Chapter 4
"What just happened..." I was thinking to myself, playing and replaying the past two minute scenario in my head. I was so deep in thought that I didn't hear Zayn when he walked back into the room, two cold water bottles in his hands.
"Are you alright? Sorry to keep you waiting-"
"Don't worry about it. I was just thinking about some things Harry had just said to me." I replied, using a casual tone of voice.
"...Harry? What about Harry?" The way Zayn said his name seemed a little less friendly and a little more confused.
"Yeah, didn't you know? He just walked in here and started talking to me. It was nice."
See, most people would think what I was doing right now is really cruel. But it's simple. I'm playing hard to get in the most subtle fashion. Something about Zayn seemed really cool and fascinating, and I wanted to get to know him more, no matter what Harry's warning was. But I didn't want to seem fangirl-y. I was the opposite. So, I'm doing what I know best. Playing games.
Zayn had a look of almost anger, which he quickly changed into a look of obvious fake cheerfulness.
"Oh yeah, Harry's a nice boy." Emphasis on the word boy. I was winning.
. "What's that supposed to mean?" I leaned in a little bit to face closer to Zayn. We were looking each other straight in the eye.
"It means that most girls want a man, not an immature boy." Zayn said with seriousness, but there was a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes that made it hard not to laugh.
"Well, every girl wants something different."
"And what do you want, Lindsay?" This time, Zayn wasn't joking around. The whole area around us got eerily quiet and serious.
I thought for a second.
"I want my bottle of water." I took it of his hand, our fingers brushing together. There were sparks. But different sparks than the ones I felt with Harry. These sparks with Zayn were more... lusty.
I took a giant swig of cold water before I could think about anything else. Zayn was still looking at me, waiting for a real response.
"Well..." He started.
"Well what?" I asked.
"Are you going to answer my question seriously?"
"What's the rush, Zayn? We've known each other for what, twenty minutes? There's time to figure that out. Why don't we just start by figuring each other out."
"Is that a challenge?" Zayn asked, winking, and taking the seat across from me.
And for the next hour, that's what we did. Getting to know each other. Like in kindergarten.
"What's your favorite color?" He asked.
"Depends on the day. Today, it's blue."
"That's not a good enough answer- do you know how many shades of blue there are in the world?"
"Do you know how girlish you sound right now?"
And then we would laugh, and get serious again.
"What's your favorite movie?"
"What's your number one most played song in your iTunes library?"
"What's your favorite television show?"
On and on it went, never-ending, but in the best way possible. It wasn't boring, it was interesting. Zayn was totally different. Totally unexpectedly amazing. I was connecting with him in a way I hadn't connected since the senior from my past.
Finally, a question I knew was coming finally came.
"What's your favorite act on X Factor?"
"Do you want me to be honest?" I asked cautiously.
"Have you not been honest this entire time?"
"It's not that, I just don't want your feelings to be hurt."
"They won't be."
"Cher. She's great."
Zayn coughed. "Cher?"
"What's wrong with Cher?"
"Nothing, except that she's an obnoxious, self-absorbed little girl."
I gasped. "Bull!"
"No, it's true. I've had to spend so much time with her in the past couple weeks. If I see her again I might have to bash my head into the wall."
"Oh, don't say that."
"It's true! She doesn't care about anyone else but herself."
"Well, maybe you don't know her well." I came to my favorite's defense.
"Trust me, Linds, I know her well enough to say what I said with compete honesty."
I sighed. "She seems so nice."
"People are always different than they seem."
I didn't say anything to this, and after a few awkward seconds, Zayn cleared his throat, obviously ready to move on to a lighter and less dramatic subject.
"So, whose your favorite One Direction boy?"
"I don't know how to answer this without your opinion on me changing..."
"Just tell me!"
"No."
"Plleeaaaaaassee?" Zayn gave me puppy dog eyes, and something in me softened, as corny as that sounds.
"You. You were always my favorite." I stared at the ground. This simple confession suddenly felt strangely heavy and emotional.
Zayn didn't say anything, and I looked up at him, my cheeks blushed.
"I told you your opinion would change." I said quietly.
Zayn shook his head as though to clear his head. "Wait, what?"
"I said, I told you your opinion would change!"
"That's bull! How would it have changed?"
"Cause now you think I'm an obsessive fan."
"Not at all."
"Really?"
"Actually, I was thinking that you're one of the most interesting girls I've ever met in my life."
I couldn't say anything. I was starstruck. And blown away. This was happening to me?
Before I could respond or do anything, I felt Zayn's finger pulling my cheek up gently. I looked into his eyes and realized our faces were barely an inch away from each other. Just one move and our lips would be-
"Hey, guys!" An all-too familiar voice suddenly screamed from the doorway.
Harry.
I jerked my head away from Zayn's too quickly and hit it on something hard behind me.
"Ow! Shit! That hurts!" I grabbed the back of my head with my two hands and closed my eyes.
"Is she okay?" Harry yelled. I heard his footsteps running towards me and I kept my eyes closed.
"Are you an idiot?" Zayn whispered to Harry angrily.
"I just wanted to see if she wanted to see us practice?"
"She has a name, it's Lindsay! And we was busy!" Zayn explained, quieter than before, but also significantly ruder.
I opened my eyes and looked up; they didn't notice. Harry looked upset. He was the youngest of the boys and obviously the most impressionable. He actually looked really sad, and I felt badly. I knew I might regret this later, but I was such a softie-
"Zayn, can you go get me some ice, maybe? I hit my head pretty hard." I feigned a smile.
"...Yeah, sure." Zayn looked at me, a little worriedly, and then gave Harry a pointed glare before he left the room.
"I'm really sorry, Lindsay, I didn't know I was interrupting anything and I definitely didn't know you were going to injure yourself-"
"Don't worry! I just bonked my head a little. I'll be fine."
"I still feel badly."
"Why? It's pure accident."
"Can I make it up to you?"
"Uhhh..."
"Oh come on. I just want to take you to a little coffee shop around the corner."
"I thought you wanted me to see y'all practice?"
"That too."
"Uh, Harry, I'm pretty sure Zayn wouldn't be happy..."
"Forget him. Can I be really honest with you? He just wants to get in your pants."
"Excuse me?"
"It's true. It's all he ever does. He just wants to get with girls to add to his number. It happened with girls back home, it happened with Cher, now it'll be you."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It hurt just to listen to this.
"Harry, you need to back it up. I don't think Zayn means any wrong. We were having good conversation. And Cher? What?"
"Listen, I don't have time to explain this right now. Zayn's going to come back in about 20 seconds, and we'll both be screwed. You have my number. After you see us practice, I think you'll be going home. We'll meet up sometime later this week in secret, and I can explain everything you need or want to hear, okay?"
"I'm so confused."
"That's okay. Everything will make sense in time."
At that exact moment, Zayn walked in, a bag of carefully packaged ice in his hand.
"I'm sorry about that."
I took the ice and pressed it against the tender bump that was growing on the back of my head.
"It'll be fine by tomorrow."
"To the practice room?" Harry proposed, extending a hand to me, and then remembering, removed it. Zayn took my hand and led me to the practice room, following Harry, who couldn't help but take a few looks back at us and our interlocked fingers.
At the practice room, the other boys hooted and hollered at Zayn, while Harry just looked forlornly, and I couldn't help but feel like in 2 hours I had already broken someone's heart.
The boys got up on stage, and started singing a slow, British song. A ballad.
But the thing was, I couldn't hear the words. I could just feel the eyes. 4 eyes, 2 pairs. Just on me, singing to me, trying to persuade me to go their way.
I had no idea what I was going to do.
