I throw my phone in my bag and dig through my closet for an outfit for work. I've been working at a boutique in town called POPPI for a little over a year now. I finally decide on a pair of white skinny jeans with an unfinished hem and an off the shoulder yellow top. The colors bring out my tan and I'm pleased with the look when I check the mirror. I sit at my vanity and begin my makeup routine.
I'm no Jeffery Star or Michelle Phan but I'm pretty damn good at makeup when I put forth the effort. Twenty minutes later my cheeks are rosy, my eyes are lined, my lashes are lengthened and my complexion is flawless. I smack my lips together and blot my lipstick before rising from the bench seat.
I grab my car keys, phone, and bag before heading out to my car. The sun gleams off the gold paint of my old suv as I hop in and crank it up. Traffic is surprisingly not terrible on the drive over and I make it to the store in fifteen minutes. I throw my car in park and head in to start my shift.
So far, so good. Just an ordinary day. The picture couldn't possibly have hit the tabloids yet. The only people who have seen it are the die hard fans who see everything. People like me.
I say hi to my coworker Abby and set to work fixing a display and waiting for customers to come in. It's a Thursday so I don't expect it to be a mad rush day.
The hours pass slowly before it happens. A lady in her mid to late thirties walks in followed closely behind by her daughter who can't be more than 11 or 12. At first everything seems fine. I offer to put her selections in a dressing room as she chooses pieces and her daughters eyes stay glued to her phone. It's only when the woman heads in to the dressing room and the girl looks around for her, that she spots me. She looks puzzled at first as she tries to place me. She types something on her phone screen and then looks from it to me and back again. The realization hits her and I don't know what I am expecting to happen but we just stare at each other. Finally, her mother steps from the dressing room and asks my opinion on the white flare legged jeans she's trying on. As I assist the blonde woman I am semi-aware that her daughter is taking photos of me. I try to keep my breathing steady and my voice calm.
It's nothing. Everything will be fine. What's the worst that could happen? Some people find out where I work?
I try to shove to the back of my mind my true thoughts. That I know this fandom. I know what we are capable of. Though now I find myself ostracized from something I've always felt so a part of. When it comes to the band there are two sides: "the boys," literally the members of the band, their family and friends, and "the fans." I always knew where I stood. But now I find myself somewhere in between. I want to say something to the girl, to let her know I knew what she did. That I know what she plans to do with it. To ask what she thought when she saw the pictures, like somehow an outsiders understanding of what happened might help me understand it myself.
I stay silent though. I'm only thankful that she doesn't know my name.
That thought is ruined when Abby screams from the back, "Ellie, can you come help me for a second?"
I catch the smirk on the young girl's face as she goes back to typing on her phone. I finish her mother's purchase before thanking them for coming in and heading to the back to help Abby after they disappear through the door.
•
It's only been an hour when I notice it. It's subtle at first, just a few more customers through the door. I try to play it off to myself as it's later in the day and kids are bored and coming downtown to shop. Abby takes notice too "Man, these kids are a little young to be shopping here aren't they? They all look like they're still in children's sizes."
She's right. The oldest among them only look about 16. I'm sure their mom's or siblings that brought them here are around, but these girls have ditched their tag alongs and are instead in my store, stalking me. Most of them are at least attempting to be subtle but some are just flat out staring and taking pictures. Some give me looks as in "why was he with you?" Or "what do you know?"
I want to answer their questions looks with "I honestly don't know" or "it just happened, I didn't ask it to" but the whole thing was just a few quiet moments with a boy that seemed sad and hurting. There was nothing scandalous about it, just two strangers and a conversation. Selfishly, I don't want to reduce the interaction to what it was. Right now they think I'm interesting, a girl on "the boys" side of the fandom. I know what they want, a chance, a chance to get a piece of the boys for themselves, their own moment, and right now they think I might bring that to them. Right now I'm okay with them thinking I could give them that.
•
"We close in 10 minutes ladies, let me know if I can help anyone!" I announce to the small store still brimming with adolescent girls.
One brave girl steps forward, "Can I have a picture with you?" She asks.
"With me? Why?" I know the answer but I want to hear her say it.
"You're friends with Harry Styles aren't you? You were with him last night?"
Across the room Abby is staring back at me dumbfounded as I mutter "I don't know if I'd say we're friends. It just happened."
"Whatever you've met him and you're in the magazines can I have a picture or not?" She says with her hand on her hip.
I know I don't owe her anything. I'm not a product for public consumption. But I know the feeling of just wanting to feel like you're a part of it, the whole experience so I nod.
I smile for the picture hoping it's decent, I'm sure it'll be plastered all over the internet later.
Once the girl had a picture it's like a wall has been broken. Suddenly every girl in the place is waving their camera in my face begging for pictures and it takes me and Abby both to wrangle everyone out of the store by closing time.
As she locks the door she turns to me. Only now do I realize I'm breathing heavy. My breaths are labored and my head starts to spin. I lower myself to the ground and put my head between my knees.
"What.....what the heck was that Ellie?" She's not mad, just surprised. So am I. I've spent my whole life being great at blending in, being unimportant, being invisible. It was never on purpose, it was just who I was. Now I find myself very much seen and I haven't decided if that's good or bad.
"I ran in to Harry Styles last night. Not planned, very random. It was only for a moment, but a paparazzi caught it so now everyone thinks there's some hidden story."
"Well, we cant have the store like that everyday." She says coldly.
"They'll be on to something else by tomorrow" I promise.
•
As I leave the shop I have the chance to check my phone for the first time all day. My name is now attached to the photo from last night, along with the ones from the shop today. My social media's have been found by several die-hard fans. I'm sure anything embarrassing has already been screenshot but best to limit the damage. I go through the recent adds deleting them one by one until I see it and gasp.
It's a twitter notification and I honestly can't breathe when I see it.
"@harry_styles followed you"
I screen shot it and send it in a DM to Emma with no comment.
I get in my car and make the drive back home. I crank the radio as a one direction song blares through the speakers and try to let myself get lost in the music. The drive is surprisingly quick for the second time today and I park in the driveway before heading in to my empty house and up to my room.
I collapse on my bed and scroll through all the hoopla that has occurred whilst I've been at work. I see the girl from the boutique who told an update account that she thought she'd found the girl from the photo. There was debate over if I was the right girl before ultimately they decided I had to be since I was so close to the location of the photos.
There were various updates from the girls who had visited the shop. They all pretty much say the same thing. "She's just like working." There was speculation all day over whether Harry would show up, that's what they really wanted, which I had known all along.
They were surely going to be disappointed when they realized that I didn't really know him, I never had and and I would most likely never get to. They'd hold interest for a few days tops, then I'd go back to being invisible.
I glance down at my phone as it vibrates in my hand:
New message from Harry_Styles