The Knight in Leather Armor

ch. 8 Sold

I went up to my room and forced myself to get some work done. I have a history test and an English paper coming up and if I don’t get started now, I’ll never have time for them.

I got a reasonable amount of work done, but my mind kept wandering to what Harry had said. I don’t understand why he was always so vague. And his lack of emotion, well, that made everything that much more difficult.I shook my head, clearing my mind.

That’s just what he wants, to get me all mixed up and confused. I bet he’s laughing now, sitting in his bent up black truck, cigarette between his forefinger and index finger.  

A pick-up truck and a motorcycle pulled up in the drive-way. I knew it must have been Danny’s friends; they always came together and made enough noise to wake up the whole neighborhood.

I heard a glass bottle crack against the pavement and my hand jerked, making my “H” look like an “A.” Someone else cranked up the radio. I gave up and threw my books on the floor.

I went downstairs and saw that the garage was open and Zayn, Niall, and Tony were hovered around Danny’s motorcycle.

“What’s all the ruckus?” I teased.

“Ay Jelly,” Niall nodded, ruffling his fingers through his head of blonde hair.  

“Sup Nialler,” I smirked. Niall never called anyone by their real name. Whenever he meets someone new, he comes up with their nickname and calls them that until they accept it as their real name. None of us know why, but he likes the idea of playing a character. Whenever we ask him about it, he just replies “Reality ruined my life.” You can say it’s like his motto.

Niall is about a year older than me. When his dad walked out on them, his mother committed suicide, so he hopped around from living with Zayn, Tony, and sometimes me and Danny. He works at a pub, which has been getting him and the rest of the boys free drinks since they were 13.

I looked over at the tall, tanned figure with hair black as the gasoline he was cleaning out of the motorcycle’s engine.

“Zayn, since when did you become a free man?” I questioned. Zayn is Harry and Danny’s age. The three had met back in grade school. Zayn is easily the most moody of all the boys, often calling himself the “ethnic” one and questioning why he hung out with so many white kids.

“Mary Jane got me in trouble again,” he replied with a smirk.

“I thought you gave her up?”

He shook his head. One of his perfectly greased locks fell down over his dark hazel eyes from his quiff.

“I couldn’t resist,” he shrugged his shoulders, pulling out a lighter and lighting his cigarette.  

I gave him a hard look. He knows my rules about smoking on our property.

He batted his dark lashes in an attempt to make me change my mind. I looked away; those lashes were sinfully long and dark. But those cigarettes brought back my asthma and he knew that.

A long moment later, Zayn stomped out his cigarette.

“Happy now?” he questioned teasingly.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied with a triumphant grin.

I turned my attention to the motorcycle they were all working on so intently.

Tony was on the ground, fixing the gears in the engine. His shirt was curled around his neck, swallowing the sweat that began to drip down from his head of dirty blonde hair.

“I hope you’re not using a 6mm,” I commented as Tony loosened one of the gauges on the motor.

He looked out from under the bike. “Do you have a better idea?” he challenged.