Light Up The Fireworks In Me

Every Christmas, my family carries on what they like to call ‘The Beaumont Tradition’. What this particular tradition involves, is my family members traveling to Richmond Hill, Georgia to visit Grandma. Now I know this sounds like just about every other typical family tradition that takes place during Christmas break but trust me, the Beaumont Tradition was totally different. My mom has six sisters and four brothers. That brings in a total of eleven siblings. Now imagine those eleven siblings grew up, got married and started their own families. That means when I visit Grandma for Christmas, I’m also visiting twenty-two aunts and uncles, and a total of thirty-four cousins ranging from the ages of four months old to twenty-eight years old.

It’s fucking chaotic.

Now, having that amount of people in a family, huddled into one place - in a small, quiet and quaint town, no less - something dramatic always goes down. And that’s the best part about it! Three years ago, Uncle Ben fell off Grandma’s roof when he was trying to put up the lights and we ended up spending Christmas day in the ER. Then there was the Christmas of 2004 when a couple of my five year old cousins thought it would be a good idea to hide the Christmas tree in the lake behind our Grandma’s house and we can’t ever forget the time we all went to midnight mass at the town church to see little Eloise, my six year old cousin, singing ‘O Holy Night’ dressed as an angel and holding a lit candle. You can only imagine the church goers’ reaction to her tripping on the alter and flinging her candle into the giant Christmas tree, setting the whole thing on fire.

But this year was going to be different. Why? Because it was me that was going to be in the spotlight during The Beaumont tradition. And I know one things for sure: when my cousins find out my secret, they were going to kill me.

You see, not only is my family completely insane, but they are a huge bunch of gossipers. They give catty high school girls a run for their money when it comes to gossip. Rumors travel quicker through my family than a cheetah on crack. If your mom told grandma you failed Algebra II sophomore year of high school, the whole family knew about it within minutes (I retook it and passed, by the way). The same equation applies to your first kiss, your relationships, your first job and successful moves to different states or cities.

The secret I’ve been hiding from my family over the past year now was finally going to be revealed this Christmas Eve when we all get together. Everyone is fully aware that I’ve been dating a guy, but no one knew who he was. I refused to tell any of them his name, especially Rose. Out of all of my cousins, I was the closest to Rose because we were exactly one month apart in age. We were also the only two cousins who were named after flowers.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t even tell us his name, Violet.” Rose complained as we walked through one of the many sliding glass doors to the Arrivals terminal of Atlanta International airport.

“Yeah, what’s the big idea?” Marnie spoke up. “Why is it such a dark secret anyway?”

Marnie was Rose’s fourteen year old sister. She was going to hate me the most when she finds out who he is. When my boyfriend and I started dating, she was the first person I wanted to call up and spill the beans to, but I couldn’t risk the whole family finding out.

I dragged Rose and Marnie with me to Atlanta to pick up my big, dark secret from the airport. Uncle Steve drove the three of us to the train station and from there, a three hour ride into the city. Of course, I was interrogated the whole way here - Marnie and Rose weren’t going down without a fight. However, I didn’t budge. A small part of me was rather excited to see their reaction to who exactly, my boyfriend is.

We weaved ourselves through the ridiculously crowded airport and made our way to the waiting area. This was always my favorite part of our relationship: seeing him again. Unfortunately, this part happened quite frequently. I guess thats what happens when you date a British boy.

“When does this guy’s plane land again?” Rose asked as she flipped through her Instagram app.

“He should be landing within the next ten minutes.” I could feel my heart pick up an extra beat or two as the words left my mouth. I’ll admit, I was antsy about all of this. I was about to introduce my boyfriend to my ridiculous family and I wasn’t entirely sure how it would all pan out.

“How did you guys meet again?” Marnie asked curiously. I looked at Marnie and grinned.

“Well..”



”Violet Beaumont!”

I cringed the minute I heard Mary Black shout my name down the corridor. I pushed back from my desk and stood up to glance out of my closet-sized office.

“Yes?”


“They need your help upstairs.” She strode down the hall in her $1500 Miu Miu heels, holding a couple of unidentifiable wires. When she reached me, she shoved the wires to me. “And bring these. The photographer needs more lamps or something.”

Before I could ask her anymore questions, she was gone. I looked down at the tangled wires in my hands and huffed.

Being an intern had it’s ups and downs, but mostly downs, especially at Teen Vogue Magazine. As far as everyone was concerned, I was their bitch for the summer. I did all the coffee runs, the organizing and the cleaning. I’m surprised they haven’t made me clean the bathroom floors with a toothbrush yet. Luckily, I only had three more weeks of being everyone’s servant before my internship was over and my Sophomore year at NYU starts again.

