The Husband Games

Every girl has dreamed of someday meeting One Direction, and having at least one of the band members fall in love with them. In all reality, it'll probably never happen.
One Direction's management has created a competition in hopes of making up for all of the 'wrongdoings' they have done in the boys' careers, and gaining support from Directioners everywhere.
It's called the Husband Games.
Ever since all of the boys have broken up with their girlfriends, they've been increasingly lonely, and it's taking its toll on their performances. Modest will accept twenty female applicants to attend a two month program that will shape them into ideal girlfriends-- and possible wives-- for the boys.
It all comes down to a final elimination at the end of the two month period, where the guys will select the girls of their dreams.
Who will it be?
Oh.
And may the odds be ever in your favour.

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6. The Sane Ones

"So are you a fan?" Dakota asked me as I wrapped my hair up in a towel.

"Somewhat," I nodded, scrunching up my nose. "My friend dragged me into this." I nodded towards Britta who was combing her hair.

"I know how it feels," she laughed, rolling her eyes.

"You were dragged into it, too?" I raised my eyebrows as I plopped on the foot of her bunk.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Except my friend didn't make it."

"I'm sorry," I frowned.

"You make it sound like she died!" she chuckled. "It's not that big of a deal."

"I know," I twisted my lips. "Are you a fan?"

She shook her head quickly, "No," Both of our attentions were caught by a cluster of girls that swooned over their phones.

"Oh my gosh, he's so hot," one cried, dragging out 'so hot'. 

"I know, right?" Another joined in. They all continued to make fangirl noises that I couldn't quite comprehend. Soon enough, Britta joined in, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the photo they were admiring.

"I guess we're the only sane ones here," Dakota chuckled.

"Guess so," I shrugged. "Well, that Theadora girl is kind of quiet."

"I'm almost positive she's schizophrenic," she snorted. "I've tried to talk to her but she just avoids eye contact at all costs. It's not like I'm going to bite."

"I don't think she knows that," I mused, eyeing her nose piercing. 

"Whatever," she laughed. "I'm gonna get some sleep. See you at breakfast."

"See you," I waved as I stood to go to my bunk.

 

It took awhile to get to sleep, but after plunging my headphones into my ears and turning on a quiet song, I eventually drifted off. 

My dreams were peculiar. I'd never dreamed of a boy before, but tonight was different. Britta wasn't in the competition anymore, and I felt lost. Everyone was dressed in strappy dresses and mile-high stilettos, and I, being one of the tallest, stood out awkwardly. Five boys sat in throne-like chairs at the end of a hall, and each of the girls-- ten of us total-- walked down the narrow corridor, intense expressions on our face. They all seemed to know what they were doing, except me. I glanced around, confusedly. 

The five guys eyed us up and down, making me cringe a little. I'd never liked being judged by someone-- especially a guy, but then again, who does? I finally raised my eyes from the floor as I walked when we stopped a few feet before the guys. One with a head of dark curls, another with a blonde quiff, the next with dark tousled hair, one with short-cropped brown hair, and the last with slicked up dark hair. They were all rather hot and juvenile-looking, with their rude smirking and raised eyebrows. I scowled at them when one would glance at me. If Britta wasn't here, I didn't want them to have any interest. She deserved it more than me, anyways.

Ms. Phyllis stepped out from behind the guy in the middle, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Have you decided yet?" she asked them all quietly. They all gave a nod or mumbled, 'yeah', but their eyes didn't shift from me. I dropped my gaze to the floor again, wondering how or why I was wearing these shoes and not breaking my ankles. I also noticed my thighs weren't touching each other-- I was thinner. It made me want to see Britta, because she was already perfect before the competition.

Ms. Phyllis went to each of the guys, allowing them to whisper something to her. Her expression went from proud to confused as she reached the last boy, turning to face the group of ten girls, then back to the guys.

"Really?" she raised her eyebrows, attempting to keep her voice low, but I heard her anyways. "That's who it is?" The guys all nodded slowly, as if it was obvious what she was questioning.

