Say what now?

You can't breathe and swallow at the same time. Humans can only swallow two to three times in a row before needing to take a breath.

Scientists also say humans can live for about three minutes without air.

With the way things are going, I, Daisy Thompson, am about to give them a run for their money.

Because I literally CAN'T BREATHE! I just stood there, staring at Justin for what seemed like AGES, trying hard NOT to drool. Humans produce 1 to 1.5 liters of saliva each day.

I'm about to produce a year's worth in seconds.

Was it me, or did he get even more beautiful EVERY day? I mean, what guy can pull off casual faded jeans and a plain V-neck t-shirt while looking every bit like an Adonis come alive?

What?

But that is not my major problem right now. The thing is…

HE'S SEEN ME MAKING A TOTAL FOOL OF MYSELF! I mean, I was PUNCHING hats like some hat-rapist!!

Gosh, Daisy, you've GOT to grow up.

I seriously don't know why Justin isn't afraid of talking to me. Or even standing two feet close. Believe me, geekiness is EXTREMELY contagious!

"Justin!" I gushed, holding my hands behind me with the fakest smile I'd ever pulled. "What brings you here on this fateful day?" Fateful day? What? Like you couldn't get even geekier!

I mean, with people like me in the world, who needs medieval princesses?

"Sorry, I… I meant… hey," I said, sounding stupid and soft. Well, better that than medieval and century-lost.

"Yeah. Hey," he gave me a look. "What are you doing here?"

"Punching the hats… I mean, I came here with my friend. Tori."

"The girl from the fashion show?"

"Oh, you remember her?"

"Yeah, was I supposed to forget?" he asked with a cheeky smile. I smiled back, twitching nervously and wringing my fingers. Don't say it, Daisy, DON'T say it.

"Would you like to go to a cafe with me? I mean, not as a date or anything like that. Just a thank you for saving my ass… I mean my… my head and sanity at the cafe the other day." He beamed widely, raking his hand through his hair. Then his face fell.

"Oh, crud. I've got a shoot in an hour, Daisy," he said, and I felt my heart crumble into a thousand pieces. I kept up a cheery smile, though.

"Well, that's not a big deal, considering I was planning to rob Dad's wallet to buy stuff." He laughed, and I went on, "Maybe we'll do it later."

"Yeah. Later." Suddenly, his brows quirked. "What were you doing with those hats?" No, no, no! Go dumb, Daisy! Go dumb!

I gulped.

"What? H… hats?"

"The hats. I saw you punching the…"

"Oh, I was taking a picture," I said, shooting the hat a look that dared it to say no… okay, why are you speaking to hats now, Daisy?

"Are you sure? You looked like…"

"I was taking a picture." Desperate, I drew him close by the scruff of his neck and held out my phone camera. "Say cheese and Mac!" I yelled, and he gave me a long, strange stare. I stared back, and then the staring contest began—hard, long, and intense. I mean, our lips were literally two inches and one millimeter apart!

Look away, Daisy! Look away!

I looked away. Ha! For once, I've done exactly what my reasonable inner mind said!

He beamed at the camera, holding up two fingers. I rolled off two pictures, let him go, and straightened my shirt.

Phew! Problem solved.

"You like hats, then?" he asked. "Because I saw you touching them at the bazaar." I laughed at the idea. Daisy likes hats? What a way of putting Tom and Jerry as besties. Those darn things have gotten me into nothing but trouble. Like my pretty geeky foot!

"Oh, I don't. I was just analyzing why some hats are literally made out of plastic-colored sticks and barely even protect your head from the sun. Or rain. I mean, you had just one job, hat." I looked up to see him red from laughing. He leaned back against the iron railing across a small door, and I watched him, green with envy. Why can't I pull off that look without slipping? No fair, gravity, no fair.

"It's fashion, I guess."

"Yeah." I nodded. "And it actually gives me hope." He leaned close, amused.

"For what?"

"Of becoming rich someday. With felt pens, plastic, and any useless stuff I find around my dad's locker, I could be rich! Would you believe that hat with no shades was actually fifty bucks? I could make that in an art project! With more glue and sticky ends, but that's kinda the point, though, 'cause I'll end up naming my masterpiece 'Sticky-Ended Hats with a Few Smudges That's Totally High Fashion These Days.'"

