They're My One Thing (One Direction FanFic)

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I wait patiently in line. The One Doofus hasn’t made their entrance yet. Molly and Hailey and Aunt Bee are waiting in the food court or the car, maybe.

My muscles in my forehead crease into a frown. I really hate autograph signing, except for Nicholas Sparks and J.K Rowling and Ally Carter and Suzanne Collins. But album autograph signing? Could they just computerized it and tell everyone that they signed every album when they sell it?

“Not a fan?” A big guy asked. I could easily tell he’s their body guard, or maybe part of their protection detail.

I shook my head proudly. “Nope,”

He nodded as if he understands. Which probably he does, because he would have to spend his whole time with the doofuses. Note to self: Be friend those who look less likely to hate One Direction. And moments later, the mall erupted in a loud and noisy, ear splitting cheers. I. Hate.Screams.

“Hey, buddy!” Niall – err, Louis, maybe— said as they pass. I met his eyes, he stop mid step. “Hi, Babe.”

“Ugh,” I couldn’t but feel disgusted. Babe? Are you being serious? The last person who called me that ended in the Hospital for three weeks. What can I say? A woman needs to protect herself, as my mother put it when she enrolled me to Taekwondo and Advance Self-Defense classes when I was seven.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Buddy guard said. Yeahp, I called him that in my head. Because, I’m being and trying to be nice to those who understands me.

“Way worse,” I say with a roll of my eyes. My eye catches someone, Zayn. This one for sure because he’s all Molly ever talked about ever since the past couple of days. If only Molly’s mouth can be recorded in Twitter way, I bet the trending topic is ZAYN MALIK IS THE HOTTEST.

“They’re not that bad,” He says. His back on me. My eyes grew wide. I thought he understands me!

“What? Really?” I found myself asking. I wonder why. But, no, that does not change the fact they are still doofuses to me.

“Yup.” He says and moments and minutes pass by, I was enveloped by an awkward silence. Could it be that my assumptions were wrong? Nope, they’re just trying to make the doofuses look nice and good so it will not ruin their careers. Marketing strategy much?

“Lad and gentleman, the One Direction!” Someone said over the speaker and I swear I could be deaf by now. The crowds, of all genders and ages roared and cheered. Well, except for me of course. I hate them too much to cheer for them, even for a fake one.

The crowd as told to form a line, and we did. Who knew many people would come? As I could tell, the line outstretched until outside the Mall. I’m pretty lucky that I got to snuck into the nearer lines. All girls are on Fan Girl mode, especially the Tumblr girls who pretty much have all their body covered with One Direction from T-Shirts to rubber ballers, neckties, jeans, shoes and even eye glasses. Yey, great. Real torture.

The two girls in front of me squealed. “Oh my bloody hell! Have you seen Harry? He is bloody hot!”

I felt myself frown. “Ay dios mio, shut up.” I muttered under my breath. Luckily, they did not hear me. Unluckily for me, they squealed even louder. My ear huts.

Oh heavens, what have I done to deserve this punishment? Really? I am not kidding. As far as I could recall I never hurt anyone intentionally except for the aforementioned Taekwondo and Advanced Self-Defense class. I never took anyone for credit, and I have fairly spent my Sundays on a Local Church nearby.

“Could you, like, move on with the line? You’re holding us all back here,” A blonde said. Snorting almost half of the time when speaking. Who knew England has their own of bitch?

“Sorry,” I say and walked a few steps forward. Have I been really that preoccupied with my own thoughts that I’m getting oblivious of the surrounding. That is so not me.

“She’s pretty though,” I heard someone behind me say. But was quickly countered by the familiar snort talk. “But I’m prettier. Bet you hundred bucks that Zayn would pick me over her,”

I rolled my eyes at them, as if they could see me. Little did they know, I have no intention of trying to impress either one of the doofuses up in the center of the room treated like a king while the rest of us waits for our turn, a common commoner as I would put it. They’re the Kings, and we’re the commoners.