I am a certified lunatic.

Right this is just a story idea..this is like the first chapter. I haven't written any more of it, much as I love the begginig, because I'm working on a different story right now! But yeah if anybody shows an interest I will try to continue it. Enjoy :) xx

“GO! GO! GO!” I shout at the line of traffic in front of me, glancing at the clock in desperation. I was supposed to be at this stupid dance shop 15 minutes ago, getting my costume fit for the Royal Ballet School’s annual end of the year showcase. I had been reminded, more than once, always politely, that I needed to get there on time. And yet, here I was. Stuck in goddamn London traffic,  and late. Again. God knows what Mr. Norman, head ballet teacher at the Upper School in Covent Garden, is going to say to me this time. But seriously! It’s the last day of Spring term, and he expects us to show up! I had to borrow my sisters car… note the word borrow  not ask. She wasn’t home, and it was obviously the only way I was going to get here. I was just praying that this would be over and done with quickly, so that I could return the car safe and sound.

Ok, could the limousine in front of me ACTUALLY move any slower?! I lean on the horn in frustration. Sure. Some famous person was probably sitting in the back of it, but frankly, at the moment, I couldn’t care less. When it FINALLY pulled forwards, I stomp on the gas petal, forgetting that I’m driving a high-end sports car, (courtesy of my sister’s boyfriend), and shoot forwards with a lurch, breaking inches in front of that damned limousine’s bumper. I curse, then realize in relief that I’m in front of the dance shop, and swiftly pulled in alongside the curb. Grabbing my dance bag, I quickly hop out, lock the car, shoot one last glare at that stupid limousine, and run up the steps and into the shop.

“Ms. Ward, so lovely to see that you could join us,” Mr. Norman says, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. I cringe.

“I’m so sorry sir, I was stuck in traffic and-“ I’m cut off when he holds up his hand to silence me.

“No matter, you’re here now. Please take a seat, and ensure me it won’t happen again.”

I shake my head. “No sir, it won’t.” He nods and turns to the shop lady, who is explaining about the costumes. My best friend Marie smiles sympathetically at me, and pats the seat next to her. “Hair” she mouths, looking pointedly at my head. Alarmed, I reach my hands up to realize that I’ve only slicked it back into a ponytail. Mr. Norman had specifically asked for a bun. “Crap.” I mutter, digging around my bag and pulling out some bun pins. Hastily, I coil my long brown hair into a tight bun and secure it. This day is not going well. 

When the lady finishes speaking, she split us up into groups according to our dances, and we were finally allowed to talk.

“You’re absolutely mad!” my partner Mark sats, his green eyes sparkling as he nudges my shoulder.

I laugh. “I know, I know! I’m lucky Mr. Norman didn’t kill me!”

Marie grins. “To say the least! You’re always late!” She has a point. They both do, actually. Mr. Norman is pretty patient to let me go on like this.

“Group B please!” the lady calls, and we make our way over to her, chatting idly as she measures us from every possible angle. “You!” she says, pointing at me. “Try this on.” She hands me a silver and white tutu and I pull it on, letting her do up the hooks in the back. She makes me put on my pointe shoes as well, and attaches a sparkling tiara to my head. I turn around and smile at my group. Mark winks at me and wolf whistles. “Aw, shove-off,” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him. He just chuckles in return. “NEXT!” the lady calls. Jesus, did she really have to shout? We were only standing like a foot away from her. Marie steps up, and I go and stand by Mark.

“How did you get here, by the way?” he asks, looking down at me. I grin mischievously.

“I kind of borrowed my sister’s car?” I say. Mark turns to look outside.

“Um, Ali? Is it a silver Porsche?” I look up at him in surprise.

“Yeah, it is. How did you know?” Suddenly, there’s a loud beeping coming from outside. I whip around in horror to see a large tow truck attaching a hook to the end of my sister’s car. My sister’s $100,000 sports car that I had borrowed. Without asking.

“Shit!” I cry, running out the door and down the steps. Onto a sidewalk in the middle of freakin London, in my pointe shoes and tutu. I must look like a goddamn maniac. In my panic I slam into someone, almost bowling them over. I glance up to mutter a quick apology and find myself face-to-face with Niall Horan. The Niall Horan. From One Direction. You have got to be kidding me. He takes in my outfit and cocks his head in confusion. “What the-“

“Sorry!” I say, before turning away and running up to the window of the tow truck and proceeding to bang on it with my fists. Yes… that’s how afraid of my sister I was. More worried about losing the car than meeting Niall Horan.

“HEY!” I shout. “THAT’S MY CAR!” The guy inside looks at me like I’ve gone completely insane, which I probably have, and starts his engine. “HELLO?” I scream. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH MY CAR!?” He raises his eyebrows and points up. I turn to see a large sign saying “NO PARKING-cars will be towed and fined.” My eyes grow wide and I bang on his window some more. “I DIDN”T SEE IT! GIVE ME BACK MY CAR!!!!!”

He looks at me, frowns, and steps on the gas, but not before I kick the fender of his truck with my foot. Which hurts. A lot. And so, I’m left hopping around on one foot, shouting after him: “YOU LITTLE PIECE OF-“  when I’m cut off by the sound of laughter. Hysterical laughter. Niall Horan’s laughter. I turn to look at him, doubled over himself, his shoulders shaking with absolute hysteria. I put one hand on my hip and glare at him.

“You think this is FUNNY!?” I ask him. He straightens up immediately.

“Well, yeah,” he says, chuckling nervously. “I mean, this entire situation is so ridiculous. You’re standing here I a flipping tutu…” he snorts, but stops grinning when he see’s that I’m actually pissed. “Um...” he says. “Is there anything I can do?”  I close my eyes for a moment, letting the fact that Cora is going to KILL me sink in, then look up at the dance shop. Mr. Norman is glaring at me and shaking his head like I’m a disgrace. Which to him, I probably am. Everyone else is pressed against the glass looking at me like I’m mad. Which, I am now almost 100% sure that I am a certified lunatic. Talk about a bad day.