Girls of Summer

Finding someone who hated them proved to be easier than expected.

2Likes
2Comments
302Views
AA

1. Fifty Dollar T-Shirts and Boob Shots

A/N: So...I wrote this for a friend. I’m not a fan of 1D. Please make sure your rotten tomatoes aren’t moldy before you chuck them at me.

 

~*:*~

 

A relationship is never easy. Be it professional, romantic, one of friendship, or one of family, effort is required by both sides. The relationship is doomed to failure if one member of the party fails to express communication, understanding, or courtesy towards the other members. Romantic relationships, however, hold a higher level of fragility than other relationships. As a teen, the relationships last no more than a few months. The rebound rate from these relationships is astonishing. As one progresses to a status of young adulthood, these relationships last for a more extensive period of time, and the recovery stage is of a lengthier period. The moodiness and immaturity of these age groups can prove to be a hindrance to communication within the relationship.

The difficulty of a romantic relationship increases tremendously when a member is in the Hollywood scene. The press wants to know who you’re dating, what you’ve been doing, where you’re going, and what you had for lunch the Tuesday before last. You’re expected to date someone in the film industry, a singer, a model, a photographer, or perhaps someone you hired to organize your life. When a celebrity is romantically engaged with someone outside of their circle, the press descends upon the new couple like vultures upon carrion. In a common occurrence, this results in enough stress to bring about the unfortunate end of the relationship.

This, however, is not always the case. There is always the glitch, the outlier, the malfunction, the faulty trial. This is the story of the friends that defied odds. The ones that stuck with the ones they loved, despite the pressure of their society.

 

~*:*~

 

A glossy white 1970 Chevy Impala convertible roared through the traffic in every way a drivers ed teacher tells you not to. Post-Grunge music poured happily into the air, not restrained by a closed roof. Its driver was a short girl, with a spiky purple pixie cut. She wore black sunglasses, which obscured her deep green eyes. Her passengers consisted of three girls, all close in age to her twenty-one years. The occupant of the passenger seat was a brunette of average height with soft, sloping features. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, with a soft, amber color reaching out from the pupil. She looked younger than her twenty years.

The back seat consisted of two girls and countless empty energy drink cans. They, in their caffeinated haze, had resorted to playing Patty-Cake. The girl sitting on the driver’s side was named Missy. She had long, wavy auburn hair with side bags held off to the right with a small flower clip. Her eyes were hazel (that sometimes looked brown) with long, dark brown eyelashes. The second girl was named Delanie. She was smiling broadly, setting her pale pink braces on display. She had tied her chocolatey brown hair back in a ponytail. Her short bangs were pushed back, making her bright blue eyes stand out even more than usual. A pair of copper colored glasses were in the process of sliding down her nose    

As the traffic on the highway thickened, the driver turned the music down to a whisper.

“I hate driving in traffic,” she growled, her Scottish accent coating each syllable.

“I’ll buy you something to drink, Cerys,” said the girl in the passenger seat.

“Alice, you are buying me a bloody tank of gas. This was full when we left; I’m nearly down to a half tank, and I don’t even like the band,” Cerys snapped back.     

“But how can you not like such gorgeous men?!” asked Delanie.

“None of them of them have got proper muscles!” Cerys whined. “When they look like Chris Evans, I’ll consider it.”

“Size isn’t everything,” Missy said in her usual singsong tone. Delanie and Alice facepalmed, while Cerys mumbled something in Spanish. Probably, You poor innocent girl.

“You’ve any idea what that usually means, Miss Missy?” Cerys asked, glancing up into the rearview mirror. Missy looked down, as though she was trying to think.

“Should I be perverted?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.    

“Yep,” Delanie answered. Missy screwed her eyes up in thought.     

“Oh,” she said suddenly. “That’s so gross!”

The rest of the girls laughed at her realization. Her naivety in the field of sexual knowledge could be likened to a ten year old girl with minimal knowledge of puberty. Delanie, Alice, and Cerys were like the book her mother would give her, which explained everything in nit-picky detail.

“EXIT!” Cerys suddenly shouted, jerking the steering wheel to the right to merge into the exit lane. “Arrival time in T-minus seven minutes.”

The passengers cheered loudly and began to shed their hoodies. Each of them were wearing outfits that could only be described as fangirl vomit. Everything from their clothes to their fingernails was related to the band.

Cerys stuck a finger into her mouth and made a gagging noise as she saw what her friends were wearing. “Just to be clear, I’m only here for the alcohol following this lovely excursion.”

“You’re still coming backstage with us,” Delanie said as she leaned in between the driver and passenger seats.

“Better than being forced to wait around with crazy, obsessive fangirls,” Cerys replied as she squinted up at the rapidly approaching street sign. “That say the arena is thataway?”

“Yes, now turn,” Alice said, thrusting her arm across Cerys. She flicked the right turn signal as Cerys merged into the turning lane. The parking lot was moderately full. A long line of people trailed away from the entrance, and there were a few tents still set up in the first three hundred feet or so.

“People stayed the night?” Delanie exclaimed, pressing her nose against the window.

