Nothing Like Us [1D/JB Fan Fiction] (Under Editing)

*Chapter Thirteen: Committed Murder, Sex Gods, and Re-jected!

You know that feeling when you walk into class late and everybody stares at you like you’ve committed murder? Then you know what I felt like when I walked into rehearsals ten minutes late. Thankfully, they hadn’t done much yet, considering Distant Melody wasn’t even there yet. I guess since they were famous they had priorities. I awkwardly sat down next to Leah while everybody talked and such. I was about to ask Leah what happened with James and Nikki, but then I was interrupted.

Ginger was on the move.

Well, she was on the move to where we were sitting to be exact. I was not going to let her ruin my day. It had been pretty darn flacking awesome, if I do say so myself. “Hello, losers.” She snorted through her fake nose.

“Hello, dirty trashcan full of poop.” I smiled at Brittney, and patted myself on the back for the good insult. She hesitated and spoke again.

“You do know that I am going to win, right?” She smirked at both Leah and myself.

“You do know that the winner is never the most famous, right?” I mocked her nasally tone with a dash of an AWESOME COMEBACK. SUCK IT GINGER!

“What-ever!” She stormed off, probably on her way to another plastic surgeon to get a matching ass to go with her fake boobies. I high-fived Leah.

“That was awesome!” Leah exclaimed as we got up to do the group song. I shrugged and clicked my tongue.

“Well, it’s the truth,” I replied, “you don’t hear much about that guy who won last year, do you? Or that other person that won the year before that? I don’t even remember who won that year…”

“True dat.” Leah nodded. We then rehearsed, until people started to arrive.

My palms were sweating like Niagara Falls.

What if what Ginger said was right? What if I was going to lose? It was only the first live show, so I’d look real dumb if I got voted off the first week. Plus I’d never be discovered. Then Kyle would be embarrassed to date me, so I’d live life alone in a shack, working at McDonalds for fifty years then dying an old cat lady, then nobody coming to my funeral—not even the cats.

“We’re on in in sixty seconds!” A stage hand yelled.

I was shaking. Great, now I could add shaking to my list of things I do when I’m nervous. We got into position; I last, since I hit a high note at the end. Of course I’d probably trip, or fall, or vomit. I loved the song we were doing. It was Baby I by Ariana Grande. And of course Brittney was doing the beginning, so I didn’t pay much attention to her. We entered the stage, and everything was going swell.

And then it was my part.

“…all I’m tryin’ to say is you’re my everything baby…” Then in unison we all sang the next part. Then it was high note time. While everybody else sang, “Every time I try to say it, words they’re always complicated” I did some fancy whistle register notes. After we were finished, I sighed with a breath of relief. We all bowed and exited stage as the host came on stage. For some reason, people kept coming up to me to say things like, “Wow that was amazing” or “How do you do that?” I just nodded awkwardly and mumbled “Thank you” and “I dunno, it just comes out…” Obviously Brittney wasn’t one of those people. She just glared at me and flipped her hair flirting with—Jake.

“OH HELL NAW.” I stomped over to Ginger and was this close to slapping her I the face, when Leah came over. She looked at Brittney like she was also about to slap her in the face. It turned out that neither of us had to slap her, because something unexpected and crazily risky happened.