Remember Me [harry styles] ✓

27 - Segways and screeching

"I'm half a heart without you." 

"Harry, I don't like this one bit!" I screech as the death-trap beneath my feet bolts forward with me clinging onto its handlebars for dear life. "Harry, help!"

The sound of electronically powered wheels pulling up beside me isn't enough to mask the booming laughter of my best friend. I can just tell from the arrogant tone that he's done this before - in fact I'd put money on it. I should have known he was lying when he'd said he was a segway virgin too. In fact, I should have known he was lying when he'd said this was going to be fun.

We'll figure it out together! He'd told me. It's going to be great!

"Harry, make it stop!"

"You already know how to make it stop, Juni!" He chortles in my ear; despite knowing full well that I'd been too busy trying not to cack my dacks during our safety briefing instead of paying attention. "Just apply your weight onto your heels - like this, see?" But I can't bring myself to tear my gaze away from where it's fixed straight ahead. All I know is that Harry has managed to bring his deathtrap to a halt while I - unwillingly - have carried on ahead, white-knuckled and with teeth flat and ground down from clenching.

I'm going to die. Right here on this boardwalk as a result of the Hollywood Beach Segway Disaster. And the worst part? I'll merely be a briefly mentioned fatality - while the paps focus on the fact that it happened right in front of their beloved Harry Styles.

It's been four days since the awkward boyfriend conversation on the bus to Houston. After waking up from his untimely and - quite frankly - god damn rude nap, Harry had acted like it hadn't happened. Apparently only I had been aware of the enormous elephant in the room and the discomfort curdling in my stomach. We'd not mentioned it again. Not once.

"I can't decide," He appears again at my side; cruising along the wooden walkway as if he's walking on air or perched on a flying carpet. Must he be good at everything? "If this is embarrassing or just downright hilarious."

My nostrils flare. "Oh really?" I retort, followed by a string of curse words as I narrowly avoid plummeting right through the middle of a couple getting heavy with the PDA. They're so wrapped up in one another that they don't even notice. Harry laughs louder. "Because I can't decide whether I want to throw myself off of this thing or throw it at you."

There's the spluttering noise of someone choking on air as he attempts to breathe in between cackles. "Aw, Juniper - you're so cute when you're scared to death."

The British sarcasm carries in the balmy Florida wind and tickles my earlobes; teasing my skin much like his whimsical words. I can feel the laughter on my lips, but like hell am I giving him the satisfaction of hearing it. Harry is such a little shit - it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why everyone adores him so much. And yet the urge to knock him off his Segway is near enough overwhelming.

Instead, with the strap of my helmet cutting into my neck, I puff my cheeks out and attempt to apply pressure to the heels of my feet. I force the rubber soles of my runners into the footwell, praying to the Segway Gods that in a mere matter of seconds I will no longer see my life flashing before my eyes. And they answer, because the handlebars rear up in front of me; like a horse confronted by a snake, and suddenly I am toppling backwards - my clammy fingers prized away from the rubber grips - until my backside collides with the hard deck. There's the sound of blood pumping in my ears and then, with a loud thump, the deathtrap joins me; laid out like a slain beast at my side.

Take that, bitch.

Various pairs of feet hit the surrounding wooden planks, and unfamiliar faces burst into view. Some are alarmed, some amused. Their arms reach out for me, all desperate to play the hero, and boy am I humiliated. I'm going to break that stupid Segway into so many damn pieces - and Harry can be the one to pay the damages. My cheeks are burning a furious scarlet and I want nothing more than to get swallowed up by a sinkhole - but instead the crowd parts and I find myself staring at a familiar pair of approaching scuffed up Vans.