Head's Underwater, But I'm Breathing Fine ➸ larry stylinson

Chapter One

Chapter One - We Can Only Go Up From Here

- 1. The Actual Point of High School -

What's the point of high school? Was the whole purpose to get a bunch of kids in one place and torture them with math equations and the rhyming schemes of boring arse poems written by dead writers until they literally break down and cry because of all the stress of having to memorize it all? Or maybe it was to give our parents a break from dealing with the never-ending drama of all the so-called crisis's we face with each new day while also forcing us all into actually taking part in the outside world which was anywhere and everywhere outside our comfort zones. If any and all of that was what they were shooting for when the idea of school was first thought of, well dammit they've accomplished their goals, and I hope they are happy with themselves because God, Jesus, and everyone else knows I, Harry Styles, was far from just that.

It's not that I'm unpopular or a "geek" or any of that other stereotype bullshit you read about in those shitty young-adult fiction books you can find at your local Barnes and Noble. No, it's not that. It's just that I don't necessarily see the whole purpose for waking up at six in the morning to take a bus that's older than my great-nan who is currently about to hit ninety-six and whose onto her third pair of false teeth just to learn things I'm not going to need later on in life. For God's sake, Granny Gem didn't get past the third grade, but you don't see her having problems living her life without knowing the formula for the square root of x no matter how many times she may visit the dentist annually. I just want to know what's here for anyone at this place. What is anyone possibly getting from all this?

I've been asking myself that question since the third grade. Of course, I had always just been internally discussing the topic with myself until one day I brought forth the question to my mum which got me bitched at when I told her I wanted to drop out too, like Granny Gem.

"Harry Styles, I never want to hear you talk about dropping out of school ever again! What are you going to do with your life if you don't get a good education? Children these days, I swear they're so ungrateful..." I tuned her out after that, and went to the living room to watch The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Michael-Angelo was my favorite.

The answer as to why I had to endure this hell on earth was answered by the icy white paint job of a 2014 Mercedes-Benz zooming through the parking lot of Charlotte Hill High School and the boy driving it who was sporting a pair of all white VANS and had a Manchester United snap-back placed upon his head on top of his soft brown mop of hair. Then it all became clear, the reason I even came to this place to begin with. Boys.

Now you're probably thinking, what kind of shallow whore are you, Harry Styles, but let me just tell you one thing without you getting all offended and upset because to be real here, it's the honest-to-God truth. If you've ever spent one day of your life choosing to learn calculus over staring at a fine arse boy, something's definitely wrong with you. Unless you know, you're lesbian or something, but that's the only understandable exception. Sort of. So before you go all judgey eyes and rude remarks on me for preferring cute guy butts over math class, please reevaluate your life because something is definitely screwed up in the wiring in that brain of yours (if you even have one).

- 2. How to Score -

As the bell rung, I took one last glance at the mysterious boy with the white VANS to match his sick, white car before groaning and jogging to the other end of the building for my first period: history. It's not that I wouldn't have loved or even cared if I skipped class to stare at the beautiful stranger, but knowing my mum, and if she found out I would be grounded for life.

I strolled into my history class two minutes early which was a record for me considering who I am and my opinion of this place in general. I took my usual seat in the back where-as most everyone else chose to sit towards the front because for some reason, they liked this class. It's not that the teacher was a dick or boring or a total loser or anything, and it's not that the class wasn't fun; it's just that that I don't really seem to care about learning about dead people as much as everyone else apparently, so I sit in the back by myself aside from one kid who literally just sleeps through high school as a whole (They call him Sleeping Sam) while everyone else fills up the first four rows of desks completely.