Detention ➳ Larry

Chapter seven

(Louis's POV)

My eyes stay locked on the pamphlet for a while, still struggling to believe that it actually belongs to Harry.

Okay, so what if it is Harry's?  Maybe he's confused about his sexuality.  He is a hormone-crazed teenager, after all.  This stage of life is confusing for a lad of his age, and sometimes your brain gets a little out of whack.

"Hey," a deep, intimidating voice suddenly says behind me, snapping me out of my thinking trance. Oh no . . . I recognize that voice anywhere.

I turn on my heel and see Zayn Malik.  He's captain of the football team, and if I'm correct, I believe he's Harry's friend. He's known as a bully, to say the least.  His goal in life is to make everyone else who isn't popular miserable.  Your typical, cliche, teenage bully.

His raven black hair is gelled up, and his tanned skin is hidden behind his football jersey.  Oh, that's right. Football practice was after school today, but Harry obviously couldn't attend it because of detention.

Last week I heard that he got suspended for a few days because he beat up a kid in the locker room.  He's known for being violent, so his presence makes me a little uneasy.

 His eyes fall upon the pamphlet  and a smirk appears on his lips.  I feel a  knot in my stomach as he starts walking towards me. What is he going to do to me? He's going to think the pamphlet is mine.  And to make matters worse he's a major homophobe, so chances are, he'll beat me up.

Zayn takes a step towards me, then snatches the pamphlet out of my hand in one quick motion.  I don't even bother trying to deny that it's not mine.  He will never believe me anyways.

He stares at the pamphlet in his hand and a grin appears on his lips, "So you're a queer, huh? I guess I should've known," he says, eyeing my choice of clothing.

"Excuse me?" I say quietly, trying to avoid any trouble. Zayn throws the pamphlet across the hallway, and then turns his attention back to  me.

He wraps his knuckles tightly around my shirt collar, then slams me against some lockers with a thud.  My feet are dangling a few inches off the ground, and I just stare at Zayn with complete fear.  Nobody else is in the hallway, so I don't even bother yelling for help.  It's useless.  A rush of pain is sent through my back as I'm slammed against the metal lockers, but I don't let it show that I'm hurting.  I throw on my best poker face and look into his eyes, showing no fear, but not quite fighting back, either.

"I don't like people like you at my school, you hear me?" he says, tightening his grip around my collar.

I nod.

"Good," he says quietly.  His dark eyes stare into mine with pure hatred.

Zayn's other hand clenches into a fist and collides with my stomach with force, then he does it again, and again.  A few faint groans escape from my mouth as he punches me, but other than that, I remain silent. It hurts but not nearly as bad as when those Anchorage kids kicked me in the ribs.
Suddenly, he releases my shirt, letting my feet hit the familiar and reassuring feeling of the ground.

Zayn pokes my chest with his index finger, "This is your first warning," he says.

Then he leaves without saying anything else.  He heads down the hallway casually and leaves the school, leaving me in the cold, empty hallway.  I stand there for a while, trying to catch my breath and process what just happened.

I pick up the pamphlet across the hall, completely ignoring the pain near my ribs, and stuff it in my messenger bag.   I leave the school and start walking home, gripping my side the whole time.  Oh yeah, that's going to leave a bruise.