The Exceptionals

Chapter Nine: Perfect Occurrence (How Do They Occur?)

Everything She Wants — Wham!

      Louis feels ballistic. Hasn't felt like that in a while. Best, most manageable, most effortless hundred pounds he's ever made and probably will ever make.

So the next morning as he walks into school, he smiles. Carrying that cheeky smile for the remainder of the day. He thought about what to buy, do, eat. Endless possibilities, endless chances, and endless smiles to go around on behalf of Louis' part. Also, a small little thing Louis caught on was that he hadn't seen Niall all day; maybe he went into hiding... smart. Lastly, at the end of the day—when it finally came time for Louis to take his beloved and awaited test, his mood drastically swarmed him, oddly enough. And all the while the class stood drowned in silence but the scribbling of pencils and pens, Louis couldn't help but peek at Harry, glance mediocrely at him. Harry who was shrouded by flawless and lavish girls from all the tables around him. Tight skirts, unusual hairstyles with long smiles, and bold makeup.

Louis didn't care. Not at all. Couldn't care less.  

All he mildly tended to was whether or not Harry knew what he was doing, test-wise. 

And test-wise, he seemed focused from a distance, determined with concentrating, full eyes. Biting his lip as he profusely tapped the end of the eraser against the table; small, undistinguished, silent taps fell in the hefty room as long fingers toiled around a precise strand of hair as his nimble hand kept running through and out of his Greek-mythologic curls. Saw how his throat painfully clenched and the ends of his hair tickled the nape of his polished neck. Louis studied him further, didn't just want all his efforts to be wasted away—he did fritter his time and afternoon after all. Might as well get a good outcome out of it and... nevermind. No. Louis could not care less about what Harry scores. That was his money, he gave it away. If he doesn't remember all Louis taught him then that's no one's fault but his own. That's on him. Louis doesn't care about Harry nor about whatever the fuck he gets. Harry's the one who was deftly flirting and running his fingers down a rubbish chick's arm at the beginning of class. If he forgets, he forgets. If he fails, he fucking fails. 

A loud whistle erupted and carried over the silent hall. Louis quickly turned his head to stare at the front of the class, as most students did. Mr Willaims was staring straight at him, glaring heartedly from a distance as he mouthed, "Focus." Louis nodded and immediately got back to work. Everyone circled back to what they were doing, not truly worried if they weren't the ones caught secretly cheating off of the sleazy paper crumbled on their folded laps. 

So they returned to their exam, all but one familiar pair of beryl eyes that stung curiosity into Louis' profile.

*****

"No way, are you joking? I got that whole section wrong then!" Louis helplessly groaned, throwing his head back and rubbing despair off his sleepless eyes as they exited the lecture hall and walked out to campus. 

"Yeah mate, I mean, I think, not really sure though." Oscar chuckled, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulder. "It wasn't as hard as I thought, quite easy to say the least," Louis grumbled incoherently under his breath.

"Whatever," he said. "At least I didn't cheat my way through the test."

"Oi!" Oscar laughed and looked down at Louis with a resilient smirk. "Right, that's why Williams caught you cheating off some knob couple tables off. Sure mate."

"I didn't cheat." He whispered under his breath. "I just wasn't concentrated, that's all," he mumbled, and it was as if Hell itself was calculatingly listening to Louis' every word because, at that righteous moment, there was a deep, ruffled laugh from beside him, followed by a higher-pitched girlish giggle. Louis hears a lot of those, so when he turned his gaze to the left he wasn't at all that surprised to see a girl cuddled neatly against Harry's chest as he leant his weight on a red, brick wall, goggling down with his hands on her waist, vivaciously inching lower and lower each frivolous second. The girl's thin hands tugged at his leather jacket—the infamous jacket, as Harry seductively whispered pin-straight mischief into her ear. The girl's bright cheeks and roused body were unduly telling.