With Your Love

I hadn’t entered the contest under an assumed name, that would have been weird and possibly even illegal (I’m not entirely sure). I did, however, enter under my sister’s name. In all fairness she is thirteen and it’s completely understandable that she would enter some sort of ‘spend a day with a celebrity contest’. Half of her friends did. (Her crazy, neurotic friends that posted threats on Facebook to nameless individuals who dared comment badly about their five favorite people and claimed to be on their deathbed if they didn’t receive tickets to a concert.) I tried to shy away from anything too socially forth-coming, whether it be Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr. It was all confusing and stupid in my opinion. Of course I was forced into all three when I started being published. Then it became necessary for publicity reasons. (I’m convinced that’s a lie.)

I wasn’t about to embarrass myself at twenty-one. I’d managed to avoid embarrassing myself up until now. Honestly I thought it would all be harmless and I wouldn’t win. No one ever actually wins these things. So, merely as a bit of a harmless joke and a bit of honest wishing to meet those five boys, I entered the contest. I was the oldest age eligible to enter and that made sense to me but I still put down all my sister’s information. Her address, her mobile, her age, her name, her email. I briefly joked with her about it and she told me she would rather puke on the queen than meet them. (Which was understandable because she spent all her time mulling over Cheryl Cole and Pixie Lott. So did I though, replacing Cheryl with Cher Lloyd and Ed Sheeran, so I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt so possessed to enter anyway.)

While I was at work my sister got the call. She was walking home from school and all her crazy, obsessive friends thought she was suddenly the most important person on earth. She called me after to tell me what the man on the phone had discussed about the meeting. It would happen in three days, at a hotel, in the morning, and go from there.

Where it was going was beyond me. I was only happy to have a Wednesday off of work. I suppose Wednesday was the best day to go about these things because it was hardly crowded around the city in the middle of the week. My sister had asked if she got deathly ill by Wednesday could someone else come in her place and the man on the phone told her that was reasonable but he certainly hoped she’d survive till Wednesday.

Despite being a girl for twenty-one years I’m quite a sorry excuse for one. Aside from a constant need to wear a dress or skirt (which I blame on my six year employment at Lily Pulitzer) I usually can’t make sense of my hair and look like a twat when I try to walk in heels. I donned a dress on Wednesday. A navy blue, strapless Lily dress with a sweetheart neckline and A-line skirt. Working in retail fashion for a majority of my life I’ve developed a fairly unchangeable style, borrowing most of my influences from Lily and J. Crew. (Which was where my orange carryall came in.)

I took the L early in the morning to the hotel that just had to be on the other side of town. (Because being close by would have been too easy for me). This alone was the reason I kept my feet securely in ballet flats at most times. I was not about to run around London in heels just because I was meeting a couple famous boys (besides, putting on heels possibly meant ending up taller then all of them and that would be awkward). My sister teased me for dressing up but honestly, this is dressed down compared to my usual work attire. Halfway there I got a harassing phone call from my editor about a deadline I pretended to have forgotten and I promised I would email her later in the day. (Though I don’t see that happening. Even a polite ‘do you mind me whipping out my laptop and working’ would be rude. They were expecting some wide-eyed thirteen year old as it was. My sister had even taken off from school just so she could later lie to eager friends about her fake experience.)

Halfway there I got lost and had to be redirected by a woman who asked if I should be in school. I assured her I was older than I appeared, most people assumed I was around sixteen or seventeen when they initially saw me and I was not entirely mature enough to sway them otherwise. I offered her a smile as I headed the right direction and began feeling a bit self-conscious.(Who wouldn’t really?)

I haven’t always been fond of my nose or my mouth (even still I'm on questionable ground with them). I felt my nose was a bit too moderately sized for the rest of my face, what with my cheekbones being as high as they were. Even worse than that was my mouth. My teeth took up more room in my mouth than I was sure they were supposed to and my smile was gigantic. I tried smiling without opening my mouth on occasion but I sort of looked like a misplaced troll then, so that was useless. When I was younger everyone assumed I was older because I was so tall…always so tall. Now as I’ve grown older (and taller still) people assume I am younger. I suppose they start looking at my face and my underdeveloped chest. Half my friends were C’s when we were thirteen, now I’ve finally achieved a B in my early twenties. (I’ve learned to enjoy the fact that I can avoid wearing bras on occasion when wearing dresses or certain tops.) Still, being only slightly filled out and mostly lanky at 5’11’’ it amazes me every time a person asks what year I’m in.

