Age is Just a Number

Caroline is a 15-year-old girl who likes One Direction, but isn't in love with them like the rest of her friends. When one of her friends takes the four of them to meet One Direction backstage, Caroline meets five boys who will change her life forever.


15. Friends Suck

Caroline's POV

      Harry wrapped his arms around me and kissed me softly. I got the same electric feeling I always did, and I leaned in, kissing him back. A few seconds later I jerked away. "Harry," I said, "we can't do this."

      "What? Why not?" Harry asked, a shocked look on his face.

      I bit my lip nervously and shrugged his arms off me. "You're leaving to continue with your tour in less than a week. And we just met. How are we supposed to-" but Harry interrupted me.

      "I told you, we can make it work. And once you're old enough, you could come on tour with us."

      I shook my head at him. "See? 'Once you're old enough'. My age is coming between us again. That'll be years, Harry. Do you really think you'll still love me in three years?" I asked.

      "I hope I will," Harry said. "And I told you. Age is just a number. Besides, it's summer. Maybe your parents will let you come for a couple months. You could be back before school starts."

     I got a warm fuzzy feeling inside as he put his arms back around me, drawing me closer in to him.

      "You're a goof, Curly Fry," I said, tossling his hair, "but I love you."

      "I love you too," he said, making me blush. Ugh. I wished I could control that. Harry just grinned. "You're cute," he said, poking my nose. I twirled my fingers in one of his curls, and he smirked at me. "No girl can resist the curls," he said, and I giggled at him.

      "You're right," I said, "they are the true reason I love you."

      Harry let go of me and turned around in a fake pout. "Well, I suppose I should just head down the street to Kayla, shouldn't I? She really loves me, doesn't she?" I laughed harder, but my mom's voice floated up the stairs telling me Harry needed to go. I sighed and walked him out the door.

      "Bye, Love," he said, kissing me softly.

      "Bye, Curly Fry," I giggled back, and then he was gone.


      The next morning, I checked my phone and saw that I had recieved a billion more messages from my ex-friends calling me all kinds of horrible names and telling me I didn't deserve them or Harry.

      But there were also a bunch of messages from other friends and acquaintances that I wasn't too close with telling me that I was so lucky and asking me if the kiss was good as well as calling me nasty things I prefered not to say. I wondered how they found out about that...and then realized that Harry and I had sent a ton of pictures of us kissing to Kayla, Hannah, and Ella. Crud.

      I quickly went out and ran down to the newspaper stand a few blocks away, and on the front cover of one of the magazines Well, Harry and me. Every picture we'd sent them was on it, as well as a new one of us kissing on the porch right before he left. They must have told the paparazzi where he was.

      I bought the magazine and walked to a local diner and sat down to have breakfast. I ordered my pancakes and opened the magazine, immediately feeling the anger bubbling up inside me. The story was told from the girls' point of view. And it was completely screwed up.

      Kayla Harper tells us, "We were trying to tell her how lucky she was to have a boyfriend like Harry, and she punched me in the face and told me to get out, and that Harry was hers. I have no idea why Harry would want to be with Caroline. She is totally not worth his time or attention."

  According to another friend, Ella Meyers, the three of them left in tears because of all the hurtful things Caroline called them. "She called us a whole bunch of things I shouldn't even say, but fat and ugly are among them. She told us she had a famous boyfriend and didn't need losers like us anymore."

  "Then to torment us," Hannah Brown says, "she sent us all these pictures of her and Harry together. Either she's been sneaking drugs in Harry's food, or she's blackmailing him. I can't believe Harry Styles could ever like someone like her."

     Friends suck.

      I slammed the magazine closed without even finishing the article. I felt a cross between wanting to  slit their throats and throw up. I stood up and, leaving the magazine on the table, stormed to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and stood, clenching my fists, taking deep breaths. I couldn't, I wouldn't let this get to me. It doesn't matter. It's just one magazine. Whatever, right?


    Not only was my inbox exploding, but so was my Twitter. People I didn't even know were insulting me and telling me to get away from Harry, that he did nothing to deserve someone as horrible as me. I sat down in the corner of the bathroom as I read the Tweets, each one worse than the last, and eventually I broke down. I put my phone in my pocket and cryed.

     After a while, the texts stopped coming. Great. At least they aren't cussing at me any more.

      No, they just hate me.

      Once I'd calmed down, I called Harry. He picked up, and I said, "We need to have a serious discussion. Now."   

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