Hello Fascination

I sat down on the cold, plastic chair and took a deep breath. I’d avoided most of the traffic into class simply by arriving on time, which I’m sure is bizarre behavior for students here. Sonata High is known for their high standards: most of the students have cars, and if you don’t it’s because you’re too young for it; everyone dresses nice all the time, no exceptions; and unless you attended Sonata elementary, it took a total of $18,500 a year for you to be allowed in the building.

I clearly do not resemble any of those things. My dark brown hair is consistently boring, from the root to the tip. My wardrobe consists of v-necks and ripped jeans. The only nice thing I own is the Jeep I unwillingly inherited from my parents, who lay in the ground over 150,000 miles away.

Curious glances and hushed whispered are sent to friends and even acquaintances as my presence becomes known. The teacher closes the door right as the late bell rings and takes attendance.

“Miss Cipriano, could you please stand and tell us about yourself?” Mr. Draper, I’ve surprisingly learned his name, asks.

My muscular legs lift me involuntarily, as I wouldn’t have the strength to do so without years of conditioning in situations like these: my heart is pounding, everyone is staring, they all expect something different of me.

“Um, my name is Sam and I’m from Florida.” I say promptly, and then sit immediately.

He seems satisfied with my answer, and raises his arms for the attention of everyone. “Class, given her last name, where were her ancestors from?”

When no one raises their hand, he looks to me and I mutter, “They were Italian.”

History this early in the morning can’t possibly be good for you.

Lunch rolls around and by now, I’ve gotten used to the eyes scanning me from every direction. I already know I’ll be sitting alone, so I head for a seat outside. At my old school, we didn’t have a cafeteria. The weather was always so nice and warm that we all liked sitting in the sun anyway. Here it’s chilly and crisp in early October.

I pull out my phone to dial Dakota when a tall figure slides into the seat across from me.

“Hello gorgeous,” his slow, deep voice says with a hint of an accent. “I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“I uh, I go by Sam.”

“Samantha, then?” His lips twitch up into a smirk when I nod.

“I’m Harry Styles.”

The boy is attractive, I’ll give him that. Wavy brown hair is pushed back with his hand revealing a hard set jaw and vivid green eyes. Every facial feature he has screams hot. And his body is no different. He’s incredibly tall with obvious muscles bulging from underneath his blue sweater. His legs are long and thin, clothed in black skinny jeans.

“I’m assuming you’re of legal age, correct?” His eyebrows pull down a bit in question, and that only adds to his look.

“No, actually. I just turned 17,” I shrug.

“Jesus, you look like you could be 21.”

“The same could be said about you.”

He leaned forward a bit, and looked at me from under his lashes smugly. “You’ve been checking me out?”

A blush rises to my cheeks immediately. “Not necessarily,” I say coolly, though the look on his face tells me he sees right through it.

“Styles! Stop fucking around, man, we need you!” A male shouts from a few tables away. There are several others there with him, heads lowered to look at a spiral in the middle of them all.

“I’ll definitely be seeing you again, Samantha.” And then he’s heading towards the group.

“How was school, bug?” Dakota asks as soon as I set my keys on the counter.

“It wasn’t bad,” I shrug.

“Meet any new people?” He inquires, unlacing his boots.

Harry’s face flashes into my mind for a hot second, but I figure telling my incredibly protective older brother that I met a only a male would be a bit.. whatever. Not gonna happen.

“No, not really,” I say instead. “How was work?”

“Oh you know, have to make an impression for the big guy. First day and all that. But that doesn’t really help the recruits much, I can’t get close with them because they’ve got an eye on me like a hawk, y’know?”

“Why would you get close with someone you’ll probably never see again?”

“Well, it just makes the whole process easier on them. If they have that one drill sergeant that isn’t a total dick, it helps with coping.”

I nod, though I don’t fully understand it.

“Anyway, I’m gonna hop in the shower. Do you need help unpacking?” He elbowed my shoulder as he walked past.

“No, I should be able to handle it. Can I pick up Chinese for dinner later?”

“That would be great, thanks kiddo.” He smiles before heading to his bedroom.

The house that he had built for us is just a tad short of a mansion. Our parents were incredibly well off, but we were never spoiled. You’d probably think differently if you saw our house. Two stories tall with high ceilings on both floors, 4 bedrooms with one that could be used as an office, 3 bathrooms, a 15 foot deep pool with a diving board, and the basement held a large projector with rows of incredibly comfortable chairs to complete the ‘theater.’

Dakota spent nearly a quarter of his inheritance on this place, but put the rest in a bank account to save for retirement. If you only saw my house without me in it, you’d think we fit right into the small, wealthy town.

I plugged my phone in to the sound system built into the walls of my room, and started playing the newest Breathe Caroline album as I unpacked. It only took a couple hours, because I really didn’t own that many things for a teenage girl. An entire wall of my room was covered in posters of my favorite bands, my closet had clothes hanging in it, and my bed was made. That’s pretty much it.

Dakota was sitting on the couch watching a Tom Hanks movie when I left to go get food for us. After finding the parking lot completely full except a space in the back, I hopped out and walked towards the building. Every single vehicle was a new model, some even Camaros and I’m pretty sure a Lamborghini was parked in one of the first spaces.

But there was one car, parked in front of the Children’s center that looked incredibly out of place. It wasn’t by any means old or beat-up, but the design of it was so simple that it couldn’t possibly belong in a town like this.

It wasn’t alone on that point.

I arrived home and took my box of food up to my room. With my laptop in front of me, I started watching the latest episodes of Breaking Bad.

A slight movement I caught in my peripheral vision caused me to pause the show and look out the window I conveniently placed my bed next to. A brown-haired boy sat in an office chair, pushing himself back and forth across the floor while his eyes scanned the cell phone he had in his hands. As if he could feel me looking, his eyes connected with mine and in an instant I knew who it was.