Thank you for reading! Please enjoy it as much as I do writing it. :)
The book follows an episodic narrative so it flashes between their current lives as 20 something-year-olds and when they were kids/teenagers.
This is Tilly Jackson's face claim!
Tilly:
Same age as Harry, family friends with him, grew up together from kindergarten onwards, aspiring actress!
September 18th, 2010
I watch as Harry paces back and forth around his bedroom, piles of clothes gathering around us. I've always loved his room, the dark walls and the large open windows that separate us from the outside world. It's always been he and I but I suppose soon, the world will know his name. I move from the corner beanbag to his bed, shuffling my way through the room as I push piles of unworn tee-shirts, jackets and pants aside before sitting cross-legged and watching the curly-haired mess before me.
"Are you nervous, Harry?" I tease. He doesn't respond but it doesn't surprise me. Unless you were to count the mumbles under his breath, he hasn't spoken a word to me in the last half hour. I ask him the same question again, raising my voice from the playful tone to a more urgent need of a response. Still no answer as he paces the room.
"Well, if you're not going to answer I may as well get comfortable." I walk to his bed, moving aside a mountain of clothes and wriggle myself into his white bedsheets. I sit there and fiddle with my rings. If I don't have one on every finger I feel practically naked. My mother would always wear rings so I suppose I got my fascination from her. Every photo of her around the house shows her with a beaming smile and many, many rings. I used to sit at her dresser when she was in hospital and fumble with her jewellery. Most of my rings are hers that she left when she passed.
I focus my attention back to the Harry who is now biting at his fingernails as he stares to the floor where he is sat. I've known Harry all my life, yet I don't believe I've ever seen him this frazzled. My eyes catch onto the tennis ball sitting on the dresser next to me and ultimately I decide it's a great idea to peg it at his head to capture his attention and it reminds me of the day we met. I toss it around in my hands and consider the consequences of this ultimately bad idea.
The first day of kindergarten was daunting, I was being dropped off by my Dad. Mum couldn't make it because she was sick in bed that day, so it was just Dad and I. I don't remember much from that morning, except the fact, Dad ran around in a frenzy, almost similar to Harry right now. He was trying to pack my things, tie my shoe laces and braid my hair. He tried so hard not to wake Mum up. I wish we'd known then what we do now. I wish we'd found out about her illness sooner. Sometimes I think that if she didn't allow us to pass it off as easily as she did, she'd still be here. Dad always worried so much about her but she'd never show us any form of pain she was in but I think Dad knew. It was three weeks later they'd found a tumour in her left breast.
February 11th, 1999
The wind blows cool whips to my face as I step out of the car, swinging the door wide open. I couldn't be more prepared for the day to come. I watch as the little girls run around in neatly done braids with bright red ribbons tied to the end of each pigtail. My father's hand keeps my gloved hand warm in his own but the other sways by my side, fumbling at the hem of my uniform skirt. Everybody seems to have formed small friendship groups, everybody but one. A small boy stands with his mother, a collection of brown curls coil around his face as he looks anxiously up at the woman standing beside him who holds his hands in her own, who is crouching down to meet his eyes. Her hands press to his cheeks as he shakes his head profusely. Her dark hair falls down her back against her red trench coat. Dad and I make our way over to a group of men with other children that play together and he tries to introduce me to them, but my fascination is on the small boy across the court yard.
I slip my hand out of my Fathers grip and begin to walk over to them, but he doesn't seem to notice because of all the other Dad's he's stood with are having laughing about something or other.
"Excuse me?" I make myself known as the small boy quickly steps behind his Mum.
"I'm Matilda, but call me Tilly. You look scared. Are you scared?" I say not hearing my Fathers footsteps after me. The boy's eyes flicker between mine and his Mother.
"I'm so sorry my Tilly is my little social butterfly. I'm Dean, how are you?" I barely notice what my Dad says because I feel myself glaring at him. I could swim in his eyes, I could get so lost, but I'd better not try too because I don't think that would be possible. I look away and back up to my Dad whose shaking hands with the lady opposite us.
