Confessions of a Teenage Dirtbag

"Meeting you was fate, becoming friends was a choice, but falling in love with you was something I had no control over" -Unknown

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"Cassie, where are you going?" my best friend Eliza asked as I turned down a corridor at school.

"Just to french. I'm seeing if this way is shorter."

"I'll race ya there," she challenged.

I grinned.

"You're on."

I took off down the hall, running in the direction of the french room. I was turning a corner when I ran smack into something hard. I shrieked and fell to the ground, holding my head in pain.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" a voice with a British accent asked.

My vision was blurry, my head hurt, and I knew I had rug burn on my elbows. A face drifted in and out of view.

The thing that stuck out was the clear green eyes looking down at me.

"Uhm, yeah, I think so," I said, trying to stand up.

Hands pulled me onto my feet and rested on my shoulders. I immediately felt light-headed and woozy and I almost lost my balance again.

"Whoa, you need to sit down. What class are you going to?" I could now see the features of my rescuer/attacker more clearly. He had curly chesnut brown hair and clear, vibrant green eyes. Through his white v-neck tee shirt you could see the faint outlines of some tattoos.

"Uhm, french class. with Mr. Brones." He nodded.

"I'll take you."

He scooped my books up from off the ground and offered me his arm for balance. I gratefully accepted. He walked me down the hall to the french room, chattering in my ear. I tuned out most of the time.

"I'm sorry, I never got your name," he said.

"Cassie."

"I'm Harry."

"Wait, Harry Styles?" He nodded.

"The one and only."

"You're like, in that band, right?"

"Yeah, White Eskimo. I'm the lead singer," he said proudly.

"Arent you like super popular?" He shrugged.

"Does anyone even really know what it means to be popular anymore?" he asked as he opened the door of the French room for me, and I immediately felt everyone's eyes glued to me, Cassie, the little nerd. I knew everyone cared more about why Harry Styles walked me to class than why I was late to said class.

"Mademoiselle Cassandra, tu es retarde. Porquoi?" Mr. Brones said. I shrugged. Clearly dissatisfied, Mr. Brones turned to Harry.

"Et Monsieur Styles, you do not belong here."

"Yes, I know. I knocked cassie over in the hallway, and the least I could do was help her to class, Monsieur Brones." Mr. Brones nodded.

"I'll write you a pass to your next class."

"Thank you, Monsieur." Harry helped me to my seat and set my books down on the desk. He sent me a smile and went to get his pass. Before he left the room, he turned around and shot me a wink, but before I could register that he had, he was gone. I was almost sure I imagined it.

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After French class, I was no longer dizzy. I stepped into the crowded hall and a hand was immediately attached to my elbow. I turned and saw that the hand belonged to none other than Harry. He grinned at me and I gave him a shy smile.