Secrets - Harry Styles

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Name: Zara Jorgenson  Alias: Molly Pinkerton   Age: 19

Mission: Get Harry Styles to notice me. (Even if I hate him.)

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“Just put it on for crying out loud,” Alisha whined, shoving the pink sparkly dress towards my chest.

“Why is it necessary for my alias to be so girly?” I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to grab the girly filthiness right before me.

“Because Harry likes colors. Now can you just please just try it on?” she pleaded, continuing to shove the dress towards me.

“Fine,” I huffed, snatching it from his hand, walking towards the changing booth of the fashion warehouse section of the agency and called out from behind “You owe me for this!”

“Yeah, yeah. Just put it on,” Alisha retorted.

As quickly as I could, I slipped off my usual leather pants and leather jacket with a simple solid color top and quickly slipped on the pink thing that I called grossness. I came out and you could totally tell that Alisha was about to burst in complete giddiness and happiness.

“You look so adorable!” she gushed, running towards me leaving us a few inches of breathing room before she full on hugged me.

I hugged her back because that was Alisha and she would get offended if you didn’t hug her back and then quickly let go right after.

“Adorable?” I gagged at her use of the word.

“What?” she questioned “you do, though!”

“I don’t want adorable; I want sexy and maybe a little bit more edgy,” I explained “Can we make this dress just a bit shorter?”

“I suppose,” she agreed “I mean he did date your sister and she is of the slutty type.”

“I meant sexy not slutty,” I corrected her “slutty doesn’t look good on a person.”

“You’re right but I think the shortness might work out,” she smiled “now go take it off so I can adjust it.”

I did as told and went back into the booth to take off the dress. The rest of the time was spent trying a bunch of clothes related to my alias and Alisha adjusting some of the clothes that I wasn’t a big fan of. I knew I had to do what Alisha told me; I didn’t want to lose the only job that I actually love and was passionate about. So, I tried to agree to everything that Alisha told me. After clothes, was hair and then they would explain to me my alias’s full profile.

“Hair time!” Alisha sang, bringing me over to the styling mirror.

“This better be good,” I muttered, following her, sitting down in the chair looking at myself, specifically at my messy, shoulder-length hair.

“We’re not going to change too much,” she ruffled my hair around “just maybe a few extensions to make your hair look a bit longer.”

“Okay good,” I sighed of relief.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured me “it won’t be like last time.”

I didn’t even want to think about last time, but one time I had to die my hair red and it was a complete disaster. I hated it so much that right after the investigation had ended, I died it back to my original color. I told my team that next time they want to use color, they had to give me a wig. They agreed but I had to nag them a bit.