Boyband Rebound [Editing]

t h r e e

 The house phone rings and Sara, tired out of her mind, rolls out of bed and reaches it. Grudgingly, she picks it up and barks, “hello? Whoever you are, you better have a good reason for calling me at midnight.”

The person on the other end laughs. The voice sounds familiar. “Hey, Sara May, calm down.”

“Louis Tomlinson. I am not Edward Cullen. I need sleep.”

“Babe, lighten up!”

“What is the point of you calling me?” she snaps, completely out of the mood.

“Well, there’s this party down in Epsom, and it’s got all the music people in it.”

“’All the music people?’ What the hell, Louis?”

“I mean, it has artists. I just saw Icona Pop and some heavy metal dude. Your boss is here too.”

“You could have tweeted about this and then I could have seen it when I was in the mood.”

“No, no, no, I’m inviting you down here.”

“You’re inviting me.” Her tone is disbelieving.

“Yep! All the boys are here as well, and our girlfriends are coming over soon too.”

“Still doesn’t sound attractive.”

“Man, you’re stubborn. Look, Lucas is here as well.”

“Oh, you’re talking about the party Nick Jetter’s throwing.”

“You knew about this?”

“No, I’m an actual Seer.”

“Unfortunate, Sara May. Then why aren’t you here?”

“Because I’m sleepy.”

“Not valid. Get ready, I’m coming to pick you up in around thirty minutes.”

“No. I am not coming to a party, furthermore, one which is in Epsom.”

“Why not?”

“I live near Brentford, Louis. That’s ages away.”

“That’s why I said thirty minutes to pick you up, didn’t I? I’m already in my car.” And true enough, she can hear the hum of a car slowly starting.

“I hate you, Louis,” she sighs, “but I’m getting ready.”

She tumbles awkwardly off the remainder of the bed – she had been precariously hanging by an arm and leg (literally) – and stumbles towards the bathroom. She’s always this coordinated when she’s been brutally woken up. At midnight.

After splashing ice-cold water on her face, she regains some consciousness and trips on her way to her closet. Flinging it open, she flips the room light switch on, suddenly realising she can’t see without light.

“What to wear, what to wear,” she chants to herself.

Finally deciding on red TOMS, a white pair of party-appropriate skinny jeans, and a cerulean blue elbow-length sleeved shirt, she walks over to the mirror to see how well she’s succeeded in pairing her outfit. She realises that the red shoes and blue top don’t go well together and sighs. Fashion disaster, she sings to herself. She can’t be bothered to change the shirt, though. Instead, she finds a pair of blue flats and grinning, slips them on.

Grabbing her phone, some spare money, and stuffing it ungraciously into her pocket, she fingers a white wireless headphone set and slings it around her neck.