You're Famous, I'm Not *Complete*

Amber and Emily's famliy's decided to go on a trip to London. In February, the week of and after Valentine's Day. If being in an amazing city is enough. The run into 2/5 of the world's biggest boy band.
*Just to make it clear, I (Directioner4Life<3) write most, if not all of the chapters. My co-writers are there for help. If I don't update everyday, don't worry. Sorry for this little rant.*

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42. I Play A Song

Emily and I get our stuff out of the trunk, and follow the boys in to the house. "Guys, we're here!" Harry yells.

"In the living room!" comes an all too familiar voice. Louis Tomlinson's.

The boys lead the way to the living room. When we get there, I'm so happy. Louis, Liam, and Zayn are sitting on a massive couch. Playing X-box. "Guys, can you pause it?" Harry asks.

"Sure," Liam says.

Someone pauses the game, and they all look towards us. "Hello ladies," Louis says.

"Hi Louis," I say.

"Who are these lovely ladies names Harry?"

"This is Amber," Harry points to me.

"And this is Emily," Niall points to Emily.

"Hello girls," Liam says.

"Hi," Emily says.

"Come sit," Zayn says.

"Okay," I say.

All four of us sit down. Emily and I by each other.

"Nice instruments," Louis says.

"Thanks," Emily and I say.

"Can you play us something?"

"Sure. I'll play. Then Emily, you'll play. And then we can play together."

"Okay," Emily says.

I get my bass out of its case and strum all the strings. "Um, this is a true story. At school, a girl I dislike came up to me. She was going off on me, so I started singing." I start playing, and then start singing, "Sorry I don't treat you like a Goddess, is that what you want me to do? Sorry I don't treat you like you're perfect, like all your little loyal subjects do. Sorry I'm not made of sugar, am I not sweet enough for you? Is that why you always avoid me? That must be such an inconvenience to you. Well, I'm just your problem. I'm just your problem. It's like I'm not even a person, am I? I'm just your problem. Well, I-I-I-I shouldn't have to justify what I do. I-I-I-I shouldn't have to prove anything to you. I'm sorry that I exist; I forget what landed me on your blacklist. But I-I-I-I shouldn't have to make up to you, so why do I want to? Why do I want to?" I stop singing, and stop playing my bass soon after.

Everyone claps. "That was good," Harry says.

"Thanks. Emily, your turn."   

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