My sister had called back this morning and told the man on the phone that she was sending her elder sister in her place. She was deathly ill (shocking) and needed bed rest. The man on the phone gave her exact directions up to the room, since having people wander around aimlessly looking for recognizable celebrities was probably a horrible idea. I still felt like I was wandering aimlessly as I walked up the stairs in the lobby to the elevator. Third floor, end suite. I was beginning to imagine something along the lines of Monte Carlo, unfortunately I was meeting One Direction and not Luke Bracey so I tried to concentrate on other things.

I headed down the empty hall and knocked on the last door that I came to. A man opened it and looked at me questioningly. Perhaps they should have requested a photo or given out a secret pass code, either way the obvious confusion was not my problem.

“I, um…” What does one say in situations such as this?

“Name?”

“Emaleigh Tenkatt-Fforde.” Easy enough.

He looked down a paper in his hands. This wasn’t some closed, VIP event. I was fairly certain I wasn’t part of a small party so the need for a name chart was beyond me. I craned my neck, which wasn’t hard because I've ended up with a fairly long one (I’m not particularly thrilled with).

“You spelled my name wrong,” I frowned. Everyone always does.

“Hm?” He looked up and pointed to the name on the list. (Yes, congratulations, you can read.)

“My name is spelled wrong. You have E-m-i-l-y, T-e-n-c-a-t, F-o-r-d. It’s not that way. It’s E-m-a-l-e-i-g-h, T-e-n-k-a-t-t, F-f-o-r-d-e.” Because spelling it all phonetically would have been far too easy for my dyslexic brain.

He only nodded and moved so I could come in the room. (Well, aren’t we helpful this morning? Perhaps someone needs to run to Starbucks.)

The main room, or whatever the hotel calls that giant space connecting bedrooms, was completely empty. I was mildly suspicious and only hoped that if this was some horrible trick I wasn’t too permanently scathed. I had to email my editor before she had my head on a silver platter. I also had work tomorrow afternoon.

“The boys will be out in a minute.” The man from before had closed the door and was walking passed me to one of the bedrooms. I'm assuming ‘out in a minute’ was code for ‘I have to wake their lazy asses up’.

I smiled, trollishly, because my normal smile is far too big and optimistic looking for a simple polite reply. I set my bag at my feet and looked around the room. It was fairly messy, clothes in various places that clothes shouldn’t be. There was even a sock in the bowl of fruit on the coffee table. Some sort of wrestling event between them must have happened last night because the cushions to the couches were haphazardly put back into a semi-predicted place. I bit my lower lip and considered the fact that I forgot to put makeup on before I left my flat. Being that I only wore it for funerals, weddings, and the occasional family party, I had completely forgotten that this was an appropriate time to have put some on. At least I’d shaved my legs and underarms and brushed my teeth. I checked the first two quickly while the (assumed) bodyguard had his back to me. He was banging on the bedroom door, telling the boys that a contest winner had shown up.

The first out of the room was the curly haired one…or the poufy haired one as my sister and I referred to him. In our opinion they went like this: Irish, Poufy-hair, Tan, Muslim, Ugly. Not that Liam was especially unattractive, I just didn’t find him all that appealing. The poufy-haired one came out first though, still pulling his shirt over his head as he waved at me.

“Hi.”

“Morning.” I nodded and tucked hair behind my ear, attempting to not smile too trollishly.

“I’m Harry.” (Because I entered this contest with no knowledge of One Direction. Clearly I am a person who enters contests for kicks.)

“Emaleigh.”

“What year are you?” (Even the young ones ask.)

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Shit, you look young.”

“I’m aware.”

He nodded and took an apple out of the sock bowl. The tan one and the Muslim one came out next. Both looking fairly tired. They smiled though and we went through the same routine. This time Harry answering their ‘what year’ question,

“She’s twenty-one, can you believe it? Looks like a bloody fifteen year old if you ask me.”

