The Starbucks Message

Chapter One

Louis

“Louis… Louis… wake up!” My eyes flickered open, I was fully expecting to see Niall’s familiar face looking at me but instead it was the face of Phoebe.

A smile went across my face, “Hey Phebs. What’s up?” I ruffled her hair as I said which made her give me one of her amazing smiles, missing teeth and all!

Phoebe opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a teenage voice in the hallway, “Mum made pancakes come on!”

“Okay Lottie!” I yelled back, she was already dressed in stylish clothes and walking down the hall. Personally, I didn’t plan on getting out of my sweats and old t-shirt until at least noon. After just getting back from tour I was ready to take a load off for a while and hang with my family and friends. I was definitely going to see the boys frequently, just because we weren’t on tour didn’t mean I never talked to them. I probably saw them almost as much as my family during breaks. In fact, they were family; they were my adopted brothers practically!

Phoebe soon managed to talk me into getting out of bed and I stumbled into the kitchen, my mum was practically beaming when she saw me. I was overcome with happiness at seeing her joy and as soon as I got at least five pancakes I sat with my family for the first time in months, we were all talking each other’s ears off with all of the random things we had all been doing over the past couple months. I already was developing a kill list for all the boys that were flirting with Lottie.

My phone beeped and I smiled when I saw who the text was from, it was Eleanor.

Hey babe, I need to talk to you. Do you wanna come over?

I looked up but my mum was already nodding at me, she loved my girlfriend and was always so supportive. I was just glad that she wasn’t constantly getting on my case about my life; she just added her opinion (mostly on how she didn’t approve of all my tattoos but whose mother is?) but ultimately respected my decision in the end.

Going against my plans to lounge around the house all day I got on one of my shirts with a band name on it and some nice jeans. This would be the first time I had seen Eleanor in a long time, and I was going to dress to impress. I was so happy that I almost skipped as I went out the door; I ignored the impulse of course because I wasn’t a seven year old girl.

I whistled as I climbed into my favorite car (not the Mystery Machine, that was at my house) the SUV was my favorite car surprisingly; mostly because I didn’t have to worry about fans thinking that it was me. It wasn’t exactly the flashiest car, but it wasn’t the trashiest either so it worked perfectly for me. I sang along to every song on the radio as I drove, bobbing my head to the beat. I noted the way that they used the music in association to the lyrics, thinking of ways it would work with tracks I was writing. Even on vacation I found myself thinking of the songs, the boys, the fans, management, and pretty much everything that had to do with my career. Nothing about my job made me upset when I thought about it… except management.

While everything else in my life seemed practically perfect, management had made me their personal punching bag. From the very beginning I had been the one to stick up to them, which is easy for me; I don’t like to be told what to do by anyone or anything. So it became quite obvious to them from the beginning that I would be the ‘problem child’. They didn’t really see us as people, not even children; they saw us as big walking dollar bills. That’s what pissed me off the most. Management didn’t care about the fans or even us… all they cared about is that we made them money. Even if this meant changing everything about us, they even tried to get none of us to date because that would discourage the fans from liking us (which obviously didn’t work). They also talked about the fans like they were all five year old girls or crazed teenagers that were going to end up in an insane asylum. I didn’t like that of course…. No one messes with our girls except for us. And usually it’s not even intentional.