An outdated documentary on deer plays in pantomime before my eyes, and I’m fighting hard to keep my lids from drooping. From the corner of my eye, I can see Louis Tomlinson and his little gang of friends making dirty hand gestures at me from across the large classroom, and I’m honestly trying my best to ignore both him and my thirst for sleep. But it isn’t really easy when we’re stuck in Biology for the best of two hours.
My best friend Liam nudges me lightly on the ribs, always the gentle one, and I turn to look at him, blinking, confused. He purses his lips and nods towards Miss Flack, who is watching me with a narrowed gaze. I swallow softly and straighten up, purposefully avoiding her blue gaze. The woman’s a stern teacher at heart, even if most guys in our grade wouldn’t mind hitting the sack with the woman. No one said she had to be likeable.
The next half hour or so I spend fighting to keep my eyes open and having a sharp elbow being gently jabbed into my ribs when I fail to do so, along with avoiding Miss Flack’s sharp eyes. When the bell finally rings, Liam dashes out of the door. Of course, he has to go meet Danielle, his girlfriend, in the yard. I don’t waste a second being bitter and staying behind, making my way quickly to the door, but a hand clasps on my shoulder before I can make it, and I very nearly groan out loud.
“Thought you could outrun me, did you, Styles?” the loud, amused voice makes me cringe on the inside, but I make my face emotionless and face nothing but annoyed when I turn to look at him.
“Can we take this outside, Tomlinson?” I ask him in a low voice, my eyes quickly flitting over to Miss Flack, who is pretending not to be eavesdropping while her fingers type away distractedly at her keyboard.
Tomlinson’s grip on my shoulder tightens, and I’m surprised to notice that his best crony isn’t hanging around him like usual. Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson – the greatest of the great at Cowell Secondary Academy, located in the suburbs of London. The pair get away with everything, considering that Zayn’s father is tight with the Dean of Discipline and Louis’ got five generations of Tomlinsons before him, along with his surprising involvement in both the drama and sports department
How I was ever best friends with the latter is beyond me.
He doesn’t argue, and leads me outside. To anyone who doesn’t attend Cowell Secondary Academy, we might look like two best mates – one gripping the other’s shoulder a bit too tightly, mind you, but best mates nonetheless. Not sworn enemies who take every chance they get to fight over the smallest of things. Not two boys who used to be best friends, once upon a time, and yet were now the bane of the other’s existence.
My back slams hard against a wall, and I flinch, giving Tomlinson (who is much closer than I expected him to be), a look of deep loathing, before lunging for his uniform’s collar to slam him back against the other wall, before I realize our surroundings. A tiny little janitor’s closet that you can barely wiggle your way into. How classy. He closed and locked the door when I wasn’t looking, that little sneak.
A disadvantage, or advantage when you’re on the other side, of going to a private boarding school is that most, like ours, have a uniform that forces you to wear blazers. However, unlike Tomlinson and Malik, we common folk doindeed have to wear the blazer. And when we have physical fights, surprisingly not very often, Tomlinson is sure to take advantage of this fact. Such as now, I’m losing because of the way that he is attempting to knee me, holding me against the wall. My hands are pushed against my sides in the tight space, but I give him a dirty look in between heavy breaths before my hands reach out and grasp into those annoying little suspenders that he gets away with wearing everyday.
Keys jiggle outside of the door, and merely two seconds later – before either one of us has time to move away from each other a plump, balding man with a cap covering the shiny spot every CSA student knows is there. His eyes fall immediately on the most horrendous factors – Tomlinson’s hands on my shoulders, mine tugging on his suspenders, the proximity of our lower bodies and faces.
“Headmaster’s office. Now.” His voice is so strong and commanding that neither of us dare talk back. Instead, we shut our mouths and make our way out, Tomlinson first, of course.
