Maybe

01: Cold Days and Cheesy Pick-up Lines

Tori POV

"Tori, you need a car of your own," I mutter to myself as I sit under a tree, waiting for my mum to pick me up from my shift. Late, as always. "You are eighteen freaking years old."

As I sit, the chilly English air biting my nose, I feel myself drifting off to sleep. A car horn beeps, sending me flying off the chair.

My mother, in her blue car. Impeccable timing, as always.

Not.

"Mother," I say, getting into the car. "Only an hour late this time."

"I know, Tori, I'm improving," she says, flashing me a bright smile. She's fifty-seven and I don't think she understands the concept of sarcasm. "How was schoo - college?"

"Cold," I say. "And now I'm boiling in this car. Turn the heat down?"

"Sweetheart, I'm old. If the temperature goes down one degree, I'm going to freeze to death." I raise an eyebrow at her. "Fine. Turn it down."

"Thanks," I say, letting the now-warm air warm my hands. "How was work?"

"Fun," she says. Mum's a childcare worker. When she was younger, she met Dad in medical school, during their study as heart surgeons, so she doesn't have to work because since she and Dad worked for around thirty years as heart surgeons, we're pretty well-off. But she gets anxious if she's not doing something. She'll probably be eighty and still playing croquet. "None of the kids made a big mess."

"Great," I say as we stop in front of our London apartment. "Mum, I need a car."

"Why? I think this arrangement is just fine."

"Mother," I say slowly, preparing myself to give the speech I've said in my head millions of times. "I -"

"Okay, you've won me over," she says, unlocking the door.

"What?"

"I'll buy you a car," she repeats.

"You didn't even let me -"

"What kind of car?" she interrupts.

"Something green -"

"Lovely. I'll get right around to it - CARL!" I wince as she struts into the apartment, yelling my dad's name.

"He's not home," I point out. "His car wasn't out front."

"Oh," she says. I sigh and walk into my room. "Don't go on facebook until you've finished your homework."

"Mum, it's the middle of summer. You just picked me up from work. Not school," I say, logging onto twitter. Not that it was any different from spring. It was still excessively cold. "I don't have homework." And anyway, I hadn't been on facebook in an entire year. My heart skips a beat as I see a new tweet from Niall Horan come onto my screen.

I had been obsessed - I'm not even going to say 'dedicated', as I'm far worse than that - with this boyband since the minute I saw them form, and backing Niall from the very beginning. I have a thing for Irish people. My last crush was Irish, and though he was insanely cute, he had a weird habit of smelling people's feet at first meeting. I lost my feelings for him after he insisted on smelling my mum's feet when we were out shopping. That was weird.

Niall Horan is hot, Irish and does not have a weird foot fetish - at least to my extensive knowledge - so I became completely infatuated with the blond. And here I am, four years later, still trying to get a follow from one of the most coveted boys in the world.

@NiallOfficial terrible day at work today, can i have a follow?

I delete the tweet immediately. Too cliche.

@NiallOfficial cAN U FOLLOW ME? pLZ

I sit, snorting at my unsent tweet for about a minute until I realise that it's not actually funny.

@NiallOfficial are you a tower? because eiffel for you.

Perfect. Cheesy pickup lines are definitely the way to go.

@NiallOfficial Baby, did you just fart? Because you blew me away.

Ten minutes, sixteen pickup lines, and a stitch in my side from laughing later, my phone chirps. I pick it up, expecting someone to tell me to stop spamming. Instead, I stare at the screen in shock.

Niall Horan followed you.

After the initial shock of realising the true gravity of the words on the screen, I scream. A bowl smashes on the ground outside as my mother flies gracefully into my room. "What's wrong?"

"I -"

"Can you breathe? Are you bleeding? Why are you holding your phone?"

"He followed me," I breathe.

"Who followed you?" Mum gasps. "Do you mean - you have a stalker?"

"No, Mum, Niall Horan followed me on twitter."

"Niall Horan? From that band you like?"

"One Direction, mother. And yes. YES."

"Calm down, sweetheart."

"Calm down? How can I calm down when -" I take a deep breath as my mum surverys my face worriedly. "I'm fine. I'm sorry for screaming."

My phone chirps again, causing me to look down. This time, I don't scream. I just stare at my phone mutely, not even breathing, until mum shakes me.

@toribaby haha! ur funny! are u a beaver because dam!

"What now?" Mum asks.

"He just tweeted me back," I say in a small voice. I force my shaking fingers to hit the DM button. 

"Now what are you doing?"

"Shh."

"Don't shh -"

"Shh."

"Fine. I'll be eating icecream if you want some."

"Mum, I'm on a diet."

"You never diet."

"Good point."

Then she prattles on about the importance of not conforming to the world's image of what is beautiful because it can be seriously screwed up, but I'm not listening. It's taking all of my concentration to type my message: thank you for following me. :)

My heart skips a beat as, moments later, a reply appears. thats okay, ur funny :)

HE SAID I'M FUNNY. My heart beats even faster as I type in the next few words. why, thank you.

it's just the truth. ;) OH EM GEE. WINKY FACE.

hahaha aw :')

dont cry!

i'm not ahaha

oh right haha

sorry, you must be pretty busy?

no its ok i'm just eating

well i'll let you eat haha

ok, chat to you sometime? 

sure! :)

lookin forward to it :)

I stare at the last four words on the screen. lookin forward to it. :) CARP. CPAR. CRAP. HE SMILED. AT ME.

Maybe I was right to never give up on this boy.