INSINCERITY ˡᵘᵏᵉ ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ

3

Rory Sawyer

When the car door shuts with a slam, I tightly grip the handle of my luggage and double-check to make sure it fell in line behind me. Losing my luggage after just seconds of being here would be the downfall of my career, I'm positive.

I look down at my watch, checking what time it was before walking nearer to the venue. Fans had already lined up at the waiting point, some looked like they had stayed overnight just to get a good spot. Dedicated, I mentally noted.

Placing the papers I signed under my left arm, I walked by the main entrance. A virtual billboard lit up scanning through a display of slides until eventually, their faces pop up. Black and white. All looking at the camera. None smiling.

My eyes narrowed, looking for the door that I had to enter through. Entrance C. In Morra's words, you couldn't miss it, but I only passed virtual billboards and doors that had nothing to do with me. There wasn't even an entrance C as far as I'm aware.

The knots in my stomach had begun to make themselves known, my mouth going bone-dry at the thought of being late. I still had ten minutes to find my entrance, but with my luck, I'm overthinking it. I couldn't have already passed it, could I?

I turn around, my white converse pattering against the ground as I walk back towards the way I came. I sigh, grabbing my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. Looking for Morra's contact in my phone.

It's embarrassing that I can't find the entrance, but I can't be the only person who struggled to find it, It's impossible to even know where your going.

"Are ya lost?" A woman speaks.

I whip my head in her direction, eyes wide and mouth screwed shut. I clutched onto my phone a little harder at the sudden sound. I probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Her curly and faded green hair falls to her shoulders, and her chestnut-colored skin was highlighted beautifully. She doesn't look above twenty, but with the cigarette that's dangling from her lips, it automatically raises her age above what I thought it was.

"I- uh-no?" I squeak out. My words didn't betray me, but my tone did.

God, I sound like an idiot.

"What are you looking for? Are you a fan?" She asks stepping towards me with her eyes squinted in confusion.

I stumbled on what to say, even when I chose the obvious option. "Actually I'm um- I'm Rory Sawyer, from the-" I'm cut off by her words.

"The New York Spotlight" She crosses her arms around her body in delight. "You're the journalist." She shakes her head, looking down at her bright blue sneakers.

I stand, looking like an idiot with my suitcase behind me and a bright purple backpack on my shoulders. I give a small smile not really knowing what to say.

I could feel my palms start to sweat for the first time today, but it definitely won't be the last. It's going to be a busy day. Getting shown where to go, how to not bother anyone when they are doing something important for the show, and hopefully, meeting the boys.

I've done my research, and needless to say, I know why people run when they hear their names.

Calum Hood, the bassist, is very silent. I can't tell if it's because he has nothing to say or if he just hates speaking. I would like to make him talk, maybe even make him laugh. I would get fans on my side that way.

Ashton Irwin, the drummer, is known for being the most talkative, the most friendly. But even then, however, he can snap from time to time. He's like a piece of cracked glass, more lines forming in it at random.