Target (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 3

At this point, my breathing was erratic, I was dumbstruck at what just took place in this hallway, and I’m five minutes late for class. Great.  Bringing myself back up to my feet, I collected my fallen bag and proceeded on to my destination. Harry was nowhere in sights, thank God. Although, the pit in my stomach is warning me that what he says is true about being in my math class. Who does he think he is to treat someone like that? Like a toy he can play with at his whim. Hopefully, that was it and what Becca said about the whole “target” thing is rubbish. After all, what do I have to offer? I’m just the new American girl at this god forsaken school.

Harry has left me feeling fearful, yet annoyed that a hormonal teenager has so much power in this school. He is a fire I do not wish to ignite.

I let out a sigh of relief as I found Mr. Delagrange’s room. I quietly walked in to try and attempt to not draw attention to myself, however the inevitable happened. Once I stepped a foot in, all eyes were on me.

“Ahh, you must be Daphne. You’re five minutes late,” he said sternly, “I know you’re new, but we have rules around here, and that is arrive to class on time.” Terrific, I’m late to my first class and I received a mini lecture. Thanks Harry.

“Why don’t you take the seat by Mr. Tomlinson.” He gestured with his hand over to an empty chair next to a chestnut haired guy with aqua eyes and a kind smile.

I paced my way over, hearing constant, hushed chattering and receiving glares from the other students. What’s their problem? I don’t blame their judgmental behavior, it’s not like I’ve truly “blended in” not with my luck so far.  Mr. Delagrange continued on with his lesson.

“Like I was saying, Hardy Weinberg is going to be your new best friend during our evolution unit…” I sighed upon hearing the words leaving from the instructor, already having learned the lesson in the states, he commenced preaching. I calmly sat down in the spot and set out my materials, feeling relaxed and at ease.

I felt the Tomlinson guy lean closer to me and whispered with a smile, “Hi, I’m Louis.”

“Daphne.” I said back, returning a grin.

“I know, you’re the new girl who fell going up the stairs outside.” He quietly chuckled.

“Oh god,” I covered my face with my hands; “news travels fast around here doesn’t it?”

He snickered, “Yep, and I’m betting you were late because of a certain Harry Styles?”

I looked over at him, bewildered. How did he know? Nobody else was in the hallway with us during our encounter.

As though he read my mind he awkwardly cleared his throat and spoke, “You might want to have a look at your neck.”

Confused as to what he meant, I silently went digging through my bag and found my small compact mirror. I held it up over my neck and gasped at the reflection. A huge, round, slightly purple and red blotch mottled my fair skin. I lightly skimmed the patch with my fingertips and winced at how sore it felt. That bastard fucking marked me. No wonder I received disgusted looks from my classmates. Quickly I shoved the mirror back in my bag. I was shocked, sickened, and pissed.