Scripted

Chapter 1: Introduction

Harry had never been too fond of reality. It was harsh, and it often interfered with his creative process. The clatter of footsteps was always too loud, the sound of talking was never clearly annunciated, and no one ever spoke grammatically correct. He found that irksome.

The curly haired boy found the stereotypical placements of cliques derogatory as well. It was a crime against literature, all of those plays, novels, films, and novellas written about the hierarchical society that was high school. He didn't want it to be that way, he wants to live in a world of literary perfection, where there was a plot, associated themes, and a climax. Oh goodness, he wanted a climax of prehistoric proportions.

But life wasn't a book. He couldn't stop at a chapter and dog ear the page. There was no returns to the library. Sadly, people did judge each other by their covers. For Harry, that was his curly hair, ankle boots, cardigans, and his Havana brown rimmed glasses.

The sad thing was, Harry was an open book. But like the books in the large, dark wood library his new school had, he was never read, never thought about by an inquiring mind. Such a shame, Harry always thought.

The brunette was ignored like Hemingway sitting on the dusty shelf in the library. He stopped finding it in himself to care. He had his books, and more importantly, he had his plays.

Shakespeare, Thornton Wilder. Those were his friends. Half the time, that's where he was, walking down the streets of Grover Corners or in Shakespearean England for a live performance of his sonnets. He liked it much better there than alone in the large theater at school.

There weren't many drama kids at all. Two actually, and Harry believe they only joined to get a free period and snog each other without a teacher scolding them. The principal had given Harry complete reign over the club, having no doubt that Harry could handle it. What a idiotic idea. Putting a sixteen year old senior, the new kid of all people, in charge of a non existent congregation. Harry was determined to recruit new people, and with a weak snap of his fingers by the touchy couple, he had his footmen.

Niall was an exchange student from Ireland. He wanted to spend his senior year in England since he'd be attending Uni there anyway and was up for a footie scholarship. The blonde was unbelievably happy and he always seemed to be smiling, despite Harry's constant scolding for not pronouncing things correctly. Deep down Harry knew he'd accept that it was just Niall's strong Irish accent. He couldn't stay mad at him for too long anyway.

Liam was about as different a person could be. It bewildered Harry with every passing day how a man so attractive and well built could fall apart into a fluffy teddy bear upon the twinkling grin of his boyfriend. Niall never failed to make Liam grin, nor cause those brown eyes to warm up like melted chocolate and crinkle by the sides. It was infectious.

The two were inseparable and Harry wondered how they had gotten so close over only a summer. There wasn't enough time for a suitable time table. Only a few months were allowed for them to reach such a honeymoon phase. Necessarily, each point of rising action would have to exist for a good month, however, there needed to be at least five examples of said growing infatuation for something to become stable. There wasn't enough time allotted, nor did that time include the necessary climax and falling action of stability. That could go on for years.

Harry found it odd how he could be up to the late hours of the night and early morning reading about such spontaneous love and admiration, feel the emotions and melt in the intimacy, yet when it came to his own life, everything was down to an outline.

Niall and Liam proved to be effective. They were relatively popular, Niall being a footie star there already with his reputation and Liam just the same with his placement as captain of the team. They made a great couple, breaking the stereotypes down by being a sweet, popular, intelligent, homosexual couple that dominated the ranks.

They were so gentle with Harry too, always meeting him by his classes and talking to him about their newest targets to bring into the group. They even let him sit with them during lunch, but the ruckus of loud, athletically gifted males and females soon proved too distracting for his usual lunch time reading. He usually ended up occupying a solitary table near the back exit doors, quiet and perfect for his reading habits.

The theater was often dark, quiet, and the least bit intimidating for Harry. When days proved to be too loud overall in the cafeteria, he would excuse himself to the stage and just sit off the edge, read his book, work on his play, and sometimes sing quietly to himself the show tunes from Wicked.

New recruits came in slowly but steadily. The drama geek wasn't exactly the most popular individual, despite his association with the obvious 'it' couple. Most people were hesitant to try out, and others simply were not interested. However, over occasional dry spells, there was the occasional pot of gold.

One girl, Eleanor was perfect for the place. She was one of the students in the music program before it was taken down due to budget cuts. The funds were slowly being raised for a plateau of steadiness, but until then, she needed another creative outlet.

Zayn followed shortly after, a dark horse that even Harry was surprised by. But his voice went to ranges Harry couldn't contemplate and despite his obvious shiftiness, Harry was welcome to whatever talent he could find.

Apparently, Zayn had an ex named Perrie. She was lovely, with bright blue eyes and soft blonde hair. He knew she was probably a brunette, with how her dark roots blended naturally with the blonde. That only made her more lovely, Harry decided. She had come in so sweet, not a hateful glance to Zayn, only an infectious smile that even Harry, the distant director, had to return. Harry had assumed she would have a soft voice perfect for occasional solos, but with the magnificent performance of an original she wrote called Power, Harry was stunned. Her voice was raw, strong, he could tell from only a few verses. Quite frankly, Harry was already sold, but her voice was a treat, and with how Zayn was glaring pitifully at his ex, Harry detected drama. Oh how he lived for drama. His request was granted when Perrie agreed to sing a softer song, going with another called Touch. It made Harry melt and he must have congratulated her a thousand times, thanked her even for the pleasure of hearing it.

Soon enough he had enough recruits to form a makeshift cast and he couldn't have been more overjoyed. Everyone was talented in their own platform, amazing and for the most part, pleasant. Harry could see a future with them all. He had already begun his renovating of their first play. Secretly of course. No one was to know until he had a slot or a perfect script.

But my oh my, when he did, what a show it would be.