Cats, Kisses, And Wagon Wheels. *finished*

One Direction, a band that was formed during the 2010 X Factor. Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson. Oh right, and Charlie Hunter. You didn't know about her? The Wagon-Wheel-addict with the curly hair? Well, I doubt anyone will tell you too much then. After all, what happens in the house, stays in the house. (Silver in the M Factor Competition) "This story is so hilarious, and it's already my favourite." - " amazing story, full of romance, drama, teenage life and loads more! The storyline is amazing, the characters are easy to visualize." - "An all around perfect book, even though it's a fanfiction!"

--Written for my cousin-in-law, Lottie, who wanted to have a One Direction Fanfic for her birthday. You are welcome.--


2. The Audtition.

In Which Contestant Number 50387 Almost Throws Up On Anne's Shoes And, In Return, Offers Her Sweets.


A/N: Oh hello there. How do you do? I hope you luvvies liked the first chapter, and I'd be eternally grateful if you left me some comments. I'm good with criticism (not really, but I'm okay with it. OH LOOK it's raining. Who would've thought? The UK is full of surprises...). Uhm, yes. This chapter is for Linette because she was the very first one to favourite CKWW and sent me into a fangirl frenzy. Love you all, byez.



There were thousands of people here.

Okay, who was I kidding, there was almost nobody left, and everyone seemed kind of strange / scary apart from some guy with hair I kind of wanted to run my hands through, but who was wearing a really awful scarf-thingy. Ugh, he’d be totally cute if he dressed differently. But my opinion didn’t really count for anything, as he had an absolutely gorgeous girlfriend who was at least a year older than him. Shame, kind of. I had a thing for curls, except my own.

“I’m not feeling so good.” I stated and grabbed Will’s arm.

He kind of patted my head helplessly; Will wasn’t too good with emotions.

“You’ll do fine, love.” He said, what a Yorkshire thing to say.

“Thanks, Will.” I squeaked, my voice sounding and awful lot like a mouse. I cleared my throat. “Can I have another Choc WW?” They knew that for me, that wasn’t short for World War, it was Wagon Wheel.

I had some kind of unhealthy obsession with Wagon Wheels. I just loved them, the marshmallow awesomeness with jam or chocolate filling and the biscuit around it.

They were awful for you, but I really didn’t care, I was fat already.

“Oh Gosh, I still have to change!” I shouted, drawing everyone’s attention to us, causing me to blush.

“Gimme my bag please.” I mumbled while the others didn’t have anything better to do than laugh their butts off. I cleared my throat again. “My ba-ag!” I grumbled, finally getting the monstrous Cath Kidston Carrier from Nick, who had insisted on taking it. Before he’d lifted it once, then he kept complaining the whole way. Sor-ry if straighteners, a spare outfit and make-up are a bit heavy? (Plus a book, three Kleenex boxes, my laptop, a mirror, a stress ball, and hand moisturizer.)

I changed into my outfit, which was a lovely Lipsy dip hem dress in some green-ish turquoise blue flower pattern, which sounds awfully like what your grandma would use as a curtain, I know, but believe me, it was absolutely stunning (and it hid my giant thighs, of which I have already told you). My shoes were really pretty beige wedges, since those were the only heels I could actually walk in. And run, in case my dream got crushed and I didn’t want anyone to see my tears. The big contrast was my bright red lipstick that made everything look interesting and pulled the focus on my really big lips. Yes, I was lucky to have a natural pout Della would probably kill me for if we weren’t such good friends, and really big eyes, but unfortunately also a big nose that threw everything out of proportion again and just made it look like my face was too big for my head and I had absolutely no cheekbones whatsoever.

I looked at myself in the mirror of the Ladies’ Room when I had changed, and all in all, it was pretty good. As always, this was as good as it was going to get, you couldn’t change the face. That was what my aunt Emma always said (she had the same unlucky curves I had). I unpacked the hand moisturizer and massaged it into my hands. I loved hand moisturizer, and I used it all the time, even in summer. That meant that I gave really good hand massages, so my friends didn’t mock me for it, and it made my hands really soft (and nice-smelling). Just in case you were wondering what I did in class, that was it.

I brushed out my hair, so that the curls were now even Jane’s Waves, and smiled to test how it looked. So far, so good. I was just going to be calm. I was not going to be sick. Wow, I didn’t even feel sick. Maybe this was going to be good.

“Charlotte Hunter, you’re on in 5 minutes. Charlotte Hunter, number 50387, please be on your way to the stage.”

