Little Dandelion ➳ Larry

- PART ONE -

PART ONE

Throughout his childhood, Harry Styles lived in a posh neighborhood called Oak Hollow. It was a suburban mother's paradise, complete with white picket fences and manicured lawns. Its residents often owned minivans of all different colors, ranging from cranberry red to sky blue. Each house looked nearly identical with conventional styles and formats. Much like the people who lived there, they were copies of one another.

There was nothing special about Oak Hollow, and if you asked Harry, it was the most boring and lifeless place on the planet. A wooden sign stood at the entrance of the subdivision with the neighborhood's name written in neat, black lettering. Most outsiders found its name ironic considering there wasn't a single oak tree in the proximity— just a few scattered shrubs, dead grass, and wilted flower pots.

In reality, Oak Hollow was anything but tree-friendly. The houses were packed tightly together, preventing nature from spreading its roots and flourishing. Instead, families surrounded themselves with dying, brown hedges and rose bushes.

To most parents, Oak Hollow seemed like a superb place to live. It resided in a nice city with a low crime rate, still within walking distance of the local primary school. The people were relatively friendly. Lemonade stands and children riding on shiny bikes always filled the noisy, chaotic streets. Mums shared pie recipes. Dads hosted barbeques. Real, affable people. 

Harry, however, hated every inch of Oak Hollow. 

As a child, he didn't have anywhere to play except his mother's vegetable garden. He always dreamed of living somewhere rural with hundreds of acres of land, free to do whatever he pleased. He wanted to become an adventurer, an explorer, like the ones he read about in his stories. Instead, he was confined to the vicinity of Oak Hollow like a bird trapped in a cage.

His mother would always tell him to play with the neighborhood kids, but they didn't have much in common. Harry matured beyond his years, so he never found much relation with other children his age.  As a result, Harry often locked himself in his bedroom with his face nuzzled in a good book. He couldn't explore in the real world, so he turned to fiction as an immersive alternative. Indiana Jones was his favorite.

Harry was an overachiever from the very beginning. He started reading year four books by the time he finished year one. His teachers said he had a "gift." Instead of excelling in the social aspect of school, he focused on academics at an early age. Needless to say, he would much rather read about the misadventures of Huckleberry Finn than play with the neighborhood children on their expensive trampolines.

But when Harry was seven years old, one tiny event changed his entire view on this orthodox neighborhood.

It was the middle of an abnormally hot, dry, and brutal summer.  Harry sat in his bedroom with a fan blowing cool air against his reddened face. Outside, the burning sun beat down on the necks of sweating pedestrians. Harry was engrossed in his book, finishing up the final chapter of the newest Goosebumps thriller. 

Suddenly, he heard the loud grumble of an unfamiliar engine.  With arched eyebrows, he looked out his window to see moving vans parked at the house across the street. A few months prior, a family had moved out due to a job relocation and left the two bedroom home on the market.

Harry watched curiously as men in orange t-shirts carried boxes and furniture through the garage. After a few seconds, he noticed a small boy sitting on the steps leading up to the porch. His elbows were propped up on his knees with his chin pressed against his palms. A look of boredom stretched across his face. He wore heart-shaped plastic sunglasses over his eyes. They were pink and feminine— not something usually worn by boys.