New Girl

Kay Brown is a foreign exchange student from America into the school Bradford of Doncaster. Upon arrival, she is surprised to meet three interesting men. The one who decided to help her and make sure she was okay no matter what. The one that plays hard to get but might actually be head over heels. And the one with tattoos that hide all of his secrets below the ink and the black. Their names? Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, and Zayn Malik. What happens when your past keeps you from moving on and your future just seems like a murderer is disguise? Who will she pick? Read New Girl, to find out.


4. Red (part 2)

Author's Note: Well, this one is long so brace yourself for some feels, peasants.
Kay’s Outfit for this Chapter:
From: Zayn
“Dress comfortably classy, ‘kay babe? :) x”
I let an unexpected smile cross my face as I went through my clothes and stopped at my black sweater. It’s face had a Superhero Style “POW!” which I remembered, looked at lot like Zayn’s tattoo on his arm. I snatched my red jeans and quickly shimmied to get them on. When a company says skinny, they mean skinny. I plucked my black beanie off of my nightstand and adjusted it so that is balanced on my head nicely. I tightened my comical heart pendant around my neck and slipped my high tops on. It all felt right, except for the date. Was Louis jealous? Or concerned? I couldn’t read the look on his face back at the ice cream shop, maybe it was betrayal.
To: Louis
“Any final words before I leave? Advice of anything? ;)”
After typing in the characters I turned towards my mirror again to swipe on my mascara and eyeshadow when my phone buzzed.
From Louis:
“Send me a pic of you.”
I snapped a photo of me with my worst duck face and laughed as he responded like I had hoped.
From Louis:
“Where are you? All I see are aquatic birds!”
To Louis:
“Well, any advice?”
It seemed like he was hesitating as he typed because his answer took twice as long as it had before.
From Louis:
“Be careful, okay? Promise me that you won’t do anything you’ll regret tomorrow.”
Before I could answer a knock on the door rattled my thoughts. Zayn.
I grabbed my purse and answered the door as he smiled at me cheekily. He gave me a hug and wrapped his arm around me as I locked the flat’s doors and began to walk with him to his car. He stopped in the parking lot and took out his keys and clicked them twice. The lights of the motorbike I had seen early  roared to life.
“Wait, we’re riding this?” I question as he climbs on and secures his helmet and passes me a silver one with pink lettering on the back that read, “Stop Staring.”
“Well, duh,” he chuckled as I tried to get on but shuddered with nervousness, “It’s like a horse. Just swing your leg over and hold onto me.”
I did as he asked and held onto him tightly, burying my head in his back. “How long have you been driving like this?”
“14, Kay. I know what I’m doing,” he explains, kicking the bike into drive as he passes me a pair of Ray Bans, “Keep your eyes open. It’s a real experience.”
I felt my fingers grasp his shirt and I whimpered a bit as the bike jerked forward out of the parking lot and into the street. Zayn’s eyes stayed on the road but continued chit-chat with me until we got the the end of the street where a stop light awaited us.
“Do you sing?” he asked, turning to me as he waited for the light to change.
“Not anymore,” I frown, laying my head back on his chest as his eyebrows raise.
“Please? For me?” he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip as he bites it carefully.
“Not even for you,” I whimper, balling his shirt in my hands.
“I’ll sing with you. I’ll even start,” he begs, as the light waits to change.
He shoots forward and starts a song that plays colorful words that I would prefer not to say.
“I’LL SING IF YOU PICK SOMETHING CLEAN,” I call, wind pressure pushing my hair back.
“Artist?” he calls back, speeding a bit as he starts to turn to his right into a dark grey building.
“Doesn’t matter!” I yell as he claims his parking spot and stops the bike.
He helps me down and holds me for a minute, “How was that?”
“Frightening,” I cried, stabbing the air with my quiver.
“Well, let’s go inside...” he explains leading me into the dark alleyway as he makes a turn for the right and slips in through a black door with me behind him.
“Zayn, you made it!” a girl calls, twirling her sunny blonde hair in her fingers as she smacks on spearmint gum before she notices me, “And you brought...a prostitute?”
“Not funny, Olivia,” Zayn snaps, wrapping his arm around me, “It’s my date.”
“How much did he pay you?” she whispers, nudging me.
“Nothing...?” I answer,pushing myself closer to Zayn as I whisper, “Where are we?”
“Korie’s Karaoke Bar,” Zayn explains smiling as Olivia stares at me.
“Zayn wins every week...” Olivia explains, throwing him a nasty look, “And gets free drinks. He’s running us out of business.”
“Free music? How is that bad?” Zayn laughs, taking my hand as he and Olivia walk through another door to a room full of people eating, dancing, and singing.
“AND GUESS WHO’S IN THE HOUSE?” a man’s voice booms, pointing towards the door as we walk through as the crowd cheers and claps loudly.
Zayn turns to me, kisses my cheek, and runs around to the top of the stage and grabs a headset from a man on the side. Zayn adjusts his leather jacket as two of his friends rise and stand beside him, both in leather jackets. He whispers something to both of the boys and the nod approvingly.
“Hey guys!” Zayn calls to the crowd as girls cheer back and men call back happily, “You guys having a good night!?”
The music starts to play in the background as Zayn and the boys bob the music and start their song.
Everybodys looking for love. Oh. Oh.
Ain’t that the reason you’re at this club? Oh. Oh.
You ain’t gonna find a dance with him. No. Oh.
Got a better solution for you girl. Oh. Oh.” he starts, jumping and dancing like he does this all the time as his eyes meet mine as he says the third line.
He continues to sing until he gets to the chorus and he starts to move into the crowd and stands in front of me and grabs me at the last line and pulls me towards the stage.
“In my head, I see you all over me.
In my head, you fulfill my fantasy.
You’ll be screaming no.
In my head, its going down.
In my head, its going down.
In my head. Yeah. In my head. Oh yeah.” he sings, spinning me as I stand awkwardly on stage as the men in the crowd whistle and Zayn takes my hand and sings to me beautifully and ends the song on a perfect key and grabs my waist.
“Hey Kay,” he starts pushing my hair away from my eyes, “Time for that song.”
My eyes bulge as he stands me up and looks into the crowd for suggestions. A couple women recommend things that only people like Ke$ha would sing and men suggest things of the same nature. Zayn looks over at me now and then and I shake my head. If I was singing, I was not singing as a slut.
“You know what? I’ll pick,” Zayn laughs as he walks over to the booth and types in a song as the music starts to play.
He leans over to me and whispers, “Cut in whenever you want.”
As the music begins he holds his mic and carefully starts singing the beginning.
“Her name is Noel,
I have a dream about her.
She rings my bell.
Got gym class in half in hour.
Oh how she rocks,
Keds and Tube Socks,
but she doesn’t know who I am.
And she doesn’t give a d*mn about me,” Zayn starts and I know I’m going to have to jump in on the next line but my throat closes.
I take a deep breath and prepare myself and as the beat hits, I sing.
“Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby.
I’m just a teenage dirtbag.
Listen to Iron Maiden, baby
With me,” I sing out as Zayn smiles at me and sings along and wraps his arms around me.
He starts the next verse and waits for me to take my turn to kick in but I decide he should have his moment bashing Noel’s boyfriend. We sing the chorus together again and he wraps his arm around me and allows me to bob to the music.
“Oh yeah, dirtbag.
No he don’t know what he’s missing.
Oh yeah, dirtbag.
No he don’t know what he’s missing!” I sing out, letting the lyrics leave me and Zayn and I sing together in harmony.

