Chapter Two

                                    

                                          
act your age of innocence; august 1st, 2014
                          
n. ("yayo" is a street term for cocaine)
                          
    My mother used to tell me that people should smile at least four times a day, one for every meal including dessert, or life is wasted. And though I've only seen Harry No-Last-Name twice in my entire life, I'd never seen him smile once. Although I don't follow him around throughout the day, therefore I cannot track how many times he smiles, I would like to witness at least one of those. So, after sunset, I pull another batch of nut-free double chocolate toffee cookies from my refrigerator (since he seemed to not mind that they were both chilled and nut-free) and put on my shoes.
                          
    I knocked before I rang the doorbell. Mom used to say that a knock was a warning in case anyone was sleeping and a ring of the doorbell was a wake up call, though I hoped he wasn't asleep so early, it's not healthy when I'd found him out at nearly three in the morning just two days before. There was a mumble and grumble before the door was opened. There's a slouch in his back that I thought only occurred when he sat. "You know, there's back stretches you can do to help that slouch. I'm sure it bothers you." He gently opens his eyes, mid-chew. "And cereal at nine in the evening isn't healthy. I might have to put you on the same meal plan as Mrs. Davis, and she's nearly eighty."
                          
    "Isla?" I nod. He looks behind him before setting his cereal bowl on a table next to the door that holds photographs and even a box of tissues, I think. Harry scratches his face and leans against the doorframe in only sweatpants, tattoos on full display. Another thing I didn't expect from him: tattoos. "What are you doing here?"
                          
    "Well, I figured you liked the cookies I made for Mrs. Davis and I'm unaware of your allergies, if you have any, so I just made the same ones. Here." I smile and he gives me a look of bewilderment.
                          
    "Are you always this forward?"
                          
    "Only when I've had a few cups of coffee and a bit of sugar."
                          
    He lifts an eyebrow quickly, opening the tupperware. "Yeah," he scoffs, "more like yayo. Have you slept at all, Isla..."
                          
    He searches for my last name that I'd never told him. "Dixon, and no. Well, I had a catnap earlier, but I had so many orders to fill."
                          
    "Are you good?"
                          
    I smile half-heartedly. "I'm fine, Mister..."
                          
    "Styles. Please, stop calling me mister, makes me sound old. The only Mister Styles I've known is gambling in his grave." He looks up from chewing on a cookie and swallows. "Sorry, my dad. I handle death differently." 
                          
     Nodding and taking a deep breath, I purse my lips. "I hope you like them. I'm gonna go home, I think I'm starting to crash." He nods and his eyes look up and down me slowly before settling on my eyes and smiling, closing his door. Now, it was only one smile, but one out of four is better than none out of four, so I'll take that. It was rather steamy even hours after the oven had been off, so I decided to take a seat on the patio to watch the stars, moon, and fireflies.
                          
     A light psst interrupts my watching. Many feet away and a look up stood Harry Styles on his deck. He began to speak but I couldn't make out a word he was saying. "Huh?" He tried talking louder. "Harry, I can't hear you."
                          
     He puts up his finger and disappears into his apartment before returning with his hands behind his back. I shrug him off and sit back, a loud beeping sound jolting me forward. "I said," his voice echoes through the bullhorn, "I'm allergic to corn, avocado, and marshmallows."
                          
     I try to shush him but give up when he keeps interrupting my speech with the loud beeps of the horn. "That's such an odd combination!"
                          
     "Imagine my parents finding out as I grew up."