"Hello, Dean and Matilda! I'm Anne and this is my Harry, is it your first day too?" She looks at me and crouches down to meet with my eye level, a soft smile forming at her lips. Anne smells of cinnamon and all things wonderful and I decide I like her instantly, I'm just not sure about her son.
"It most definitely is!" I respond, kicking back on my heels. "I have a tennis ball if you'd like to throw it around with me." I say. He looks to his mother as if for assurance it's safe. He's checking I'm safe. Anne smiles and gives him a nudge forward. He reluctantly nods and walks with me to play catch while I ask him all sorts of questions.
"What's your favourite colour, Harry?" I ask, throwing the ball to him.
"Blue." He passes it back and I catch it.
"As in sky blue or ocean?" I ask, holding the ball in my hand.
"Ocean." He responds and I smile.
"Do you like to read?" I ask, throwing the ball up in the air as I walk over to him and hand him the ball.
"I guess. Do you?" He asks and he takes the ball from me.
"Can't get enough of it, H. Is it okay if I call you H?" I ask, raising my eyebrow.
"Okay." He says with a smile.
"Keep the ball. I don't like sport very much anyways."
"Tossing a ball isn't sport, Til. Is it okay if I call you that?" He asks softly.
"Sure. That's what my Mum and Dad call me."
By the end of the morning, I'd gotten harry to talk... and now I wish he'd shut up.
September 18th, 2010
I peg the ball at Harry's head.
"Don't throw a ball at my head, Til!" He groans, finally speaking. His fingers wrap themselves around a brown scarf with miscellaneous patterns, his fingers nervously tangling and untangling themselves in and out of the scarf. I watch as he stops and looks down at it in his hands. His curls framing his face.
"You'd think you would be more stressed on the actual audition. Not what you're going to wear, H." I challenge him, sitting up in bed.
His fingers continue to play at the scarf.
"Will it be cold inside? I could wear this?" He lifts up the scarf as if I haven't been mesmerised by his fingers this entire time.
It wouldn't matter what you'd wear. You'll look great in anything.
"Does it matter?" I ask perching myself up on my knees questioning him.
I read the clock, 11:13 pm.
"H, we hit the road from here at 4:30 tomorrow morning. We really need to sleep; you'll be so tired." I jump off the bed and dig around the piles of clothing now stacking up on the floor and pick out a grey-purple cardigan, white tee-shirt and take the scarf from his hands. I place the three items on a clothing hanger and place it inside the wardrobe facing us and step back, throwing my arm around his shoulder.
"Throw a pair of pants with it and you'll look amazing!" He throws his hand around my waist and smiles.
"Simple, but effective." He smiles warmly at me, making my stomach feel hollow.
"There's that lovely smile of yours I missed so dearly! Now if you'll allow me to fall into a deep slumber for the next four hours, I would adore you!" I laugh, throwing my hands up as he lifts his hand and places it on the back of his neck.
"You reckon I could do it, Til?" He asks, his eyes almost watery. I'm not sure if its nerves or because he struggles to keep his eyes open because of how late it's getting. I'll put it down to both.
"Well, it's too late to back out now." I say patting him on the back and heading for the bedroom door.
"I guess so." I hear him sigh. I turn around and march over to him.
You literally suck and are the worst best friend ever, Tilly Jackson. Make him feel better.
"Harry Edward Styles, you are the best fucking singer I've ever had grace my ears and if the judges don't see that then to hell with them. We'll find something else if this doesn't work, we always do!" I say pointing a finger at his nose, poking it as I finish speaking. He giggles at me and grabs my finger and holds it in his hand. I feel a warmth begin to surface in my index finger as he holds it gently wrapped in his palm.
"Promise?" He asks as he holds out his left pinkie and i take it in my own pinkie, promising him.
"Promise." I affirm to him.
"Then to hell with them." He repeats back at me. His eyes staring into mine. I wish I had green eyes but not green like just anyone's. Green like Harry's. Green like the backfields in the middle of summer as cows graze and Harry and I lay under the blue sky, not a cloud to be seen above our heads. Green like the middle of the ocean, green as in the tall grass I run through in the spring. Don't get me wrong I like my eyes, same colour as Dad's brown. I suppose I just like his more. Everything he does just seems to be better, but that's what's so great about him.
