Absolutely Lovely

Chapter One

A/N: Hi, before you start reading, I just wanted to let you all know that I wrote this a long time ago on google docs and never did anything with it. It was like, probably a little bit over a year or two ago. Oops. So if there are any questions or something I'll honestly try my best to answer, but if it's not right, then you know why. This also is and was the only time I tried writing in first person, which I hate. Sorry, but enjoy anyway :)

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When I was almost five years old, I started Kindergarten. When I was almost twelve, I started at a new school, high school. Technically, I've never been the new kid, not on my own.

I've never started school mid-term, nor have I started school alone, so I honestly don't know what it feels like to walk into a classroom by myself and introduce myself to a teacher in front of a crowd of kids my own age watching on as if I'm some kind of spectacle.

Yet, this is exactly what the black haired boy at the front of the room has just done. He's tall, taller than me, and he walks with a confidence that I can't quite put my finger on. It's like he's confident in himself, but not the people around him, the only cautiousness he exudes is one toward us, the strangers in his presence.

I guess I'd be the same if I were him. He walks down the centre of the room, head held high, and takes a seat, immediately pulling out two pencil cases - who the hell needs more than one pencil case? He proceeds to pull a small book from the second case, does he have notes already? No. No, they're not notes.

I look across the room, almost down on him from where I'm sitting, and spy the pictures and splashes of colour between the thickened black lines and intricate patterns. It's a colouring book. My friend, Chris, stifles a chuckle and clearly he's noticed too, I shake my head at him with an amused smirk, letting Chris know that I see it and that I'm about as amused as he is, leaving this weird new kid to colour his book in complete ignorance of what's probably in store for him later as a result.

Why the hell is he always colouring? He literally carries around a colouring book, who does that? No one. Other than him, obviously. He colours in maths, physics, English, and he probably colours in every other class that I'm not in as well. It's embarrassing. It is literally no wonder he winds up battered and bruised, he's a complete loser.

His name is Louis Michaelson and he's been here for what, three days, and how many times has he gotten himself beaten up? Like, four. I would actually bet good money that Chris and Jacob are plotting their next move as he sits there colouring, completely oblivious.

Oh, and now he's dropped his pencil. Don't pick it up, Louis, you're just drawing attention to yourself. Fucking hell. Just leave - oh, nope, you're really picking it up now aren't you? Far out...

"Louis," our English teacher, Mr Tacker, speaks his name, "Can you tell me what I've just said?"

Yeah Louis, can you tell him anything that's gone on this lesson, or were you too distracted by the pretty flowers you're colouring in?

"Uh," Ah, he speaks! "That the dark version of himself represents his fear of being who he really is, and so when he banishes it, he's unlocking the freedom to be himself without self-ridicule?"

"Thank you, Louis," Mr Tacker says, flashing him a look that says that he's lucky he wasn't wrong.

How did he do that? I'm lucky to get it right even if I'm listening. Louis shoves all his pencils into his pencil case, followed by his little colouring book that seems to fit in there quite perfectly, and as if on cue, the bell rings.

Walking down the hallway toward the school canteen is when I spot the inevitable: Chris and Jacob forcing Louis into the handicap bathroom.

Okay, Sam, just breath in and walk by, do not make eye contact. Do not make any eye contact at all. I repeat, do NOT make eye conta-