by Anna Todd
“Yes!” you erupted before lunging at the large pile of hand towels by the kitchen and running toward the back door.
“Wait!” You turned quickly to see Alex in the maintenance cupboard grabbing a bucket and filling it up. “You’re going to need water.”
“Perfect!” you practically sang, and grabbed it, bursting outside with your shoulders wrapped in towels, a terribly ugly jumpsuit hanging over one arm, and a bucket of sloshing water. Your eyes had to adjust to the darkness before you spotted the dark blue Audi with its front door open. You bolted over to find Emma Watson sitting there with a hell of a lot of scrunched-up wet tissues in her lap.
“Here.” You gave her three of the towels before placing the bucket on the ground before you. She glanced at you, then at your name tag, and then to the UtoPia jumpsuit. “It’s clean,” you insisted, and placed it on the hood of the car. “Seriously, no one’s really worn it—at least not in the last four months. It’s just not the best to work—”
“Thank you,” she said with a small smile—your heart did a somersault. “Can you help me up?”
You offered her both your hands, which she took with her cold ones and slowly lifted herself out of her car. Melted ice cream flopped to the ground.
You handed the outfit to her. “You can change in the staff room. There’s a bathroom in there, and more towels.” She nodded her head hesitantly, so you added, “Everybody’s on deck, so it should be empty,”
She smiled at you again, and again you felt yourself swoon.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and here.” You paused and pulled out the money you now owed her. “I utterly destroyed the money you were about to give me, so please—”
“No, no, it’s all right,” she said quickly. “Really,” she insisted. “I feel bad enough that you’re cleaning icy liquids in this weather.”
“You feel bad?” you gasped incredulously.
“Thank you, but no thank you.” She chuckled, and you inwardly groaned at the sound. She scurried off toward the staff room.
You watched her as you stood there with about five towels hanging off your shoulders and random bits of your money in your pocket. You stood like that until she disappeared inside, with the door slamming shut behind her, which snapped you out of your trance. Quickly, you got to work as you pressed one of the towels into her seat, absorbing as much liquid as you could. You did the same with another towel, then dunked a fresh one into the bucket and started wiping down her door. You couldn’t help but notice how nice her car was and how absolutely you had ruined it.
You almost laughed though. “I’m wiping ice cream and Coke off of Emma Watson’s car—now that’s a sentence I never thought I would say.”
No, this is fine, you quickly thought. You are just wiping ice cream and Coke off of a customer’s car . . . a customer who also happened to play Hermio—
“I am standing in an alien jumpsuit at a UtoPia. Now that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”
You jumped, spilling water all over yourself as you turned on your heel. And you don’t know how, but Emma Watson actually pulled off the alien-onesie look. You didn’t even know what to say. You sort of just stood there staring at her. She held up your jacket—you didn’t even realize you had given it to her. It was momentarily silent as you stood there looking like the biggest idiot, finding it very hard to look away from her. Finally you laughed nervously and took your coat from her.
WHEN THE DOOR of the staff room closed behind you, you couldn’t help but sink against it and pinch yourself a good couple of times. It was an idiotic thing to do, but you really, really couldn’t believe what was happening. Quickly, you shed yourself of your jacket, then went back on deck looking as sickly as you could. Kim was chatting to the trainee and Alex; the restaurant was close to empty.
“Feeling better?” Alex asked with a knowing look.
You rubbed your stomach and shook your head. “Worse,” you answered. “But I came to tell you there’s a customer out back complaining that we forgot her nuggets. I checked her receipt and it looks like we did.”
“Oh, crap, that was me.” Alex slapped his forehead. “Sorry, Kim.”
“It’s not me you have to apologize to. Just get her her nuggets,” Kim said in her most officious, best managerial voice.
Alex nodded, and you walked over with a devious smile. “You really are a gold star,” you said, and tapped his name tag.
He snorted. “So, what’s going on?”
You were practically humming as you pulled on some disposable gloves and started packing a fresh box of nuggets and chips. “Let’s see. Her car is a mess, I’m being very awkward around her, I can’t stop staring at her, and she’s dressed in the UtoPia onesie out back.”
Alex laughed aloud before quickly muttering, “Trust this shit to happen to you.”
You sighed. “I won’t be surprised if I wake up in a few minutes and realize it was all a dream.”
Alex pinched you hard on the cheek, causing you to cry out more in surprise rather than pain. “Well then, I guess you’re not dreaming.” He shrugged before passing you another cup holder. “And this time, I made sure the lids are on properly.”
When you got outside, Emma had her sleeves pushed up and was cleaning her steering wheel.
“I told you I’d take care of that.”
She turned to you and shrugged with a smile. “I know, but I want to help.”
“You can help by eating your food.” You held out her meal to her. She smiled brightly and you recognized the look in her eyes. “Hungry? Skip dinner or something?”
“Just hungry.” She took the food from your hands with a gracious smile, then sat on the hood of her car. “You’re welcome to join me, you know.”
You shook your head. “No, that’s all right. I’d rather continue living out my apology to you. I am so sorry by the way; I didn’t mean to ruin your clothes and car . . . and money.”
