Accepted[Zianourry AU]

A teaser for the new book I'm writing.

Chapter 1. The New Arrival

The drive to Birmingham High School was both a short and long affair. It was only a couple miles from where Zayn Malik and his parents lived, yet, as his father drove down the livening street, it felt as if he had spent eternity staring outside of the teary-stained window. 

The sky was cloudy and gray with fickle rain showers. Zayn missed the warm, hot days he had back in his hometown. Ever since his father was promoted to the senior manager position of a high-ranked, and growing construction company in this booming metropolis, Zayn had spent countless days detesting the move and his new, muggy surroundings. 

Even more so then the weather, Zayn was far more irate about a particular, inevitable fact he had been moping about for days since he heard the news. Today was his first day of school. If it was any consolation to his old school, he knew the students there would be the same inhuman, morose, icy and narcissistic bunch of brats that ever roamed England. His old classmates looked down on him for being Muslim, and for being British. They called him names like ‘mutt’ and ‘half-breed’ for having a foreign father and an English mother. He had always heard names the kids called his father. Pervert. Assaulter. Rapist. Everyone said he had ‘sunk his teeth into a true British woman and made her damned to hell. The spawn of the pair would be a demon like his father. Damn them all for tainting the true blood of England!’ 

That’s when Zayn fought back. When they would start criticizing his parents. His father was none of those but a kind, hard-working man that lived a simple life taking care of his wife and son. As for his mother, she was a ball of energy full with happiness, laughter and love. 

In all fairness, it was his mother who wooed his father, or so he had heard. They fell in love at Uni and they’ve been inseparable since. To this day, Zayn could still see the love they have for each other as if they were back at university, embracing their first bloom of romance. And even in their little bubble, they ignored the ignorant people that seemed to follow wherever they’d go, saying things like ‘Your people attacked America! Who’s to say you won’t be attacking our homeland next? Beat him! Kick him till he’s dead! Make sure he knows what true royalty looks like and to prove he’s just a filthy spawn form a damned English lady!”

There was still a small scar on Zayn cheek from his last fight, not to mention a handful of bruises scattered across his arms, legs, chest and back that were still in their healing phase. Lucky for him, the visible bruises on his arms were covered in tattoos, and the ones on his legs were easily hidden with a good pair of jeans. 

Whenever confronted about the bruises and cuts, however, Zayn always told his parents he had got them from playing an intense game of football with the boys, and they had just gotten taken away in the heat of the moment. It was all in good fun. 

At least, fun for them, Zayn grimaced to himself. 

The car came to a sudden halt and Zayn realized from the large courtyard and enormous three-story buildings scattered across the area, he was on school campus. He turned to his father with a warily expression. 

“Do I have to?” he groaned, looking into his father’s dark eyes, an exact replica of his own. Apart from their eyes, Zayn had inherited his looks from his mother. He had perfect bone structure, silky, soft tan skin and perfect, straight hair which he had dyed a blonde streak through the front and normally styled back into a quiff. 

“It’ll be fine, son,” his father, Yasir assured. “Have a good day. Mom will pick you right up after school. You may never know.” His father placed a reassuring hand in the back of Zayn’s neck, patting it softly. “You just might like it here.”

Zayn took in his father’s touch and sighed. 

“Whatever you say, pops.” Zayn gave his father a hug before stepping out of the car. When the door finally closed, his father waved and smiled before driving off down the wet, cobblestone street, turning the corner and vanishing from sight. 

Zayn slumped his black backpack over his right shoulder, trudging in the rain to the main office. He was given his class schedule as well as the map of campus in the mail. 

It was the start of second term and even though he ruthlessly begged his parents to keep him home---that he’d just go back to school next year to start off new, he was given the boot with no avail. They told him that ‘this was a change for the better’ and ‘why prolong your brand new life by staying home doing nothing?’

Knowing that his parents were never gonna cave, he just sighed and went upstairs to his room. 

Earlier that morning, his mother had told him to report to the office, since it was his first day of school there, to pick up a slip and have all his teachers sign before the end of the day. 

When Zayn opened the office door, the sounds of telephones ringing, papers shuffling and middle-aged women chatting about their morning, rang in his ears. He hurried to the counter two women were sitting at. Both of them looked up at Zayn, and stopped frigid into the middle of their conversation and stared at him with wide, judging eyes. 

Here we go again, Zayn thought in disgust. 

Shakily, the pudgy woman who was eating her danish stood up from her seat, away from the thinner women with peppery hair and walked towards the counter. 

“Yes,” her voice shook, softly. “How can I help you?”

“Zayn Malik,” he said dryly. “New student. My mum said she got a call from someone in the office, saying that I had to come here to pick up some slip?”

The ginger-haired clerk hung her head lowly, looking around aimlessly, hiding her evident blush. She peered from out of the stack of newsletter and handed Zayn a pink slip. 

“Thanks.” 

And before she could say another word, Zayn walked out of the office, down the hall and to his first class of the day. He moved around campus with ease, ignoring the stares he got from the students around him. He made sure to study the map and mark down his classes, marking the shortest paths to each. Zayn wanted little interaction with everyone. He could just imagine what might have happened if he asked people for help with his school map in hand. They would take advantage of his vulnerable situation and surely torment him for being a half-breed. 

That was the last thing he wanted. To be seen as weak. His parents were right to say that this was going to be a change because he, himself was going to change. He was going to be more reserved and less friendly. The last thing Zayn wanted to do was make friends. All he needed was to finish the term going unnoticed by everyone and hope his time in Birmingham High would be a hell of a lot faster than he could ever have anticipated. 

Turning the knob, he took a step inside, already feeling the stares of his classmates. He kept his head low, walking over the silenced class, over to the older gentleman who stopped mid-sentence. Passing the note, the older man, Zayn recalled his name being Mr. Bronte from his class schedule took it shakily, signing it quickly and pointing to a seat in front of class. 

Zayn ignored the empty seat, walking in back of class, sitting in the shadows as everyones eyes followed him, widened in utter shock. 

This is going to be a long day, Zayn groaned to himself. 

Mr. Bronte fixed his spectacles, searching for his place in the textbook and continued on. 

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