Hola guys! This is gonna be a fanfic written by both of us, collaborating. The main idea came from Camille though, but we’re gonna be writing together.
BOYS PREVIEW
Time out just wasn’t enough anymore. Simon and Paul had consulted..it was about time for something a bit more serious. Isolation. Not complete but..enough. A chalet in the wilderness of Quebec,Canada, seemed to be remote enough. Because this time, the five of them had just done it. Really done it. We couldn’t just let these kind of problems be spotted by paparazzi, it was way out of hand. Simon and Paul just hadn’t been planning for there to be well..girls..y’know, Hazza being a slut. We’re gonna have some fidelity issues here. Poor Lou. And now, all Simon had to do was book the flight…and tell the boys.
whispered: no,no,it isn’t. lolyeah of course it is. awhyeahhellyeaaaah. :D
Nola’s POV, Sullivan Household, A little bit later
I couldn’t believe this kid’s guts. He iced his fucking number on my Dad’s birthday cupcakes. I felt the strong urge to swear, but I kept it on the low…didn’t want to have to explain this to everyone. Wow, imagine how that would sound..
‘Oh hey, sorry about that, it’s just that some kid who I met for five minutes iced his number on the cupcakes. ‘
Alright, I had to get these out one way or the other..so I just moved the cupcakes around on the platter, so they wouldn’t be in phone number order anymore. I guess I would just have to say the guy had messed up my order..which he had, so it wouldn’t really be lying, it’d be evading the truth. My dad was way strict with boys..it’d taken him ages to accept what a wonderful person Niall is.
End of chapter notes : Bambadambaaam at that last sentence eh? ;D
Nola’s POV, Sullivan Household, Holmes Chapel, December 15th 2010, 8:30 PM.
Nola’s wearing : www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=48708547
I scurried down the polished stairs, flashing a warm smile at my Dad’s coworkers at the door, chuckling at Simon’s pokerface. I invited them in, smoothing the eyelet lace of my dress down. My Dad’s reaction was priceless when he came in a few minutes after the last guests came in. And cue X-Factor talk. I was dead bored by all the technical stuff, and so I decided it was time for the cupcakes. I discreetly slipped into the kitchen, thoughts of the bakery… and the boy, flooding back to my head. I rolled my eyes at the frilly decorations on the box – he’d tried to impress me in the strangest of ways. After a while, all the ribbons came loose and the box popped open.. I had to hold back on the colossal amount of swears streaming through my head.
Harry’s POV, Styles Household, Holmes Chapel, same day and time.
I tucked my curls into a beanie, drifting by the kitchen to grab a bit of food, then down the stairs, back to the basement. Clicking through the X Factor website, I felt a wave of anticipation come over me. I quietly sang Isn’t She Lovely by Stevie Wonder under my breath, then stopped short when I spotted the name George Sullivan in the staff list…Sullivan like, Nola Sullivan? Yes. Heck yeah. I was pretty much convinced this was the girl I’d met yesterday.
Nola’s POV, Holmes Chapel, England. December 14th 2010, 6:45 PM.
A mix of soft cashmere and wavy blonde hair whipped around my face in the wind. I squinted through the snow storm, stomping my way to the cozy seeming little bakery down Madison avenue (certainly not the New York one). These random weather changes were one of the things I hated about this town. And that was a long list. My holiday cheer wiped away, I shook the snow off my boots as I entered the bakery, flashing a polite smile at the guy standing behind the counter. I eyed the baked goods behind the glass, feeling a pair of eyes on me. Annoyed, I straightened my spine to look at the boy, who was cheekily grinning at me, for whatever reason that was. And needed a few seconds to catch myself.
‘ Need any er, help, made-moo-selle? ‘
I scowled at him, snickering at his mispronunciation of the French word, sharply replying ‘ It’s mah-deu-mwah-zell. ‘
He slowly repeated the word, intently looking at me, straight in the eyes. ‘ Well then, what can I get you, mademoiselle? ‘
I rolled my eyes, silently pointing at a batch of cupcakes, for my father’s birthday party tonight – it was a surprise.
He looked from me, to the cupcakes, then scooped them up and brought them to the rear counter to wrap and ice them.
Patiently waiting, keeping the aloof expression pasted on my face. Sure enough, he was back hastily, with an overly frilled package and a just as overly mischievous grin. We held a basic conversation, during which I avoided his glance..it was dangerously attractive. He repeated my name in a bad Russian accent about ten times, ‘Nola, Noola, Noooola, Noo! Oo! Lah!’
I stomped out the same way I’d come in, rolling my eyes at this immature, overly cheeky boy, guarding myself from the fact that he was very…well…cute.
