I'll take my chances // au Zayn Malik

Chapter 1 - New beginnings

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my index finger and my thumb. Not even Mozart, in all his musical ingenuity, could better my mood this morning. I stilled my shaking hands by plucking my earphones from my ears and throwing them in my backpack.

"Will you just calm the f.ck down? Stop with the over-thinking", a voice pulled me from my thoughts.

My gaze shifted nervously from the doors of the Academy to the blonde next to me, my lips curling into a pedantic smirk.

"It's not even eight and you're already cussing," I rolled my eyes; a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"Does it look like I give a motherf.ck? You cuss too; you're just more reserved than I am."

It worked.

My hand ran through my dark curly hair, my fingers tangling into the lower waves. My best friend's gaze lingered over campus as I struggled with the infuriating knot.

"I don't even know why you're so nervous. We've been standing here for like fifteen minutes now and, quite frankly, if one more rich bitch in a pencil skirt is going to stare at me, I will not be responsible for what happens to her expensive face. Get your shit together and let's go", she complained for the umpteenth time.

I glanced at the doors once again and was instantly reminded of the well-known fact that I absolutely hated change. My teeth worried at my lower lip. This was a necessary change though. With a scoff, Skylar reached out and opened the heavy, dark mahogany doors.

Chaos. Organized chaos. Students in black blazers were milling around completely immersed in their own self-involved little worlds. I smiled; this was familiar. Different, but familiar. Skylar's strides matched my own as we made our way towards, what I guess, had to be the office.

Some slowed their pace just enough to get a good look at the two of us, but I knew it was primarily aimed at the girl with the platinum blonde hair next to me. She scoffed and straightened her back in response, which made me smile. She was stunning, but she was difficult. I made a mental note to remember the phrase the next time one of us needed an Instagram caption.

"Headmaster Middleton will be with you in a few minutes girls", the lady at the front desk said as she smiled at us for the hundredth time. I cringed at her British accent.

As we stood in the long corridor that supposedly would lead us to the principal's office, the image of a bold man, mid-fifties, with thick-framed glasses and a mismatched suit took form in my mind. If I was being completely honest, I was basically thinking along the lines of a balder, older and less fashionable version of Mr. Schuester.

The framed photo, next to all of those of the previous headmasters, of a thirty-something blonde woman with a crisp bob, arctic blue eyes and a tight smile informed me that I was dead wrong, though.

"I wish I had that", Skylar huffed next to me. I turned to look at Mrs. Walker, her head bowed over a stack of papers, fingers diligently typing away at the keys on the keyboard.

"What? Being over-friendly to the point of making people uncomfortable? Hate to break it to you, but the over-friendly tend to be overcompensating for something else wrong in their lives", I mocked. She barked a short, amused laugh.

"I prefer overcompensation via lack of showing any emotion, thank you. I wish I had a British accent like really bad", she whined.

I rolled my eyes.

Skylar was born in the wrong country. She wanted to be British so bad it surprises me that she didn't try to drag me off to London a long time ago.

"Well, you're still young. Maybe you can grow one", I replied, staying true to my 'every cloud has a silver lining' nature. She snorted at my response, knowing very well that she would never get rid of her American way of talking.

"You can go through", Mrs. Walker chimed again, her smile effectively blinding me for a few seconds. I laughed under my breath as we made our way towards the headmaster's office. Maybe some people were just genuinely happy.

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The bell for first lunch was barely done with its third chime, when my black, studded ankle boots clicked their way towards the nearest bathroom, Skylar following closely behind me.

We had the same classes, but where I had music and art, she had gym and physical studies; a result of the fact that our interests differed quite dramatically. Luckily, we both had math just before first lunch.

I made my way towards the row of mirrors, my eye catching my reflection in the harsh fluorescent lights. My hair cut off just above my waist and I was pleased with the fact that it was still tangle free. A rare occurrence when I wore it down like this, since the waves tended to tangle into spontaneous knots throughout the day.

Big brown eyes, framed with long dark eyelashes, stared critically back at me as I assessed my appearance. My mouth was slightly open, making it look like my full lower lip was weighing it down, but I knew it was due to the fact that I was more than a little overwhelmed. My fingers snaked through my roots, flipping my hair to the other side; a clear sign of my underlying anxiety.

Skylar put on some lip-gloss and fastened her sneakers next to me. She was being uncharacteristically silent, but I knew it was because she was absorbing what was going on around her. She just did it better than me. I was lowkey freaking out. Our headmaster/mistress all but openly admitted that she hated anyone associated with the stars and stripes, the Academy was operating on a level that I was definitely not used to and about 95% of the students here were straight up assholes.

And then there were the problems with my uniform. The black knee-socks, compulsory to every school uniform, were way too long for my legs and covered more than just my knees. My black high-waist skirt cut off a few millimeters above my thigh-socks and was definitely too short for my taste. Yet, I've already been called a nun more than once. Perhaps the most entertaining question of the day went to Milly White, who conspiratorially whisper-asked, her eyes nervously darting around the room, whether I was Amish or not.

I rolled my eyes. My crisp white shirt was neatly tucked in and my tie tied to perfection. Being a perfectionist had its perks ... sometimes. Rounding off the Academy student uniform, was the black blazer every student was compelled to wear.

I groaned; I hated blazers.

My eye caught the emblem embroidered onto the left pocket of my main source of annoyance. Westwood Academy was "an exquisite private establishment" that everyone wanted to attend, according to their very own website. You had to be just shy of a prodigy to attend this school.

Basically, it was high school for people with immense talent. They had all the basic classes: math, languages and life skills, but instead of being forced to take classes you didn't want to, you could choose classes related to your interests.

In my seventeen years of life I have never come across anything more pretentious than this school, but at least it opened a lot of doors. The white privilege was strong with this one.

"Can we please go to lunch now. My stomach has been talking in tongues since second period", Skylar complained next to me and I rolled my eyes.

At least this stayed the same. My friendship with my best friend was the only constant in my life, a fact that I was very grateful for. I smiled, bumped her hip with mine and dragged her from the bathroom.