Zayn Malik. You know who he is, right? Of course you do. So does Kristina, but everyone calls her Is for short, because she just, is, ya know? If she could describe Zayn in one word, it would be sexy. If Zayn could describe Is in one word, it would be sexy, too. But, to Is, freak, mutant and/or, well, superhuman, would be more like it.


11. I Never Really Did Like Elevators

   Is's POV

   I felt like one of those crazed fans, who stalked the boys of 1D, just hoping that they'll talk to them. It seemed ironic, that just a bit earlier, I was running away from guys, now here I am, following one. And I wasn't fan-stalking Malik (I still had no idea what his first name was), I just wanted to apologize. For, ya know, slugging him in the face. But truly, it wasn't just my fault. He touched me- my back. The middle of my back, where my wings are. It would have been completely disasterous if Malik found out I had wings. Since not very many people have wings.

   I walked into a fancy-schmancy hotel. I snorted. I can't believe I expected anything less than perfect. I walked up the receptionist, my coat enveloping me. "Hi," I started.

   The lady lifted her eyes, but not her head. She seemed snotty. "May I help you?" The tone of her voice was kinda like, You sure don't look rich enough to be here, but whatever. I'll just pretend to be nice for now.

   I nodded, ignoring the voice infliction she was directing towards me. "I'm here to see..." I pondered on what I should call him, then decided on, "Mr. Malik. It would be ever so kind of you to inform me his room number." I tried to act like a sweet, innocent 15 year old, and it made me wanna throw up.

   The lady actually laughed, it was a cruel sound, unlike Malik's laugh. I mentally slapped myself. Why did I keep thinking of that boy like that! "Sorry hon, you'll just have to wait outside with the rest of the Directioners." 

   Directioners? I wasn't.."Oh! No, no. You've got it all wrong, see, I just came here to-" 

   I was rudely cut off by that snot-nosed B, as she waved me off mid-sentance, saying Next!

   I glared at her as I stepped aside. Fine, I thought. 

   I went over to an elevator towards the back of the lobby, hating the B, hating Malik, hating myself. I was the only person in the elevator by the time the doors squealed metal-against-metal shut. The floor buttons glowed, each one emitting a glow of potential. I pressed button 13 with my middle finger, figuring my life couldn't get much crappier. I heard gears shift and grind and the metal death-trap inched upward. I never really did like elevators.

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