Scribbles (A Niall Horan fan fiction)

3) September 5: Fridge Raiding and Nie-Ull

September 5, 2011

            I could tell you about my weekend but it involved a lot of fridge raiding and internet surfing and I just don’t think that’s interesting enough to write about.

            The good news is that my sleep schedule is more on track.  I actually slept in until my alarm went off at 6:50.  I decided over the weekend that I was going to stop attempting to make myself look presentable in the morning because no one ever notices anyway.  So I threw my light brown hair into a ponytail, dabbed on some concealer (because I’m only human and I feel more secure knowing my pimples are disguised even if no one is there to notice them), and put on some chapstick.  I ate my breakfast with Dad because Chase was still passed out.  He really seems to enjoy his job which is nice.  Dad, I mean.  Not Chase.

            Now I’m just wasting time.  I have approximately fifteen minutes until classes start so I have about five minutes to kill. 

            I need friends.

September 5, 2011, French class

            We’re meant to be taking notes but seeing as how I have no idea what’s going on, I can’t really be expected to take notes. 

            Geography was useless.  We’re learning the basics and then we’re going to progress into more detailed learning as the year goes on.  Can’t wait.

            Math was cool.  I’ve never particularly enjoyed math but now that I’m utterly lost in most of my classes, it’s nice to be around something familiar.  Plus, I was never particularly bad at math, per say.  I’ve just never really liked it.  Until now.

            I wonder how I would go about finding a French tutor.  Should I talk to the teacher?  Actually, yeah, that probably makes the most sense.  Aren’t teachers there to assist us? I believe so.  So maybe I should see her after class and—

September 5, 2011, lunch

            Oh shit.  Sorry for that abrupt end to the entry but I have a good reason.

            Apparently, while I was writing, Madame Lier was reading off the names of our new partners.  Yeah…And seeing as how my last name is Adams and I’m pretty much first on every roll sheet, she had been calling my name for a solid twenty seconds before I realized what was happening. 

            So like a total idiot, I caught on that she was repeating my name over and over again and I instantly raised my hand in a panic.  I muttered a quick apology.  Madam Lier looked at me steadily and I squirmed in my seat.  She read the name of my partner and I wasn’t sure what to do.  First of all, I didn’t understand what she said (not because she was speaking in French, but because I just didn’t understand what name she said).  Secondly, it’s not like I would know who that was even if I had understood her.  I figured I would let her finish reading the names and let my partner come to me.  After all, I had just made it quite obvious who I was to everyone.

            Madame Lier said something in French and everyone started to move around.  I pretended to busy myself with the task of getting a pen from my bag, a task that normally took two seconds that I magically turned into an ordeal just to waste time.

            “Er, Bailey?”

            My plan worked brilliantly.  I tried not to smile at my personal accomplishment as I looked up, pen in hand.  I dropped my pen back into my bag in surprise when I saw my future husband standing next to my desk.  I looked around in case someone else had said my name but, well, it was him.