I'm Not Just Some Girl

When Madison, an average American girl, finally fulfills her dreams of moving to England she can't get enough of it! She is happier then she'seven been in her life! That is, until a boy by the name Harold Styles runs into her, literary. After meeting him, her life will never be quite the same.

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3. Now You Owe me

"Can we get a drink?" Danny asks for the billionth time.

Dad sighs and says, "We already past the vending machine."

"Can't we go back?" he whines.

"I can go get it," I offer.

Mom is so engrossed in looking at the clothes with Celeste that they both miss our whole conversation.  I never really was a big shopper, except when it comes to books or music.  I could spend two weeks straight looking through those and still not venture through everything I wanted to.

"Alright," Dad complies.  "Do you have your phone?"

I nod.  He hands me a five dollar bill and points to the clothing racks.

"We'll be somewhere in here.  Come right back."

"Okay, Dad," I roll my eyes.  "You act like I haven't done this before."

"Not here you haven't."

"Whatever," I say and turn to go.

When I'm out of the sight of the family, I put more swag in my step.  I always like to have more swagger then I show, but Mom hates those kinds of people.  I guess it's like my little secret.

I go up to the vending machine, put in the bill and select a Cherry Coke.  As I dig out the change, I hear a chatter of what sounds like a lot of people.  Girls more so.  I ignore it and start to turn the corner.  That was my first mistake.

Right as I step out, I get slammed into by some dude.  My soda hits the ground with a hiss that tells me that

1.) I'm out a $1.50

2.) All the fizz just left the bottle and is now laying in the floor

3.) Whoever this guy is, he's about to get an ear full

"Hey!" I start to say.

He covers my mouth with his hand and pulls me behind a nearby bench with him.  My back is to his chest so I still don't know who he is and he whispers in my ear, "Please, for all that is good in the world, Don't.  Say.  A.  Word."

His worried voice shows that he's more scared than anything.  That kind of earns my simpathy.

Not ten seconds later, a group of girls comes screaming from the direction the guy came from.  They all have banners and somewhat matching t-shirts, are panting from running so fast, and have a crazy look in their eyes.  They all stop a few feet from our hiding place and look every way, seemingly confused and annoyed.

"Which way did he go?" one girl whines.

"Did you see him?" another asks.

Suddenly, they all start fighting with each other over who lost him and who was supposed to know where he was.  He guy goes completely still and forgets about his grip on me.

I turn my head just enough to where I can catch his eye.  I put my finger to my lips and signal him to stay here.  Carefully, I     sneak around the side of the bench and walk up to the girls.

"Excuse me," I say in my best british accent.  "Are you looking for someone?"

"Yes!" several answer at once.

One girl steps forward and looks at me.  "You didn't happen to see a boy around our age go by here, have you?" she asks.

"Actually, I did," I partly lie.  "Did he have sunglasses on and was about this tall?" I hold my hand a few inches above my head.

"Yea!" they all perk up.

"Which way did he go?" the girl that stepped forward asks.

I point in the opposite direction that I need to go.  "I believe he went that way.  Oh!  By the way, he was on the phone with someone about having a car ready.  If you're planning on catching up to him, you may want to hurry."

They don't even say thank you.  With a few quick glances at each other, it turns into a who-can-catch-the-fake-boy-first brawl.

I shake my head after them.  "Crazies," I mumble back to my normal voice.

I catch sight of my busted soda bottle and face the guy one more time with one hand on my hip.  "It'ssafe," I tell him.

He pokes his head out and looks from me to the way the group ran and back to me.  "Why did you do that?" he asks.

I simply shrug.  "You looked like you could handle a few girls on your own," I smirked.

Now that I got a better look at him, he actually didn't look to bad.  He was a few inches taller than me, like I had thought, was wearing a beanie that pulled back brown, curly hair and had his eyes covered by aviator sunglasses.  Not to shabby.

"Oh, no, I had it completely under control," he tired to sound confident.

"Right," I draw out.  "You seem to have quite a fan group, big shot."

He shrugs, "That?  That was nothing.  You should have seen the one a few months ago."  He shakes his head at the thought.

"Well, heartbreaker, you owe me."  I point to the remains of my, now murdered, drink.

He glances at it and grimaces slightly.  "Sorry about that."

"You should be," I tell him.

He looks at me for a moment before giving me a small smile.  When he did this, I noticed the slightly indent of what would be dimples given he smile bigger.

"How about I buy you another?" he offers.

"That, is probably the best thing you've said today," I smile.

He walks with me back to the machine and buys another Cherry Coke.

I reach for it, before he pulls it back to him.  I raise an eyebrow.

"Before I give you this, you have to give me your number," he smirks.

I narrow my eyes.  "And if I dont?"

He shrugs and begins to open the cap.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Hey!  Alright, buddy, let's calm down for a minute," I say quickly.

He chuckles and looks at me expectantly.  I sigh, "Can I at least get your name?"

"After, I get your number," he teases.

I sigh dramaticly.  He out right laughs at this.  I smile, at least I don't annoy him.  "Fine," I say.

He smiles at me and hands me a pen and holds out his forearm to me.  I shake my head and mumble, "I cannot believe I'm doing this," while writing out the numbers.

After I'm done I hand him his pen and say, "I'm Madison, by the way."

He smiles and hands me the drink.  "Call me Harry, love."

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