HATE || Zarry Stylik AU

02.

I am so sorry for being absent for soo long!! I had a lot of stuff to do since uni was starting!! Sorry again!!

But here is the next chapter!! :)

Enjoy!

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-Zayn

Finally, upon arriving at Bradford High, let's just say that I was soaked. Okay, no. Not soaked but drenched from head to toe. My hair which I had styled hurriedly in the morning was now flat on my head dripping with water, and my glasses had rain drops no matter how many times I had wiped with my shirt which was drenched to the bone, my jeans stuck to every inch of my skin––which, let me tell you, is not very comfortable, and my sneakers made squashing sounds every flippin' step of the way

The lady at the front office, who was normally void of any emotion, literally had to stuff her chubby hand into her mouth and spin away from me. I stood there for about five minutes, waiting, feeling like a penguin, until she could finally compose herself. Cool.

"So," Mrs. Turner began, letting out a breathy laugh, pretending to be interested in the stack of papers that she had randomly picked up only moments ago. Don't ask me why she's a Mrs. Turner instead of a Ms. Seriously don't. This teacher, even if I hardly ever saw her, annoyed the crap out of me. She was supposed to welcome students with a sprightly semblance, but, more than once, I have caught her flipping them off instead. I have also caught her flirting with James, one of the school's janitors. "Why are you wet?"

Well I don't know. LOOK out the window! I gave her a convincing smile, laughing in spite. "I got a flat tire and I had to walk to school––that's why I'm late."

"Hmm," she drawled out. "Would you like to call your mother? She could bring you an extra pair of clothes."

"Eh...Well she's not home today."

"Oh. What about your father?"

I cringed, quickly wiping at my upper brow to cover up my distress, before giving her a terse answer. "I don't have one."

The bun on the top of her head kept bobbing up and down, in sync with every word that escaped her magenta lips, really tempting me to just want to stab her over and over again with one of the pens scattered around her desk. Mrs. Turner looked, smelled, and behaved like a pig. She looked young enough, and, I'm not trying to sound mean or anything, but it's like she was asking for a short life. I admit that I love me some McDonald's, but...Mrs. Piggy's trashcan was currently overflowing with it.

She tucked a loose piece hair behind her ear. "Well, there's the lost-and-found, but...Do you have PE this semester?"

I nodded, not liking where this was going.

"Okay, then that's settled. You'll just have to change into your gym uniform, and––what's your last name?"

"Malik," I mumbled.

"How do you spell that."

"Just like how it sounds," I told her sourly.

Ignorant, she rolled to the opposite corner of her desk and typed up some information on her computer, her bracelets loudly clinking together. Then, placing one of the phones that you can find in almost every classroom to her ear, she looked at me expectantly. "You'll be needing a pass. What's your mother's number?"

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Sooner than I had originally hoped, I found myself walking to second period. Not only would I be arriving late, but this was the only class that I had with him. And. He. Sat. Right. In. Front. Of. Me. Upon that realization, I slowed my pace way down, cringing at my ugly sneakers, black running shorts, and very baggy, gray t-shirt. In the movies, PE uniforms are stylish and sexy and bearable, but that's clearly not the case at Bradford High.