umm awko taco.

So like, I enjoy the writing of the fanfiction, but I enjoy the fanfiction that is not dirty. Hehe. So, I enjoy the writing the of the fanfiction that is clean. So like, I write One Direction fanfiction cause I love them and yolo. Mmkaym awko taco, but I want c&c on my writings :3

Chapter 1

“Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen, gather around. I’ve got much to tell you and only ten minutes to say it all.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen?” Mikayla whispers to me. “You’d think she was addressing a jury.”

There are currently about thirty of us standing at the entrance of the Heathrow Airport, waiting for this speech to be over. We all know how this works: don’t stay out past curfew unless you have permission; don’t get involved with strangers, but try to get involved with the English people; don’t disobey your leader when they’re with you, but always feel free to do your own thing.

The next two months will be the biggest contradiction and I’m just not sure how I’m going to be able to handle this.

This all started last October when I received a letter from Oxford stating that they wanted me to come to England for the summer as sort of a college-prep course. Thirty of us were chosen to be a part of this. All of us had superb grades, were involved in activities outside of academics, and had “outstanding moral fiber”, or so says my application. It had always been my dream to attend Oxford, so I could not turn it down. And who would throw away the chance to go to London for the entire freaking summer?

“Emmalynn Johnson?”

“Here!” I shout back to the head of the program, Miss Turner. She is one of those women you can look at and tell that she lives alone with seventeen cats. Her graying hair is pulled back into a stark bun with absolutely no strand out of place. Square glasses sit bluntly on her large nose which, thankfully, cover he judgmental green eyes. She has straight out said that she hates children, which makes me question her decision of becoming head of a teen camp, but who am I to judge?

I was expecting all of my professors over here to be like McGonagall, and, even though she looks like her, Miss Turner is nothing like the kind-hearted lady from Harry Potter. She is more like Umbridge if you ask me.

“Alright, all of us are here.” Even her voice just drips of hate towards children. The way she says “us” makes it seem as though just being grouped together with us young “hooligans” makes her skin crawl. She flips the page in her instructor’s pamphlet and begins reading verbatim with absolutely no emotion at all. “Now, the next two months are going to be full of hard work, friendships, and fun. You will go home with lessons and friends that you will keep with you for a lifetime. Look up and smile. Oh, wait.” She looks up from the page and curls her lip at us in an attempt to grin, then looks back down at her page.

“Oh, screw it.” She drops the book on the ground and looks directly at us, seeming to make eye-contact with all of us and none of us at the same time. “Since it is Saturday, you have today and tomorrow to do whatever you want which—Thank God—means I don’t have to see any of you for two days. Curfew is at midnight and if you’re not back by then, I don’t care, I’m locking you out. You’re on your own, and quite frankly London at night is as scary as you children. So, do whatever you want, just don’t go and get yourself killed. It’s too much paperwork.”

We all roll our eyes and turn, ready to run from the devil herself.

“Oh, Mikayla.” My best friend, Mikayla turns back, not knowing what to expect. Miss Turner looks at her with no expression and says three, simple words that no girl should have to be told: “Don’t get pregnant.”

DOUBLE POST CAUSE I AM THE SUPREME COMMANDER AND I DO WHAT I WANT

Chapter 2

We all left Miss Turner just as soon as we could because we knew the longer we stayed with her, the more irritated she would get. That, in turn, would cause severe consequences down the road; maybe even an “accidental” case of someone being left behind when the group went back to America. Hey, it’s been known to happen.

“Can you believe she just said that to me?” Mikayla is fuming about the warning not to get pregnant. In Miss Turner’s—I can’t believe I’m saying this—defense, it’s a legitimate warning for Mikayla. I won’t go any further than that.

“Mikayla, chillax,” Kristen says. Kristen is from Connecticut and we met her on the plane. As soon as she asked the flight attendant if she had any carrots, Mikayla and I knew she was best friend material. We didn’t have any requirements at all to be our friend; you just had to be a Directioner.

“No, Kristen, I’m not going to just ‘chillax’. I’ve just been humiliated in front of a million people, some who I don’t even know. So like, don’t tell me to chill. My reputation for the next two months is on the line all because of some stupid, rotten, lonely, miserable—“

“Harry Styles,” I interject, hoping to calm her down. Immediately, she relaxes and a smile appears on her face. Kristen and I look at each other and can’t help but smile at our friend’s absolutely adoration for Harry.

Mikayla sees the looks on our faces and puts her finger up as if to say, “now hold yo’ horses.” She gives me a strange look and then shifts her gaze to Kristen. “Don’t ya’ll give me no ‘oh my gawd, she’s such a fangirl’ ‘cause you two are just as bad as me.” When Mikayla starts speaking ghetto, you know she’s annoyed, and all I can do is patronize her back.

“Sorry, honey booboo child. You know we love you, girl. Gimme some suga’” I reach out for a hug and Mikayla reciprocates. We are soon joined by Kristen who decides to jump on my back and tackle-hug me to the ground, sending my yellow blouse riding up my back.

Just like that, the three of us are back to normal, no one upset, no one offended; just three friends in London for the summer of their lives.

Suddenly, Kristen stops dead in her tracks and stares straight ahead of her as if she has seen a ghost. I look in the direction she is staring towards and find nothing out of the ordinary. No man-eating zombie or a certain Ron Weasley or anything else. Just normal or, what I presume to be normal London traffic down the sidewalk.

“Kristen, what’s wrong?” Mikayla puts her hand on Kristen’s shoulder as I reach into my pocket to take out my phone. If what she is seeing is a convicted sex offender she saw on the airport news, I’m going to be ready. Oh my Higgins, what’s the number for the police over here?

While I panic over whether or not dialing 911 would prove useful, Kristen takes a deep breath and lets out shaky sentence. “Guys, is that…” She lifts her right hand straight out in front of her and points to what I believe is the most awe-inspiring and holy things on earth. I’ve dreamed of this day my entire life. My knees go weak and my heart starts beating like a snare drum. Stars start appearing in my eyes, making my vision go blurry and I wonder if I’m even seeing this at all.

“No,” I say out-loud in disbelief. “It can’t be.”

Mikayla herself has just now noticed this sight of all sights. “And it’s only our first day here.”

Kristen is the first to snap out of the daze we have trapped ourselves in and runs, full-speed towards what was sure to be the hub of the rest of our trip. “GUYS IT’S A FRIGGIN NANDOS!!”