Peligro (A Harry Styles Fanfiction) INTENSE EDITING IN PROGRESS

Chapter 12

The next two weeks were surprisingly pleasant. Mr. Lawrence had taken some time off, so we had a substitute. This sub was literally one of the easiest subs I've had in the entirety of my high school career. She was some twenty-five year-old 'fresh out of college' baby-face, (who apprantey had not grown out of her teenage acne yet), who went by the name "Ms. Kimmy." (She had probably wanted people to call her that so they thought she was "cool", but obviously she had been out of high school too long and forgot the true meaning of the word.) She had attempted teaching us the first day, but after twenty minutes, she quickly realized no one gave a shit so she just gave up. While we returned back to our conversations, she sat sadly in the corner reading Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre on her Nook.

I had spent the majority of my time talking to Zayn and Amy, but I secretly longed to talk to Harry. I would quickly (when no one was looking), glance over to his seat, only to see him looking forward with one ear bud in, gently tapping along with his long index finger to whatever song he was listening to. I wished he would talk to us, to at least make a even an feeble attempt at a civil conversation with an actual person. I saw him typing away to some person; why couldn't he have spoken to me instead? I just wanted to know more about him, to know just a bit more, enough to piece together a motive as to why he was so cynical all of the time. But I knew that if I pushed him, we would surely go back to the old bickering ways and that was the last thing I wanted to happen.

Besides Lit class, Harry and I's little friendship was actually starting to work out. Every day after lit, he would wait for me outside the door and we would walk together, sometimes in silence, and sometimes having a light conversation mostly consisting of making fun of random couples or people wandering the corridors. I was really starting to like this fun and playful side of Harry, and the concept of us becoming friends didn't seem so bizarre. Maybe with just a few more days of whatever this was, Harry and I could actually become something of actual value.

Along with the hallway discussions, each day in Music Theory we would sit down next to each other (I had wanted to sit in the front, being the so called "teacher's pet" I was, but he insisted on the back so I didn't fight him on it.) All of us "regular" music theory students would sit back and relax; some sleeping and others conversing over the latest band, orchestra, or choir gossip while the teacher rambled on about the basics. Most of us had already known this information, merely because we had been taking some type of musical course for so long- some students from before they could even form a proper sentence. This fact didn't seem to stand true for Harry, though.

I watched each day as he focused intently on the board, soaking up all the information the teacher rambled on about. He was the only person paying attention, but he didn't seem to mind. I found it fascinating how intrigued he was by the basic and rather boring information. I watched as he scribbled down notes, recording each fact the teacher spat out. It baffled me that such a usually careless and impatient human being was sitting here, taking down notes and asking questions while the rest of us sat back and watched. I had never pictured Harry to care so much about anything, and maybe it was the fact that he was actually forcing himself to work, but I couldn't deny I was shocked.

The bell rang on Friday, and in came "Ms. Kimmy." Her clothes were wrinkled and her hair was in shambles, making my simple sloppy bun look decent. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked exhausted.

"Okay." Her voice cracked. She coughed into her arm before widening her eyes out of exhaustion, and then continued.

"Everyone go back to talking. I had a long night out with the girls last night and I honestly don't have the energy to put up with you. Just keep it quiet, yeah? My head is killing me." She croaked as she held her hand above her forehead, blocking the bright luminescence streaming from the plasterboard ceiling. She plopped down at Mr. Lawrence's desk and rested her head down, flipping her hoody up so all light was blocked out. I was surprised she was even allowed into the school today. Clearly she had more than just a 'fun night out' last night.