And thank god no one was really asking him. The Irish one came out and went about the same routine as Harry, eating some fruit from the sock bowl and asking my year. Although through the fruit and his heavy accent I lost my troll smile and gained a somewhat perplexed look. Perplexed is not a look I do attractively either. That left the ugly one, who was actually fairly attractive and less reminiscent of my least favorite Canadian pop-star in person.

“Hello, you must be Emaleigh.” He was the most polite of the boys, though it was nine in the morning so that wasn’t their fault. Even I wasn’t properly polite until after twelve. But the morning didn’t seem to effect him. He shook my hand and smiled. (He has a surprisingly attractive smile.)

“That’s me.”

“Did you know she’s twenty-one. Dunit she look like a kid?” The tan one, Louis, announced.

I was tempted to tell Louis that my brother had a dog of the same name but I refrained. I was slightly more fond of the dog at this point and that small beast peed on my good hardwood floors and chewed my toilet tissue every time he came over.

“You do look a bit young.” Liam agreed.

I have a birth certificate. My age is correct.

“Always have.” I slipped my hands in the pockets of my dress.

“How bizarre.” Harry remarked.

Absolutely maddening.

“Are ye from London?” Niall, the Irish one, asked. (I have to admit I was a bit conflicted when it came to him. He always sort of looked confused and lost in my opinion and I had trouble correctly pronouncing his name if I was looking at, but otherwise he seemed genuinely nice and I liked that.)

“No, Eastbourne, East Sussex. I’m right on the Channel. My mum owns a B and B there.” I am always a right information whore, I just give it away before I can quiet myself. I blame it on my abnormally large mouth.

“I’ve been down that way in the summer. There’s a pier in Brighton beach my family used to go to.” Harry commented around a bite of apple.

I nodded. It’s not that I’m especially nervous, I’ve spent enough time around boys (my brother’s friends used to live at our house on the weekends), but it is before twelve and I’m really unsure what I’m supposed to be talking about with them. I suppose all the general information about myself. Age, date of birth, full name, natural hair color, why my knees turn in while I’m standing, why my teeth are so abnormally large, and why my nose is so unbecoming of the rest of my face. I’m not very good at introducing myself so some help would be much appreciated.

“You’re sister was supposed to come. Right? That’s what Paul said.” The tan one, Louis, pointed at the guy who had spelled my name wrong.

“Yeah, she became ill, didn’t want anyone getting a summer flu.” Actually she’s perfectly fine. When I left her she was watching old episodes of Come Fly With Me.

“That’s a shame.” Liam seemed genuinely concerned for my younger sister’s health and I had half the mind to tell them that actually I had entered but was too embarrassed to put my own information. I couldn’t imagine that going over well so I just shrugged.

“Did you come all the way up here from Eastbourne?” Niall asked. He seemed especially interested in my whereabouts.

“I did,” I nodded, “I live in Edinburgh otherwise.” Which is going to make having work Friday a pain in the neck, now that I think about it. Having to drive from London to Edinburgh is seven hours but my car is in Eastbourne. Of course. (That's practically a whole day of driving, I should have flown.)

“Scotland?” Harry asked.

No, didn’t you hear, they erected an Edinburgh right next to London. Obviously Scotland.

“Yeah,” I nodded. I’m doing a lot of that.

“What made you decide to move to Scotland?” Zayn finally spoke.

Aliens. Honest. Because aside from moving there four years ago when the new Lily Pulitzer store opened, there is no real reason for me to be living in Edinburgh. My editor and publisher where in London and I usually ended up flying back and forth on the weekends when I had deadlines. So moving seven plus hours for a retail job seemed a little redundant. It worked on other ends because the store in Edinburgh was nicer, cleaner, more relaxed. Plus my grandmother was getting older and though I wasn’t so close I was close enough to be there if she needed anything.

“Grammy lives in North Berwick so I moved to be closer to her.” I realize I sound like a five year old, referring to my grandmother as Grammy.

“That’s great of you.” Zayn smiled. In my sister’s opinion, Zayn is the cutest. In my opinion he’s only cute from certain angles.

“Yeah, she’s ace,” I shrug.

“So, do you go to school or do you work?” Louis asked. This was becoming twenty questions. At least no one had pointed out my knobby knees, giant mouth, or awkward nose just yet.