I gradually made my way through the offices on the third floor and towards the main lobby, where the elevators were located. I jabbed the top arrow and held it for three seconds. That was the first thing I learned when I started working at the Conde Nast building: the main elevators were completely dodgy. You would think the multi-billion company could afford better quality elevators?

Once in the elevator, I pressed the number eight and waited patiently as it jolted upwards at an unsteady pace. I looked down at my pale-pink glittery heels and sighed. My outfit wasn’t exactly practical for my internship duties but I wanted to feel pretty today. I was wearing my high waisted silk, blush-colored skater skirt that stopped right above my knees with a soft, rosy colored button down blouse tucked into it. I even made the effort to curl my brown hair. I wanted my employers to at least believe my whole life revolved around fashion - you wouldn’t believe how obsessed some of these girls are. Now, don’t get me wrong. Fashion is amazing. I love getting dressed up or being creative with my outfits but ya know, sometimes I want to hang out in some sweats too. Maybe even a baggy old t-shirt and jeans or some flip-flops. I like to take a break from it every once and a while. But the girls who work here...well, I don’t think they exactly see it like that. Most of them don’t even eat. Are you kidding me? Order me a large extra-cheese pizza, please. Spray some whipped cream on that sucker and I’ll be good to go!

When the elevator doors binged open, I searched for the In-House Teen Vogue photographer event space. It was normal for the interns to help with the photo-shoots for the next issue we were prepping for. It was also a pain in the ass. Last week I had to help with Demi Lovato’s shoot and I was asked to escort her back down to the main offices after the photo shoot so she could be interviewed. Of course, she decided to be a diva and made me hold all of her stuff so she could tweet her fans. I wanted to vomit in her Fall 2012 Prada purse when she wasn’t looking.

“Violet! There you are! Thank God!” Penelope ushered me over to Event Space #3. Penelope was the other intern I worked with at Teen Vogue. We were hired at the same time and we both share the office downstairs. When we first met, I was sure to hate her because she was tall, leggy, blonde and all around gorgeous. She just had to be one of those typical, fashion bitches. But when I caught her rolling her eyes at our lead intern manager when she burst into tears over spilling orange juice on her ‘new classic leather Christian Loubouton’ heels, I knew there was going to be something I’d like about Penelope after all. Since then, we’ve become quite good friends.

“I’m here!” I exclaimed, handing her the cables. “What am I needed for?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet but Sylvia has been ranting about your lack of presence.” She grabbed onto my wrist and dragged me into the event space. It was a large space, and very bare, save for the photo shoot happening in the corner. As we walked closer, the quick-beat music was getting louder. I peered past Penelope to see which talent we were shooting for the cover. I heard it was some boy band but I lacked the knowledge of today’s pop culture. When my eyes finally landed on the five guys in front of the camera, I couldn’t help but stare.

They were gorgeous. Dressed up in what looked like very tailored Hugo Boss suits and ridiculously styled haircuts, I suddenly became very self-conscious in what I was wearing.

“Pen, who are these guys?” I asked quickly before approaching the set.

She whipped around and gave me a baffled look. “You don’t know the biggest pop group in the world? God, of course you don’t. You’re Violet Beaumont. You didn’t even know who Justin Timberlake was until last year!”

“Okay.” I stopped, crossing my arms and glaring at Penelope. “I regret telling you that.”

“Violet! Get over here, now!” Sylvia practically screamed.

I could feel my cheeks practically turn into tomatoes when everyone turned to look at me. Out of all the people I work with at Teen Vogue, Sylvia was the biggest bitch of them all. She yelled for no reason. She thought she was the queen B when in reality, she was just ahead of styling and the closet on the third floor. In a perfect world, I would go up to her and punch her right in her stupid $5000 nose job. Instead, I rushed over to her and the long line of clothes racks.

“Yes, Sylvia?” I asked as calmly as possible.

She immediately rolled her eyes at me. “What took you so long to get up here? I asked for your assistance over an hour ago and now we are behind schedule.”

Yeah right, because that’s my fault.

Before I could get my fake apology out, she spoke again while ripping a jacket off the rack. “Just organize all of this while I get the rest of the looks out of the closet. Do your job!”

She stalked off in her five inch stilettos and I had to refrain myself from sticking my tongue out at her in the most childish way possible. Alternatively, I turned to Penelope, who looked back at me, and shook my head. She grinned in response.

As I went through the outfits hanging on the racks, I carefully peaked up at the photo shoot in front of me. You couldn’t deny how, as a group, they were all collectively attractive. For some reason though, there was one in particular that caught my eye. It was probably his hair that caught my attention first. It was so...big. And curly. Very big and curly. But it wasn’t just his hair that was mesmerizing, it was the eyes. They were a mixture of green and light blue. They were so pretty. I realized, at this point, I wasn’t even looking at what my hands were doing. I was starring at that one guy and just pushing hangers across the rack.

