Infatuation // Harry Styles

Chapter 1

*watch the trailer on the side pleeeaassee <3*

♡ chapter 1 ♡

            Sometimes I found myself stuck on the idea that there could possibly be an abrupt leap in my life when suddenly a light of happiness would wink down at me. That my idea of normalcy would not involve the mere thought of being an outcast, but where I would have more than two friends along with the boy of my dreams with his arm hooked around my waist. I want to matter to people, not be an invisible speck of dust they briefly pass in the hallways. I've never understood society; they preach originality, but then beat you down into the pavement for being different. They say to be yourself, that there's no one better; so why do I always feel so hopeless?

            Most of the time a rough shoulder will collide with mine in the halls, other times the jocks decide to be mega bastards and knock my books out of my hands. I try to play it cool, considering practically the entire student body will be lurking nearby and we all know that won't help my already pathetic social life. However, my idea of "playing it cool" mainly results in me making a bigger fool out of myself than the jocks did. I guess I got cursed with total awkwardness in my family.

            Genetics really suck ass sometimes.

            I can hear my younger brother stirring downstairs, but I stay in my room while trying to adjust my hair to a decently attractive appearance. It's not like I gain any attention at school, not even when I try my hardest to dress more like the popular girls. Again, I end up creating a large mess that concludes to engulf me in its self-pity.

            Puffing air from my cheeks, I gave up with the whole hair ordeal and tossed my messenger bag diagonally across my chest. Shoving my notebook into the compartment along with my other academic materials, I clasped the lock and slung open my bedroom door. Did I like waking up for school at seven in the morning? Absolutely not. But then again, who does?

            Noah is downstairs in his usual attire, his small body adorning a simple t-shirt and faded jeans. He's only a freshman this year, giving me the eligibility of the honor to hold the senior title. It doesn't make a difference to me—what your grade level is in school—kids will be mean to you no matter how high or low you are in the school rankings. And maybe being smart makes you a bully target, but I try to keep faith in knowing I won't have to deal with these dimwits after this year.

            One more year, Grace. You can tough it out one more year.

            It's already the middle of the second week of school, so I'm praying the year will continue to go by this quickly. I have nothing to look forward to, so there's no reason for it to go by any slower or any faster than possible. Most kids my age have their relationships to worry about, or other social events they might need to attend. My only priority—and only thing, really—on my mind is getting into a good college.

            "Still wearing clothes that make you look like a sixth grader?" I teased as I slid into the barstool, waiting for him to finish his cereal so we could head to the bus stop.

            Noah raised his eyebrows, nodding towards the strap across my shoulder. "Still wearing a tacky messenger bag to school?"

            "Fair point."

            Noah smiled just the slightest before Mom stumbled in the kitchen, her hair unraveling in countless varied directions, giving her the perfect impression of a bed head. Her robe was hardly tied, looking as if she had fumbled with it half asleep. Her slippers were ever so slowly trailing off her feet, heavy bags lining under her eyes. She looked like a mess, and I forced myself to avert my gaze.