The Piano Player

Chapter Thirteen: And The Winner Is...

-Chapter 13-

"And now," Paul exclaimed from the stage into the microphone. "The winners of the raffle!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. I had a feeling each and every girl in the room had a ticket. Jealousy bubbled inside me like hot lava. But something like that couldn't ruin the mood I was in!

Paul hauled an enormous fishbowl onto the stage. As I looked closely, I could make out what seemed to be millions of bright white pieces of paper filling it densely. I knew that a different number was on each if them.

And one of them was mine.

Chills ran up my spine. I grinned hysterically.

Paul gave the bowl a mighty lift and held it out in front of Harry.

"Pick our first lucky winner!" he said.

Harry picked whoever was right on top of the pile. Paul handed him the mic.

"7," he read off.

7.

"2,"

2.

"7,"

7.

"3,"

...9.

Dang it!

"8...6..." he paused dramatically. "0."

An ear-piercing shriek came from somewhere in the back of the stadium.

"I think we know who won that one!" said Paul, now holding the bowl out to Zayn.

Everyone cheered for the winner.

Zayn studied the bowl, then extracted one from the far left side. He was given the microphone.

"7," he began.

7.

"2,"

2.

"7,"

7.

"9,"

9.

"6,"

...3.

Crud!

"2..............7!" he finished.

A scream came from somewhere to our left. We all clapped again.

Louis got to pick the next one. He plunge his hand to the very bottom of the bowl and yanked one out, dislodging a few in the process which fell to the ground.

"7,"

7.

"2,"

2.

"7,"

7.

"2,"

...9.

Grrr.

"7...0..............1!"

The girl sitting right next to me let out a deafening scream. I cringed, my ear ringing.

Everyone cheered.

"Congrats!" I said to her.

I don't think she heard me. Her bright blue eyes were wide, and she was staring down at her raffle ticket with her mouth wide open in a silent scream.

Paul and Harry both picked up the fallen raffle numbers from Louis' pick.

"Pick a good one, Liam!" Paul said, handing the bowl to him next.

Samantha nudged me. I smirked at her. Liam was her favorite boy, anyway.

"7," he recited.

7.

"2,"

2.

"7,"

7.

"9,"

9.

"3,"

...3.

"3,"

...3.

No way. No way.

".......1!"

My jaw dropped.

Samantha and I exchanged an incredulous glance. I had won. I had won.

"Where might that lucky winner be?" Paul exclaimed.

Samantha and I both screamed. I couldn't let all my adrenaline out on just that one wave of sound.

I might have been hyperventilating. I didn't hear Niall's number, though I could still hear his adorable Irish accent say "Congratulations to all the winners!"

I squealed. My grin broke my face. I had won. I had won.

"After this last song, you five winners out there, make your way to the stage!" Paul said. "Take it away, boys!"

My excitement was renewed. Words cannot describe how I felt at that moment. The adrenaline rush as the reality hit me was bigger and more intense than anything I had ever felt before. I felt like doing a mixture of screaming, crying, laughing, jumping, and hyperventilating.

Samantha seemed happy for me. As our boys performed I Want, the last song of the night, she wouldn't shut up about how amazing it was that I had won, and how incredible it was that LIAM of all five of the boys was the one who picked my number, and, she being the math geek that she is, how the odds of ME winning, out of the however-many number of seats and however-many number of tickets made my chances one to a bazillion.

She really knows how to chat your ear off.

I, however, was busy belting the chorus of I Want along with One Direction. I was dreaming. I was dreaming. I was dreaming. The thought swirled around and around in my head like fog caught in a jar.

I, Cynthia Alessandra Johnston, was going to meet One Direction, the five boys who I've been in love with since 2010.

They'll acknowledge my existence.

What girl in the world doesn't want that?