My Beautiful King

Chapter Four Part 1

It was getting extremely difficult to concentrate in class, knowing that Zayn was sitting one row and three spaces to the right away from me. He was so gorgeous and it was prominent that I wasn't a solitary person with that opinion. Every single girl in our classroom (with the exception of Bridget) was firmly ogling Zayn; the indolent way he leaned back in his seat, the roll of his alluring eyes as the teacher scolded him for the umpteenth time, the casual way that he ran his hand through his hair. I was desperately trying to pick up the beat he was playing on the desk with the end of his chewed black biro. Maybe if I figured out what song it was, I could make conversation about it. We still hadn't spoken since that incident in alleyway exactly a week ago, last Friday.

I still couldn't believe that I had attempted to smoke. I didn't plan to tell my friends about it, and there was no way I could discuss the situation with my mother. I was surprised she hadn't smelt the fetid smoke that had clung to my clothes. She simply took the shopping from me and handed me an omelette she had made me. Would she still make omelettes for me, her only child, if she found out what I had done?

SMACK.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed, reacting to the stinging twinge I felt in my forehead. A piece of scrunched-up paper fell onto the desk in front of me, obviously the culprit of my pain.

"Is there a problem, Ashley?" Mr Withers, my maths teacher's booming voice questioned. His brows were furrowed and he looked mildly shocked. I wasn't surprised by his expression. I'm usually very attentive in all my subjects.

"Um," I faltered, noticing Zayn give me a death glare. "No. I just hit my um, knee... while trying to cross my legs. It doesn't matter, I'm sorry!"

Unimpressed, Mr Withers turned his back to the class and continued writing linear equations on the whiteboard. I whipped my head round to Zayn and saw him gesturing to the piece of paper on my table.

"Read it." he mouthed.

I could feel people's eyes hot on my skin, watching me. I could almost hear the unanimous thought racing through their brains: Why was Zayn Malik sending notes to Ashley Jones? My thoughts were exactly the same. Slowly and cautiously, I opened the crumpled paper ball.

Oi Ashlynne, it read. You're gonna need help trying to interest me. Meet me at Balfow Park at 8.

Zayn Malik was inviting me out.

I almost squeaked with excitement. I could hear Bridget whispering to me, to find out what the paper was all about, but I ignored her. Zayn Malik was inviting me out!

But it was at Balfow Park. That was ages away from where I lived. There was no way I could take the 45 minute journey there to meet him at eight o'clock, have time to talk to him (or do whatever he planned for us to do), and take the journey back home to return for my curfew of 9:00.

It's ASHLEY, I scribbled back. And I can't. Balfow Park is too far. How about we meet at a park that's closer by?

Looking up towards the front of the classroom sheepishly, I found myself looking at Mr Withers' back. Using Katy Barnum as my middleman, I passed the note back to Zayn.

I watched as he unfolded the paper and read it, mouthing each word. Scrunching his nose in distaste, he scoffed, crumpled the note and chucked it into the bin. He didn't even bother look at me, he just went straight back to tapping his pen against the small table.

I felt my stomach tighten with worry. Had I annoyed him? Honestly, dealing with Zayn was like dealing with a spoilt child; it was either his way or nothing at all. But even though his behaviour was unreasonable... I couldn't stand to see him upset at me. Hastily, I wrote another reply.

It doesn't matter really. I could tell my mum I was just going to Bridget's house. I don't think she will mind that much if she thinks I'm at someone's house.

There I go again, going against my morals and everything my parents had taught me not to do, all in the chance of impressing a boy. Even so, Zayn wasn't just any boy. Never once had a boy caused me to fall so hard and so fast. We'd only been acquainted for two weeks, and already it seemed like I was infatuated.

My second reply was received by Zayn a lot better. He flashed me a half smile and gave me a wink. It felt like my heart was melting into a sticky pool of matter.

"Ashley!" Mr Withers bellowed. "Concentrate!"

"Sorry sir!"

-x-x-x-x-

I took a long sip of my water as I listened to my parent's droning conversation about their days at work. Usually, I would have joined in but to be honest all I really cared about was Balfow Park. It was seven o'clock and I still hadn't asked yet. I just had to find the right moment, where both parents were able to listen to what I had to say. Soon, the conversation turned to me.

"So Ashley," my Dad spoke, his olive green eyes mirroring mine. "How was your day at school?"

"Fine," I mumbled. "Actually Dad-"

"Fine?" my dad exclaimed. "You usually do a lot better than that! Did something happen at school today?"

"No, no!" I protested, twirling my fork around the remnants of my pasta. "It's just that... I had something that I wanted to ask you."

"Ooh," my mum said, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly may that thing be?"

I took a deep breath. "I was wondering if I could um, go to Bridget's house... to revise. We have this um, test in maths on linear equations and well, Bridget's really good at them. She said she could teach me today if I go to her house at around eight. Go to her house a little before eight actually."

My parents looked at each other, both cocking their heads to the right, almost like a silent communication between the two of them.

"Sure," my mother voiced. "Why not, sweetheart? It's great to know that you're working over school hours to secure your knowledge."

I felt slightly sick in the pit of my stomach. I never lied to my parents, and here I was lying and getting praise in return. All I could do was nod slowly.

"If you've finished dinner, you can leave the table and get ready to go." My dad smiled.

Hurriedly, I ascended from the table. Just then I heard a chipper electronic tune from behind my dad. It was my phone.

"Who is it, dad?" I asked agitated.

"It's Bridget, speak of the devil! Should I answer the phone? I could speak to her parents-"

"No!" I cried. "I mean um, no I'll answer it, don't fret. Sorry." I snatched my phone from the cabinet behind the dinner table and answered it as I left the room.

"Hello?"

"What was all that about today?" Bridget answered her voice snappy.

"Wow Bridget, do I not even get a greeting anymore?" I counter-attacked. "Besides, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh you know," Bridget hissed. "That whole 'passing notes' thing with that terrible Zayn boy. What did you discuss? I thought you promised that you'd never speak to him again?"

I paused. "Technically, we didn't speak."

Bridget took a sharp intake of breath. "Technically you had a conversation, so tell me what happened! Ashley, I love you and all but you're making a huge mistake falling for Zayn, and don't even argue that you're not. That guy is no good. You can just look at him and tell!"

"Ever heard of 'Don't judge a book by its cover'?" I flared. "If people were allowed to do that then I could assume that you were a little snob. But then again I'd be right!"

"EXCUSE ME-"

"Excused!" and with that I hung up the phone, heart racing.

Hopefully, Bridget would be offended enough to not mention our argument to her parents. I just had to pray that my plan would work and I could arrive at Balfow Park on time.