Unbelievers

Chapter 1.4

"Does it mean you have a disorder if your fingernails don't grow?"

"What the fuck, Niall."

"Serious question."

"No."

"Is that an answer to my question, or you being your natural, rude self?"

"Fuck you."

"They haven't grown at all since I last cut them. Like, yesterday."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I feel like you're in a bad mood today. Do I not offer you enough comfort in life anymore? I realize I'm lacking a bit of satire for your taste these days, but as I said, I might have a disorder and until I'm cured you'll just have to deal. How's the football going? And also, should I go to the school nurse? Hmm, I think I might."

Louis turns to glare at Niall, where he's sitting on the other side of the table. They're in the school library the next day, where it's meant to be quiet. "The school nurse? I swear to God, Niall."

"What? It could be a lethal problem. I need my nails for... stuff."

"Like getting food out of your teeth?"

Niall looks at him. "Do I have chocolate between my teeth?"

"Fuck off." Louis sighs, turning back to his algebra. He's trying to study, and Niall is attempting to annoy him to death. It doesn't help that the first football match of the season is coming up, and his nerves are a ticking time bomb.

"And it's not even like I'm playing it up." Niall leans over the table, pushing his hand in Louis' face. "Do you see this? It's –"

"I get it, Niall. The new school nurse is hot!" Louis exclaims.

"Mr. Tomlinson! We keep quiet in the library!" the lady at the front desk hisses at him, earning him several looks from lingering students.

Louis sends a homicidal glare Niall's way, and the other boy at least has the decency to muster up a sheepish smile. Louis rolls his eyes, turning back to his homework, and thankfully his friend keeps quiet after that, even if Louis can see him biting at his nails.

It's so typical that just when Niall finally shuts up, Louis can't concentrate anyway. The upcoming game is at the front of his mind at all times, and his stomach feels funny and uncomfortable every time he thinks of it. It's just that everything is hanging on a thread, and if they don't get a good kick off for the season, it's going to be a lot harder pulling that string up.

And it doesn't help that Harry's training strategies suck. His yoga inspired warm-ups are worthless – everybody knows that football players are stiff as sticks – and his knowledge and understanding of the football game might be decent, but the way he happens to enforce this into actual practice is more or less hopeless.

The stress is nibbling at his insides, and at this rate he's going to combust. There's tons of other shit he has to worry about, the jackass on his team shouldn't even have to be on the list. The game isn't even until next week, and the stress isn't good for him. Shit, he's going to have to ask Lottie to make him one of those facial cleanses tonight.

His phone buzzes on the table next to him, and after a glance at the name on the display he quickly picks it up, angling his face away from Niall and answering.

"Hi, Mum," he murmurs.

"Hey, honey," she says softly, and Louis already hears the guilty note in her voice. "You in school?"

"Yes, is everything alright?" he wonders, glancing around the library, his fingers subconsciously finding their way to his mouth.

"Yeah, baby. I just needed to tell you I'm picking up an extra shift today. I won't be home until lunch tomorrow. I'm really sorry, love, but can you make dinner and–"

"Of course, Mum," Louis reassures her solemnly. "Don't even worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? And then family dinner on Friday? You, me and Lots?"

"Yes," she says, and Louis can tell she's smiling. He bites his cheek to keep his own expression intact, and nods to himself.

"Good. Love you, Mum."

"Love you too, Boo."

They hang up and Louis sighs, running a hand over his face. Shit, okay. Enough is enough.

He starts stashing up his books and pushes his stuff into his bag, pocketing his phone. Niall looks up at him in question, and Louis throws his bag over his shoulder.

"Niall. Sorry, mate, I have to go."

"What about last period?" he asks.

"I can't, I –" He looks at Niall pleadingly. "I have to go. I'll call you later, yeah?"

Niall shrugs, glancing down at his phone. "Sure."

Louis nods and then half jogs out of school towards his car. He gets in and throws his bag onto the worn passenger seat, leaning over and opening the glove box, pulling out a stash of papers he's had in there for way too long. He places them in his lap, sliding a thumb along the edges.

He's been putting this off for so long, but lately it just seems inevitable. He thought he could work it out somehow, but everything just seems to be going downhill, Harry being co-captain and ruining the team's chances at the league title being very much part of it.

He groans, leaning back in the seat and hiding his face behind his hands, taking a few moments to collect himself. He suddenly feels disgusted with himself for acting like such a brat right now. He's not a brat. He's a hardworking lad who gives his all to achieve what he wants – this is only embarrassing. But he can deal with that.

Louis shakes his head at himself. He has to be quick and be back for footy practice at four-thirty. He's already dreading it, Harry's polka warm ups and exercises, and he does not have any urging desire whatsoever to spend an hour listening to him droning on and on about technical shit he's known since he was five.

He gets himself together and starts the car, swerving out of the parking lot and speeding into town.