Happily

Chapter Eight: Fuck Statistics

          The hotel was the epitome of Hawaii. The lobby had cool marble floors- which helped in the heat- and the walls were a beachy sand colour. Palm trees lines the perimeter of the lobby and beautiful seashells were scattered across the clear crystal windows. The hotel was obviously an expensive one. Above the front desk, sat a sign called ‘Paradi’, presumably the name of the hotel. Mrs. Sivan trailed off to the counter to collect the pack of multiple keys for each pair of partners. She called off names and anxiously gave a card key to each partner and briefed them on rules and where there room was and to meet back at the plaza in one hour ‘unless we want to be shipped back to the Brits.’ Once she called Marcel and I’s name, I grabbed my bags and walked up, Marcel trailing behind. “Okay kids,” she said, earning an eye roll from the both of us.

“Here’s your room, 621, sixth floor. Elevators are over there. Now, there’s a balcony that overlooks the city. It’s beautiful. Marcel, I know you’ll be able to handle it, in fact, I think you’ll love it dear. But Louis, no trying to jump off the sixth floors got it?”

“Got it.” I winked at her, just because I could.

“No trouble.”

“None at all.”

“If anything…” She warned.

I laughed, “there won’t be!” And I snatched both room keys and ran to the elevators.

            “Marcel!” I sang, “come on!” Marcel grabbed his bag and shuffled uncomfortably towards me. Many of the guests shot odd glances at us, and my friends stared at me. In the elevator, I pushed the button for the sixth floor and took Marcel’s bags for him- despite his pleas of “no, it- it really is okay”- and ran to our room, him chasing behind. When I found the room, it was stunning. There were two beds with maroon and sand-tan sheets. The huge flat screen was on a dark brown mahogany cupboard. There were a bathroom off to the side, and a balcony on the other side of the beds. I set our stuff down to the side and ran to the balcony, sliding the door open. It was beautiful. Electric blue pools lay beneath us, and on the left you could see rolling hills of green and patches of pink and purple flowers. On the right, the twinkling lights of downtown Hawaii began to let themselves show. After a minute, Marcel joined me. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. This is going to be a hell of a trip. You know that right?” Marcel smiled.

“Uh huh…”

An awkward silence hung in the air, till he leaned his elbows on the railing and spoke: “you know, this is my first trip outside of England… Besides Paris when I was two. But that doesn’t count.”

I laughed. “That’s cool, Hawaii’s the place to spend it, eh? I went to India when I was twelve, but that’s about it.”

“Oh yeah,” he scoffed, “just India.” I chuckled.

“Wasn’t quite a paradise Marcel. A bit ratty if you ask me. Not really my thing… Won’t be going back.”

He just remained quiet.

+                      +                      +

            An hour later, I hopped down from the palm tree (not my favourite spot) and Marcel through me my phone. We had to head back to the lobby. He told me how it was impossible to climb a palm tree, and I told him I could do it easy, long as I had nothing in my pockets. Laughing he said that “statistically, you shouldn’t be able to without scraping your feet till blood comes barreling out.” I told him no one says “barreling” anymore except for in books, and that I could do it. I may have also told him to “fuck statistics” because I was “Louis Tomlinson The Motherfucking Great.” It turned out that after the difficulty- that I in fact, did, manage- of climbing it, palm trees are a great place to just sit and look up at the sky.

            We walked over to the lobby where Mrs. Sivan, as usual, was looking frazzled and tired, reading out the roll call list to make sure none of us had died in the depth of the hotel. “Okay class!” She shouted, but we were all too loud. “Shut up you lot!” And that got us quiet. Marcel and I joined Niall and Zayn. We were waiting for Liam. “Alright! Ahem,” she started. “A bus is coming to pick us up,  because we are visiting the mountains, I haven’t checked which exactly…” She shuffled with her pamphlet, earning a chorus of laughs from the class. “Right okay, so we are going to talk about inspiration and whatnot. From there we’ll visit a local village. Now remember students! These village-people are not addicted Playstations and iPhones, understand? They don’t even watch the telly, so keep in mind of that… And… well, don’t talk to them about other things. Alright, let’s get out, the bus will be here in two minutes! Out! Get out, all of you!” She pushed us out.

“Hearding cattle more like,” Niall snickered. Zayn laughed, and I looked around for Marcel, who was behind, helping Liam carry whatever the hell he chose to brought that had him late.

            In the bus it was chaos. Loud laughter and talking, the occasional “fuck!”s from students earning a “language!” from Mrs. Sivan, and Niall’s rolling jokes that had the whole bus alive. “So then I told him,” he laughed, “you stupid fuck, this is a pint of beer not yeh lil’ sister’s apple juice!” And the whole bus screeched and laughed, including me, and including Liam, and even Mrs. Sivan, who had cracked a smile in the front. Marcel was chuckling too. Niall had him sit next to him, but I’m not sure why. “Hey, Irish!” Stan called out. “Tell us about the time you beat the shit out of that mall clown!” Niall rolled his eyes and got up to move to the back of the bus, where his main audience was. “Alright, ya twat. But it was Dora! Get it right! And it was a man! So get this, I was at the mall with Theo and…” The rest drowned out into Niall blurb and laughter. Since he had vacated his seat, I slid in next to Marcel, who started to grin.

“So…” I nudged his knee with mine.

“So,” he nudged mine with his. Then, I turned to him.

“I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s play 20 questions…”

“Louis, we’re-”

“Yeah, yeah, mature adults. Now come Mr. Mature, let’s play 20 questions.” Rolling his eyes, he nodded. “Fine, fine! You first.”

            Cracking my knuckles, I exhaled. “Okay… let’s see… Favourite colour?”

He laughed. “Orange. Okay, erm, favourite person?”

“My sister Daisy, she’s a clever one that.” I smiled when I thought of Daisy. Only five years old, but more mature than Lottie and Fiz. I always went to her for little sister advice. “You must really love your sisters.” Marcel looked at me.

“Yeah, more than anything in the world. But! It’s your turn now. So… what about your favourite person?”

“My sister Gemma, even though she can be pest.” I laughed, and he laughed. And we continued on like that.

Statistically, the popular kid and the nerd aren’t supposed to be friends. And the popular kid isn’t supposed to be falling in love with the nerd. But to that, I say “fuck statistics.”