"Oh really your highness?" I ask, smirking and dipping into the world's worst curtsey, a week after the Titanic movie.
"That," Louis tells me, "was the world's worst curtsey."
"How about this one?" I ask, moving my right foot to my left side, extending my arm behind me, and sinking to the floor so that I'm almost kissing it.
"That was the world's best curtsey," Liam says, walking through the doorway.
"It's also extremely hard, would you like to learn it?" I ask.
"Do we look like girls?" Niall asks.
"Just Louis," says Rumor, from her spot on the couch.
"I wanna learn!" exclaims Louis.
"You are the girl," points out Zayn, from his spot next to Rumor.
"Stand like this," I say, demonstrating the first step. "Now copy every move I make," I tell him, and swoop to the ground. Louis tries, but falls onto his face. I laugh.
"GUESS WHAT!?!?!?" screams Harry, running down the stairs, and tripping over Louis, who hasn't gotten off the floor. Harry, arms waving madly, falls to the floor at my feet.
"Yes?" I ask in my most innocent voice, the others laughing around me, all except Louis, who's rubbing his back, and Harry, who's still on the floor.
"That hurt," Louis moans.
"You tripped me," Harry defends himself.
"What's your news, Harry?" Liam asks.
"I don't have any, I just felt screaming 'guess what' at the top of my lungs," he tells us.
"INCOMING!" Niall bellows, tackling Harry, or more like just throwing himself on top of him, seeing as he was already on the floor.
"Niall, you do realize that that looks wrong, don't you?" Rumor asks him. Everyone except Niall and Harry burst out laughing.
Then Louis finally stands up, and pulls Niall off of Harry with a playful, "get your own BooBear!"
* * * * * *
Later that day, after the boys leave, Rumor and I sit on the couch watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
"Hey Jamie?" Rumor asks me.
"Yeah?" I reply, looking away from the screen, where Voldemort is torturing Harry (Potter, I mean).
"Do you ever feel like no one likes you? Like you aren't beautiful?"
"Don't say that Rumor," I tell her, "you know no matter what happens, you'll always be my best friend, and you are beautiful, so don't say that."
"Yeah, but I just don't feel like it anymore," she says, "like the entire population of the world, all 7 billion people are rushing forward, not taking a second glance at you." Then she pulls up her sleeve to reveal a small pattern of red crisscross lines.
"Rumor! Don't do that! Don't cut yourself! STOP IT!" I screech. And that's all I can think about the rest of the night, those red crisscrosses on her wrist.