She chuckled. “It’s fine. I once spilled coffee all over my old car and truly wished I could do magic.”
You laughed aloud. “I really am a big fan.” You adjusted the front seat to wipe away the liquid that had fallen underneath it.
“Really?” she questioned with amusement.
“Hell yeah, I even have your wand at home,” you said, and immediately regretted it. You probably sounded like the world’s creepiest stalker right now.
“You do not!” she gasped with bright eyes.
You cringed and sighed and felt your insides die a little. “I do, I bought your wand and fiddled with it for a week, but then I broke it because I accidentally sat on it. I was crushed but refused to throw it away, so I taped it back together. It now has a special place on my shelf beside the rest of the Harry Potter merchandise I’ve spent my savings on.”
“Oh, that’s so—”
“Pathetic?”
“Sweet.”
You were both silent as she dug into her nuggets and you continued cleaning.
“Thank you, though,” she said after a moment.
“For what?” You glanced up at her.
“For being a fan. I don’t think I got used to the term until a few years ago. It was quite strange growing up in the Harry Potter world.”
You smiled, then pursed your lips. “I don’t know if I could cope with all of that.” You wiped her dashboard down. “All the attention . . . and then the bullying.” You quickly added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. . . . Well . . .” She paused and licked her lips. “Most people just assumed everybody would love me, what with it being such a massive series. But the majority of the time, I just got teased for it. I got called all sorts of names with all sorts of insults ranging from ‘you’re so gay’ to ‘you’re such a whiny little bitch.’ ”
“That’s brutal.” You paused to watch her as she spoke.
She shrugged. “It was, but I never took offence to the gay comments, I never tho
ught being gay was an insult.”
You smiled.
She murmured, “But the sexist comments . . . This one time a boy in my class tried to stick up for me, and he got called all these horrible names, and he never said anything again. That really . . . it really disturbed me more than anything else that had happened to me.” She scooped a bit of ice cream into her mouth. “With all that fame—I wanted to make a difference, you know? I don’t think I could forgive myself if I had all this influence and did nothing with it. I guess that is part of the reason why I’m such a huge advocate of HeForShe.” She cast a look at you. “Have you heard of it before?”
“A little,” you answered sheepishly.
She smiled. “It’s okay if you haven’t. It’s a movement to encourage boys and men to support gender equality, hence the name HeForShe.”
“Oh, I see. That’s pretty great, actually.”
“I think so too. I just think gender equality is an issue for men too. Many think that the word feminism is only for women, but really it just means you stand for equality. If you stand for equality, you are a feminist, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a man being a feminist.” She paused. “And every time I make a speech for it or educate others about it, I think about that boy from my class.”
As she spoke, you could hear the passion rise in her voice, and you couldn’t help but watch in awe at just how powerful this woman was. You felt so small beside her.
“You can change the world, you know?” she said as if reading your mind. “Anyone can. You are a person after all, and it only takes one person to say something.”
You grinned brightly. “You really are the brightest witch of your age.”
Her laugh was musical and infectious, and she smiled at you with such warmth you could barely feel the cold anymore.
She then glanced at her watch and sighed. “I better go. I have a lunch fund-raiser tomorrow and need some sleep.”
You couldn’t deny the sudden deflated feeling you felt. “Okay,” you said lamely.
“Thank you, for everything—you really didn’t have to help me out like you did.”
“No, I really did.”
She chuckled again before offering her hand. “It was nice to meet you, despite the circumstances.”
You beamed as you took her hand. “Likewise, Emma. And keep the outfit; no one’s going to miss it here.”
She squeezed your hand and smiled at you again, and never in your life had you wanted to not let go of something so much. You’d only thought of her as a character you loved before, but now you liked the person she was too.
Reluctantly, you took a step back from the melted ice cream, bucket, and towels and watched as she got back into her car.
“Smells good in here now,” she said with one more musical laugh before swinging her door shut.
You held up one hand in good-bye and kept it there until she was completely out of sight.
AS PROMISED, you came into work the next day at six in the morning, a little more than exhausted and unbelieving of yesterday’s events. You were sure it had been a dream—more than a little sure, especially with its just being too surreal.
You shed your jacket and went into the break room. However, upon opening your locker, you froze, because instead of your usual loose receipts and random junk, there was a long gray box. With a disbelieving frown, you pulled it out and opened it.
Inside was a long, wooden wand intricately designed for the one and only Hermione Granger. Atop it was a note in gorgeous cursive handwriting: Try not break this one.
A New Connection
Leigh Ansell
Imagine . . .
Your expectations might’ve been slightly unrealistic when you first moved to London a few months ago.
Imagine that.
Living in the heart of the capital meant everything was on your doorstep, and you’d kind of assumed that’d be reason enough to be out every night, living the type of wild London lifestyle all those reality shows had promised. You envisioned top-floor penthouses, a trendy group of friends, sipping cocktails in bars you couldn’t afford. No one thought to mention that the reality of being a freelance writer in the capital would be a little less glitzy.
