48 Hours // l.t. [1]

Chapter 6

While I waited patiently for the bus to come back, I'd pulled out my headphones and played my music on a low volume. I also fished out a bag of Chili flavored Fritos I bought earlier, popping them into my mouth piece by piece until I was satisfied. And, I was waiting for every other stranger in Baltimore's Greyhound bus terminal to stop staring so openly at Louis.

Of course, after a few minutes, people realized who was exactly was standing at the gate. A few girls, here and there, bravely came up and asked for a picture, otherwise it was mostly open staring. I half-expected a few bodyguards to come out and protect Louis, but no one came.

Why was he here? I thought.

I mean, Louis was, no doubt, rich. There were billions of girls--and guys--across the globe who adored them and bought their merchandise, albums and singles. Of course he was going to have money available. Which was my question: why was Louis taking a bus to LA from New York if he could easily just take a plane?

I sort of guessed that was another reason for the staring. It's not really everyday a famous band member strolls into a bus terminal.

I sighed, glancing at the clock on my phone. It was ten minutes till the bus was due back and having so many people stare this way was sort of bothering me. Though I knew they weren't looking at me, I was still pretty close to Louis and was in their line of vision. Never before had people stared this much in my general direction--even in high school. Back then, I easily blended into the walls and made myself sort of invisible to everyone else around me. It was my specialty. But now? Not really.

Turning up the volume a little more on my music, I forced myself to forget about everyone else and focus on anything else. My eyes fell on my brown leather sandals. I'd got them this summer on sale at a cute boutique, and they ended up being my favorite pair of sandals.

I frowned, remembering that I'd have to find some kind of dress for Friday. I did agree to clubbing with my best friend, but I hadn't gone in the longest time. I doubted I had any good dresses to go in. That meant thrift-store shopping for cheap dresses, because after this bus ride from New York to LA, I was almost broke.

I sighed again, realizing I'd have to go looking for jobs again almost as soon as I was in LA. It was so much easier in high school, where I didn't have to worry about my aunt's health or how I'm going to support myself for the next month or so. I only had exams and homework to worry about.

My eyes flickered up to Louis again. Still, he was engaged into a conversation with the guy in front of him. Although I couldn't hear what they were talking about, judging from how much Louis was smiling and laughing with him, it seemed they got along well. There was small twist in my chest when I thought, "Why can't we talk and get along so well like that?"

Almost immediately, I shooed the thought away. Louis was famous and I was a simple nobody who sat next to him on the bus. There would be no point in the future where Louis and I got close. I had to get that through my mind, because it was true. This wasn't fantasy, it was real life, where fairy tales didn't exist and happy endings were unheard of.

This was life.

And in my life, Louis Tomlinson didn't like some girl from California who moved to New York and was on her way back home.

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The bus arrived and in five minutes, the people who were given the number, 446, lined up first at the gate. I gave the small piece of paper to the bus driver, an older man maybe in his late fifties, and walked towards the bus. A worker in a bright yellow vest was putting suitcases into the bottom bus compartment. I slid my suitcase towards him and proceeded to climb up the bus steps.

My heart pounded in my chest as I hoped that maybe Louis would sit with me--some serious wishful thinking on my part--as I strolled down the aisle. Instead, Louis was sitting with the guy from earlier. They were still talking and laughing. I chewed on my bottom lip, refusing to look in his direction as I passed him. I found an empty seat by the window again and shoved my duffle bag on the top compartment, sliding into the seat.

Why did I think he'd sit with me again? Again and again, I was getting my hopes up. He's famous, I told myself. He isn't going to sit with you the whole ride to LA. You're nothing special to him. Just a girl.

I frowned at my words, but otherwise ignored the twist in my gut. I pulled out The Devil's Teardrop and lost myself in The Digger and the FBI's catching him instead of Louis Tomlinson. And it worked.

I barely noticed when someone took the spot next to me. I barely noticed the bus pulling away from the Baltimore bus station. The music was loud in my ears that I couldn't even hear someone speaking to me.