The Bucket List (A Niall Horan Fanfic)

Chapter 7: Distractions, Defiance, and Deliberation

                I choked a sob back as I felt Harry’s smooth hand brush down my hair.

                “I promise, it will be okay,” he repeated. He sounded convincing, but all I could do was push my tear stained face deeper into his chest. I felt him lead me into his dressing room. He sat me down and looked into my eyes, concerned. I looked back into his for a moment. They didn’t look so sharp anymore. They looked like they actually cared why I had tears falling from my eyes. I suppose he saw the fear in my eyes because he said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I promise that it won’t happen again. Please just tell me what’s wrong.” I looked down at my hands that were squirming in my lap and shook my head. I watched him bend down so that he was eye level with me. “You can trust me. Me and the rest of the boys, we’ve got your back. We may be silly and a little bit crazy-”     

                “A little bit?” I interrupted, making Harry laugh.

                “But we care about you. All of us,” he said, wiping the last tear from my cheek.

                “Harry!” Zayn’s voice came streaming through the door before he appeared. We both looked up and he stared at us awkwardly. He squinted at me, confused, “What happened?” he asked referring to my splotchy face and blood shot eyes.

                “We really have to go,” I said getting out of my chair and walking past both boys.

                “Turn Liam up a bit more,” Mr. Adams spoke through a microphone to the sound guy as we played through the boys’ hit, What Makes You Beautiful. Usually the sound guy knew what he was doing, but Mr. Adams is a little bit of a control freak. “Stop! Stop!” he screamed. We all stopped half way through the song, shocked. I looked down at my keys. “What’s wrong with you guys today?” he screamed, “First you’re late to sound check, now you sound and look so tense that I feel like I could snap you like a twig!” I watched as the five boys looked at each other, uncomfortably. Even though I could only see their backs, I knew that they were all having a conversation with their eyes. “Anyone want to start talking?” Mr. Adams asked, crossing his arms.

                “We’re just really tired,” Liam said, into his mic.

                “Fine, don’t tell me. All I ask is that you forget about whatever is going on until you come off stage tonight,” he said, walking away. “I need a coffee,” he murmured under his breath.

                I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked down at my white and blue striped Toms as I waited for my drink and banana bread at Starbucks.

                “Excuse me,” I twirled around to see a girl that looked to be about twelve years old. She smiled up at me, one tooth was missing and I couldn’t help at smile back at her freckled face and red curly hair. “Are you One Direction’s pianist?” she asked, in awe. I nodded, a little bit surprised. This was the first time I had been recognized. “I went to their show last night in London and I’m going to their show tonight. I love them so much,” the little girl said, giggling to herself.

                “Clearly,” I said under my breath as I took my drink and smiled at the frantic looking lady who was madly making drinks.

                “My dad travels a lot and he got me tickets for both nights because he knows how much I love them,” she said, as if the whole thing was very funny.

                I stopped to look at her over excited face, feeling somewhat dethatched, “I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” I said, numbly.

                “Can I at least get your autograph, or maybe a picture?” she asked intently, looking up at me the way a child looks up at Santa clause when they’re on his lap.

                I turned around in sock, “Really?” she nodded up at me. I grabbed a Starbucks napkin and went to sign ‘Summer,’ but stopped myself.

                “You are one of my biggest role models,” she stated as she watched me sign the napkin, excitedly. I looked up at her, surprised.

                “I am?” I asked.

                “Of course! I just started taking piano lessons a year ago. You must be amazing to be playing with One Direction!” she exclaimed. I smiled as I added on the napkin, “Don’t ever stop making music.”

                “Promise me you’ll never stop, okay?” I asked, handing her the napkin as she nodded in amazement before turning to walk away. “I’m sorry sweetie, I never caught your name,” I called back to her.

                “April,” she said, smiling, sweetly.

                “I hope you have an amazing night, April. I’ll keep an eye out for you,” I said, waving goodbye.

                “Hope!” I heard Niall call out to me as I walked down the hall toward the entrance of the stage. I looked down at my beige pumps, clicking on the floor, letting out a heavy breath.

                “This is not the time,” I said, without turning around as I tried not to let my voice waver. Before I could do anything, Niall grabbed both my shoulders and twirled me around. I tried hard not to move, but it was no use. I looked up at him, defiantly.

                “It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said, looking straight at me with persistence.

                “I really could care less,” I said, going limp in his grasp.

                “That’s not what Harry said,” he said, this time the defiance was in his voice.

            Harry said what?!

             Though I tried not to let it show on my face, I felt so betrayed. Now that I look back, he was probably just asking to find out if Niall knew what was wrong, but in the moment I never wanted to see Harry again.

                “Did Harry also tell you that he tried to kiss me,” I said, it was my best and only come back. I felt Niall let go of my shoulders. He looked shocked.

                “Why?” he asked. I had never seen that look on Niall’s face before. His jaw camped with anger and his eyebrows were pushed down against his eyelids.

                “Maybe because he likes me more than you,” I said blissfully, turning around and walking back toward the stage entrance with as much as confidence as I could gather.

                “I think it’s Hope,” I heard a deep British accent say from the next hotel room before I entered my own room that night after the show. The door was slightly opened and I could just make out what the conversation was.

                “I think she’s distracting them,” I heard a voice in response. I recognized that voice. It was Mr. Adams. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.   

                “Well there isn’t much we can do about her now. The tour has already started.” I held my breath as I waited for Mr. Adams response.

                “Well actually there is something we could do…”