"Y-You like my writing?" I whisper in shock, the fingernails of my free hand biting into my palm. Was this all some kind of sick joke? An impostor just trying to be Harry?
"Yes, it's very unique," He says almost sheepishly into the receiver.
"If this this all a joke, I-I don't find it f-funny." I whisper, looking down at my lap, hurt.
"I'm not joking around with you, Jamie, I promise," I nod to myself, trying to coax out of the anxiety that was clouded like static behind my eyes. I rub at my temples and take deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. Was this the real Harry Styles I was currently exchanging words with? The one I spent hours on in my stories just explaining the profile of his face? I let out a small shiver and he continues. "If you don't believe me, come to the cafe next to the flower shop,"
My eyebrows shoot up and I say, "Harry, how do you know where I live?"
"I looked at your profile," He says as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "'I live in Neverland but the locals like to call it Los Angeles California'," He recites from my page, laughing.
A blush rushes to my cheeks, flattered he was reciting my profile. My profile out of the millions of girls who idolized him. "When do I meet you?" I whisper.
"Now?" It comes out a question and I can detect a hint of nervousness in my tone which roots me to the bench I was sitting on. The famous Harry Styles was nervous for a nerdy girl like me?
"S-Sure," I say. The two of us hang up and I walk toward the cafe which was coincidentally down the road from my house. My hands were shaking the whole way there. I had trouble ordering food from restaurants in front of strangers. How was I supposed to have a casual conversation with a universal pop-star? My breath halts in my throat once I stand in front of the familiar door. I usually came here after school to work on my writing so I could stay away from my parents who were beginning to separate like oil and water. The thought makes me grimace and I step inside, the heavy scent of coffee choking me.
I scan the booths, hoping to see a familiar mop of brown curls and when I do, the tremors return. My feet are like lead blocks as I walk over to him, sneakers scraping against the ground and when I get to him, he looks up at me, his green orbs masked by a pair of sunglasses. "Jamie?" He guesses.
"T-This is her," I say, scooting across from him. He smiles at me, his teeth pearly white and almost blinding to look at. I hold back from telling him this was the very booth where I wrote my fanfiction, not wanting him to think I'm odd yet, I figured, why would he care if this was the booth I sat at if he read my fanfiction in general? I suddenly blush, thinking back to the moments in my book where there were heavy makeout scenes. Did he read those?
"You're even more beautiful than in your picture," He tells me and my mouth clamps closed, not sure what to say. He puts his warm hands over my trembling ones and smiles again. "You're okay, Jamie," He tells me and I nod, trying to pretend that was true. Just think of him as a normal friend and not a multimillionaire. I tell myself, trying to keep my breathing even. "Now about your fanfiction," He starts and my heart almost stops. That's what he wanted to talk about?
"W-What about it?" I whisper, trying to ignore the tingling as he rubs his thumb over my pale hand. I had never gotten attention like this from any boy and here I was talking to a famous one? Other girls would kill to be in my place and all I did to get there was write lousy fanfiction that people seemed to enjoy. That Harry enjoyed. Did the other boys read it as well? Were they itching to get ahold of me just as Harry had been.
"I really like it," He admits again, making a blood blush run to my cheeks. "It's different from all the others. It's not Larry Stylinson, it's boy-girl this time," He laughs and I let out one too, mine getting strangled in my throat. "You're really talented, you know that? I along with your fans are cheering you on,"
This all felt so unreal. Harry Styles was complimenting me? "Thanks," I whisper and in that moment, there was no one else in the cafe, it was just Harry and me, the two of us. Together. Would I ever see him again after this encounter or would that be it?
"So what happens in the end? You said you were close to finishing the book in one of your authors notes. Will I ever get Riley back in the end?" A tingle is sent down my spine the moment he asks that. I loved the way he said I like the situation and the story was real. Did he really care about the ending? He seemed to, the way his eyes sparkled with hope and delight that he may be the first to learn of the ending to my book.
"You'll have to see." I find myself saying, not allowing myself to look up at him any longer. My breathing was already shallow and if he complimented me one more time, my heart would melt. "There's still a small handful of chapters left and I'll hint at the ending a couple times until then," I tell him.
