A Niall Horan Love Story: Solo Mission?

Chapter 1: You'll Never See Me Again

 I stared down at the paper in front of me, trying to make sense of the words, but none of them resignated with me.  My eyes bore so violently into each term, that soon I was seeing two blurry projections of the same word.  

      "Well, shit," I muttered under my breath, "I probably should have studied for this... And this is just the front side..."  Unwilling to see the result, but being too curious to stop myself, I cautiously flipped over the first sheet, and I was met with another three pages of horror.

Lines.  Lots and lots of lines eager to be filled up and taken advantage of—just  not by me, because I obviously didn't know anything about the prejudices against the enemy aliens, or the War Measures Act.  Stupid history test.  See, it's not like I didn't study, I just didn't study hard enough.  Not because I didn’t try, but simply because I couldn't focus on anything last night other than the violent “POUND!” “OH DAN!” “POUND!”ing noises I was hearing from across the room and down the hall.  Way to go, mom. You get him, I thought.  You’d think I’d be used to the sound of two, slithering bodies connecting repeatedly and in the most unlikely manner by now, but clearly, those slatternly noises still managed to get on my nerves.  Especially during my prime study time.

I put my head in my hands, and slammed my elbows on my desk out of frustration.  I guess I must have been a little bit too loud because people turned their heads to give me looks, most of them annoyed or just exasperated.

         This has been going on for the past half hour.

"Well, you know what?!" I yelled out loud, startling both my classmates and myself.  Everyone turned to look at the ruckus I was making at the back of the class as I slammed my pen down on the table.  By now I had caught my stupid history teacher's attention, and he was looking up with a startled expression, his nose finally popping out of his solid textbook.  I pushed myself out of the desk to stand up, the chair lurching forward and roughly hitting the back of the geek in front of me.  I stepped quickly outside of my desk and began to gather my things, not giving a flying fudgecake about my peers, whom I was obviously disrupting.  After all, they have never given a flying fudgecake about me either.

I snatched my pencil case, threw it in the schoolbag next to me, and violently tugged on the two zippers until my bag was completely closed.  Throwing the sack over my shoulder, I left my blank—and still open—test lying by its lonesome, and walked straight up the isle with my head in the air.  I stopped right in front of my teacher. 

“Well Murphy,” I began, addressing the gaping idiot by his first name, “This should be an easy night for you: one less package to grade.”  And with that, I stormed out of the classroom feeling dignified and important, the door dangling wide open and my desk still rattling.  I could feel the stares boring holes into my neck and my back as I rounded the corner, but I didn’t care.  Way to go, Kay, I thought, the words bringing a smile to my lips.  At this point, I was already outside, the frosty breeze numbing the open skin of my neck to the point where it became a caress. 

        I resolved that I would never come back to this stupid place again.