𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐀! | harry styles

𝐈𝐕

I spend most of the day hanging out in the den, watching reruns. I'm curious to see if Harry is going to come by and act crazy and mad again, but Rosalie stays in her room and I hear no mention that he'll be joining us this evening.

I'm happy he won't get food poisoning, but bummed because a crazy and mad Harry is still hotter than any of the boys I've ever seen. Even Shaun Cassidy. As hot as he is, I'm still planning to give him a piece of my mind when I next see him, and rehearse in my head all the things I'll say.

"Whatchu talkin' about Harry" is the pathetic front-runner.

Lori calls me for dinner and I plan my escape route, but I haven't seen anyone all day and I'm feeling a little social so I go and take my seat, across from Harry's empty chair.

Rosalie looks like hell. I've never seen her without her Lip Smackers on, and her nose is red. Dad gives her the side eye when she keeps sniffling and moves his chair bit by bit away from her. I knew it was just a matter of time until he figured out she was diseased and a terrible step-daughter to have.

The only thing that stops me from cracking some of my best one-liners at her expense is the look on her face. Pretty, peppy Rosalie looks like she just got dumped. My heart soars and my feet want to do a little happy dance under the patio table but something doesn't make me feel quite like celebrating.

I get a funny feeling thinking about her in the shadows last night with that creep Vince. As much as she annoys me and I wish Lori and Dad would ship her off to some exclusive college in Switzerland so Harry can finally realize I'm the cat's meow, I don't really want her to get involved with a skeevy guy like him. Even she deserves a little better than that.

"Is this roast beef?" I ask and push my fork under the slab on my plate to get a closer look.

"It's Chateaubriand. I got the recipe out of McCall's." Lori smiles at me with her watery martini eyes. She looks so pleased I don't have the heart to tell her that it looks like my old Brownie uniform beret with gravy on it.

My chair scrapes against the cement as I stand up to go. "Where are you off to, young lady? You haven't touched your dinner." Dad's mustache twitches as he says it.

"Uh, yeah. Had a big bowl of popcorn not an hour ago. Aimee is coming to get me. I'll be home by one."

"Midnight."

"Twelve-forty-five."

"Twelve-thirty."

"Deal." I kiss Dad's cheek and wave to Lori who is busy trying to communicate with some birds in the yard.

I run into the house and change into some short-shorts, my favorite Bay City Rollers t-shirt and finger comb my couch-pressed hair into some sort of style. Nothing works, so I grab some elastics and tie it up quick into two low pigtails since we're just headed to the drag strip to watch her brother race and there's a slim chance Mick Jagger will show up to woo me away.

Aimee's mom's station wagon isn't the coolest thing to be driving around in, but I really have no grounds to complain. It's another beautiful night in Malibu and we play the radio loud with the windows down while we smoke cigarettes and I hang my bare feet out the window.

We stop at the Gas 'n Gulp and sit on the hood of the car, waiting for hot guys to notice us while we drink cherry ICEE's and eat Fun Dip.

"Where's Fran tonight?" I ask as I pull my candy stick out of the pouch and suck on the powder.

"Her mom and dad took her to a retreat."

"Becoming one with our Lord and Saviour?" I half-joke.