Scribbles (A Niall Horan fan fiction)

22) January 8-13: An Ugly Sheep

8 January, 2012

            It makes sense to write the date like the Brits do.  Day, month, year.  Genius.  I wonder why us Americans insist on complicating everything.  Like most people drive on the left side of the road but we were like hell to the no, right side of the road for us!  And what is up with our metric system?  Since when  does twelve inches a foot make more sense than one hundred centimeters in a meter?  Don’t we realize we’re only creating more work for ourselves?  And don’t even get me started on that Fahrenheit-Celsius mess.  Blimey.

            Oh, just as something I remembered right now, I’m leaving tomorrow morning for France at seven in the morning.  That’s a fun fact.

8 January, 2012, later

            All packed and all set.  Lovely.  This is good news.  There is now nothing holding me back from going on that trip.

8 January, 2012, few minutes later

            This trip might actually be a blessing in disguise.  I mean, I don’t have to see or hear Karen or Jessica for a few days.  I don’t have to deal with the uncomfortable side glances from Camilla, Fiona, and the rest of the Foxy Five, sans Harry because he hasn’t so much as breathed my air for the last week.   

            I’ve decided that I actually hate him, by the way.

            I will use this time as a cooling off period for all of them.  And I will try to dazzle Niall with my new French skills.

            Excellent.  It’s nice having a plan.

8 January, 2012, few seconds later

            Ha.  Haha.  Dazzle him with my French skills.  Ha.  Get it?  See what I did there?  Because we’re going to be speaking French but also because of French kissing.  Ha.  I’m so witty.

            My wit is lost on you, Diary.

9 January, 2012

            On the bus to the airport.  I didn’t expect much from Niall when we saw each other and I wasn’t disappointed.  He actually had his head down and his shoulders hunched as we waited for the bus.  Then he dragged himself onto the bus.  I suspect he’s exhausted.  I wonder if everyone threw him a party or something last night as a seeing off present or something.  He is acting exhausted.  Now he’s sitting a few seats behind me in the opposite seats so if I lean against the window I can see him over the top of the seats.  His eyes are closed and his head is lolling to the side.  So precious. 

9 January, 2012, later

            The flight was short, uneventful, and kind of smelly.  I am officially in France.  The city of love!  Or is it the city of fashion?  Maybe it’s both.      

            Actually, we’re not even technically in Paris right now.  We’re in a town called Nanterre.  It’s not far from France and this is where Madame Lier has all of her spies. 

            Anyway, I’m in France.  I didn’t get the chance to see much on our ride from the airport to our currently living situation.  I’d call it a hotel but it has more of a dorm feel.  We walked into the “lobby” as a group and let our heavy belongings fall to the ground.  I nearly kissed the floor as soon as we entered the warm building.  It wasn’t snowing out but it was cold enough. 

            Madame Lier checked us in while one of the employees gave us the rules and instructions in French.  I think it’s safe to say I’m not fluent, but I did pick up the keys words.  The rules were pretty basic.  Curfew was ten, breakfast at eight, check-ins three times a day, girls and boys were meant to stay clear of the opposite gender’s room, and such.  And Madame Lier reiterated the most important rule: Speak only in French.  Personally, I think the most important rule is to stay safe, but if she wants to go there, then whatever.