(MOMENTARILY ON HOLD) The Other Girl (Harry Styles)

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

LONDON’S POV

Believe it or not, Chloe's basically forgiven me for the pop quiz incident.

Note the significant word 'basically'.

She's still a bit pissed at me but she's treating me just like how she used to, sort of like a pet dog, sort of like a servant, not really like a friend. At this moment we're at her place, lounging on her massive bed. I love the feeling of sinking into the fluffy blankets; it encloses me in safety and warmth, even if it's just for a moment. We're both on our phones, eyes glued to the screen, as we scroll through our newsfeed.

Chloe giggles. I shuffle a little closer to her on the bed to see what's so funny; she shows me her phone. It's a tweet from Louis – the boys, except Harry, follow her. Chloe’s dad is in some huge recording company and he’s apparently worked with One Direction before, and they briefly met Chloe. The boys all stupidly think that Chloe’s some kind, generous angel who always puts others’ feelings before her own. Except Harry. When he first met her he almost instantly came to the conclusion that Chloe was a faker. He didn’t realise how right he was, but he refused to have anything to do with her anyway. The other boys all disapproved of his impulsive opinion, but he wouldn’t be swayed in any way.

The tweet is a picture of Harry; the boys have covered his face, hair, and neck with whipped cream. The caption reads: We’re seeing how many weird things we can do to him before he wakes up!

I laugh as I read the caption. Chloe smiles smugly – she knows exactly how Harry feels about her as well, and that hurts her pride a little, so she’s a little biased against him. She points the phone towards her face, about to take a selfie. Then she glances toward me and says, “Hey, London, come here for a sec. And have your hair out – I want it to compliment mine.”

I raise my eyebrows but don’t answer, shifting towards Chloe so that our heads are just touching and my loose hair fans out on the bed, making dark streaks in Chloe’s blonde curls spread out on the bed. Chloe takes a picture and uploads it onto Twitter, adding the caption: Me and my bestie @LondonEJames at my place!

She sends it as a reply to Louis’ tweet. Louis replies almost immediately: Whoa! I didn’t know about your best friend! What’s she like?

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Why does he even want to know?” she asks, her tone growing irritated. “Ugh. We shouldn’t have posted that picture – wasn’t even that good, anyway.”

She doesn’t reply to the tweet and instead scrolls through her newsfeed again. I’m about to log out of Twitter and go onto YouTube when I notice my rapidly increasing number of followers. The previously three digit number is climbing into four. My eyes widen slightly; Chloe bounces towards me and leans over my shoulder, staring at the screen of my phone. Her eyes narrow.

“What’s up with your phone?” she demands. “There’s obviously something wrong with it.”

I numbly shrug and click on the ‘followers’ button. The hundreds of new followers I have are all people I am not related to in any way; I scroll downwards and find the reason to the sudden increase in followers. Louis, Niall, Liam and Zayn have all followed me. I make a strange, surprised kind of noise that sounds a bit like a gurgle. Chloe makes an equally weird noise, but hers expresses annoyance more than surprise.