It's just an article {h.s}

Chapter 1

"No, no way I won't do it! I have no interest in that awful band and their horrible, ear-splitting music." I exclaim as I pace around the room. I can't believe that out of all people James would give this story to me. He knows how I feel about stories like this. He knows that I want to be a real journalist and break real stories instead of writing fluff pieces on cats and the newest dieting trend straight from Hollywood. And he asks me to write a piece on One Direction of all people! There is no way I'm doing this, I will not let myself stoop that low.

"Alanah don't be like that"

"They're insufferable! And that one, you know the one with the brown curly hair, ugh what's his name..."

"Umm Harry?" James helpfully supplies, although I can't decide if it's because he generally wants to hear what I have to say or because he's humouring me.

"Yes that's the one! He's the worst of them all, thinking he's top shit now that he's famous, thinking that it gives him the right to sleep his way through New York! I can not stand him and I refuse to work with any of them!" I say as I finally crash down into my seat. I've made up my mind and there's nothing James can say to convince me otherwise. Sure he'll try for a bit, bring up some nonsense about it being a privilege and how we all have to report stories we don't like, you know all that crap people say to force you to do something you hate. No matter what he says won't budge.

"Just think about it for a second Alanah, please"

"No, I will not compromise my integrity as a journalist. Find someone else to write your fluff pieces for you, I'm sure Sandra would be more than happy to".

"Look I know that this isn't what you imagined when you started working here but this is an amazing opportunity for you." James reasons with me, acting like his point makes logical sense.

"Yeah, an opportunity to write stupid lovey-dovey bullshit for the rest of my life."

"No don't you get it, if you do this right you'll be guaranteed any story you want."

"Anything I want?"

"Sure anything you want."

Now that, that makes me stop. Any story I want? That would be a dream come true! I could write about the damages fossil fuels are having on the environment or the political climate of the middle east. Is it really worth it though? I mean I always said I would give anything, do anything to be able to write pieces that make a difference but I never realised that it could mean momentarily giving up my moral code. But is it really abandoning my moral code if it means I can help me make a change in the future?

"....I'll do it" I mumble, almost embarrassed by my decision. Is this really what I want to do, report the trivial ins and outs of a boy band? No, it's not what I want to do but I know deep down that it's what I have to do.

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The music pounds through the arena much too loud for my liking. Crushed in between at least ten people I'm stuck in the mosh pit being forced to listen to the plain, boring music of the band. Honestly fuck James. He basically begs me to come out and write this stupid article but he can't even be bothered to get me a backstage pass. He's so fucking useless and only thing he could get me was access to the fucking staff bathroom because that will obviously be very beneficial in gaining information about the boys. At least he was able to organise an interview with the band after the concert, I just wish I didn't have to sit through 2 hours of their music. I just know that I'll have to comment on the concert experience in my article so I try my best to pay attention even though I don't want to be here. At least it's nearly over now, there should only be a couple of songs left.

Just as I thought it couldn't get any worse the girl next to me spills her drink all over me. Of course this would happen to me and right before the stupid interview too.

"Oh my god I am so sorry"

"Don't worry about it," I say already moving off towards the staff bathrooms so I can at least attempt to make myself presentable before the interview. I think I have a spare shirt somewhere in my bag. If I can just make it to the bathroom before the show ends I should be able to quickly change. I push my way through the crowd as fast as I can but I know that at this rate I'll be lucky to get to the bathroom before my interview. God why are the bathrooms always so far away, I don't have time for this nonsense!

I finally get to the bathroom backstage, having to waste precious time flashing my press badge to the security before I am allowed in. I know I don't have much time left so I quickly search through my bag, praying that the top I brought along for my last assignment is still in there somewhere. There's no way I can professionally conduct an interview in a top stained with god knows what, I have a reputation to uphold even if the interview itself compromises it. Fuck where the hell is it, it has to be in here somewhere! Just when I've all about given up hope I strike gold. The top is slightly wrinkled but I would take that over-soaking wet any day. I quickly pull my shirt over my head when suddenly I hear the door open, so instead of covering my chest like a normal person would I turn around to see who opened the door.

Standing there in front of the door staring at me is none other than Harry Styles.

SHIT!