Man, This is Cliche!

Promise Me.

After lunch, the boys go back to their flats and I tell Emily what happened between me and a certain curly-haired lad. "Wait," she says, "Harry Styles just...asked you out?"

For the millionth time, I respond, "Yeah, basically. He's taking me on a tour of London. Sorta like a first date, sorta like sightseeing." I'm not exaggerating when I say that I've explained this a thousand times in the past thirty minutes.

"And you just said yes? How is it possibly that easy?" Em seems baffled at the fact that I can just go on a date with him. Okay, to be fair, I am too.

"I don't know. But speaking of dates, when are you gonna ask Blondie out?" I wink at her and she flushes crimson.

"I'll wait for him to ask me. That's how it works."

"Emily Isenhower! This is the twenty-first century. Women don't just wait around anymore. They take charge!"

"But he's Niall Horan," she argues. Has she learned nothing?!

"Yes, and Harry's Harry Styles..." I trail off, waiting for her to get the point.

"Okay, I get it. 'Make a move.' I will, but I want to know if he 'fancies' me first." I mentally roll my eyes at how she's so oblivious. "But back to the topic at hand," - Oh, brother - " when's your date with Styles?"

"Um, he's picking me up in," I pause to check the time on the clock above the sink,"an hour. Shit! I have to get ready!" Emily hops down off the granite countertop and we run back to my bedroom. By the time she gets to my room, I'm already rummaging through my walk-in closet.

"You're only going sightseeing. Casual, casual's good." Em walks over to my array of skinny jeans, with colors ranging from hot pink to maroon, from cheetah print to zebra. She starts moving around a few pair and picks out one of my favorite pair - the light pink pair, almost the color of cotton candy.

"These with this," she picks up a plain black tank top, "plus your sparkly, black TOMS; I think it'd look really cute." So I take her word for it and go get dressed in the bathroom.

When I'm done, I take one look in the mirror and decide that I'm going to do my hair just the way I like it - scrunched up and really curly. I've always liked my hair like this, I don't know why. I guess I have a thing for curls; makes sense, right?

After I do my hair, I look back in the mirror at my deliberately messy curls. Not like just-got-out-of-bed messy; it's more like one of those hair commercials. Does that make any sense?

I look at the clock on my bedside table to see that I still have about ten minutes until Harry picks me up. I get ready faster than most girls because the only makeup I ever wear is mascara, and even that I don't pile on heavily. I love how I look without makeup.

I walk over to the desk in the corner of my room and sit down in front of my laptop. I turn it on, type in my password and pull up Facebook. Let's see: drama, drama, shared photo, inspirational quote, song lyrics, more drama. Seeing nothing interesting on that particular social-networking site, I pull up Twitter.

As always, my twitter feed is blowing up with One Direction stuff. I see Harry had posted a tweet not even five minutes ago:

@Harry_Styles: Showing a new friend around London..It's gonna be fun..

But it's Louis' tweet and all the replies that catch my eye:

@Louis_Tomlinson: Have fun, but don't keep her out too late! ;)

I have this sinking feeling in my gut telling me that something about this is going to be trending. And sure enough, right there under "Worldwide Trends", it reads: Harry's Secret Girl. Louis, what have you done?