Bird Shit

4th of July - 21:10 PM

For some reason they have to go all out of town to find a bowling place where Harry is still allowed to enter and where there's space on a Saturday night for five lunatics. But the one hour drive is somewhat bearable in the space of the tiny, tiny cab because Poppie's pressed up against Harry. Almost sitting in his lap. His words still haunt her in her head, but she tries hard to ignore them by just simply staring to him.

'This looks good, right?' Harry turns around smiling proudly that he finally managed to find a place where he can practice his favorite sport.

The place doesn't look good, if Poppie is honest. There's barely any light, the benches look old and worn out and let's not even the discus the shoes. She can smell them from where they're standing.

'Yeah, sure, if you like the smell of cheese,' she tells him getting some snorts from the guys behind her.

'Of course I do,' Harry says while taking a deep breath as if to smell it even better, 'it's the best smell there is.'

'He's insane, I should have warned you,' Liam whispers in her ear. 'It's safest if you just stay away from him from this point on.'

Poppie nods to that and takes his advice to heart. Harry looks rather frantic at the prospect of finding a new pair of non-matching bowling shoes. The large shelves full with red and blue shoes are waiting for his eager hands. He takes this part of bowling the most serious, she quickly learns from Louis.

'Wait 'till you actually see him throw a ball. You would think with such good eye for the shoes he's going to be good right?' Poppie nods. 'Wrong.'

But Poppie can't help but stare to Harry from a distance as she tries on her own pair. His tongue sticks out a bit as he concentrates on tying his shoes. At least he can tie his shoes since Louis has to ask Liam for help. Like the true daddy he is, he sits down on one knee and ties both his shoes. When Louis catches Poppie staring he gives her a quick eye roll as if to say it's really Liam who wants to do it, not Louis. She rolls her eyes directly to Harry again who is finished with his shoes and stands up straight. Through all these weird little details she can't help but wonder what story is behind this man with all his tattoos and bowling shoe addiction.

'Let's go,' he says almost jumping in the air out of excitement.

Poppie pulls a weird face not sure how to act now that she's really doing this. Bowling with strangers. At least she got the fun bachelorette that she wanted but the more time she spends with the four roommates, the more she doubts the actual reason she's having a bachelorette.

'Are you any good at bowling?' Harry asks her and she looks up with a frown to see he's walking besides her, his arm touching hers.

'Not really, and you?'

'The worst,' he laughs and she manages to giggle with him. 'But I like it.'

'Why?' Poppie asks but she wants to ask so much more, like how does he drink his coffee? What is his favorite color? Best song ever? She wants to know it all.

Because the more she learns about Harry, the less she wants to marry Henry.

'Don't know really. We used to do it with the family a lot and I liked the way they would laugh as I tried to throw the ball,' he tells her and she smiles as she studies his face. A memory of one of those nights seems to play in his head but Poppie gets sad when Harry turns sad.

'You don't play it with your family any longer?' Poppie wonders and she touches his hand for a brief second to get his attention. The other three are already setting up the computer as her and Harry stopped walking halfway through.

'Not really. You see, I am here, they are back home. They don't come up much,' Harry explains. 'They don't like that I am trying to break through as a singer.'

'Why not?' Poppie asks although it is familiar territory for her. She knows like no other what that's like. To not have your family's support.

'At first they did, but I have been here for five years already and they sort of lost hope. To be honest I am the joke of the family as well. Kind of just like you.'

'Well geez, thanks Harry.' But Poppie laughs. 'This way we can be losers together.'

'Just know you're not a loser, Poppie.'

It must be because it's the first time that she registers Harry calling her by her name or because he's staring so beautifully in her eyes that something happens in her stomach. It's a feeling she hasn't felt in a while.

'Neither are you,' she breathes back. 'I mean you saved me from bird poop. You're my hero.'

Harry smiles at that and takes her hand in his as they walk to the booth where three impatient hipsters are waiting for them to arrive.

Poppie got the name bride-to-be and Harry king-of-balls. She's fourth and he's fifth, so they watch the other three first (Louis: sass-master Liam: best-daddy and Niall: Irish-baby). Sass-master is quite alright, best-daddy defiantly lives up to the first part of his name and Irish-baby, well... he might need some more help from the daddy.

It isn't until Niall almost throws his last ball through the roof that Poppie realizes her hand is still intertwined with Harry's. With a shriek, she stands up and releases their sweaty hands to almost run forward to collect her balls forgetting how slippery bowling shoes are on the shining wood.

'Watch out!' Harry yells after her, but it is already too late.

Poppie falls to the ground, her ass landing hard on the wooden floor and it feels as if the whole building vibrates.

'Woh, guys did you feel that? It was almost as if there was an earthquake!' Louis calls out right before all of them burst in to laughter.

'Well watch out Louis! Someone is about to take down your score!' Poppie yells holding up the ball that is much too heavy for her tiny arm.

'Good luck with that honey,' he deadpans.

Harry just looks at her with an adoration she finally can place. From the moment their eyes locked in front of the café she saw something, a look she couldn't place because no one ever looked at her like that. Not even Henry.

A look that says that even if Poppie throws boiling tea over his mother's lap, or drinks too much champagne, or gets too loud in a place she really shouldn't, he'll still like her.

Instead of silly Poppie, she's just Poppie in Harry's eyes.

She sucks in a breath feeling new energy flow through her veins, knowing that she'll kick all their asses.

Of course the ball goes right in the gutter, not even coming close to the target she was aiming at.

But Harry looks as at her if he has scored a strike.