have my eyes closed in ninety percent of the shots, but eventually I got used to it. I even managed a halfway decent smile.
A moment later, I felt Harry look down at me, so I met his gaze. He smiled before returning his attention to the cameras, and I did the same. Also, in that nice little moment, I decided that whatever was going on in my obviously bipolar mind currently and rendering me unable to focus on anything that isn’t the comfort Harry provides is not good. At all.