The Switch (One Direction Fanfiction)

Chapter 5

Wake Up, Britain! Filming Studio, London; 9:22 am

Harry really misses this morning.

Why?

Well, because this morning he thought Emily was angry.

Turns out, he hadn’t even seen her angry yet.

In fact, he might describe this morning’s Emily as calm, and if he could go back in time, he would tell past him to run, or hide, or morph into something, anything, to prevent him from the current hurricane that was Emily Miller.

It had been about five minutes since Sophia dropped what he had humourously nicknamed the ‘Sexcapade Incident’, and, for some reason, Emily didn’t find the joke funny. At all. It took him a minute to catch on, partially due to the fact it was hard to understand what Emily was even saying in between all the f-bombs, but apparently it was the publicist’s job to deal with incidents like these and make them seem some what dignified.

Huh, who knew?

As Emily storms around, Harry tries to sneak away, edging towards the door as stealthy as possible, trying to avoid being spotted at all costs.

“HARRY! GET BACK HERE!”

Obviously, he fails.

He barely has time to contemplate if he wants to prolong his death and make a run for it, or just accept the fact he’s suppose to die at the mere age of eighteen, because a firm, feminine hand clenches around his arm.

“Where are you going?” The blonde huffs out, and even though he’s about two inches taller than her, he suddenly feels very, very small and overpowered.

“Uh, um, I, er…” He scratches the back of his head as Emily begins to drag him back to their seats backstage. “The-” He squeaks it out two octaves higher than his normal voice, so he clears his throat. Be a man, be a man, be a man. “The, um, vending machines.”

Fuck yes.

What a manly answer, that’s right, bitches: He’s Harry fucking Styles and he loves his man food.

Word to the brothers.

(He will deny ever thinking that.)

“No you’re not!” Emily’s screeching brings him back to reality, and his body trembles a bit when she throws him, like he’s some sort of ragdoll, into the chairs they had been occupying, and shoves his phone (which he could’ve sworn was in his pocket, but has learned not to question anything) in his face, which he grabs as she lets it go. The girl could wake the dead, he swears. “You’re calling Jen, Bob, and Paul right now. Then, get C and S on, and type up an apology statement to be issued by tonight, okay?”

Harry blinks blankly at the girl in front of him.

How the fuck is he ‘suppose to know what any of that means? She might as well be speaking Japanese. Emily, however, just slowly exhales.

“Oh, and talk to the producers to see if we can edit in pre-release film. They might be tricky about it, if so schedule a conference appearance, and maybe some sort of signed items to the audience to keep them from talking, ok?” At the sound of a vibration, she quickly looks at her own pink iPhone which was in her other hand, and Harry’s eyes widen as steam like shoots out of her ears. “Shit, already have someone tweeting… Go on a internet censorship now, ok?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead walking off, and Harry sits there unable to process what just happened. How can he call like three people and browse the internet and censor stuff and type stuff all now? There was only one ‘now’, and like eight billion things… And who the hell are C and S? Actually, the only name he recognizes in the group is Paul….