Hate/Luke Hemmings Fanfiction

1

The idea of starting completely over in a new country, new town, new school, to make new friends and experience new things, American things, intrigued me. That is, until I got to my new, American school and my romanticized feelings towards a "fresh start" and to live the "American dream" vanished with the unintentional push from a stranger that caused my bag to drop from my shoulder to the ground. To my disappointment, no sexy, blonde haired, blue eyed senior came rushing to my side to aid me in collecting my belongings. I sat in the middle of hundreds of passing teens on the floor, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

My mother and father found a beautiful house on the highway hugging the central coastal waters of California, a place they had been dying to move to since they were newlyweds, or so I've been told. Living in Sydney all my life, I jumped at the opportunity to live in a country so many of my Australian peers and I dreamed of visiting, let alone inhabiting. Australia seemed so boring and near nothing extraordinary, while America seemed to be the opposite.

I spent a lot of my time researching what an American high school would be like, if it would be like Mean Girls or Easy A, and it seems like both of those movies were spot on correct. The students were divided into sections of people like them, all seeming to not want any additions, not that I would fit into any of these cliques in the first place. I scolded myself for wearing this ridiculous outfit; it would be praised in Australia, but seems to be worthy of eyebrow raising and quiet giggles here.

I made my way through the crowded hallway, scanning the locker numbers in search for my assigned number of 139. I was getting warm with my sweater on, not from heat but from nerves. As I located my locker, I slipped my arms out of my fuzzy pink knit, in the process, nudging someone behind me with my extended arm.

"Oh, I-I'm sor-" I started, but was cut off by my red and black haired victim.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, almost continuing to walk, but stopped in his tracks.

He stared at me, bearing a confused face. "Where are you from?"

"Australia," I answered, embarrassed. I knew my unusual tounge would catch the attention of these Americans at some time.

The boy with the red and black hair smiled and stuck his hand out for me to shake. "That's so interesting! I'm Michael. What class are you heading to?"

I awkwardly grabbed his hand as he shook it excitedly. I pulled it away to grab the folded paper in my back pocket telling me the six classes I had to attend every day. My first stop was math, so it read. "Uh, Geometry with Mr. Pouls in room 409."

Michael smiled and grabbed my hand again, leading me. "Great! Actually, not great, I had him for Geo last year and he sucks, but great because my class is right across from Mr. Pouls', so I can show you where to go."

I could tell he had been doing this for years, because Michael knew exactly how to wiggle through oncoming people so there were no collisions or awkward almost-collisions; the ones where you and someone else both need to go opposite directions, but keep on moving in front of each other at the same time, preventing any advance in movement and causing awkward "I''m sorry's" and nervous laughter's until you both go separate directions to where you need to go.

"Alright, here you are!" Michael pulled us closer to the wall of the hallway, out of the line of traffic. "This is your class, and mine," he points to a door across the way, "is right there. Meet me after class and I'll show you to your second period."

Just as he was leaving to his class, he turned and faced me again, "How rude, I didn't ask your name."

I smiled, responding, "Taylor,"

"Taylah!" Michael mimicked, copying my accent. "Bye, Taylah!"

My first period dragged on as I was being taught something I had already learned. I should be taking Algebra 2 instead of Geometry, but apparently something went wrong with the transfer of my Australian credits, placing me in Geometry, I spaced out within five minutes of being in the class, wondering why I couldn't just take a test to prove I knew this material already.

My seat by the window amused me as I watched the misty, grey fog burn off little by little. The sun shone through the patchy clouds and lit the area around me in the classroom. Heavenly, almost.

I was shaken out of my thoughts as multiple rings shrieked through the air, signaling the end of class. My classmates seemed just as eager to escape the class as I did, and I felt sympathy for them as I realized they have been attending the class every morning since August of last year. Positively for me, summer begins in two months, forcing me to only bear it for a few weeks. I silently saluted the students for their endurance.

I fished my schedule out of my pocket again to see my next study would be English with Ms. Hemmings in room 811. Assuming the room would be on the other side of the campus, I began my trek through the crowd. Before I could get far, a hand wrapped it's fingers around my wrist, stopping me.

"Taylah!" Michael smiled, amused with his instant nickname for me. "You didn't wait for me.'

"I thought I knew where to go next," I said, pulling him with me in the original direction I was heading.

"What's your next class?"

Unable to reach my handy paper schedule, I tried to remember, "Uh, eight hundred something?"

Michael laughed condescendingly. "Good thing you have me as your personal guide, Taylah."

Hi friends, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I'm really excited to be writing again, I used to write imagines on Instagram back in the day (how embarrassing) and I recently had a craving to write again! So yeah, I started this. Tell me what you think, critique me, predict, laugh, whatever. I enjoy the company. ;) I'm excited for this story to develop!