Taking The Chance [A Niall Horan Fanfiction]

// Chapter Seven //

Crap. I was late.

Slamming the car door behind me, I quickly placed my duffel bag on my shoulder and attempted to carry my rolling luggage. Giving up, I pulled the handle up and started dashing towards the entrance of the school, my luggage unstably tottering across the gravel. “Thank you for the ride, Louis!” I yelled to him behind me, waving.

He leaned against the trunk of the car, his eyebrow raised and arms crossed. He nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Just go before the Dean throws a fit.” He shooed me off, chuckling as I waddled up the marble steps and into the school.

Mullingchire Heights Academy did not look like the pictures in the pamphlets at all. It looked much better and more ornate than the tiny photos printed on a tri-fold cardstock paper. I held my breath at the elegant chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings of the building’s lobby. Heavy wood staircases led to the second, third, and fourth floors, where a majority of the students living on campus were housed. The lobby was enormous and spacious; it was the size of my old school, and this portion of the school was only for dormitories.

A busy, Victorian-patterned rug decorated the wooden floors of a long corridor with many doors leading off of it. Students lined up in the hallway with bags and knapsacks, waiting for their turn to check into their dormitory and receive their key. The line seemed like it went on for miles… okay, tens of feet… from my position. I was already an hour late… I could potentially be thirty more minutes late because I’m waiting in this stupid line. And the worst part of this incredibly long line? The lady handing out the keys is the woman I recognized as the Dean from the academy’s pamphlet.

Great.

Sighing, I hesitantly fell in line I observed the atmosphere around me. A boy with curly hair coming out of his olive-colored beanie stood in front of me in line. He was almost a whole foot, or about 30 centimeters since I’m not in America, taller than me, so I was at eye-level with his worn-out navy blue backpack, the initials H.S. written in silver sharpie on the pocket. He was wearing Mullingchire’s uniform, although it was as faded and rugged as his backpack. I peered around him to find him on his iPhone, thumbs texting away. I decided not to bother him. I was too nervous to attempt to make friends; I’m not the social butterfly type anyways.

Before I knew it, I was next in line. Mr. H.S. in front of me was taking a minute longer than the others ahead of us. I tried not to eavesdrop; naturally, I did.

“Mr. Styles, your mother requested that you’d be in a double room, so you’d have a roommate to help you out when you need it.” The Dean’s voice was low to prevent others hearing their private conversation. Oops.

“She just means she wants a roommate to keep an eye on me so I don’t get into any trouble. I get it.” He spoke in a slow British accent for an angry adolescent. “I’ve been going to this school for three years; this is my fourth year being at this fabulous institution. I’m a big boy. I can live in a single room. You have to have some available.” The curly-haired boy insisted, clenching his fist around his backpack.

“We may or may not. We will not know until halfway through the fall term when final calls for drop-outs are made. You can survive with a roommate until then. I will personally notify when and if there are openings in the single rooms.” She replied, voice stern.

“Alright, fine.” He admitted slowly. I guess his voice is naturally that slow. Shrugging, he grabbed the key laid out for him on the table. “I’ll be waiting.”

As he turned around to walk back into the lobby, I looked at my thumbs and started twirling them, making it seem like I wasn’t listening to their conversation. I cringed once he walked past me; the Dean didn’t seem mean, just strict. I’ve had my handfuls of strict lectures from my mother… I didn’t exactly want any here either.