Chapter 1

                                    

                                          
[ Emily's POV ] 
                          
I slump down in my small bed, people are coming to adopt someone soon, but I don't want to go down. Crossing my small, twig like arms, I hear the lady who runs the orphanage, Ms. Anne, scream,
                          
"Emily! Get down here right now!" Groaning, I pull the covers off my small body, and waddle downstairs, similar to a penguin. "Oh good you're here." Ms. Anne let's out a sigh of relief once she sees me. "Now, girls," Ms. Anne projects her voice, now speaking to the entire orphanage, "we have some very important guests coming her today. There are FOUR young men coming all the way from London, to select a girl between the ages of six and ten. All older girls, you may go upstairs." 
                          
"Who's coming Ms. Anne?" Chloe, one of the ten year olds asks. 
                          
"They're a boyband named One Direction." Ms. Anne says, causing the older girls to start screaming in delight. Although I feel like I've heard that name before, I have no clue who the members are, but I already know I do not want to be adopted by them. I'm already terrified of one man, I don't need a group of them, they'll just use me like everyone else. "Okay girls, line up in order from oldest to youngest. They'll be here any second." Ms. Anne announces, and all the girls rush around, trying to get in order quickly. Since I'm the youngest, I take my place at the end of the line, my head down, and eyes trained on my bare feet. 
                          
"Emily, get your head up." The girl next to me, Sarah, says, nudging me slightly. Completely ignoring her, I keep my head down, and pretend to have not heard her. Once I hear car doors slamming outside, and loud voices coming closer to the building, my legs begin to shake and my heart starts to race. The doors open, and I hear some of the girls near me yelp, or cry out in happiness. Fearfully, I lift my head, wanting to know what they look like. The first boy has fluffy brown hair, and sea green eyes, filled with happiness and mischief. The one beside him has blonde hair, with brown roots telling me he must dye his hair, and eyes as blue as sapphire's. Another guy has long, curly brown hair, and emerald green eyes. Finally, my eyes land on the last guy, who has a buzz cut and dark, hazel brown eyes. Altogether there's four men, and three have tattoos, which just make them look even more intimidating. All look like they could snap me like a toothpick, and it takes every bone in my body not to run away screaming. 
                          
"Okay boys," Ms. Anne says, "these are all the girls ages six to ten. Please, take your time and find the right girl."
                          
"Thank you ma'am." The blonde one speaks, and I instantly know he isn't from around here. I'd say he's from somewhere like Ireland or Scotland, I really can't tell. Ms. Anne nods, then walks away, leaving us with the four boys. If you count me, there's 13 girls lined up, and I watch as the guys make their way down the line, coming closer and closer to me every second. Finally, after they've talked to all the girls, except me, they come over and stand in front of me. 
                          
"And who might you be sweetie?" The one with the buzzcut asks, his voice soft and smooth like melted chocolate. When I don't reply, the guy with the blonde hair squats down, so he's eye level with me,
                          
"Sweet heart, we just wanna know your name." Shaking my head, I hold back tears, refusing to cry in front of them. I know that if I do cry in their sight, they'll hurt me, that's what used to happen.
                          
"That's Emily," Sarah states, "she's six." 
                          
"Thank you love." Blondie says to Sarah, and she smiles at him. 
                          
"Well Emily, I'm Louis," the guy with shaggy brown hair says, "and these are my friends. This is Niall," he points to Blondie, "that's Liam," he says, pointing to the one with the buzzcut, "and that's Harry." Lastly, he points to the one with curly hair. Nodding in understanding, I still refuse to look them in the eyes.