Cherish

prologue

"Ladies, I'm proud to announce that this is your final year at BridgeWood Academy of Fine Arts. I expect each and every one of you to finish your academics with outstanding marks and receive scholarship opportunities to the highest ranked schools in the world. Please continue to work hard and do your best. Have a great day."

The loud speaker clicks off and our head mistress is no longer heard. I continue scribbling down my Chemistry notes in hopes that I can actually understand what my teacher speaks about during class.

"I can't wait to finally get out of this hell hole," Hannah mumbled. Turning to my right, my eyes meet hers and I giggle.

"Me too. At least this year we only have to take four classes because we already have enough credits." I smile.

Hannah and I have been best friends since year six. Both of our parents sent us to this boarding school with the same idea in mind: That we would be able to focus more and receive better grades. BridgeWood Academy of Fine Arts is similar to most boarding schools except that the only way people can be accepted is through a special talent in one of the fine arts which include: Acting, Dancing, Sculpting, and Singing. However, each and every girl must also take common core classes the consist of Science (Chemistry, Physics, and Biology), Social Studies (World History, European History, and U.S. History), Math (Algebra, Geometry, and Calculus), and English (English I, English II, and Literature). Also, due to living in England we are forced to take French, until we are fluent in it.

This year, along with Hannah, we have finished our credits for Math and Social Studies. Basically my schedule consists of Chemistry, Literature, French V, and Sculpting. However, Hannah is singer. Therefore she takes the vocal classes.

"Rose, it still sucks that we have to go to school." I nod, agreeing with her.

"Ladies! In the back, please stop talking I'm trying to teach a class." Our teacher calls us out.

Giggling slightly we say unison, "Sorry Mr. Horan."

The young, irish man blushes and turns back to the board. The bell signals a few minutes later and I gather my stuff.

"Good luck in sculpting." Hannah grins.

"Thanks, good luck in vocal." I smile back.

Strolling through the halls, I wave to a few friend I know and receive smiles and waves back.

Room 109. Sculpting. This was a huge deal for me. This class was the top of the top in all Fine Art academies. Of course I took grade eleven, ten, nine and so on classes. However, this is the class where my work is finally shown to colleges.

Pushing the door open, I see that no one is in the room except the teacher. I glance over to see a very tall, curly haired man writing the agenda on the board.

Shuffling inside, I pick the seat in the very back of the room. It's a safe choice because no one will bother me while I read.

"I don't like bite, ya know?" A deep voice erupts from the front of the room. I peer up from my book to see a pair of bright, green eyes looking at me.

Smiling softly, I reply, "I prefer the back. That way I can read in peace."

He sets down his black pen and begins strolling to the back of the room. I stare intensely at his face, soaking up every detail. Green eyes, brown, curly hair, medium-sized eyebrows, defined jaw line, one small mole, bright cherry red lips, and a two small outlines the reveal he has dimples. In simpler terms, absolutely gorgeous.

I realize that I have been gawking at his amazing features for a little bit longer than a few seconds. My eyes are quick to return to my book.

"What book are you reading?" He asks, sitting on top of the desk next to mine.

"A Tale of Two Cities." I answer plainly.

He nods, "Ah, yes. Charles Dickens. A man of several words. So many, that you grow insanely bored." I look up to see his dimples on display and accompanied by a smile.

"I'm not bored with the novel." I respond. He continues smiling and I turn towards the door. Slowly, groups of girls walk in gossiping about boys or clothing, I'm not sure.

"I wouldn't assume so. You're almost half way done. But I find it intriguing that a sculptor would enjoy reading classic novels." He makes a good point. Sculptors are supposed to be much more in depth with wanting to create and re-model, not read.

"Yeah, I guess so, Mr.."

"Styles, Harry Styles. But you can call me Mr. Styles. And you are? "

"Parker, Rosalie Parker, but you call call me Rose." He chuckles at my lame attempt to mirror him.

"Well, Rose, enjoy the book." Winking at me, he nods and turn back towards the front of the room and joins the group of girls who just walked in.

Harry Styles. Sounds like a type of fashion line.

I hear several laughs from the front of the room, which causes me to look up. The girls are already swooning. That was not a surprise. They are gathered around him batting their eyelashes and giggling madly. Sighing to myself, I glance over to Mr. Styles. His eyes meet mine and I smile softy. He holds an intense stare for a moment, then smiles. Winking at me one last time, he nods and turns his attention back to the girls.

If only I knew what was to come.

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This book will contain mature content such as language and sexual content.

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