“Man, I feel like mold
It's prom night and I am lonely
Low and behold
He's walking over to me
This must be fake
My lip starts to shake
How does he know who I am?
And why does he give a d*mn about me?”  I sing, as Zayn gives me this solo, It feels almost like a pair of shoes that you haven’t worn in a while, yet they still feel right.
As we finally finish, the crowd roars as Zayn forces me into a bow with him and the others and I hear murmurs from the crowd about us and having a new regular.
“And next up...Olivia Brender!” Zayn calls, running off as Olivia walks up and sits with her guitar and starts to strum.
“And you didn’t want to sing,” Zayn laughs, picking me up and spinning me.
“I didn’t know you could!” I squeel, grabbing onto his neck as he sets me down and walks me over to a black couch where a waitress brings us some drinks, “No thanks. I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink?” Zayn questions, holding our drinks out from him as he looks at me.
“Nope. Tried it once and got tipsy. I did some stuff that I’m not proud of, so I don’t drink,” I explain, looking up at the waitress, “Can I get a diet Fanta?”
“Make that two,” Zayn smiles, passing our drinks back as he moves his arm onto the back of the couch and stares at me, “Dammit Kay, you’re a good influence.”
“I try,” I laugh as I scootch into him and rest my head on his shoulder, “You’re a bad influence, you know?”
“What do you mean?” he questions, throwing me a toothy grin as our drinks are passed to us.
I take a swig of the soda and spit it out, “This is spiked.”
“I’m a bad influence,” he smiles as he takes my drink away and gives me his, “It’s clean, I promise.”
I take a sip and smile, he wasn’t lying.
“Let’s play the question game,” I cock my head and smile, picking my legs up and crossing them underneath me.
“Okay. You first,” he answers, rolling his hands through his hair as he rests his arm on my shoulder.
“What is your worst fear?” I ask, placing my face in my hands as he grins.
“That the world is going to run out of hair gel.”
“No...that I’m not going to actually get anything out of this life,” he whispers, reaching for my hand and rolling his thumb over my knuckles, “My turn.”
“Okay, Zayn.”
“Why did your parents move you here?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We got time.”
“It’s loud in here.”
“We can go to the bike,” he explains, grabbing my hand and he peels out a five dollar bill and lays it on the table.
We weave our way through the partners and squeeze through the doors we came in. His hair seems to still have the sparkle of spotlight on it as we walk to the bike and sit at it's tires.
"You can talk now," Zayn smiles, grasping my hand and pulling me towards him.
"This is going to take a while," I explain as I try to start.

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