Accident Prone |h.s|

Chapter 1: Bests

January 2020

Shit. Damn. Balls. Ugh.

Of course.

I look down just as my full cup of frothy green juice is dumped onto the dark asphalt and my white shoes.

Seriously, why can't I hold things without dropping them.

Also, why do I insist on getting these drinks when they taste like grass and fresh garbage?

Damn California and it's damn trends making me question my sanity.

I have to laugh at myself as I keep a tight hold on my one remaining drink, tossing the old cup into the recycling bin. Inherent clumsiness and trying to be trendy are never a good combination.

Sun is beating down, scorching the crown of my head and reminding me that I didn't put on sunscreen today. Great. After all this time, the constant California sun is still a surprise every time I step out of my apartment building.

Not to mention I'm late. Again. Even though I swear I get ready with ample time, the clock always seems to creep by faster when I try to do decent makeup.

I guess it's a good thing is he knows me and how inevitable this is. Three years of friendship have made him privy to my undoubtable tardiness.

I thought I could use buying us juice as an excuse but I guess that's not happening. I guess he can just have the one I managed not to drop. He likes these more than me anyway.

As I wind up the curvy hills of the northern LA community, I can't help but laugh at the contrast between my 2010 Prius and luxury car in front of me. Honestly, I wouldn't even notice except for the fact that mine seems to be struggling to make it up the steep incline as other cars zoom past me.

I've never been a fancy car person. Or a fancy house person. Really, for someone who is friends with Hollywood elite, you would think those things would be more appealing to me.

I choose, instead, to spend my money on the latest skincare, or that one Gucci wallet (that was way too expensive, costing the same as a months rent in my one bedroom apartment), or the constant takeout that I survive on.

But he never makes me feel out of place. That's the magic of having a true best friend; they make you completely comfortable no matter what.

Which is why he is one of my favorite people to be around.

He is Harry.
Harry Styles.
One of my best friends for the past three years.

I pull into the secluded gated community and take in a deep breath of relief (mostly that my car made it up the hill). Punching in the security code for the community and his own driveway is a action of habit now. It always makes me feel safe and at home.

I have come to his LA mansion on this very warm Thursday to help him pack for a PR trip he has starting tomorrow.

I've been an assistant to one of top LA stylists for almost four years now and I definitely know my way around a suitcase. Being the assistant, mostly means packing various Louis Vuitton luggage sets for the elite celebrities that my boss styles.

This is one of my favorite parts of the job. I can Marie Kondo the crap out of any nightmare packing situation. What I do for work may not be that glamorous, but at least I know I can properly pack a damn suitcase.

Harry is one of the only people that make this extremely difficult. It is true that the more inherently stylish a person is, the more stressful the packing. That boy chooses the most random assortment of accessories and outfits. Which means I need hours to truly organize everything.