"Well, alright then," she said blankly, her eyes wide. She turned back to the girls, searching through us. "There is one winner of the Husband Games, and it is up to her to decide who she will pick. The guys have all chosen the same girl."

I spotted Adrienne, who had the most expectant grin on her face as ever, lips curved slyly. Hatred built up in my chest, because I was almost sure it was her. 

"The winner of the Husband Games is..." 

"Annalie!" a higher-pitched voice shook me from my sleep. "Annalie wake up!"

Britta.

"Five more minutes," I groaned. Thank God, it was a dream. 

"We have to go eat breakfast," she snatched my blanket off of me, poking my belly. "Get up!"

"Fine," I surrendered, swinging my legs over my bunk. Only a few other girls lingered in the room, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. I did the same as I ambled after Britta to the dining room.

Platters of scrambled eggs, toast, sausage, and english muffins were lined up on the table. Some girls were already eating. Ms. Phyllis wasn't there, so I assumed we were supposed to eat without her. I sat down next to Britta and poured myself a glass of orange juice. 

"I wonder what we're going to do today," Britta said after spreading some jam on an english muffin. 

"Probably something to do with manners," I said in a horrible English accent.

"Maybe we'll learn how to drink tea properly or how to lift your pinky," she mused, sipping her orange juice in a fancy way.

"Ah, or maybe practice our curtsies," I added playfully.

Ms. Phyllis entered the room, taking her seat at the head of the table. She didn't say anything, and just nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped tea from a dainty cup. After about five minutes, she stood and quieted us down.

"Today will be the first challenge of the competition," she announced. "You will each individually have five minutes with all of the boys one at a time. It'll give them a first impression of you to base your progress off of."

Most of the girls squealed with delight, turning to their neighbors in unison fangirl-mode. I sat simply in my chair and rolled my eyes at Britta when she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her own squeal. 

"Hush, now," Ms. Phyllis said. "I recommend you dress nicely; don't go overboard on the makeup, and just be yourself. The boys appreciate it when you can act normal around them instead of fangirling. We will be getting full reports on each of you during your time with each of them. Don't act the best around the boy you like the most, because it's not your choice, it's theirs. Do you understand?"

Everyone nodded and remained silent. Ms. Phyllis, wavered a hand towards the stairs.

"You are free to go change and get ready. We will leave to the challenge in twenty minutes,"

We all scattered from our seats and tumbled up the stairs to our room. I wasn't too concerned about the challenge, but everyone else seemed to be. Britta was off in the bathroom doing her makeup, so I quickly got changed into a pair of black leggings and a simple loose-fitted cream sweater. I pulled on my ankle-high, light brown combat boots and let my wavy hair down from its ponytail, allowing it to fall carelessly to my shoulders. I went over to Dakota and sat down on her bed.

She was wearing something I'd expect someone to wear out to a grocery store: a maroon beanie slouched on her head, a dark leather jacket that fitted her well, some torn up, light wash skinny jeans, and high tops. Then again, she wasn't much of someone to care about others' opinions, so it didn't really matter, anyways. 

"Nervous?" I asked her, raising my eyebrows. 

"Nah," she scrunched her nose. "If they like me, they like me. If they don't, they don't."

"That's a good way to put it," I admitted. "Do you know the guys' names?"

"No," she snorted. "Only their hair colors."

"Nice," I laughed, crossing my legs. "I know someone who  knows their blood types." I twitched towards Britta who had returned to her bed.

"I don't even know my own blood type!" Dakota guffawed. "Ain't nobody got time fo dat."

"Please don't," I begged sarcastically, rolling onto my back. 

I put on the least amount of makeup possible that kept me from looking horrible, which required mascara, a bit of foundation, and some bronzer for my cheeks. I look decent, but not even close to as great as the other girls did. 

When Ms. Phyllis called us downstairs, my gut tightened up a bit.

I refuse to be nervous.

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