Red Volkswagen || h.s.

Gorgeous

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can't say anything to your face, 'cause look at your face

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BROOKLYN'S POV

Disarray: noun, meaning disorganization and untidiness. Also known as a mess. Also known as my room right now.

I'm not an unusually messy person.

My friends are.

"Has anyone seen my phone?"

"Maybe if you didn't dump your entire suitcase– that you brought for one night– out onto the entire floor, it would be easier to find it."

"I needed options!"

"You could have sent pictures!"

"Reagan, your phone is in your back pocket." I sigh, stepping over said suitcase and sitting down at my desk while she and Hadley continue to bicker.

It's Reagan's nineteenth birthday today and we are planning on being in Charleston for her birthday dinner in forty five minutes– emphasis on planning. Because we are not going to be there in forty five minutes. And it's not going to be my fault.

We have Reagan's birthday dinner with her whole family first, per her mother's planning, and then I think we're going to do something with the four of us. I have no idea what, but it's probably going to be a late night. Which I'm fine with, because we haven't gone into Charleston and done something together in a while.

I know I was just there this past Monday with Harry, but that was totally different. And if I'm being honest, I haven't told them about Harry and I going to the farmers market and him carrying me into my house after calling me Brooke and then me realizing how I had officially crossed over into dangerous territory and there's no going back. I haven't told them because again, if I'm being honest, I'm terrified for the 'I told you so.' Because they did tell me so, and I insisted that they were insane.

It's been less than a month. I have no earthly idea how this happened to me so quickly, but denial has lost its battle. Yeah, I guess you could say I have a crush on Harry. But nothing will absolutely ever come of it, because one: I'm not going to get my hopes up that the feeling is reciprocated even a little bit, and two: he's eventually going to leave and go be Harry Styles again. And I'm going to stay here and have only the memories to hold me over until I maybe see him again.

Nothing is a guarantee.

Which reminds me, I haven't seen him today at all.

"Oh, fuck!" I hear Devin yell from across the hallway in the bathroom, my eyebrows raising.

"You good?" I yell back.

"Burned my hand."

"Should I straighten my hair or curl it?" Reagan distracts me.

"Check the time and decide."

"...Straighten." She sighs.

"Brooklyn!" I get distracted again by my mom calling me from outside of my room, and I begin to wonder if it is going to be my fault if we're late because I can't do my damn hair. I sigh, standing up from my desk and mirror and making my way out of my room and down the hallway.

"Yeah–" I call out, stopping short at the end of the hallway when I see her standing in front of Harry and Cooper's tail wagging relentlessly because Harry is in fact here. "Oh, hi."