I didn’t know if I jinxed it, but that was when I felt it coming. I raced back into a stall and couldn’t even close the door, I just sort of collapsed on the floor, puking my guts out. Geez, chewed and halfway-digested Wagon Wheels did not look nice.

While I was wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, someone’s cold hands pulled back my hair. It wasn’t Della, that I knew, because her boyfriend had called her and she was somewhere in a corner, probably shouting at him. I didn’t get the chance to thank them because I was being sick again. Great. By the time I would have to be on stage, I would probably still be here, vomiting candy and missing my chance.

The person behind me stroked my back and said, in a wonderfully calm voice, “It’s okay. You’re the puking kind as well, huh?” She laughed a bit. “My son was sick, too, just minutes ago. My husband did what I’m doing now, so I guess this is karma, or equal rights, or something. When are you on?”

I managed to answer “Two minutes, I guess,” before I was bent over the toilet again.

“Oh,” she said. “Harry was like that. He heard the announcement and got pale as chalk, poor boy. Ran to the Gents’ as fast as he could. My name is Anne, by the way.”

That was when I was actually starting to feel a bit better, so I got up shakily and stalked to the sink to wash out my mouth. Ew. Wagon Wheel puke.

“Thanks, Anne,” I smiled and powdered away most of the sick look, trying a smile.

“Shame Harry couldn’t do that,” she laughed. She was pretty, I had to say; with her long, wavy dark brown hair. She looked pretty young as well, which she couldn’t be since her son was auditioning, but still.

I laughed, reapplying my lipstick with shaky hands.             

“Thanks Anne.” I shook her hand. “I’m Charlie, and I owe you one.”

“But you really have to go.” She smiled and ushered me out, just in time, I might add.

“I’ll watch your performance!” she called after me, and I smiled. She was a cutie. I wished my Mum was like that.

“Hunter, Charlotte?” someone was crying frantically behind the stage.

“I’m here.” I panted, and was shoved on the stage in no time.

The lights were blinding, but I still managed to get to the X, concentrating on the judges as best as I could.

“Hi,” I said, my voice shaky and weak. I felt like a little girl all of a sudden, dressed up in her mother’s clothes and running into visitors, suddenly realizing she looked ridiculous.

Simon Cowell threw me a smile that clearly showed that he didn’t believe I was right here, but Cheryl Cole looked at me with what I believed was sympathy.

“I’m Charlie Hunter, and today’s my sixteenth birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday, Charlie.” Cheryl smiled.

“Where are you from?” Louis Walsh asked me.

“My family lives in Washington-“

“D.C.?” Simon interrupted.

“Yeah. But I go to boarding school here, and I only go there in my summer break, I usually stay at my siblings’ house in Cambridge in my holidays.”

“And what are you singing today, Charlie?” Simon asked, obviously pretty bored by now.

I stood upright. I was going to do this and I was going to kick his bum, just so I could see some emotion in his eyes. Idiot.

“I’m going to sing Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood.” I said, this time trying to sound a bit girly.

I saw their sceptic faces, but they didn’t say anything.

When the music started, I felt what I felt every time I sang in front of an audience—that adrenalin rush, that awesome feeling of euphoria and fear you might fail that made me feel like I could do anything. This feeling was why I wanted to sing. It was the reason I was here, and I was going to DO THIS.

I started off with a soft voice, the one Sam, the guy who, say, ‘managed’ me for weddings—actually, he was a wedding planner and just had his musicians he knew and rang—called my Angel Voice and which I used for most weddings. I had a classical singing training, and that was what made it “angelic”, the classical technique.

“Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a beach-blonde tramp
And she's probably getting frisky.
Right now he's probably buying her some Fruity little drink 
'Cause she can't shoot whiskey.
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick
Showing her how to shoot a combo,

Oh, and he don’t know, oh…” I sang, ‘jazzing’ the notes a bit, smiling on the last few words.

Then I started using all I had ever learned in my lessons on how to do belting, which was actually a special singing technique, making you sound all Rock ‘N’ Roll.

“That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive,
Carved my name into his leather seat.” I had a huge smile on my face, it was working. I could see the surprise on the judges’ faces clearly and thought of how all I had done was, hopefully, going to pay off.
“I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
Slashed a hole in all four tires.
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.”

Simon held up his hand and I finished on the last note, drawing it out a bit. The music stopped and I threw my hands in front of my face, giggling all the tension out and thinking of my friends, my brother and sister, who were biting their nails off in Cambridge, and Anne, who had promised to watch me sing because she believed in me even though she had only just met me.

