Don't Ask // l.payne

Weirdos, Wackos, and Housemates

            Cameron had to drag me backstage for I wouldn't go myself. We were in front of the dressing room door when a middle aged man, Mr. Higgens, told us to act human, to which I just sighed. Like I, of all people, was going to fangirl.

We entered their single dressing room, which was covered in balled up wrappers and empty Gatorade bottles on one side and a mountain of shoes and clothes on the other. We sat down and I plugged my nose in utter disgust while Cam giggled like an idiot.

In walked 5 sweaty boys and Cameron's giggling got louder. I placed my forefinger on forehead and my thumb on my temple as to cover my face.

They laughed and threw objects from the floor at each other, obviously not seeing us on their huge red velvet couch.

Everything froze and the noise stopped, "They're here . . . " a creepy, deep voice sang.

Darn it.

"You must be Cameron Camp!"

I pulled my hand away from my face and saw a boy standing on the back of another couch.

"Yeah!" Was her only response.

I sighed and lowered my head into my hands, exposing my hat for the blonde to see.

He gasped, "It's the psychic, Latin speaking, hot-headed girl!" He screamed and buried his feet under his bum and brought his knees to his face. All jokingly, of course, but it still bothered me.

"I'm not hot-headed!"

Okay, maybe that didn't help my case.

"Yeah, okay. So, girls, tell us about yourselves!" the emerald eyed, curly haired lad said.

I took the opportunity to make a point, "Me first! Remember me? I'm Jazzmyn Marie Tomas, 18, I live in London, tea not coffee . . . Oh, and you bother me."

They just stared at me, open mouthed and wide eyed.

The almost tan, blue eyed one stood up slowly from his current position on the floor and walked over to what I assumed was a makeup table and picked up a magazine.

He flipped to a certain page and stared at it, realization in his eyes. He looked to me and back at the magazine, "You're the Jazzmyn Tomas?" shock was in his voice.

"Yup! She's my best friend!" Cameron practically screamed when questions shot out from all directions.

"What UNI do you go to?"

"Why are you wearing that hat?"

"Is that J-a-s-m-i-n?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Why can I see your ribs?"

The last question made me stare down and realize that my shirt had ridden up. I fixed it and shot a statement as my first answer.

"First, tell me your names."

Cameron's eyes widened as to which the lads laughed at.

The "player" started, "I'm Louis!" he announced.

Then the curly boy, "I'm Harry." He said it rather monotone.

"I'm Zayn." the dark haired boy said with a thick Bradford accent. My ex had the same accent and on him it was terrible, but on Zayn, it was lovely.

"I-I-I'm Liam." the boy with a shaved head stuttered, I gave him a confused look which he returned with a terrible "seductive" smirk.

"I'm hungry" the Irish lad yelled.