But what was even more embarrassing was what happened next: he caught me starring. How the hell did he know I was ogling? He made the distinct motion to whip his head right in my direction and look at me. I panicked, trying to figure out how to play this off like I wasn’t the creepy intern who was just drooling over his features. I quickly looked down, knowing my pink cheeks would give away the fact that I was once again, embarrassed. I pretended like I knew what I was doing with all the clothes by pushing clothes back and forth and shifting them from one rack to another but in reality, I was dying to look up again. When I did, he was still watching me, but this time he smiled in my direction.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I let a small smile escape my lips and quickly looked away before I made an even bigger fool of myself. He must have this effect on all the girls around him and it was killing me to know I was one of them.

“Hey Beaumont.” Penelope was now over by the racks, helping me organizing the clothing. “Stop making eyes at Harry, will you? You’re messing up the line-up of looks. Besides, it’s Zayn you should be drooling over. He’s so fucking sexy.”

“Zayn?”

She grabbed the hanger from my hand and placed it on the rack before dramatically sighing. “You are so bad at this.”

I laughed at her respond and shrugged innocently. She then proceeded to explain who the band - One Direction - was and how they were british and the hottest thing in music right now. Just as she was about to list off which ones she’d ‘marry, screw, kill’, I quickly shushed her when I noticed the Photographer’s assistant and two of the One Direction singers walking towards us.

“Penelope. Can you escort Zayn and Niall down to Lilly’s office so they can start their individual interviews?” The assistant asked politely.

“Oh! Of course!” Penelope shoved the pair of shoes in her hands into mine and went ahead to introduce herself to the two boys.

Just when Penelope walked off, I was finished organizing everything but Sylvia still wasn’t back from the fashion closet. I awkwardly stood next to the rack of clothing with my arms folded across my chest, hoping someone would give me new instructions.

“Violet!” The assistant was now calling my name and when I looked up, my heart sank.

She was leading Harry over to me.

“Take Harry down to Lilly’s office too, will you?”

“Oh um- I” Great, I was stuttering and he was smiling at my incoherentness. “Yes. Okay.”

As we walked out of the event space and towards the elevators, I was completely quiet. And red. Red in the face. I don’t usually react like this around a guy - I’m usually pretty confident, now that I think about it - but there was something about him that intimidated me tremendously.

“So the bird in the glittery heels won’t even gimme her name then?”

The minute I heard him speak, my heart melted. In fact, I think my whole life melted.

I whipped around to look at his face. He was grinning now, knowing full well he had successfully broken the ice.

“Did you just call me a bird?” I questioned.

“Yes, that’s what us english men call your kind of breed.” He chuckled. “Don’t you American gals love it?”

When he spoke, his accent was so strong and rich that it took my American brain a second to register what he was saying. But what he said was true. Us “American gals” were obsessed with british boys. We were all irresistibly consumed by the idea of dating a british guy at least once in our lives. But I wasn’t about to admit to that. Especially to this extremely cocky butthole.

I rolled my eyes at his presumptuous remark and jabbed the elevator button once we arrived at the lobby.

“My name is Violet. Violet Beaumont.”

“Violet.” He shoved his hands in his front pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, pretending to mull over my name. I watched him with curiosity. “That’s a very pretty name. And my favorite color!”

I didn’t know exactly, how to respond to that. Luckily, the elevator answered for me by binging very loudly and opening it’s doors. I’ll be done making a complete fool of myself in front of Harry in no time.

We walked into the elevator and waited patiently for the doors to close. It was taking longer than usually, but these elevators were older than my own Grandma, so I shrugged it off.

Once the doors shut fully and the small compartment jolted downwards, I made sure not to turn around to look at Harry. He was somewhere behind me and was surprisingly very quiet. I kept my eyes on the numbers, watching them carefully. 8...7...6...

But then something weird happened. Something that I wasn’t expecting at all.

Everything went black and the compartment suddenly jerked violently. I yelped in surprise and lost my footing from the vicious movement, causing my body to slam right into Harry. We both fell onto the floor in the most unflattering way possible.

“Bloody hell.”

“Oh God. Oh God.” I was panicking now, pulling myself away from Harry and feeling around the incredibly small chamber. “What’s happening? Oh God, why have we stopped? Why can’t I see anything?”

From the other side of the elevator, I could hear Harry....giggling? Was HE GIGGLING?

“Relax, Violet.” He spoke calmly. “The elevator just stopped working. It’ll probably turn on in a minute.”

“Oh God. No, I’ve read stories about this happening.” I could physically feel my anxiety rising. “ 99% of the time the elevator breaks and it’s hanging on a string and then people plummet to their death and it’s so hot in here. Is it hot in here? And-and-WHY CAN’T I SEE ANYTHING!?”

