Chapter 1

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  • Dedicated to everyone
                                    




Dedicated to all my new and old followers and everyone that's reading this.


(DISCLAIMER: The first part of this book is VERY poorly written... like I'm embarrassed it exists. I started writing this 8 years ago when I was 14 years old. My abilities have changed and these early chapters in no way are reflective of what I'm capable of doing now. I can promise with my whole heart that later chapters are much better. So if you're willing to get through this terribly written content then bless you. Anyways... Welcome).





It was an average day in Cheshire. The sky was an overcast grey and not showing a moment of relent. The cracked dull footpath was soaked in rain and droplets of water ever-so slowly dribbling off the amber, auburn and crimson leaves onto Harry's already wet hair. He was so sick of beginning the day soaking wet, tired, cold and in a foul mood. It was always generally cold, and the weather today was no exception. It had been a solid week straight of ice-cold gusts of wind and rain pelting down consistently throughout the day. It was becoming quite a joke at this point.

But today things were looking up, everything but the weather that is. He no longer had to sit on a tiny, uncomfortable stool and listen to his prehistorically ancient art teacher drone about the importance of colour in art pieces. Instead, he was going to be listening to an apparently 'reasonably attractive' and younger teacher. He was going to listen to endless conversations about scripts, plays and the art of acting. It's the second week of the term but today felt like Harry's first day back. The decision to change subjects came easy and it was something that Harry could enjoy significantly more than art.

The initial decision to choose art was purely for the way it was therapeutic; in the way that he could block out the harsh realities of the world and focus on the piece of art in front of him. However, if he was going to stay awake all this term, he knew he was going to have to leave. And that's how it came to be. Switching art class for drama which thankfully happened to be on the same time. This class also happened to be the one on everyone's lips and it all came down to the teacher that taught it. There wasn't a day that went by that Harry heard girls giggling and whispering about no one other than the infamous Mr. Tomlinson. The very same Mr. Tomlinson that had taken over the wreckage of the drama department. There had been a handful of times that Harry had been able to catch a glimpse for a fleeting moment of the teacher, and from those few quick glances he deduced the man was moderately attractive. A definite step up from the 70 something year old art teacher.

Although today was looking up, there was already a slight issue to start with. Harry's damn bus was twenty minutes late, which also means he's catastrophically twenty minutes late for his first class. What a fucking brilliant way to kick off the term. The gates to Seabrook High neared and Harry starts to fasten his pace, because lets be real here, there's no way he's going to run the entire block. If he was already running late, he may as well take his time and accept the fact he'll receive a lecture for his tardiness. But luckily the block of classrooms for drama wasn't too far from the front office, so Harry wasn't going to waste precious time making his way through this giant prison. Well, he likes to call it prison.

The school is eerily quiet and that's because the hundreds of students are sitting in their classes probably crying on the inside whilst learning algebra. That's only just one thing to cry about, there's a lot more. Harry clutches his drama books to his chest, fastening his pace as he passes the front office. He starts down the stairs, his eyes trained on the entry to the dark red brick building. He can feel the beads of water dripping from his hair onto the back of his neck as the rain begins to pick up.

"Jesus Christ," His voice is low and filled with aggravation as he steps out of the rain and under the shelter of the building. Harry's eyes quickly dart around the area to see if anyone can see him looking like a drowned cat and brushes wet strands of hair out of his face. He's thankful he chose today to wear his thick coat because otherwise his uniform would be equally as drenched as his hair.

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