The Things You Mean to Me // Harry Styles Series #1 - Holmes Chapel

Will It Ever Get Better Than Tonight?

As the curtain closed across the stage, the DJ took over and played a slow song, one I recognized, but no one asked me to dance and I really wasn't interested in asking anyone. Emma was in the same predicament, so we sat in a corner like a couple of wallflowers.

"The band was so good. And Haydn was looking at you a lot, Emma, seriously. Do you think the boys will be able to come out between their sets? Maybe he'll ask you to dance."

"I don't know... Olivia, do you think he's funny looking?"

Yes, I did, but there was no way in hell I was going to tell her that.

"I'm not a fan of the hair. I'm not sure I really know what he looks like under there, but I'm guessing you do. You've known him a long time, right?"

"Since we were in primary school. I kind of hate the hair too, but his smile's cute, and his eyes are this golden tea color... I suppose it really doesn't matter what he looks like, he's just so sweet and goofy." Her eyes were caught by something across the room. "There they are! Let's go!"

We skirted the dancing crowd and joined the people surrounding the band. It took a minute or two, but soon enough we were all face to face.

"How's the punch?"

No hello, no you look pretty, no did you like us. Punch.

"Not bad. Shall we go get some, Punch Muppet?"

He smiled.

It was slightly quieter in the classroom where the refreshments were being doled out by parent volunteers.

"You sounded great, Harry, and you looked like you've been doing it forever. How long until you go back on?"

"Thank you. We've got about twenty minutes. What's your favorite slow song?"

That was a little random.

"Glitter in the Air. Do you know it?" I wondered if he thought the band could play it. His voice was good, but maybe not a P!nk love song good.

He nodded, tossed back two cups of punch, and took my hand. With a goofy grin he lead me onto the dance floor as he yelled over the music, "C'mon, c'mon and dance with me, Baby!."

Harry Styles is no Justin Timberlake when it comes to dance moves, but hey, I'm no Britney Spears. We had fun with our friends, getting a little grindy for Buttons, jumping around and singing at the top of our lungs for Single Ladies.

Soon it was time for the boys to go backstage, right before another good slow song came on. Doulaye asked me to dance, and it was nice, in a middle school stay six inches apart kind of way.

The second set was as good as the first, and I actually knew all three songs. Just as they were finishing the last one, there was a commotion by the main door. The Heathers had arrived, Callum in tow, all of them obviously drunk. Great.

I waited for Harry by the corner of the stage, away from the commotion. He appeared halfway through the DJs first song.

"Don't look now, but the fun bunch are here." I tilted my head in their direction.

"Pissed."

"No, they don't look angry, just drunk."

He shook his head and smiled. "Pissed is drunk. When's your birthday again? I'll give you a British slang dictionary."

"September thirtieth. I'll be long gone, but you can send it. Want more punch?"

After two cups and a biscuit he excused himself for a minute and I joined Emma and the rest of the gang on the dance floor. The next song was slow and Emma got her wish as Haydn wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. There was still no sign of Harry, so I went back to wallflower corner and closed my eyes for a minute.