Chapter 3

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THREE MONTHS LATER

Hi my name is Dewberry Melon Robinson and my mom is addicted to vaping (that's how I got my name). I have long wavy blonde hair that I wear in a messy bone and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Y/N (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Harry Styles but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a One Direction stan, but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also owned by One Direction, and I live with them (my mom sold me for tickets at the International Vape Conference). I'm quirky (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly pastels. I love Forever 21 and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing an oversized t shirt with a matching scrunchie, acid washed shorts, and white vans. I was wearing EOS chapstick and no other makeup (I'm naturally pretty). I was walking outside One Directions' house. It was sunny so there were no clouds, which I was very happy about. A lot of locals stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

I'd lived with One Direction for three months at this point and I was honestly starting to get used to it. I missed my old life and my friends from before, but I had gone big time. Normally it's illegal to sell your child to the world's biggest and most influential band ever, but a long time ago, my mom made a deal with Liam Tomlinson that she would give her first born child in exchange for her very first vape pen, so it was totally legal and there's nothing I could do about it. At first, I was scared; I didn't know what they were going to make me do!, but they only had me cooking for them. The problem is I only know how to make boxed Kraft Mac and Cheese; which they'd been eating for the past three months for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So far they're'd been no complaint, but it was a ticking time bomb.

And then, finally, that time bomb exploded. The boys had just sat down to eat their 5000th bowl of Kraft (TM) Mac and Cheese, when Harry Styles slammed his fist on the table, "Oy bruv, anover bowl of Macaroni Cheeve?" 

Zayn nodded, "I've licherally had enouv, mate." 

I shook in my fashionable white vans (they have no grass stains because I never go outside), "I'm sorry--please let me try again." 

"It's too late luv," Harry Styles said, standing up so that I could see his entire eight million dollar custom made Gucci suit. He then proceeded to throw his mac and cheese at me. The other boys nodded in agreement and threw theres as well so that I was covered in Kraft (TM) Mac and Cheese. I ran sobbing back the the kitchen.

I hid behind a tub of potatoes in the scullery, tears streaming out of my Pacific Ocean Cerulean Ocular Globes. I looked at my feet where my once fresh white vans were now a disgusting artificial cheese yellow. I was hopeless! There was nothing else I knew how to make and One Direction would soon know this! What would they do? Sell me to some B list wannabe boyband with absolutely no hits like the Beatles? I couldn't handle that! 

I let out a horrified gasp, "Someone please help me!" and to my great surprise I heard a small voice answer: 

"I know how to cook." 

I turned in shock; who could be in the pantry with me? The answer I quickly realized was a rat perched atop the onions. He cleared his throat, "Let me explain." 


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