Amy’s POV.
It was just another morning at OEA. The sounds of shouting, laughter, the slam of locker doors and hurried footsteps filled the air. Groups of students gathered in the hallways, gossiping about who was sleeping with who and what parties they’d been to, or catching up after half term. A ringing bell, and suddenly the halls are half-empty, teachers clearing the corridors and students rushing to class. Empty, all for one girl. One girl, whose skirt is a little too short, whose shirt is a little too wrinkled, whose hair is a little too messy.
That girl would be me. Amy, Amy Lauren Backhouse. A student at OEA, in my last year. One problem, I’m forever late to class, and I like it that way. It gives you that one moment when you know you’re the only person around, the only one alone in a building full of people. It’s so quiet, so lonely and cold. But it’s not that way forever. Nothing is.
Pushing open the door of class E5, I was met by the disapproving look of my English teacher, Mrs. Chittock. “Miss Backhouse. Late, as usual.” “Sorry, Miss.” I mumbled, slipping into my seat at the back of the class. The teachers tend to cut me a bit of slack with my lateness, apparently because I have a ‘disruptive family life’. If you call having a father who’s a drunk and lives with another woman, and a mother who could not give a flying fuck about me a disruptive family life, then I guess I have one. I looked to my left, where Amanda usually sat. She waved a bit manically at me and mouthed “Hey!”. Her dark brunette hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and a few escaped strands framed her face. Amanda is one of my best friends. We’ve known each other pretty much all our lives, and it was her house I’d go to as a kid when my parents were arguing and smashing plates all over the kitchen. Her mum is more of a mum to me than my own mother.
I pulled a notebook and a pen out of my black school bag, opening it at random. My pen scribbled in the corner of a fresh page as I half-listened to the teacher drone on about Shakespeare, yeah like i would need to know anything about that. Soon enough, I found myself scrawling out lyrics messily, a product of the random thoughts going round in my head. Music is everything to me. It’s what I want to do in life, and I truly believe its the only thing i will be able to do. I can play guitar and the piano, I write my own music, I sing and I know how to edit and create audio tracks. It takes up just about all my spare time –and part of my not-spare time- but I fucking love it. I always carry a notebook and pen with me, just in case I have a random burst of inspiration. Ideally, writing and singing my own music is what I want to do, but I cover songs too. I’ve done various live performances in the past, nothing huge, just local bars or whatever.
The bell rang, and Amanda and I left class together. She had free period now, whilst I had Music, she was chatting away at me, just as she usually did, babbling on about some party we’d been to last weekend, and how she just knew her crush Callum had been about to kiss her before she had to run away to throw up. As much as I love her, sometimes I have to tune out, as the running footsteps and the squeak of trainers on the vinyl floor drowned out her voice momentarily. “Well hey there, Bac-.” Said a familiar masculine voice. “Fuck off, Horan.” I said flatly, not even glancing at him and walking away. Niall Horan, the cockiest, stupidest and most self-centred boy imaginable. He was one of the most popular guys in school, and a complete manwhore. And he’d also made it his mission to annoy the fuck out of me whenever he could, ever since he’d met me. He even had his very own nickname for me such as 'backdoors’. Like it was my fault I had the last name backhouse hell it was his fault for even thinking about it like that, Just then His best friend and fellow dickhead Harry Styles desided to join us, laughing along with Niall. “Ohh, someone’s a bit touchy this morning.” He taunted, stepping in front of me and walking backwards so that we were face to face. I swear this boy only has one brain cell in that obnoxious little head of his. “Niall, I said, fuck off!” He stopped dead in front of me, causing me to put my hands on his chest to stop myself from walking into him. I really, really didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help but notice how hard and muscular his chest was. “Make me.” he firmly replied, I quickly jumped away from him. Before he could do anything, I’d opened the door to the Music classroom, ducked inside, and slammed the door in his face. I stuck my middle finger up at his stupid cocky expression through the glass window, before turning away to find my seat. Moron.
