Trouble

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I used to say that trouble found me.

I may not have joked so lightly had I known that, one day,

She really would.

++++++++++

*Harry*

            I mindlessly browsed the stacks of vinyl records in an old music store, humming slightly to myself.  With a hood up over my curls and a pair of sunglasses caught between my front teeth, I blew dust off a peeling cover.  It was nice to get some peace and quiet from the fans, finally, after being on tour for a while.  The only other person in those store, a non-descript, blonde cashier, didn’t see too interested in anything other than the music blaring through her decrepit headphones.

            “Crap,” she muttered.

            I glanced up to find her quickly stuffing bills into the register and glancing nervously out the window.  Following her gaze, I saw a line of police cars pulling up alongside the curb.  I opened my mouth to question the situation, but remembered that I needed to keep a low profile.

            “Dimples,” she said.  This second word rolled easily, and the metal of a tongue stud glinted in the fading sun.

            I pointed, silently to myself.  When she laughed, I noticed the murky green of her eyes.  They weren’t beautiful in the slightest, but they still compelled me toward her.  I’d never felt this way before.  She wasn’t pretty, not really.  There just seemed to be something about the way she moved that put me in a trance.

            “Yes you,” she motioned me, and my legs moved on their own accord, bringing me closer.  “We should leave through the back door.”

            I was struck dumb: positively speechless.  “Wha-?” I half-asked, trying to fight my acquired inability to speak.  Clearing my throat, I repeated again, “What?”

            “You’re not good with disguises, Dimples.  Now come on or I’m going to get caught, and you’ll be swarmed.”

            I didn’t ask the obvious question as to why the police were looking for her.  In fact, I didn’t have time to ask much of anything as she began to pull me through the back shelves.  I tried to ignore the electricity literally flowing between us as we snuck to an alleyway out back.  I didn’t fall for girls that easily.  Especially ones with tongue studs and enthralling eyes.

            “Give me your sweatshirt,” she commanded, holding her hand out.

            As if I’d ever give it to her…  But even as I thought otherwise, my hands stuffed my sunglasses in my back jeans pocket and handed her my jacket.  “Why do you want it?” I asked, seeming able to pose basic questions by now.

            “I’m cold and you’re the guy.  It’s chivalrous.”  By impulse, she wrapped her arms around my torso and said, “Thanks, Dimples.  See you around.”

            I watched her walk off, considering running after her retreating figure.  I’d never felt so connected to anyone before.  Honestly, it scared me.  I was still thinking about following her when I saw her turn around and yell, “It’s Harry Styles!” as she pointed directly at me. 

I cursed to myself and started to run, hearing the inevitable shrieking of teenage girls.  She’d used me as a distraction to get away.  I reached into my back pocket to dig out my ray-bans with the hope of blending in with the crowd, but all I felt was fabric.   I looked quickly behind me to see if they’d somehow fallen before coming to a realization: she’d taken my sunglasses on the ‘impulsive’ hug… smart girl. 

            Soon enough, girls swarmed me at all angles, cameras blinding me with their flashes.  I couldn’t make out individual faces in the massive swarm of eyes and mouths.  I called Liam quickly, asking if he could get someone to pick me up, and I tried to edge out of the center, answering all the questions shooting at me. 

It took ten minutes of pure torture for a team of security guards to come and push the mob away.  I fell the ground out of pure relief, mumbling incoherently as Paul grabbed my arm and dragged me to a car.  When I sat back in the leather, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the window trying not to imagine how much trouble I’d be in when Management found out about this.  Gradually, exhaustion of the past hour caught up with me, and I let my eyes drift closed in a restless sleep.

*  *  * *  *

            “Harry,” a hand shook my shoulder and awoke me.  Paul looked down at me with a sympathetic grin. “We’re here,” he said.

            I slid out of the car, my long legs carrying me quickly up the walk to the front door of the boys’ and my apartment building.  Knocking lightly, I rubbed sleep out of my eyes.  When I opened them again, Liam’s worried gaze searched mine.

            “Are you okay?” He asked.

            “No,” I said. “I mean yes.  I mean, I don’t know.”  And I didn’t know.  It wouldn’t make sense if I was completely fine, would it?  I’d just been swarmed by fans and was destined to get in huge trouble for a stunt like that.  Except, I kind of liked the part where a girl I’d never met before set my heart racing. 

            Liam let me inside, clearing his throat.  “Harry…”

            I tiredly flicked my hair out of my face and glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

            “Would you know anything about this?” he asked as he handed me my sweatshirt, neatly folded.

            I held it out in front of me, shaking it and watching as a scrap of notebook paper fell out of the pocket.  “What is that?” I muttered, bending down to read the scrawled writing.

“Dimples,

            I owe you one pair of sunglasses.”

            That was all.   No signature, nothing except eight words, a comma, and one period.  “It’s a note,” I explained to Liam. 

            I didn’t want to despair too much.  It shouldn’t matter that I’d felt sparks the first time I touched her hand.  It shouldn’t matter that such murky eyes drowned me in their depth.  It shouldn’t matter that I wouldn’t see her again.  It shouldn’t, but somehow, it did.