“I work. I skipped university. I’m a writer but I’ve been working in retail since I was sixteen. At this point it’s just a fall back but I still enjoy it.” I enjoy getting to dress up for work everyday.

“Where do you work? Could you hook me up with some clothes?” Harry grinned and Zayn smacked him on the back of the head.

“Not unless you want girls’ clothes.”

“That’s more up Liam’s alley,” Louis replied.

Liam glared at Louis and I pursed my lips together to keep from laughing. I’m sure my smile grew trollish again though because of it. I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my awkward smile. Harry and Niall were laughing hysterically, leaning on each other to stay upright on the sofa. Zayn was smiling but not properly laughing and Louis was leaning over, with his hands on his knees laughing. Liam’s face was red, half embarrassed and half annoyed, standing beside me.

“So, what else do you like, besides writing obviously?” Liam asked, turning to me and composing himself. Ignoring the boys laughing.

People watching, drinking long blacks, going to the cinema, eating, annoying the cashier at Aldi, bothering my flat-mate’s boyfriend, pretending I have an American accent and asking people for directions to places, dancing around my room in my underwear while blaring Kylie Minogue, hiding my flat-mate’s fags so my flat doesn’t smell like shit for a day, and sleeping. I love sleeping.

“Um, listening to music, watching movies, reading…all sorts.” I shrug.

“Favorite artists?” Harry questioned.

Liam spoke at the same time, saying that we were waiting on a second winner and then we were going to a late brunch. Zayn nodded in agreement and Niall threw in a comment about being hungry.

“Pixie Lott, Ed Sheeran, Kylie Minogue, Mika, Damien Rice, anything I guess.” I answered Harry. He’d come to stand on the other side of me and I turned my body a little to face him.

“Good music.” Harry smiled, the dimples in his cheeks becoming evident. His dimples were a major contributor to his cuteness, in my opinion.

“Well, if we’re waiting would you like to sit?” Liam touched my arm, catching my attention again.

“Yes, thank you,” I nodded and moved to follow Liam to sit down on the other sofa.

Harry sat down across from us again, and Zayn moved to sit on our sofa. I felt more uncomfortable sitting next to Liam then I had standing in the center of the room. My sister had been throwing down facts about the boys since two days after I entered the contest. I like their music but I didn’t know every fact in the book about them and had never even watched them on x-factor aside from when I was waiting for Cher Lloyd to come on. According to my sister Liam and his girlfriend had broken up a couple months prior. I wasn’t sure why she told me that, since we’d both decided that Liam was not attractive. She liked Harry and I had to agree he was adorable.

Liam was seemingly more attractive in person. Sitting next to him on the sofa and listening to Louis and Harry tease each other was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as it could be when his knee kept hitting mine. He didn’t sit still very well.

“So do people call you Emaleigh, Em, Emma?” Zayn asked beside me. Louis and Harry broke apart from wrestling to look over. (When had they begun wrestling?)

“Actually people call me Tenkatt but you can call me Emma,” I answered. I'd probably let them call me anything they wanted simply because they were cute boys. It was how Tenkatt became a nickname in the first place and no just the beginning of my surname.

“Tenkatt?” Harry laughed.

“It’s my last name. Tenkatt-Fforde.”

“Why do people call you that?” Liam asked, looking over at me.

Was he leaning toward me? He looked closer then before.

I shrugged, “my boyfriend…or ex-boyfriend…used to call me that and it sort of stuck with all our friends.”

“When did you break up with your boyfriend?” Harry asked.

“Uh, we broke up last year. He was moving to Chicago for work and I didn’t want to live in the states. It was sort of an ultimatum breakup.” I wasn’t that upset by it and I still saw him occasionally when friends were having parties. He was older than me by four years and I considered that being one of the main problems. I was a bit too immature and young looking for someone who was twenty-five and wanting to get married.

“That’s rough.” Liam placed his hand on my knee.

“It was when it happened but I really don’t mind now. I manage to keep myself busy and I don’t miss him as much as I assumed I would,” I answered honestly.

“Liam knows how that goes,” Harry commented.

Liam retracted his hand and made a face at Harry. He was about to reply when there was a knock on the door. Paul went to open it and the boys all craned their necks to see who was at the door. I’m guessing it’s the other contest winner. At least I won’t be totally alone.