The heart wants what it wants⇢ Harry Greene x Ben Hope (Heartstopper)

Chapter Two: YEARBOOK

There is a steaming mug of hot chocolate next to me, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, but I haven't even touched it yet. Harley's still outside wiping that shit down. It's all my fault. I'm such an idiot.

"Harry?" a voice drifts in from the hallway. Fuck.

"Hi." my voice is much higher pitched than I want it to be. That always happens when I'm awkward or emotional or just not controlling myself.

"You all right?" Harley comes in.

"Yeah," I say. I want to say something else, but I feel my throat tighten. "Yeah. I'm fine." (if "fine" means messed up and friendless and alone, that is absolutely correct. Well done, Harry Greene. Well done.)

"Okay," she answers and spoons half her noodles into her mouth. 

"I'm goin' upstairs," I mumble, but in retrospect I don't even know why I said it, 'cause it was too quiet for anyone to hear.

****

(What's the point of looking through a yearbook from Year 7?) I look absolutely horrendous in that picture. I didn't know there was a picture day, plus that my alarm clock suddenly, I don't know, disappeared or something? So I showed up, 10 minutes late, in an oversized yellow hoodie and blue jeans, which isn't bad or anything, it's just that me and my gang had decided to all show up in matching black tuxedos and stand on the back row. That didn't happen.

I was placed in the front.

I remember getting my yearbook 2 weeks later (of course I looked fucking awful) and saying "I think yearbooks were invented to torture young children. When I become king of England, I'll ban yearbooks once and for all". 

I've changed my mind now. I don't think yearbooks were made to torture. I think they were made to remind you of the person you were and what a piece of shit you are now.

I throw my Year 7 book behind me, and pick up the one from Year 9. We were supposed to dress up as athletes. You know, rugby was a huge thing then. It was the first year you could make the team (Nick, Tommy and I made it), and everyone tried to make a good impression. It was also the year that guys went girlfriend-hunting to Higgs. And that was through yearbook impressions. I'm in that photo wearing a black tank top and jeans (had shorts under in case that was okay. It wasn't). Except for the fact that no-one else took it that seriously and in the end I just threw on a flannel shirt over, and of course my hair looked horrible too. And then 2 weeks later, when I got my copy I'd crossed out my face using blue marker. But Dad had gotten an extra copy, and that's why I have one now. A week later Tommy told me his crush-for-ages, Edie Lawrence (Higgs) had told her friends that she maybe liked the blonde guy in the middle. That was the first time me and Tommy had a fight. 3 days later Tommy was seen making out with Edie Lawrence behind Higgs. Life is weird. 

I give up trying to find my my Year 10 yearbook. Instead I pick up my phone and scroll through the class chat. There are 2 messages that I haven't read on there. One of them is notifying that our Physics test is coming up tomorrow. The other one is notifying that our Art history essay is due in 2 days. I don't give a shit about either of them. I suck at Physics so I can only expect to get a C+. Physics and I just don't click, I guess. Art isn't that bad, but we have Mr. Ajayi, and he doesn't mind if I leave it for a week or two. He's chill about it. Besides, I don't care about my grades. I can just blame my late delivery on rugby, or something. Girlfriends. Parties. Instagram. All those things that I don't actually have. Last rugby practice I got a warning from Ms. Singh saying "Harry Greene, if you don't start focusing right this instant, I'll place you in a back position. In order to stay in the hooker position, I need your concentration.", I've never had a girlfriend (and if I suddenly got one, my mates (ex-mates) would certainly be wondering who and what is going on), I attend parties, sure, but not often enough for them to interrupt my school life, and I've lost over half of my Instagram followers. I've got none of my excuses now. Fuck you, Charlie Spring. (and fuck you, Harry Greene. You made Charlie do this to you. You ruined your relationship with him and Nick Nelson). I am such and idiot.