Becoming Perrie Edwards // h.s

Chapter Three // Concerts Bring Out the Clumsiest In You.

Hello again! Thank you for the wonderful response on this story. 

PICTURE: Evie Reynolds

VIDEO: Red Planet by Little Mix, which is genuinely one of my favourite songs on DNA.

-Felicity .x

~*~

Chapter Three // Concerts Bring Out the Clumsiest In You.

a r i a:

“Mum, Aria turned off my xbox!” Noah moans, flailing about on the sofa and knocking his bowl of salt and vinegar crisps onto the carpet. “Mum, tell Aria to—”

“Shut up, Noah!” I hiss at him in annoyance, shaking the two outfits in front of his face, “You're such a prat. Which should I wear?”

“How should I know?” Brothers are such a pain in the neck. I shoot him a look. “All right, Ar, fine! The floral top with the black skirt.”

I examine the two outfits. The other one consisted of skinny jeans and a sparkly top. I shake the one he didn't choose in his face. “This one it is then.”

He rolls his eyes at me and stuck out his tongue. “Put my xbox back on.”

“Do it yourself, lazy!” I scamper back into my room to change. Noah wails behind me, “Aria, you lost my progress!” but I ignore it. Excitement welled up inside me. Finally — tonight was the night I could see my idols live! I'd been dreaming of this day since I saw Little Mix on the X Factor.

Evie and I spent every Saturday evening together with bowls of junk food to watch The X Factor. We'd been reliable followers of the show since the Eoghan Quigg year, but 2010 and 2011 had been our favourite years. We'd watched it last year as well, and respected James Arthur's talent, but nothing could match the years of One Direction and Little Mix; the first group—a girlband—to win the competition. 

We'd voted almost every night and morning for Little Mix. “You're running up the phone bill, ladies,” Dad had grumbled. When they'd won, we all but threw a celebration party in the form of guzzling chocolates until we felt sick.

Once I am sufficiently dressed and make-overed for the concert, I send Evie a brief text to make sure she's dressed and ready to meet me at the arena. I quickly take a mirror selfie (or thirty-seven) and post the most decent one to all social networks and then, with the despondent apprehension of receiving the stick-with-Evie-and-don't-get-into-any-trouble lecture, I waltz downstairs to be met with Mum and Dad standing, hands-on-hips.

Oh dear Lord.

“Now, Aria,” Mum begins; I hang out of the banisters. “You know what to do.”

“Keep to Evie,” Dad continues, sternly. “Don't run amock, keep to your seats and don't get into any trouble.”

Really, it's astounding how little faith they've placed within their own daughter.

“And don't spend too much! I gave you twenty pounds and I'm expecting change, young lady,” Mum finishes, at least I hope. I breathe out a sigh of relief and cast a skeptical eye over them.