Sleepyhead

Suttonites

“Sutton,” Reed hissed, narrowing her eyes and swatting her fingers at me. “Put your damn mobile away.”

“No,” I bit back, glaring childishly before holding my mobile away from her reach.

“This isn’t the time, or the place!” Reed continued, whispering and leaning closer to me. “Be professional!”

“I am!” I growled, pursing my lips and shaking my head. “Besides, it’s not like anyone notices the personal assistant sitting in the back looking at Twitter!”

“You’re unbelievable. You’re going to get us all fired!”

“Don’t get your knickers in such a bunch, Reed.” I replied, settling back against the couch. Reed just huffed, fuming, before crossing her arms over her chest in a childish fit.

I grinned, Sutton wins again.

We had been sitting in interviews all day. And by all day, I mean we got up at like five in the morning and been herded like cattle from one television show to radio interview to online promo to another. And now? It was like, fucking barely one in the afternoon.

I was so fucking sleepy.

This interview, however, had been going on far too long. The boys were sitting across the room all on a couch, facing a camera and some interviewer some stupid website that probably gets absolutely zero traffic a month. But whatever, I’m not bitter that I have to sit on this damned sofa and listen to them answer the same damn questions each time.

Not bitter at all.

I totally couldn’t have been sleeping in my bed or anything.

I mean, sure, it’s slightly entertaining. Just slightly.

Mostly because Niall keeps making funny faces at us when he thinks the camera isn’t on him and Zayn has smiled at me at least three times and Louis pretended to flash us and Liam has just been his usual teddy bear self.

Well, save for the, you know, curly haired problem.

Harry has spent the entire time either: A) winking at me or B) staring at me.

You know. Classic Harry Styles moves.

Brilliant.

Reed insists that I’m paranoid. And far too self-involved for my own good.

I reckon that while that’s a bit true, I know Harry’s just trying to mess with me. This new, “friendship” road we’ve embarked on his full of even more sexual innuendos than when he was still trying to get into my pants. So, basically, Harry Styles just really wants to piss Zayn off.

And it was working.

And so I’ve been trying to counteract that with some awkward mobile time. You know, when you’re in a room with blokes you don’t like and so you just sit there pretending to text when you’re actually trying to avoid conversation?

Good times.

But, you know… I was doing something. And I’m not proud of it. But I suppose, I can’t hide it, either. Nothing but the dirty, dirty, truth.

I was Google stalking Juliet.

There was no circumlocution, mush mouth, ramble-y mumbo jumbo about it. I was sitting there attempting to get my dinosaur of an iPhone 3 to figure out exactly who this harlot was.

It sucked, because, well, I didn’t know her last name.

That only took me about thirty minutes to find out. Turns out, if you search One Direction + Juliet into Google, it literally will give you pictures of all of them together! Magic! And I didn’t even have to ask Astrid.