“Violet!” There was a small glow coming from the corner of the compartment and I turned my attention to it. It was Harry’s phone pointed at me. “The power probably went out. Stop worryin’, yeah? We’re going to be fine.”

Maybe it was because of his smile, or his ridiculously sexy British accent, but I did calm down after that - only a little, mind you. I carefully sat back down and pushed my back against the wall with a heavy sigh. “So now what?”

I looked over at Harry, who was still using his phone as a flashlight. I could just about see the contour of his face, but only by a little. It was enough light to see that he was looking back at me with a smile.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

I furrowed my brows in his direction. “My favorite movie!?”

“Yeah, favorite movie.”

“We’re stuck in a blacked-out elevator, hanging hopelessly over five stories and you’re asking me what my favorite movie is?” I was baffled.

“Well there isn’t much else we can do now, can we?” He was still smiling.

I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away, irritated that he made a very valid point.

“The Lion King.”

“What?”

“The Lion King is my favorite movie.”

And so it began. We began to ask each other our favorite foods, tv shows, favorite holidays, first celebrity crushes, favorite childhood memories and so forth. As I learned more about Harry, I became a lot more comfortable in his presence. He wasn’t as intimidating as I originally thought. He was just your typical eighteen year old boy who loved a good game of soccer (or, in his own words, “footie”) with his friends every once in a while...well, besides the fact that he was part of a ridiculously famous band.

“Right. Now, who’s your favorite band?” He shifted his body so he could face me fully, crossing his legs indian style and placing his phone in between us.

“Ummm...I don’t know really.” I put my finger to my chin and tapped it slowly.

Harry threw me an amused look. “You don’t know who your favorite band is? How is that possible!”

“I’m not so great with pop culture!” I defended.

“Yet, you work at Teen Vogue?” He laughed while I rolled my eyes.

“I’m an intern, actually.” I corrected him. “And I’m only here because it’s close to NYU and it’s the only magazine that took my Resume seriously. I’m a journalism major and my dream is to write for the New York Times...not a fashion magazine.”

“That’s refreshing to hear.” Harry spoke softly, all traces of humor fading from his face. “Everyone I’ve met here seem so snotty and complete arseholes!”

I giggled at his funny British slang and nodded in agreement. “Yes, everyone are arseholes, for sure.”

“Not you, though.” He was staring intently into my eyes, making my heart skip a beat. “You’re very lovely.”

I smiled and looked down, knowing I was blushing way too hard now. Hopefully, the faint light from Harry’s phone didn’t show it.

We were both silent for what felt like forever until I spoke. “Coldplay.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“Coldplay is my favorite band.” I confirmed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “When I miss my mom and dad, I listen to Coldplay because it’s their favorite band. I feel like I’m home when I listen to Coldplay.”

Harry smiled and nodded. Before he could tell me his favorite band, the compartment flooded with bright light and started to slowly move downwards. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust my eyes to the light.

“See? I told ye we’d be fine!” Harry stood up and dusted his pants before offering me his hand. I nodded in agreement and took it, pulling myself off the floor. I tried to hide the disappointment I felt once I realized it was over. It wasn’t so bad hanging out with Harry, after all.

The elevator doors opened on the third floor, but only slightly. Harry and I were both greeted by engineers, Penelope, Zayn and Niall.

“Holy shit! Are you guys okay?” Penelope was frantic as Harry and I walked out of the elevator. She turned to the two engineers who were working on the electric panel angrily. “See? I told you people were in there! What the hell is wrong with these things? Can’t you guys get us new ones? For Godsakes!”

“Penelope, we’re fine.” I laughed at her reaction.

“Oy, mate!” The one I assumed was Zayn patted Harry’s back, “You alright? We was wonderin’ where ya ran off ta.”

“Yeah, everyone is already down here while you guys were stuck.” Penelope added to Harry before grabbing my forearm and pulling me closer to her. She spoke in a hushed whisper so the others wouldn’t hear her. “And YOU, missy, are going to tell me everything.”

I smirked. “Later!”

Completely satisfied with my response, Penelope ushered all of us to Lilly’s office so they could do the final interview. As we walked through the maze of offices, I noticed Harry fell back slightly to walk next to me.

“Do you have your mobile?” He asked me as we followed Zayn, Niall and Penelope through the corridor. Assuming he was referring to my phone, I nodded my head and pulled it out.

Harry quickly took it from me and started to press the buttons on the screen. I tried hiding my excited grin as I watched him type on it. Right when we appeared at Lilly’s office, he handed the phone back to me.

“I’ll be here for the next two weeks for promoting our new cd and stuff. Call me and we’ll get dinner or something, yeah?” He handed me my phone and smirked. “Still got a lotta stuff to learn about Violet Beaumont.”

And with that he walked into the office, leaving me completely speechless in the hallway.