Breana Tomlinson-Styles-Horan-Malik-Payne

Essence Of The Death

 THIRD PERSON

"Simon, why are we doing this anyway?" Louis asked as the group made their way through the private schools halls. Squeaky soles and clapping boots hitting the blue tiled floor.

"Because its popularity, humanitarianism and responsibility - things the band needs." Simon replied. He wore a serious expression and pursed lips, stuffing his hands into black jean pockets.

"But adopting a child? Extreme much?" Harry pointed out, carding a large hand through his mud-brown locks.

"They will know its not your child, just a child or a sister figure." Paul said blankly. He had, quite frankly, enough of the boys bickering and swearing and arguments - and hoped a certain someone would drown those out.

Zayn pushed open the gymnasium door, Niall taking grip of the second one. The sounds of sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor, the wind caused by the running players, and the over-excited crowd occupied the humid air.

"There she is," Simon pointed to a rugged-looking thirteen-year-old with brown hair and a permanent grimace as she slammed the orange ball into the net. The piercing scream of the crowd erupted and the boys covered their ears.

"Breana had a bad childhood - yet she rarely ever lets it bother her. She has the normal tale of abuse, and the sad spiel of bitter tales to prove it . . . Her parents died in a shooting when she was two, and only men have ever attempted to adopt her. In the end, she was taken back or taken away. She is a professional teen basketball player for her school, a straight A student, and a ballerina with an attitude, she's not going to accept you right off the bat." Paul explained whilst shaking his balding head.

Niall shuddered at her odd life, "So . . . this is our daughter?"

Simon nodded, "Good luck!" With that, Simon and Paul left the gym with the boys stuck between blue, aluminum bleachers.

Breana screamed at her fellow players in encouragement,  sounding more like bloody murder to them. They sat on the lowest bleachers and watched her finish out the game with astounding scores, each lad wringing their hands in anxiety.

BREANA'S P.O.V.

"Bree, do you need a ride back to Kings?"

"No thanks, I have a ride." I answered my teammate, shaking the towel through my sweaty hair as the last of the Rebound Titans left the locker rooms - leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sang softly while resting my forehead against the rusted lockers. I sighed and closed my eyes as I tied my hair into pigtails. I snapped the towel onto a bench and thought of what Katie, my friend at the agency, told me.

"Wait, why does a group of men want to adopt me? I thought you were going to prevent this again!" I moaned into the hard beds pillow.

"Licy, this is different, it's . . . That boy band." Katie rubbed my back, knowing this was hard for me, being adopted after so many times.

"One Direction? You're absolutely kidding me!" I glared up at her.

"Hun, death glare?" she quizzed on my look.

"No . . .Normal glare." I retorted towards the nineteen year old.

"Give them a shot . . . Just one? . . . I'll visit?"

"You promise?" I sat up and held my pinky out.

She smiled and locked her pinky with mine, "I swear. Now get ready for your game, its the last one here . . . Then you're off to England."