Well, this is the first chapter of my first story. I really don't know how good it is, but I tried to make it relatively accurate (as far as the geography of Boston goes). I hope you like it!

I

Rose

Tires squealed. Horns blared. A siren wailed in the distance. People rushed by me.

I smiled happily. God, I love the city.

I had been living in Boston since starting college at Boston University in the fall, accomplishing the goal I'd had since freshman year of high school of moving to Boston. It was very satisfying to know I'd gotten this far in life. It hadn't always seemed like I would.

On this particular day, I was walking down Newbury Street, hands in the pockets of my hoodie, ear buds in, walking in time to the song playing:

"Get out, get out, get out of my head

And fall into my arms instead

I don't, I don't, don't know what it is

But I need that one thing

And you've got that one thing."

I smiled to myself, remembering the first time I heard the song. I had been a senior in high school, spending way too much time on Tumblr and not enough time studying for finals when the music video showed up on my dash. I had seen pictures of One Direction before since a few of the blogs I followed worshipped them, but I had never listened to any of their music. I decided to humor myself and click the play button, if only to put off studying for another three minutes and eighteen seconds.

I ended up putting off studying for another couple nights.

It became a bit of an obsession as I listened to all of their music, watched their music videos, twitcams, video diaries, interviews, and read up on everything about them. I read fanfiction and talked about them endlessly with my friends until we were left repeating the same things over and over again. And then, just like with everything else, I moved on to a new obsession, leaving the flailing over One Direction behind.

But their music was still good and it brought me no shame to admit it. "One Thing", the song I was currently listening to, was the first of their songs I learned how to play on guitar while continuing my procrastination in my senior year. I rubbed my thumb over the tips of my fingers. I hadn't had much time to play guitar lately and my calluses had peeled off. That sucks, I thought to myself, I kinda felt like playing today too. But I shrugged it off, not in the mood for painful blisters and continued walking.

The air had finally started to turn warm about a week after spring break ended, and everyone seemed to be breaking out the short sleeves. I was a naturally cold person, so I was always accompanied by my trusty, ratty, worn-out hoodie wherever I went, but as March turned into April and it really started to warm up, I realized that I really did need to start wearing short sleeves. And maybe get a new hoodie.

Okay, the new hoodie wasn't my idea. My roommate, Lianne, had started nagging me about it on a daily basis. Just that morning she asked me in a very pointed manner, "Rose, how long exactly have you had that hoodie?" When I had hesitated for more than two seconds to count the years, she had butted back in. "See, if you actually have to take the time to count, you've had it too long. And look at it!" she added, gesturing to where it was laying on my bed. "It's faded and stained and saggy and has holes in it and is generally disgusting! And you wonder why guys don't go for you."

I knew she had a point, but pulling the "you've never had a boyfriend" card was a low blow. But I had grudgingly agreed to go shopping and find a new one and pick up a few more warm-weather-friendly shirts. So while Lianne and her boyfriend decided to spend their Sunday together doing whatever cute, happy, dating couples do, I took the Green Line to Arlington Station and walked over two streets to Newbury. And then I started the long stroll down the lane.

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of walking it, Newbury Street is one freaking long street! It is lined with shops and restaurants and cafes and other awesomeness. As far as streets go, it's pretty popular. Sadly, most of the stores on the street are major designer brands, which include, but are not limited to, Giorgio Armani, Burberry, and Valentino. In other words, brands that a lowly undergraduate student like me who works for breadcrumbs at a Starbucks could never afford in a million years. And to be perfectly honest, I would rather pay off my student loans than get a thousand dollar purse.

"You've got everything you need

But you want accessories

Gotta hold it in your hand…"

I laughed as "I Want" started playing, finding it to be a very fitting song for the moment. A girl carrying bags from more than one high-end store strutted by in her stiletto heels and gave me a slightly disgusted look. I just laughed and shook my head and walked into Jack Wills, one of the slightly more affordable stores on the street.

Once inside I stopped my music, took out my ear buds and put them along with my iPod into my purse. I would have happily continued to shop with them in, but I didn't want to seem completely antisocial. Yeah, a girl out shopping alone. Why would anyone consider that antisocial? I scoffed to myself, rolling my eyes at my pathetic existence.

Keeping with typical broke student practice, I headed immediately for the sale rack. I flicked through the hangers trying to find something that I liked, but, as is usually the case when I try to find clothes on sale, there was nothing that I would ever wear. With a sigh, I turned to the full price items. I was actually able to find a really cute tunic sort of shirt (I have no sense of style so bear with my descriptions). It was navy blue with a floral pattern cut out of the sleeves. That was basically my perfect shirt until I saw that it would cost me about $90. So, after blanching at the price tag, I turned to the more standard t-shirts of lesser price and picked out three that I liked. One problem: solved.

The second problem, the getting-a-new-hoodie problem, was much more costly than the first. I decided to get the least expensive one in the store. It was just a plain, grey, zip-up hoodie, but it was soft and would match every piece of clothing I owned. God, I loved neutral colors.

I was making my way towards the check out when I happened to pass a display of dresses. Now, I am a sucker for a pretty dress. If I had it my way, I would buy every single dress that strikes my fancy. Sadly, fate is not always kind, so I have nowhere near enough money to buy one dress let alone dozens. Not like I'd have anywhere to wear them even if I did have the money. But, nevertheless, I have wandering eyes, and they were being drawn towards a light pink dress with tiny blue flowers all over it. Just from one look, I could tell that it was one of those dresses that looked great on the hanger but would look atrocious on me. You don't have the body for that dress, I insisted to myself. To wear that you would have to be a stick with long legs and good hair. And maybe give a crap about how you looked once and a while. Look away. Just. Look. Away.

But I couldn't. I stood by it, touching it every so often, looking at it lustfully. I felt someone walk up and stand behind me. I assumed it was some person at the store telling me to either by the dress or get the hell out, so I was stunned when I heard a distinctly British and very familiar voice say, "That dress would look really great on you."

I knew that voice.

A year ago, that voice would have made me pass out, but I had gained enough distance now that I was able to escape the situation with a slightly elevated heartbeat. I didn't look away from the dress, but I smiled and replied, "Well thank you, Harry. I'm glad you think so."