His silence forces me to look up at him and when I do, the ending almost comes spilling out of my mouth. His lips are parted in a tight, pale line and he's deep in thought like he's trying to decode the ending from the earlier chapters. "If I guess the ending, will you tell me?" He asks hopefully and I nod with a small smile. We spend hours with Harry tossing around theories and with each minute I'm there with him, I become less and less nervous and the thought of my mother's absence and my father's idiocy melts away like chocolate in the summer sun. "I give up," Harry says, sounding exasperated. I giggle and he smiles, glad I was no longer nervous. "You're even nicer than your profile lets on," He admits, smiling widely and grabs ahold of my hand again which seems almost ritually. "Do you want me to buy you something to eat? It's early and I figure you haven't really eaten," He guesses.
I shake my head. "It's fine, you don't have to waste your money on me" I whisper, looking down at my hands which were tangled in Harry's.
"It's not like I don't have enough," He laughs and pulls out a twenty, getting up and heading toward the cash register to order. When he comes back with two chocolate chip muffins in hand, his smile is wider. "I figured chocolate chip muffins were your favorite since they were Riley's. I heard that each writer leaves a bit of themselves in their writing," I am at a loss for words at this; these kinds of muffins were my favorite and not only that but Harry remembered from Riley's character. How could he remember all of this when he had hundreds of shows to play each month?
"Thanks, Harry," I say, picking at the edges of my muffin and popping pieces into my mouth.
"Now lets talk about you as a person and not just your fanfiction," He says, voice sounding as if he wanted to get down to business.
"What do you want to know?" I ask, hands sitting idly on the table since Harry's hands had left them as he stood up to get our food.
"What all of your followers don't. I want to get to know the real JamieLamie," He tells me and the way my screen name falls of his lips makes electricity run through my veins.
"Well, I've been writing ever since I was little. Fanfiction was always something I loved writing and when I first published it online, it boomed straight away. The numbers of hits I get on the daily still blows me away," I admit and when I look up from my shredded muffin, I find the magnificent boy is smiling.
"I like how you don't let your fame get to your head," He tells me.
"I like how you don't let your fame get to your head," I tell him, making him laugh. God, I loved the sound of it, like bells or crashing waves, peaceful. As I look into his eyes, I then find a way I could describe his eyes, more mossy and less emerald. "I don't really get along with my parents since they seem pretty focused on ripping each other's heads off most of the time," I mumble to keep him from noticing how I ogled over his features. Harry nods as if he understood and I shrug it off. "It's fine though. As long as they leave me alone, I don't care,"
Harry wipes away a stray tear from my cheek and I hadn't even noticed I was crying until he wiped the tears off my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Was the Harry Styles really wiping away my pathetic tears? "Take a walk with me?" He questions and I nod, the two of us throwing away our half eaten muffins before walking out into the spring air. We sit on a bench with was hidden by the beach, the water making the atmosphere much colder and Harry shrugs his hoodie from his shoulders, handing it to me. I hesitantly take it after watching him nod and pull it around me, the sleeves swallowing my arms whole.
We sit in silence for a moment before I say, "Sorry about... back there," My voice comes out a whisper and for a second, I didn't think he heard it before he shakes his head at me.
"It's okay," He promises me. "You must be going through a lot and I can understand why you broke down back there. I'm not going to look at you any different, I promise,"
He nods, smiling sadly before saying, "The boys will be wanting me back soon so I have to be on my way but I'd really want to talk to your again so can I--can I have your twitter? Your number, if I'd be so lucky?"
"S-Sure," I say. He hands me his phone and as I hold it in my hand, I notice how sleek and expensive it looks. I hold it with care, typing my twitter in as my contact and writing my number below it. "There you go," I tell him, feeling anxious as he pockets his phone, smiling.
He kisses the top of my hand after a moment, smiling brightly before saying goodbye and going on his way. As I slowly walk back to my house, filled with dread, my phone buzzes from my pocket and I take it out, only to find I had a twitter notification. I open it out only to find it was from Harry who had mentioned me in a tweet. A special girl stole my hoodie. I'm expecting an update to repay me. xx