Teeth [Harry Styles Fanfiction]

Chapter One

Jay's Point of View:

“Jaycee, sweetheart,” My instructor started to speak, but my attention was elsewhere. I heard a loud clamor coming from the outdoors, followed by another clatter. My hazel eyes stared intensely out the window, and across the street. Construction was being done on our neighbor’s yard, and it was distracting to say the very least. The sound of the drilling in the pavement made my teeth grit together out of reflex. “Jaycee,” her small voice repeated, as she rose to her feet and walked over to the window, closing the beige shades. Finally, I became alert again and shook away any random thought that set in my mind at the time.

“I’m sorry, where were we?” I inquired, swiftly picking up my ballpoint pen and purple journal. “Ti piacerebbe andare a fare una passeggiata?” my instructor questioned, her old brown eyes narrowing at me. From what I gathered, she had asked me about taking a walk. This was just about my fourth Italian lesson and I was catching up a little faster than expected. I have to admit though; I understood the language, but it did take a while for me to respond. Trying to think, I tapped my pen along the edges of my mouth, in utter thought. “Ah,” it had finally hit me. “Sì, mi piacerebbe.” The words flowed out sweetly, almost tickling my tongue. What I had said was, ‘Yes, I would love to’.

My teacher, Mrs. Moretti, praised me by clapping her hands. “Sei un naturale! Naturale!” and with that, she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. At first, that gesture was uncomfortable, but it was of Italian custom to greet everyone as such. Once the lesson was over, she handed me my schedule for our next meeting, kissed me on the cheek, and went off on her way. I looked through it thoroughly and groaned, tucking it away in a drawer by my dresser. Honestly, I didn’t understand why my parents forced their native tongue on me. I didn’t see when I would ever need it in my life.

When I would try to complain about it, my mom would pat me on the head, remind me of all they’ve invested in the program and say, “Ah, it is nice to let the tradition live on, mia principessa.”

There was absolutely no arguing, or negotiating with them, so finally, I just agreed to the program. Lying dully on my bed, I counted the number of spiral patterns that were set with the paint, only because I was so bored. Things around here were completely tedious, and since Tasha and Samantha were on vacation, I was left here alone.

“Jay, dinner is finished.” My mother called from the ledge of our stairway, and I sighed, pulling myself up from my not so comfy position. When I got downstairs, I walked into the dining room and saw two unfamiliar faces sitting at our finely furnished dining table. One of them was an older man, most likely in his mid-50’s, with a tint of gray hair and a couple of wrinkles settled under his emerald eyes. It was clear that he was aged, but it would be a lie if I said he wasn’t handsome, or didn’t used to be handsome. The next person, sitting right next to him, was nothing more of a younger guy, maybe a teenager. He had loose brown curls, tucked away in a gray beanie and the same color eyes as the man next to him. I was pretty sure they were related, maybe even father and son, but I didn’t want to make any conclusions about that. Anyhow, this boy wore a black t-shirt with a bunch of profane graphics and designs on it, and a couple of home-made bracelets on his wrists. I would also be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive, because he was, but he had this certain dullness about him. He looked almost uninterested in being here.

My father sat at the edge of the table, and when he saw my mother and I come into the room, he rose to his feet. “Gentlemen,” he cleared his throat, swaying his hands towards my mother and I. “I’d like you to meet my beautiful wife, Teresa,” he spoke so pleasantly, and my mom gestured a welcome to the two men. “And my gorgeous daughter Jaycee.”

I stood still, a shy smile perking at my lips. “Hello Teresa, Jaycee.” The older gentleman stood up from his seat and shook our hands. He then looked over his shoulder and gave the other guy a look, causing him to rise to his feet. “Where are my manners? I’m terribly sorry. My name is Des Styles, and this is my son.” He introduced himself, patting his apparent son on the back. “His name is Harry.” Des spoke for his mute son.