How Cliche (Narry Storan)

How Cliche (Narry Storan) Part 3

Chelsea Styles.

She had written it on her notebook in black sharpie while she, Harry and I were sitting under our normal tree at lunch the next day. Normally, it would've been just Harry and I. But Chelsea the trophy wife had to be there too.

She wrote it only once but it was big enough to fit the whole cover of her notebook. Two hearts began and ended the name and she added a few around it as well. Harry was beaming while she wrote it. He was blushing a little bit too. I didn't know if it was really me or the jealousy talking, but I wanted to say she didn't mean it. This was all just a ruse, something she's doing for payback because Mr. Captain of the Football Team broke up with her and she's on the rebound. She was willingly dating Harry when she would really rather break all her nails than be seen with people like us. I didn't understand how he couldn't see anything had to be wrong.

Once she was finished, she held it up for us to see, like a first grader showing her mother a drawing she did in art class. Harry smiled wider, if that was possible, and leaned forward to kiss her. It was like a car crash. I couldn't look away no matter how badly I wanted to.

"Isn't it pretty, Niall?" she asked me once they had pulled away.

I just nodded, afraid if I opened my mouth to speak, I would lose my lunch. Harry glanced at me and his smile faltered for a second. But then he looked at Chelsea and it picked right back up. She started speaking but I blocked it out. My ears can only take so much grating before they start to bleed. Instead, I turned my attention to the other groups in their designated spots. Chelsea's normal group didn't look like they missed her. I began to wonder if maybe she really was truly infatuated with Harry.

Before I had the chance to laugh at myself for thinking so, the bell rang. Students slowly began making their way to the doors just as the next lunch crowd was heading out. I walked ahead of Harry and Chelsea, trying to lose myself in the horde of familiar and unfamiliar bodies and voices as they shouted and ran to catch up with one another. Somehow, Harry managed to grab a hold of my arm and wouldn't let me go. When I looked back at him, Chelsea was gone and he was frowning.

"What do you want?" I asked while we walked up the concrete steps to the school. He still had a strong grip on the soft flesh of my upper arm and I knew he had no intentions of letting go anytime soon.

"Nialler, is there something wrong? I mean, you've been acting sort of strange lately."

"Define 'strange'," I murmured, yanking out of his grasp and quickening my stride to lose him a few steps.

"Niall!" he called after me in my successful pace away from him. I was losing him fast in the crowds and for once, I didn't care. Although he appeared next to me when I reached my locker.

"What do you want, Harry?" I repeated, making sure I sounded agitated as I spun the combination to my locker.

"Ni," 14... "Please just tell me what's wrong with you." 22... "I'm worried." 2-

Harry then grabbed my wrist, stopping me from turning the final number. "Let go," I said calmly, leaving my gaze on the white numbers slightly popping out against the black background. "I need to get my things."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with me," I snapped, once again yanking my wrist away and spinning the final number. I forcefully opened my locker, the flimsy door almost slapping back against the one beside it. I threw in a few books and took one out.

"Then...oh. This is about Chelsea, isn't it?" Harry asked.

I forced a laugh. Damn him for knowing. "No, Harold, I'm sorry but for once, this does not include your precious Chelsea," I lied.

"Then what is it?" he persisted as I slammed the locker door closed.

I ignored him and walked briskly away, once again losing myself in the crowds, making sure Harry wouldn't follow me this time.