Falling - A Niall Horan Fanfic

Chapter 1

My alarm buzzes on the table next to me, signaling that it's time for me to get up.

I groan as I pull myself out of bed, flipping the light on and squinting as the bright rays shock my eyes. I walk over to my window and pull apart the curtains, sighing as I realize it's still dark out.

It's my first day of senior year, and I'm ready to get it over with. I don't necessarily hate school, but I don't particularly enjoy it, either.

I'm a good student, always on the honor roll, but I don't really have too many friends. Mandy, my best friend, and I have been close since we were in first grade, but we barely have any classes together this year.

I try to push my thoughts to the side and get dressed, pulling out a pair of skinny jeans, a fitted blue v-neck shirt, and some black converse. I wear my usual heart necklace, a gift from my father when I was younger.

I don't do much with my hair, just brush it out and let my long, blonde waves fall down my back and apply some mascara to my lashes. I decide not to put too much effort into my appearance, I don't have the energy and I'm basically just done trying for the people who only ignore me.

No one else in my house is up yet, so I quietly creep up the stairs and grab a muffin before taking my keys off the shelf. I pick my bag up off the floor and head out, shutting the door as silently as possible before walking out to my car.

As I pull into the student parking lot, there are kids everywhere weaving between cars headed towards the building. I avoid hitting several of them as I pull into my assigned spot, number 79.

As I get out, Mandy spots me and comes jogging over to my car.

"Hey! Are you excited?" she asks, walking with me to the entrance.

"Not really," I say with a sigh.

"Well, it's our last year of high school! try to enjoy it!"

Wow, how is she always so optimistic about everything?

"I will, I guess," I say and laugh, knowing inside my head that this year will be just as bad as all the others.

"You know, maybe it won't be as bad as you think. I have a feeling something good might happen this year."

We enter the school and kids swarm everywhere. I see the freshman with their maps out, looking for their classes and some upperclassmen jocks messing around near some lockers.

Mandy and I part ways, waving goodbye to each other as she takes a left to go down the Spanish wing, while I continue walking to get to the English hallway.

As I walk a couple of sophomores whistle as me from across the hall and motion at me to come near them, but I roll my eyes and keep walking. God, I hate when people do that. I feel like they're mocking me, no one really thinks I'm actually attractive.

I find Ms. Dobb's classroom and walk in. There are a group of nerds in a pack, chatting quietly and comparing iPhones and some athletic girls sitting together in the corner. Lastly I see the popular boys, together at a set of desks in the back. I notice a boy that I don't think I've seen before. He must be new, but he fits in with them perfectly. Perfectly styled blonde hair, skinny khakis, and white Supras. He's the whole douchebag package, but damn is he hot.

I look away and find a seat near the front, but not too close because I don't want to be called on too often. I slide in and let my bag drop next to me and tap my fingers on my desk as I wait for class to start.

Finally the bell rings and everyone turns around to face the teacher. She's older, the kind of teacher that probably should have retired years ago. You can tell she can't see too well and her ears aren't exactly on par either. She goes on about her expectations for the classroom and homework policy, the same things all of us have heard a thousand times. The popular boys go right back to their conversation, knowing the teacher can't hear them. I mentally scold them, it's disrespectful, especially on the first day of class.

At last the bell rings, and I pick up my bag to leave and go to my next class. As I walk out, the blonde boy and I make brief eye contact and I look away quickly. Was he really just looking at me? No, I tell myself. He couldn't have been. Gosh, stop thinking about him. He doesn't care about you.

I make my way to the band room, getting shoved and pushed around because I'm so short. I get in the room and smooth down my hair and take a seat around where the saxophone players usually sit. The room fills rapidly, people taking their seats and talking amongst each other.

The bell rings and Mr. Jones starts talking, the same beginning-of-the-year speech I've now heard four times. In the middle of the part where he cheesily talks about always trying your best and giving it your all, the door creaks open. That blonde boys walks in. Wait, he does band?

"Sorry I'm late, sir. I got lost on my way here," he says in an accent.

Whoa, is he Irish?

"Not a problem, my friend," Mr. Jones tells him. "Take a seat there, next to Avery," he says and points to the seat next to me.

Oh god no. Not me.