The Fangirl // Horan [temporarily on hold]

Chapter 1

1 September, 2014

The First Year Of College

I suppose, in a typical story, the heroine (is that what I am? Why do they call it a heroine? That's a drug. I am not a drug) wakes up with perfect hair.

But...I think I mentioned earlier that this is not a typical story.

So no, I don't wake up with perfect hair.

My hair in the morning looks a bit like Bigfoot decided to roll around in a hedge for three hours straight and then give himself a home perm.

I think that gives you a good idea of how - ahem - beautiful I am in the morning.

Especially at six am, like today, because that is the horrendously early time my mother chooses to call me down to breakfast.

I'm going to once again compare my story to a typical romantic novel (don't worry, I won't do it many more times). Imagine this: In a typical cliché novel, the heroine's mother might decide to wake her up like this:

"Sweetie, come on honey, time to wake up. But if you need an extra two hours in bed that's absolutely fine."

Now we go to how my mother woke me up:

"Charlotte! Get downstairs, right now, or you're going to be late!"

Trust my mother to be annoyed at me on my first day of college.

Last night, she said to me, "Now don’t you dare stay up all reading those ficfan things. You have a big day - no, a huge day tomorrow."

"Okay, Mom, there are exactly two things wrong with that," I sighed. "Firstly, and most importantly, they are called fanfictions, or fanfics for short. Some also call them fics. Secondly, I don't stay up all night. That only happened twice."

And that's the truth. I don't stay up all night - just until four in the morning or so.

Last night I went to bed early, at one am. However, five hours of sleep later, I am still exhausted.

I drag myself out of bed anyway. College. Ugh.

I mean, I'm looking forward to it. But I'd rather stay at home, even if that means living with my mother. I'm not very good in social situations.

I change out of my pyjamas (Shirt with the words Tribute In Training written on it, and blue pyjama shorts with sheep on them) and into my first day of college outfit. I tug a Candor t-shirt over my head, and squeeze into my white jeans.

Damn you unskinny hips.

I shove my arms into a maroon knitted cardigan (maroon in honour of Ron Weasley) and pull on a pair of red Vans.

I pick up my white-framed glasses and put them on, where they insist on slipping down my nose almost immediately. I sigh and push them back up. Ah, the joys of terrible vision.

I glance at myself in the small mirror above my bed. My hair still looks horrendous.

I literally yank my red hairbrush through my hair. Frizzy pink hair is not a good look.

Eventually it is decent-ish and I pull it into a ponytail.

I kneel on my bed to try and look at myself full length, which is hard in a virtually square foot sized mirror. I end up having to stretch as high as I can to see my legs and squatting to see my top and my face.

"Char-lie! Hurry up!"

I roll my eyes. I slide off the bed and open my bedroom door. My room is so small than I only have to take like one step from my bed to my door. The door bumps off the foot of my bed when I open it.