“They’re the uncool people that don’t have early access meet and greet passes,” Missy said as Cerys swung into a parking spot as close to the entrance as possible. The group clambered out of the vehicle and stretched slightly. Their skin happily absorbed the sunlight streaming down from the bright May sky. Once their stiff limbs had relaxed somewhat, they began their trek to the stadium, and to (what was considered by three members of the group) the greatest band in the world: One Direction.

 

~*:*~

 

    An hour later, the group of girls found themselves smashed into a corridor with masses of other girls. They were close to the door, the other side of which contained the band. Alice looked over at her friends. Cerys was, as expected, leaning against a wall with her nose buried in a beaten up journal, the cover of which was a collage of Harry Potter goodness. Delanie was bouncing up and down, in her usual obsessive fangirl manner. At this point, she was too far gone for them to even make an attempt to calm her down. Missy was looking around, examining the ceiling, surely searching for shapes made from the water damage. Alice looked ahead. There was a short line in front of them, no more than seven or eight more groups between them and the door. At the rate they had been moving, that meant about twenty five to thirty minutes left before she would be in the presence of One Direction.

    As the group moved closer, Delanie began to produce high pitched squeaking sounds. Alice glanced over to Cerys, smirking when she saw the glare aimed at the high pitched brunette.

    “Clam up, ye blithering idiot!” she snapped. “No one wants to listen to your whingin’.”

    Delanie’s jaw dropped in indignation. “That’s so mean!”

    “You really should be used to it at this point,” Alice interjected. She had known Cerys since they were freshman in highschool, and was well aware of how blunt the Scottish girl could be. It was one of Alice’s favorite parts about her; she wasn’t afraid to tell someone exactly what she thought of them, nor was she concerned with what society thought of her. Watching her and Delanie go back and forth was one of the most entertaining activities known to man, in Alice’s opinion. Delanie took everything said to her with utmost seriousness and made the most pathetic faces in response to Cerys’s loving verbal abuse.

    Alice had been taking Cerys’s abuse for seven years now, and was well adjusted to the mouthy Scot. Delanie and Missy had both met Cerys through Alice three years ago, and they still had yet to grow completely accustomed to her mannerisms.

    “But that was completely serious!” Delanie exclaimed.

    “Yes, it was! No one feels like listening to you squeak,” Cerys exclaimed. Before Delanie could retaliate, Cerys smacked her on the head with her journal (which was, thank the heavens, paperback). The whack seemed to subdue Delanie somewhat, leaving her only bouncing up and down and clapping occasionally. No worse than the majority of the other girls in line.

    The boys of One Direction were inside the room, scratching autographs when needed, taking photographs, and answering a few brief questions. Zayn Malik felt the slip of paper he had scrawled his phone number on burning in his pocket. He didn’t know why, but he and Niall had both decided to write their phone numbers down on small slips of paper, along with a small, written request for the recipient to give them a call. He chewed on the inside of his lip as the group they had just met with left the room. He wanted to give a girl his number, but he knew it was truly idiotic and stupid to give it to a fan. Maybe a girl who wasn’t one of the crazy obsessive fans, but how easy was it to find one of those at a meet and greet?!

    As the next group came in, he determined that it was, evidently, not too hard. In the back of a group of four girls, there was a short girl who was no more than five feet tall. She had deep purple hair, which was standing straight up in two inch spikes. The most important factor, however, was her shirt. It read, I hate you. in thick, solid black lettering. No crazy fangirl would wear that to a concert. They would wear something closer to what the girl with the ponytail and braces was wearing. The girl with the long, brown hair and the girl with the auburn seemed to be a happy medium. However, he was more drawn to the purple haired girl. She was tiny, and had dark green doe shaped eyes. Streaks of a lighter shade of green lashed out from the pupil, splitting across her iris in stripes.

    “Hi!” Harry said, with a big smile. The ponytail haired girl squeaked and waved.

    “I’m Delanie,” she said, with a grin. The boys needlessly introduced themselves, each earning a smile and a wave from each girl.

    “I’m Alice,” said the girl with the long brown hair. Zayn glanced over at his bandmates,  resisting the urge to smirk when he saw the obvious interest present in Niall’s eyes.

“I’m Missy,” the auburn haired girl said. The three girls all looked towards the remaining, purple haired girl. She took a moment to realize they were all staring at her.

“Have I really got to introduce myself?” she asked, her tone carrying a whiny undertone.

Zayn grinned at her Scottish accent. Her friends nodded at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

    “Cerys,” she said. “Can we leave now?”

    “Not before a picture!” exclaimed everyone in the room. Cerys groaned inwardly as a photographer collected her friends’ cameras. She allowed herself to be maneuvered into a spot, finding herself between the Indian dude (What had he said his name was? Zayn?) and Alice.

    Alice was excited. She would readily admit to that. However, she wasn’t going to fangirl all over the group, unlike Delanie.. She was rather proud of the fact that she wasn’t flipping out. Then again, she had never really tagged herself as the type to go nuts. She was more relaxed than that.