Only now I actually noticed the audience—they cheered, some were even standing.

“I must admit,” Simon started, but had to stop as he just couldn’t talk through the cheers. My smile grew, I probably looked like a right idiot, but I didn’t care. I’d done it, I had done my best, and now it was all fate. I was happy.

“I must admit,” he started again after everyone had calmed down, “that I didn’t think you could own a Carrie Underwood song. But this was maybe even better than her, I’m really impressed with your voice.”

“Thank youuuu!” I chanted, doing a mini-happy dance.

Cheryl laughed before continuing. “You’re so young, but you remind me so much of myself. You come up here, a tiny, cute little girl—how tall are you actually, Charlie?”

“I’m five feet one,” I breathed into the micro.

Some people in the audience laughed. “Go, midget girl!” someone screamed and I giggled.

Cheryl shook her head. “As I said, you’re really short—no offense. And then you open your mouth and you’ve got that adorable kind of folklore voice, and I really expected some Taylor Swift from you. Again, I might add, because we’ve had a few.” Everyone laughed at her exasperated facial expression. “And then you sing, Carrie Underwood of all things, and your voice fits it, for whatever reason, but I’m still waiting for the chorus, thinking ‘Oh God, how is she going to do this?” I grinned cheesily, causing a few more laughs.

“And you sing the chorus and suddenly, you’re not short anymore, and you’re not even cute anymore, you’re a tornado!” She exclaimed. “I want to hear more of that Rock Queen, I absolutely love you!” I clapped; overjoyed I was getting such a good review from Cheryl Cole, of all people.

“And now you can talk, Louis!” Cheryl said, laughing.

I saw Louis’ face and frowned, uh-oh, he didn’t like me.

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Charlie, let me say that.” He started. Oh God, all bad things started like that.

“I just…” He leaned forward, sighing. “I just don’t think you’re ready yet.” Some people boo-ed, but he ignored them.

“Okay?” It sounded like a question. And there the five-year-old was again.

“I mean, you just got sixteen. You’re practically still a baby. And you look like one, too.”

“But a baby with boobs!” someone shouted, and I grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, Charlie, I think you should come back in, say, two years. I just don’t think you could handle it.”

“Okay, so I guess that’s a no as well, Louis?” Cheryl asked.

“I’m sorry, but no.”


“I look at you, and you really want this. And I like you. So I think you should at least be able to try. Yes. I mean, how could I let you go before you’ve sung something that gives the jazz feeling with that voice? Cheryl, give her a yes already so I can use my veto.”

I jumped up and down, clapping my hands, until I realized that just proved Louis’ point and stood normally, waiting for Cheryl. If she’d give me a no, I wouldn’t know what to do.

“Well, why are you looking at me like that?” She laughed. “I love you, YES!”

“Aaaah, thankyouthankyouthankyou!” I screamed, completely forgetting everything and jumping again. “I love you, thanks; I’d hug you, but yeah. Thanks!” I shouted, running off the stage, laughter following me.

I handed the microphone back to one of the producer people and jumped down all the stairs at one, landing flat on my face because on my wedges and just staying there, shaking with laughter, until Nick pulled me up, laughing as well. I slipped out of my shoes and hugged all of them, squealing.

“I DID IIIIIIIT!” I screamed. “Oh my GOD, I DID it!” I laughed from joy. From the corner of my eye, I saw Anne, smiling at me and probably already leaving.

“Anne! Wait up!” I scrambled after her, not even bothering to pick up my shoes.

When I finally reached her, I smiled.

“Thanks so much!” I gushed. “I think I would’ve died out there without you!”

She laughed warmly, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you believed in me! You don’t even know me! I really like you, Anne, there’s just something about you.”

She smiled and hugged me, having to bend down because she was pretty tall. “I really like you, too, Charlie. I wish my son would date a girl like you instead of what he’s usually going out with.” I laughed. “Speaking of, I really have to go. He didn’t even understand why I wasn’t celebrating with him but just didn’t return from the loo, and we’re leaving now. But take care!”

“Here, take a Wagon Wheel!” I exclaimed, pressing it into her palm. “Bye, Anne!”

“Bye, Charlie!” she said. “Maybe we’ll see each other again, who knows?”

I waved at her leaving.

Just when I turned, I heard her calling after me.

“Oh, and Charlie? You were awesome!”

I grinned when I heard someone’s annoyed, husky voice say “Mu-um! You’re so embarrassing, come on!”

Oh God, Take a Wagon Wheel? I was an idiot.

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