Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

1. Professor McKenney Will Not Be Able To Instruct This Semester's Course

A/N: Edit and Music for the chapter in the sidebar (Media tab for mobile)

To: dgrace@nyu.edu

From: taugst@nyu.edu

Subject: CCW212 - IMMEDIATE ATTENTION REQUIRED

 Creative and Contemporary Writing 212 Students:

 We regret to inform you that due to a series of scheduling conflicts and personal issues, Professor McKenney will not be able to instruct this semester's course. In his stead, his teaching assistant, Mr. H. Styles, will be proctoring the class. All course requirements will be up to his discretion. If you have any further comments or concerns please contact Mr. Styles at hstyles@nyu.edu.

 Thomas Augst

Associate Professor of English; Director of Graduate Studies for English

taugst@nyu.edu

Darien Grace

I glared at the screen, reading and then rereading before reading again. It was a joke; it had to be. The only reason I had even registered for the class was because Caleb was supposed to be teaching it. Oh, I was going to kill Jas. Why the hell didn't she tell me that Caleb wasn't teaching this semester? Hell, why hadn't he? I was going to murder that entire family. I lived with those fuckers for Christ's sake. If I wanted to be taught by a child I would have gone to Juilliard along with all of the other little prodigies thinking they ran the goddamn world. Instead, I'd skipped the scholarship and accepted New York University's offer. I mean sure, NYU couldn't guarantee me a slot in the Philharmonic, but it did promise a serious education. I'd never been that into the whole grade thing, but I'd also never had to endure a class taught by an amateur.

I read the email again. Yes, Harry Styles, Caleb McKenney, and James Peters would all be receiving rather long and berating emails from me.

I opened the mesStyles composition window, filling out the heading information, before glancing at the time.

Shit. I only had five minutes to make it to my Composition and Application Lab. Briefly, I debated on staying and let my rage run free, but then I remembered that Madame Dupond hated tardies. I got away with a hell of a lot at this school, but being late to the Madame's classes was not one of them.

Throwing my knotted, deep amethyst hair up into a disheveled bun, I shoved my feet into my Doc's, grabbed my keys and flew out of my room. Jas was waiting for me in the kitchen, twirling a shoulder length lock of glossy blonde hair around her slender fingers, waiving dramatically in the air with her other hand, giving a mental performance befitting Cossette.

Caleb was on the other side of the island, nursing a large mug of coffee and watching his daughter with open amusement. Jas cut off mid monologue the second I entered the room, earning me their full attention. I hadn't intended on a full confrontation just yet and I knew that the Madame was waiting, but it was like the Universe was begging me to start raising hell a little early today.

"So, I got a really interesting email this morning," I began, hedging my way behind the culprit and to the Keurig, popping in the little container labeled Hazelnut.

"Oh?" I could already hear the suspicion lurking in Caleb's voice. They both knew that I wasn't a morning person- the fact that I was actually speaking before 10:00 am and my coffee meant that shit was about to go down.