Prove It (H.S)

Chapter One

*The characters in this book are not associated with the real members of One Direction whatsoever. This story is completely fictional. The only similarities of the characters to the band members are the names and traits.*

I'm sitting in my usual spot, the bench in front of the Rosenfeld Library. The papers in front of me are jumbled and crumpled into one big white mass and I silently curse myself for not bringing my binder this morning. If I don't finish this philosophy paper by Friday, my grade for the class will go down significantly. I just can't seem to focus. There are people all around me, laughing and conversing, a group of guys playing frisbee across the field and a couple annoying girls sipping on coffees a few feet away from the bench I'm sitting at.

I look around for a while, trying not to freak out about my paper or the mess on my lap. As my eyes wander, my attention is caught by a group of five boys at the coffee stand. As I observe them further, I notice that most of them, if not all, are covered in tattoos. I immediately am reminded of what my grandmother used to tell me, Don't you ever mark your body in any way, Claire-Bear. You may think you're symbolizing something that will stay with you forever, but all you're gonna wanna end up doing is removing it. I never knew if I believed that, but the way the ink traces the muscles on the boys' arms makes me think maybe I would want a tattoo.

Before I can even realize that I'm staring, I notice that one of the boys is looking at me. He's taller than the others, and he has shoulder length, brown curly hair. I quickly look away, then back at him, and he's still staring at me. That's when I notice his eyes. His eyes are a deep emerald that are ridiculously sparkly. They are possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I'm torn away from my gushing thoughts over this random tattooed boy's eyes when I see him walking toward me. I glance behind him to his friends who are looking at the two of us, smirking. I look up at him once he reaches the bench.

"Hey," he says smiling an also beautiful smile, oh god. He has a thick, low accent that only adds to his charm. My eyes scale his body, which is covered in a black t-shirt, tight, really tight, black jeans and brown leather boots. When I bring my eyes back to his, he's grinning at me. "Hi," I practically whisper. "I'm Harry, Harry Styles," he holds his hand out, I shake it. I'm mesmerized by the way his muscles move under the ship that is tattooed there. I force my eyes away. "I'm Claire, Claire Hoffman," I say.

He turns around after letting go of my hand. His friends walk up next to him. A slightly shorter boy, with brown hair and stubble on his chin puts an arm around Harry's broad shoulder. "So, you've met the rascal," the boy says with a teasing grin. Harry rolls his emerald eyes and shakes the hands of his shoulder. The shorter boy laughs."I'm Louis," he says with an accent just as thick, but higher pitched voice. "Um, I'm Niall," says the shortest boy, he has spiky blonde hair and a shy smile. His voice is so small that I can barely hear it, but I know I heard an irish accent. I smile back at him. "Claire," I say to all of them.

I later learn all of their names. Zayn is the one with the black hair pushed straight up off his forehead, and Liam has the facial hair and sweet smile. They stand in front of me for what seems like hours, teasing each other. I don't mind though, it gives me a reason not to write that dumb philosophy paper. The entire time, Harry is staring at me. His eyes intimidate me, yet draw me in completely.

I'm lost in his eyes until Louis asks,"So, Claire. What's your major?" I swallow and answer. "Philosophy." Louis laughs and nudges Harry in the ribs. "Hear that Harry? She's majoring in philosophy, just like you!" Harry glares at his friend and I giggle. Zayn cuts in,"We're exchanged student from the UK, if you didn't get that already," he smiles at me and I feel my cheeks reddening. I nod and continue to listen to their pointless conversations and silently revel under Harry's handsome stare. Eventually, they have all finished their coffees and dismiss themselves to their classes. Harry lifts a hand as he walks with his friends and gives me one last dimpled smile, all too soon, before turning away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I'm nervously waiting in my philosophy class for Harry to arrive. There's only about 3 minutes until class starts and he still hasn't shown up. Did Louis lie about Harry's major? And why do I care so much? The truth is, ever since my encounter with those five boys, I haven't been able to stop thinking about Harry. Every time I close my eyes, his pop into my head, filling my mind with that sparkly emerald color.
I'm interrupted from my fantasizing when a feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up to see the eyes I've been dreaming about.

"Hey," he says, sitting down next to me. "Hi," I try to smile but I'm so nervous, I can hardly move my mouth. He threads his fingers through his long brown hair in the most attractive way and pulls out a notebook. "So, from what I've heard, Professor Grant is pretty good?" He says, showing me his dimples once again.

I nod, playing with my hair, a nervous habit I picked up from my mother. He chuckles, oh my goodness I could listen to that noise forever. "You can talk to me, I hardly bite," he says and flashes that smile for what seems like the 100th time since he sat down.
I shake my head. "Sorry," I run my fingers through my blonde hair. He folds his hands on the table in front of us. "Claire, you said it was?" He rests his chin on his hands. "Yes," I nod. He grins,"I didn't really forget your name." I blush and look away.

"I actually haven't stopped thinking about you since we met." He is still looking at me, I can feel it. I turn my head to him and he's grinning. I know I must be as red as a tomato but I can't do anything about it. "Wh-what?" I stutter, losing myself in his eyes again. "You heard me," he softly says. I have been replaying his accent over and over all morning and night.

I'm thankful for when Professor Grant begins to speak, and I peal my eyes away from Harry's. The class is interesting, and Harry speaks often. Once and a while, I catch him staring at me.

I focus on the way his lips move when he answers questions. The way he repeatedly runs his fingers through his hair. He's beautiful, simply beautiful. I remind myself that I don't even know this boy, but for some reason, I really feel like I do.