Becoming Perrie Edwards // h.s

Becoming Perrie Edwards // Harry Styles [coming soon]

New story! I hope you like it :)

I love Perrie.

Vote, comment, all that awesome shiz you do.

Trailer made by @purple13

Felicity .x

Chapter One // Thoughts of An Inner Fangirl

a r i a:

On a scale of one to ten, how social would you consider yourself?

My life would definitely score a big fat zero. It consists of sleeping, eating, lazing around at the computer and stalking recent photos of my idol, then repeating the cycle all over again.

“You've gotta get out of the house more,” Mum pleads with me on a daily basis, having stooped to bribing, grovelling and cajoling. “You're deathly pale, Aria, get some sun on your face.”

To which I usually respond with some witty little comment about skin cancer.

Besides, why would I spend my time frolicking about in some park underneath the rare sunlight, when I could be surfing the Internet, watching funny videos that Little Mix have taken it upon themselves to upload.

Everyone has an idol. Whether it be a relative or a celebrity or an inspirational friend, there's someone in everyone's life who exists to be admired and looked up too. And mine goes by the name of Perrie Louise Edwards, from South Shields, member of the sensational girlband Little Mix.

She's everything I've always wanted to be. Beautiful, amusing, talented. The fact that such a wonderful person exists never ceases to fascinate me.

I click on the Twitter icon saved to my computer's homepage, logging into my account and checking Perrie's account for any new updates.


“@AriaEJesperson: @PerrieLittleMix you're perfect. I love you.”


“Evie,” I say to my best friend, gesturing her over to the computer screen. With a mouthful of pretzels, the copper haired girl dragged her feet  to where my eyes were glued to my laptop. “Evie, hurry, this is urgent.”

“What?” Her eyes grow fearful, the blue irises glistening with worry. “Aria, what is it?”

“Zayn and Perrie kissed publicly again.”

Evie groaned loudly, picking up a hardback copy of Romeo and Juliet that lay on the kitchen table and hitting me repeatedly on the shoulder with it. “Violent, you are,” I scowl, nursing my wounds with my hand.

“Be thankful it wasn't a copy of War and Peace! Jesus, Ar, you had me worried!” She exclaims, placing the book back down on the table. “Are you ready to go to school? No, of course you aren't, you're not even out of pyjamas yet. Go! Get dressed, we can't be late or Mr McCarthy will fry us and feed us to his precious hamsters. I'll log off for you.”

I reach out in dismay as I'm forced toward my bedroom by a harsh push. “B–but, I'm not finished reading the article!”

“Aria!”

“It's important,” I whine, but I'm ignored and Evie quickly logs off and shuts down the laptop before I can get a chance to make a beeline for it again. She smirks smugly and points at the bedroom. I huff, disappointed at Evie's triumph.

“Aria.”

“But—”

“Aria!” I can see by her murderous glare that she means business and doesn't want my emotions (which are spinning into overdrive thanks to that Zerrie kiss) to be the reason she lands another detention.

“All right, calm the ham! I'm going, I'm going.”


~*~


“You're late, Aria,” Our secretary trills as we try in vain to sneak past the office. “That's another tardy for you and for Evie.”

Evie shoots me a glare that would bring a serial killer to his knees, instantly planting a cloud of guilt over my head. “Sorry, Miss.”

We hurry on down the hallway, me begging Evie to accept my fervent apologies. She finally does as I collect my books from my locker, noticing that Noah had yet again taken advantage of the free space and dumped his football kit there. I sigh. Brothers.

“Mr McCarthy is going to kick our arses,” Evie groans as we wait outside the classroom of the most intimidating History teacher in the whole peninsula, contemplating whether to man up and enter with our heads held high, or scamper away to hide in the girls bathroom until the next class. Alas, that blasted History teacher had other plans.

“And now Miss Reynolds and Miss Jesperson are going to come in and tell us all about the British-Irish war. In you come, girls.”

He's the scariest teacher, but also the only one who referred to everyone by their last names. We enter timidly, feeling the piercing stares of twenty-two other classmates bore into our souls, silently judging. Screw them.

“I'm American!” Evie announces suddenly and I scowl, huffing. Playing the foreign card and leaving me to handle Mr McCarthy. Just because she's Arizonian doesn't mean she hasn't owned an English passport since she was six!

But being Mr McCarthy, Evie was granted the privilege of sinking into her seat with relief and leaving me standing awkwardly at the front of the class, kicking myself for updating my Little Mix blog last night instead of studying like any normal person with any sense would.

“Erm...” I began, “I think...”

One of the secretaries rapped on the door, momentarily distracting him and allowing me the chance to creep back into my seat and slump onto the table.