"You're gonna be a star, H." I say taking my fingers back from his hands. He scoffs at me and pushes at my shoulder.
"And you're gonna be a world-class actress, Til. Now get some rest." He says smirking at me.
September 19th, 2010
I watch as he walks onto the stage wearing the outfit we chose. I know I'm here to support him, but I'd rather be wearing what he's wearing than what I am right now. The tee-shirt that Anne made itches but I'm happy to be here with my best friend. Even if it means having his name splattered across my chest.
"So, tell me a bit about yourself." Simon's voice sounds deeper in real life than it does on the television at home.
"Ahhhh I work in a bakery." He says prouder than ever before and I smile, holding my hands in fists under my chin.
"He sure loves that damn bakery." Gemma whispers nudging herself into me. Anne hushes her and quickly turns back to the stage, not daring to blink in case she misses a second of his performance. Gemma and I giggle at Anne's wide eyes.
Harry starts singing 'Isn't she lovely' by Stevie Wonder. I'm amazed he isn't singing a song by his other beloved Stevie. He always sounds so amazing singing 'Landslide'. I listen to his voice, soothing my ears. Gemma and I sway back and forwards listening to him. We're so fucking proud.
I wonder who he thinks about when he sings. Is it selfish to want it to me be?
I quickly snap myself out of it and pay attention to the performance. He's doing wonderfully, his voice reigns across the audience, the stage lights glisten down on him but to me he stands in a singular spotlight. A warm feeling rises deep inside my chest and I take a sharp inhale.
This boy is about to make history.
Two yesses, one no. He's done it. Harry is through.
He walks off stage, looking effortlessly cool. When he realises he's off-camera he begins a small jog over to us all. I remind myself I picked the outfit and feel a sense of achievement. I'm happy he's confident in what he's wearing. I'm happy he's happy. Who am I kidding? It's not every day your best friend auditions on The X Factor.
The drive home that night was loud, but a good kind of loud. Everybody cheering and shouting songs from Katy Perry to old classics on the radio. Robin looks funny concentrating on the road, but I catch him occasionally mouthing the words to the songs. His hand rests on Anne's thigh, holding her hand in his. I want a love like that one day. I want to be loved like that. I'd like it very much if I could drive with my hand resting in someone else's, someone that cares about me the way I care about them.
Harry looks so fucking happy and I can't help but stare at his face as he dances around the car in his seat with me. His bone structure highlighted by the streetlights and the moon above. We drive through the night, reaching the entrance to Holmes Chapel. Anne and Gemma have fallen asleep, Gemma's cheek pressing deep into her hand as she uses it to stable herself and I notice a little dribble down her chin and smirk. The music plays softly and the whir of the engine calms me. Robin has finally got his own choice of music on, but I don't doubt for a second he didn't mind listening to our songs.
"Hey, Til?" Harry asks softly looking out the window and I look to my right at him.
"Yeah, H?" I whisper back admiring as the orange streetlights reflect a glow across his cheekbones as we drive through the main street of Holmes Chapel.
"Thank you for coming." He says, turning to face me with a soft grin.
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
"Even if you were offered a lead role and had to leave right before we got in the car this morning?" He says challenging me with gentle playfulness.
"Hmm... Now that I'm not so sure about. I guess your audition is always on TV, right?" I say giggling at him.
"Oh, shut up." He says following my giggles.
"I'm serious, I wouldn't have missed it, Harry. I'm your best friend. For nothing and nobody would I have missed this. Even for an audition." I whisper at him, watching Anne wriggle in her sleep sat in the front seat.
"Harry?" I whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Promise to call often when you go away?" I ask.
Harry takes my hand in his.
"Promise." Harry smiles at me with a wide grin and looks back out the window. He'll have to go back to the X-Factor house soon and I won't be seeing him for a while. But what are phones for right? He'll always call. He promised.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading!