deviant // harry styles

2. STEP BY STEP

step by step: new kids on the block
~
A week has passed since Harry first walked into our home for the summer. It is so strange having him in our house all the time, and I feel like I have to censor myself. I haven't been able to sing at the top of my lungs, or talk about stupid things at dinner. I can't even dance to The Spice Girls in my basement because, well, how embarrassing would that be if he saw me?

I just don't know why I care so much; it's not I have anything to worry about. I'm acting like I'm fifteen again. He is a dreamboat, but I don't like him anymore. I also don't know why I'm wasting my time sitting here thinking about him when I need to get ready for tennis practice. God knows what happened last time I tried to skip. I decided to go with all white today, in contrast to my brown hair and my tanned skin, from the sun beating on me during my daily practices with my father.

Running downstairs assuming I'm going to be late, I don't see my dad at the door like he usually is. Am I going crazy, or have I been following this routine since I was eleven?

"Daddy?" I call out, and I hear footsteps from the stairs.

"He had an emergency at his job so he asked your brother and I to play for him." I turn to a pair of pretty green eyes. "I hope you don't mind."

"N-no, that's fine," I shook my head and smiled. "Have you played before?"

"Nope," he chuckled. "Hopefully I can learn quickly; your dad said you were, and I quote, 'a tennis lord'."

"He's just saying that," I scoff, creating awkward silence. "I have been playing since I was eleven years old, though." I smile at him and him and remember that I need my duffel bag full of equipment. "I'll be right back, I need to grab something."

"I'll come with you," he says as he follows me up the stairs. I walk in my room and walk towards my closet.

"The Spice Girls?" He points out a poster on my wall.

"They're all that and a bag of chips; do you listen?"

"Of course not," he laughs. "Who's your favorite? Her?" He points to 'Sporty Spice'.

"No, I like Baby Spice and Scary Spice." He looks at me with total confusion. I huff and walk over, pointing out the two. He nods in approval.

"What did you need up here, anyway?" He asks while touching the knick-knacks on my shelves.

"I need my equipment to play, Harry." I grab the big bad and swing it onto my shoulder.

"I can carry that."

"I got it," I say, walking passed him. "What is Will doing?" I ask myself. "Will?!" I try to open his door but it's locked. "Open the door, we have to go!" I whine.

"Y-yeah, I'll be out in a second!"

"No, we don't have a second, we have to go now!"

"You're going to have to wait, Hannah!" I stomp my foot on the ground.

"Fine, if he wants to be this way, then he can be this way." I tell Harry and I stomp into my room and grab a wire hanger. I bend the hook straight so that it fits in the hole of the doorknob to unlock the door.

"You might not want to do that." Harry whispers.

"Why not? We need to go!" I whisper-shout back.

"Whatever, man. Don't blame me when you see something you don't want to see." I roll my eyes and scoff. Digging the hanger in the door, I hear a 'click' and I smile.

Opening the door, I definitely saw something I did not want to see. My brother was jacking off to a Playboy magazine. I felt so traumatized in that moment that I screamed at the top of my lungs and slapped my hands over my eyes.

"I said stay out!" Will shouts.

"The first penis I have ever seen is my own brother's!" I scream. "I need electric shock to the brain. I need to get rid of every memory of my brother. Are you covered?"

"Jesus, yes!" I uncover my eyes.

"William Bennett Montgomery. You are a Christian boy. You should never do those things-"

"You actually still believe what Mom and Dad told us, what, nine years ago?" I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Why shouldn't I?" He looked dumbfounded.

"This is the nineties, Hannah, and I'm a nineteen year old boy. It's expected and also a popular hobby." I cover my ears.

"Shut up! I don't want to hear that from my brother! Just get ready, and be downstairs. I'm driving." I grab my sunglasses and stomp down the stairs, running to the car with the heavy bag on my shoulder.

I pop the trunk, setting the bag in my daddy's red Jeep and then sit in the driver's seat. I turned on the radio and a New Kids on the Block song was playing; Step by Step. Both boys walked out of the door and as they neared the car, their faces turned sour as they heard the music. I simply smiled as they got in the car.

Will's hand reached for the volume nozzle but I slapped his hand.

"When I drive, the radio is mine," I say as I back out of the driveway and then down the street.

"So Dad told me about your little boyfriend, Patrick," Will brought up.

"Um, it's Paul, and I only went on one date with him. No biggie."

"Yeah right; Dad said you went to get your nails done just for a movie date. You sit in a dark room and you needed to get your nails done for that."

"I get my nails done for myself. See?" I show him my acrylic nails.

"Sure. So what college is he going to?"

"I don't know! I haven't talked to him in, like, weeks! Maybe even months, but I'm not counting."

"He must be a total dork if he chose to go on a date with you."

"He isn't a dork, he is very intellectual and well-mannered."

"That's the first time I have ever heard a high school cheerleader talk about 'intellectuality and manners'," he scoffs with a smile. "Who do you hang out with to be so child-like?"

"I'm sorry I'm not so perverted like the people you went to school with. Believe it or not, everyone at my school is like me."

"Are you ever invited to the parties?" I shake my head.

"My friends say that they aren't ever invited, either."

"They always invite the cheerleaders." Harry interrupts. "That's how they get everyone else to go; the jocks fuel the nerds with desire, trust me. They probably just think you're a buzzkill."

"I am not a buzzkill!" I exasperate.

"You probably only go out on Friday nights if the church asks you to help with a fundraiser." I huff. "Am I even wrong?" I'm silenced. "It's okay, you'll marry someone who is just like you who wants twelve children and works as a telemarketer, and you'll live in the middle of Ohio." I gasp.

"No, I will marry Jordan Knight who is a singer/dancer/prodigy and we will have two kids." I sigh. "And we will live in Hollywood," I add.

"Not with that attitude."