Instead of being out partying until 3:00 a.m., your weeknight evenings have lately been taking on a significantly tamer routine, and today is no exception. It’s Tuesday, and though you should be working on your article due at the end of the week, your spot on the sofa has never felt comfier. With YouTube open on your laptop, there might be no need to move for hours yet.
Which is fine. You’ve got days to finish the article, and watching old Dan Howell videos back-to-back is a perfectly good use of your time. Kind of.
You’re two minutes into one of your favorites, “Internet Support Group,” when the sound of knocking cuts across the living room. Closing the laptop, you get to your feet, confused about who’d be visiting at this time. You’re not expecting anybody; your best friend’s working late, and since all other members of your family refuse to live anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of central London, there’s nobody else in the city who would want to see you.
Pulling open the door, you get the shock of your life.
There, standing face-to-face with you, is none other than the guy you’ve spent the last hour watching through a computer screen: your next-door neighbor, Dan Howell.
It shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise. You realized he and Phil lived in the apartment next door two days after you moved in, when you first bumped into each other in the hall. Still, months later, and you’ve yet to move past the polite-but-awkward greetings that ensue whenever you cross paths. You’d rather die than have him realize you’re one of the five million plus avid viewers of his YouTube channel, keeping up with his videos from the other side of your shared wall.
But, for some reason, he’s here, standing in front of you, looking slightly flushed and clutching a laptop in one hand.
“Hi,” you say, because you’re not sure what else to do.
“Hi,” he begins, with a slightly odd smile. “I’m Dan, your next-door neighbor. I appreciate this is a really weird way to have a first conversation, but is there any chance you could spare your Wi-Fi connection for half an hour?”
For a moment, all you manage to do is stare, your mouth hanging slightly open. “Uh . . .”
“Let me explain. See, I do this thing where I make videos on the internet—”
But you already know what’s coming, and you cut in before he has to get too far into the awkward I-swear-this-is-a-real-job spiel. “Your YouTube channel,” you say, with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard of it.”
Relief breaks across his expression. “Oh, good. I suppose that makes things a little less weird. See, the thing is, I’m due on a live broadcast right at this minute, and my friend Phil has chosen a really stupid time to start downloading the world’s longest compilation of cat videos.”
It’s weird, seeing him standing in front of you, when you’ve spent so long watching him crack similar jokes from behind a screen. Your fifteen-year-old self would probably be passed out on the floor already. All you can do is thank God you’ve since reined in your fangirl tendencies.
“So, what I’m trying to ask here—could I possibly crouch in the corner of your living room for half an hour? You won’t even know I’m there. Well, you might hear a bit of pointless rambling, but I’ll try to keep it down.”
It’s not exactly an unreasonable request, and, well, let’s face it—your inner YouTube fangirl would kill you for passing up the opportunity to spend more than a couple of seconds in the company of Dan Howell.
So you nod. “Sure”—you pull the door open a little wider—“come on in.”
As he steps inside, you take a cursory glance across the living room, hoping it’s at least half-tidy. Dan takes a seat on the sofa, setting his laptop down on the coffee table and clicking through a couple of settings.
He looks up. “Have y
ou got the password?”
The single question is enough to stop you in your tracks, and your cheeks begin to burn the moment your eyes meet. How did you forget? Ten seconds into your first proper conversation, and you’re going to look like a complete stalker. . . .
“Yeah, it’s . . . uh . . .” You mumble it quietly, like this might tone down the embarrassment.
“Sorry?” Dan frowns.
There’s no avoiding it. One way or another, you’re going to end up embarrassing yourself. “It’s . . . danisnotonfire09.”
He raises an eyebrow, looking amused.
You begin your defense before he can say a word. “I was a fifteen-year-old fangirl, okay?” you blurt out, hoping your face isn’t completely red in the light of the living room. “And I haven’t changed my password in a long time. Please let’s forget about this.”
Dan just grins, returning his gaze to the laptop, like he’s relieved not to be the first one to embarrass himself. “I’m not saying a word.”
His fingers tap across the keyboard at lightning speed, and you watch as he pulls up his webcam on-screen. “By the way, you might want to avoid the camera shot. My fans don’t tend to . . . well, take kindly to female company, let’s put it that way.”
“Right,” you say. “Because they’re convinced you’re in a secret relationship with Phil?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Something like that.”
He’s starting to set up the shot, so you take this as your cue to head to the kitchen, figuring you can busy yourself there. As flattered as you are to be able to help Dan out, you’re not quite prepared for any of the onslaught associated with his army of teenage fans. However, after cleaning up a bit, you find yourself at a loss for jobs to keep you busy. Your laptop is still sitting in the living room, and retrieving it would mean walking right into the camera frame of Dan’s live broadcast—you’re not quite that desperate yet.
But that doesn’t mean you’re entirely immune to temptation, either. With the kitchen spotless, and the contents of your fridge shelves already rearranged twice over, you find yourself edging closer to the living-room door. You can hear Dan chatting away into his webcam, trying to convince the viewers that the different background is just another room of his and Phil’s apartment.