He doubled over, laughing so hard I giggled along. He looked at me, eyes twinkling. "You're so funny."

"You think? I think I'm just exasperating. You know, like when you're so excited you can't keep track of what you're saying, and then you just keep babbling on and on about nothing. And most times, my brain seems to think spewing facts that are mostly useless is maybe the right way to go about things."

"So what do you prefer your brain to think up? Fashion slangs, clothes, what?"

"Nothing?" I said, and he laughed. He leaned even closer, and I gulped.

"You're really funny, you know, Daisy."

"You're easy to talk to yourself," I whispered, my cheeks a bright glowing red. Step one more inch closer, Justin Hayes, and you'll have a dead Daisy at your feet. Not in the flowery way, of course. More like in the geeky dorky, two-left-feet way. Hope I don't trip him before I fall, though.

"You never called, you know. I waited for your call for two days, and you never called. Why?" Oh, why? I don't know, maybe I was too busy STARING and obsessing over your writing scribbled across my book to remember to CALL you.

Then constantly stalking you on the internet.

Then stalking your family.

And then stalking you again.

Oh, I'm so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!!

"Uhm… I forgot? I was too busy stalki… calling my relatives in the deepest jungles of Africa!" I yelled. Then I relaxed and flexed my muscles. "It's pretty hard work, you know."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I do know. Seems like you're with your phone, so why don't I just…" I held it out.

"Yeah, sure," I said, wringing my fingers. Those 70cm long poster signs that said, "Put phone in bag, Daisy," had worked after all.

We switched phones, and while he tapped his number in, I watched him from underneath my thankfully long lashes, ogling his fingers. Yeah, yeah, that must be like the most DISGUSTING thing you've ever heard, but he's really got nice fingers. Super long, slim, slender, and olive.

Just like his beautiful skin.

"So there you have it," he said, handing it back. He squinted at the pouch, a living proof of a tried and tested experiment I'd taken at designing. Knowing how I am, you'd definitely guess it was a failed one. It was literally a disarray, with colors on one side, crazy stickers and tattoos, and a big piggy key chain dangling down the bottom. I slammed my eyes shut.

I know one thing for sure now.

I'm definitely cursed.

"I think your phone pouch's really nice," he chuckled. "It's snazzy." I arched my brow.

"Snazzy? I only say that in my head. Is that even a word?" He laughed.

"Don't know. I just think it's… snazzy," he added, and we laughed.

"So, do you…"

"Mama Papaya dearie me!" Harry Styles sang, dancing up to us, looking like something a rainbow just barfed on. He sashayed into our faces, grabbing Justin by the arm. "My little cheeseballs, you're going to be late for your shoot!"

"Yeah, I know." He ran his hand through his hair. "I was just…"

"Oh…" Harry drawled, giving me a look tinged with a funny smile. He held out two fingers and made a perfect square of our faces, grinning. "Well, isn't this interesting?"

"Hi, I'm Daisy Thompson, and I'm REALLY hoping you don't remember me from the bazaar event," I gushed. Justin chuckled, swinging on a foot and shooting me the weirdest smile.

"Oh yes, I remember you, little Boo-Boo Bambi." So someone ACTUALLY gets the Bambi on ice—that so someone ACTUALLY gets the Bambi on ice-that's-actually-daisy thing? Impressive. " a red-head is pretty hard to miss" 

 I looked down " Yeah. I guess. Hey, for the record, I'm clean right? I don't have to pay for damages or tripping over your favorite model do I?" Harry laughed, slamming one hand over the other. 

" Oh not at all pie." 

" Oh, ok" I gushed when deep within I wanted to scream 'squeee!' at the top of my lungs. Dad still doesn't know where his wallet OR his credit card is so I CAN'T afford to get into any more money trouble. 

Praise God. 

" Uh… have you seen my friend?" 

" Who?" 

" Tori. Tori Beckman. She came for an interview. With me" 

Harry laughed, leaning against Justin who chuckled nervously " Oh dearie, my dearie! You make it sound like an office job, like eww slash gross much?" He flailed his arms wide " This is fashion my dearie pie and you" He said, pointing at me " Might just be what we need" 

Ok say what, what, ACTUALLY what now?