Larissa Jones has dreams of a boy, a boy she's never met. Every night would be a new fantasy in this perfect relationship. Dates to restaurants; watching the sunset or drives into the middle of nowhere. It was perfect and he was perfect too. Dark brown ringlets framed his face and bottomless green eyes that she could stare into forever.

But when Larissa goes to see a fortune teller for fun with her friend and the fortune teller magically recites everything in her dreams-that she’s going to meet a boy in a couple of years, with brown curls and green eyes and will go on wonderful and romantic dates with, she starts to unravel that maybe these aren’t just dreams, but visions into the future, her whole world changes.

How will she meet this boy? She finally stops delving into her dreamland of books long enough to make the connection that this boy isn’t just some recurring perfection, he’s Harry Styles and with millions of fans worldwide (after doing some research), how will she meet


11. I Hope You Enjoy Your Stay In New York.

Its now four days since my phone call with Betty and I have been keeping up with the journal by writing everything and anything my brain can remember and it's kind of fun to be honest! Remembering all the dreams and replaying them over and over in my head made me smile. Thinking about what could be I suppose-and hopefully will be!

I've also been thinking about Zayn a lot as well. I had absolutely no idea that they were band mates! Once I'd done my full research on Harry I had a little look into Zayn. Just to see what he was like (apart from being a complete and utter good looking God of course) but I won't bore you with the details about him though.

He does make me want to bash my head against my bedroom wall repeatedly though because of my utter stupidity of not recognizing him I lost my chance of meeting Harry! The thought crossed my mind yesterday and I am so infuriated with myself. Well, everybody really, I have been in a mood ever since I found out and I sort of feel how Henry feels from Horrid Henry. You know when he gets so angry with Perfect Peter and he turns into some weird and terribly unhealthy giant green monster or dragon or dinosaur? Please don't ask me how I know this-I just do.

At the moment I was on a flight to New York for the weekend. The reason behind it was the Vogue editors wanted to meet with me but they couldn't get back to London anytime soon so they offered to fly me out for free. I was ecstatic but unfortunately my parents weren't. It took a long, long time for me to convince them that I was old enough to go and would be absolutely fine and that the people at Vogue would look after me. My mum looked like she was going to tear up at the airport when I said goodbye with the words and I quote 'my baby's all grown up'. I cringed and pulled away obviously.

The plane was gorgeous! I'm not over-exaggerating at all. It was sat in first class with seats that went so far back they could be classed as beds, and they're was only about thirty seats altogether which made it more peaceful and relaxing. Foods and drinks were handed out at no cost, which meant complete pigging out for me-which is what you have to do when things are unlimited. Take advantage, right? This plane was like extra, extra, extra, extra first class if that makes sense. Of course it doesn't. It's me. Duh.

It's safe to say I was sad when I was informed that the plane was landing. I grabbed my hand luggage and dragged my feet through JFK airport security and then impatiently waited for my suitcase to come. I know what you're probably thinking-why is she taking a suitcase for a weekend? I like to be prepared for all disasters or an opportunity is the answer to that.

A sign read 'LARISSA JONES' so I sort of went towards it. Grr, they used my full name. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind my name but you get so used to people calling you 'Larry' or 'Laz' that its actually weird when people call you by your actual name. I suppose I better get used to it because these meetings are going to be very formal.

The man holding the sign led me towards a black Audi and opened the door for me and called me 'Miss. Jones'. I blushed. In the car we made small talk about the weather and where the hell am I going. (It's approximately 25 degrees centigrade and he gave me a piece of paper with a smile). I took it out of his hands and found out it was my schedule for the three days.

Larissa Jones.

I hope you enjoy your stay in New York. We are making it as comfortable and relaxing as we can because of your inconvenience of coming here.

You will be staying at a five star hotel where your driver will be taking you now. Please get settled in and then at 5pm he will pick you back up again. We will be going out to a formal dinner with the other senior workers from Vogue. We will discuss any matters there.

On Saturday this is your day to do anything you would please. Your driver will pick you up at 10am and will take you anywhere you want to go. Ask him for any recommendations as well. You will be given $250 spending money.

Sunday it was conveniently the day where the other editors from around the world fly in for a meeting. I would like you to attend and represent London interns. Make sure you scratch up on your knowledge for it!

Thank you for coming.

Maria Thomas-Editor.

Oh my God! I need to phone my parents and Jess to tell them about this! This is incredible! I can’t believe I’m going to meet all the senior editors from around the world. This is honestly my dream! Ever since I was little I would be filling up notebooks and scrap paper and anything I could possibly draw on with designs of fashion and it’s amazing that I love writing too!

I only popped out of my transfixed happy bubble when the driver pulled up in a car space outside to what I assume is the hotel I’m staying at.

‘We’re here now Miss. Jones,’ he told me, chuckling slightly as he noticed me looking at the letter in awe.

‘Thank you…’ I smiled but trailed off, as I was unsure of his name.

‘Paul,’ he replied and returned my gesture with his own tired, wrinkle covered face.
‘Thank you Paul,’ I finished my sentence.

‘I’ll be here tonight at five o’clock?’

‘According to my letter I think that correct.’

‘Okay, have a nice trip.’

I hopped out of the car and walked into the lobby of the hotel. It was absolutely jaw dropping amazing. Glass chandeliers hung from ridiculously high ceilings. Employees dressed in bow ties and waistcoats and dress shirts. The main desk waiting at the back of the lobby was probably made of some expensive wood that I don’t know the name of and waiting behind it was a large bald man in an incredibly tight pricey suit. He wore a grim expression that wasn’t very inviting. Assuming he must be the manager and the desk must be the check-in, I walked up to him.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked in a deep voice.

‘Um, I-I think I have a reservation,’ I stuttered, a tiny bit intimidated. Not enough to be scared though.

‘You think? I’m sure if I booked a hotel room that I would remember.’

I hated him already.


‘Come on then. Spit it out,’ he rolled his eyes at my hesitation.

‘Leave the poor girl alone,’ came a deep husky voice. I gasped.
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