    “Smile,” she heard Niall whisper from beside her. Her face lit up, and she glanced up the celebrity.

    “Much better,” he replied. Alice felt her eyes widen as his hand came to rest on the narrowest part of her torso. In every single picture 1D had taken with fans (That she had seen, at least.) hands had remained on upper backs and around shoulders. Never around the waist.

    She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks as the first camera went off. She looked over to Cerys, who was staring in shock down at her chest. Most likely, she had just come to the realization that her shirt had slid down far enough to reveal a view of her cleavage.

    “Not so bad, hmm?” Alice whispered.

    “They’re all too tall,” Cerys hissed in reply.

    “No, you’re just really short,” Alice replied with a grin.

    “You’re a glaikit,” the Scot replied sharply. Alice rolled her eyes as she turned to face the camera again. Cerys had always been a fan of using Scottish insults, mainly because only she would know the level of which she had insulted someone. Alice, however, knew that “glaikit” was essentially the same as “idiot”

    “That’s not very nice,” Niall said leaning forward slightly to speak to Cerys.

    “Zip it, Irish boy,” Cerys said, flicking her eyes over to the young man in question.

    “Clam up, Scotty,” Niall retorted instantaneously. Cerys quirked an eyebrow at his response and turned away. Alice grinned inwardly. Cerys was impressed. She only ever ceased bantering when she was impressed.

    The pictures finished quickly, and the boys scrawled their autographs into the booklets that Alice, Missy, and Delanie had brought. Hugs were exchanged between all the girls, exempting Cerys, who shot a glare when Zayn made an attempt to hug her, which in turn kept the rest of the boys from offering. The group of girls left the room, exactly four minutes and six seconds after they had entered. They found their way to their seats, which were eleven rows away from the stage. As the concert wasn’t set to begin for another two hours, Delanie and Missy decided to go off to look at merchandise.

    “Nothing like a fifty dollar t-shirt,” Cerys mumbled as the long haired duo skipped away.

    “Says the girl who bought a six dollar bottle of water,” Alice replied.

    “I’d rather not get dehydrated, thanks.”

    “Whatever. Did your boobs start talking or something after that first picture?” asked Alice. Cerys scoffed and took a sip from her water bottle.

    “No. I had something dropped down my shirt, by the Indian guy--Zayn?”

    “What do you mean he dropped something down your shirt?!”

"I mean he dropped something down my shirt. It's really not that difficult to comprehend."

“But--why--what did he--” Alice attempted to choke out a question.

    “Don’t hurt yourself,” Cerys said, her words double dipped in sarcasm.

    “But--?”

    “I don’t know what’s there. Just, hush up about it, ‘aight? I don’t want Delanie attacking me just to get ahold of something he touched.” With another swig of water, she slammed her combat boot clad foot down on the back of the chair in front of her. Alice took that as a sign the conversation was over, and removed her phone from its nest inside the pocket of her shorts. One hour and forty five minutes left. With a groan, she opened up a pop culture guessing game and began wasting her coins on hints and letter deletes.

    Cerys kept her nose firmly planted in her journal, which was in fact, not a journal. The summer between sophomore and junior year in high school, Alice had told Cerys she would buy her gas for two months if she wrote down the entirety of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by the time the summer ended. Cerys had succeeded in doing in so, and had loved doing it, so she had decided to write the entire series down in a series of journals. She had covered the covers of each journal with imagery that associated with a specific color and parts of the book. She almost always had at least one of the journals on her person. Frequently, it was Chapter 33 of Deathly Hallows, since the entire chapter had fit into a pocket sized notebook.

    “Who’s opening?” Cerys asked suddenly.

    “No one you enjoy,” Alice replied, glaring at the game.

    “I was contemplating going to hide in the bathroom. Maybe traumatize some children,” Cerys replied. “That’s always fun.”

    “Only if you have enough fake blood to make it look like your torso was slashed open.”

    “I’ve taught you well, young padawan.”

    “I think I’m the one that taught you.”

    Cerys scoffed. “Please! Without me, you would be a pretty little daisy blowing in the wind of a meadow with your fairy friends. But, now you’re this BAMF rose that sits around and looks pretty on this thorn covered bush.”

    “Daisies are the type of flower you have tattooed on your hip, right?”

    “No! I have a dandelion tattooed on my hip!”

    The pair bantered back and forth, talking about everything from flower confusion, to the grossness level of sauerkraut. When Delanie and Missy returned, they joined the conversation, adding in their opinions of how olives resembled eyeballs and how much fun it would be to go trick-or-treating in the middle of August.

    The two hours passed quickly, much to the delight of the entire group (Cerys was only excited because it was closer to being over). The opening act played two songs, and then the lights in the stadium blew out. An announcer's voice tore through the speakers, dousing the crowd with his proclamation: “Ladies and gentleman--ONE DIRECTION!

 


A/N: Sorry for any formatting issues...I think (hope) I fixed everything. Soo, comment, subscribe, all that fun stuff. I’m writing this in the midst of starting up college classes, so, bear with me on the updating schedule.

 
Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...