wrong bed |h.s. au|

13.

I remember this one time in middle school, this boy named Kingston was getting picked on in the cafeteria. He was a real quiet kid, much like myself at that time. I can still picture him sitting in the seat directly to the right of me and showing me diagrams of machines in class. Like, this kid was a fucking genius. I was only worried about if Edward really sparkled or not, but he had goals. He wanted to do his best and I respected the hell out of that. Even at such a young age. And you would've never met a person who was kinder and soft spoken. He was a genuine person and a good friend to me when I felt like I didn't have any, so when he was getting bullied that day by two older boys, something in me snapped. I can remember fiercely pushing my long messy hair behind my ears and quickly walking with a purpose up to the two boys who had literally knocked his tray of food out of his hands just a minute before. I had such an anger in me. It was something that I hadn't necessarily ever felt before. It clawed up my chest and into my throat at the thought of them being cruel to such a good person. I tapped one of the boys on the shoulder and as he turned around, I cocked my fist back and swung as hard as I could. I remember the distinct crack of his nose and the wailing that came from him as the blood started to pour. I also remember how fucking bad my hand hurt. But everyone laughed at his pansy ass that got whooped by a girl. My aunt acted so pissed as she sat next to me in the principal's office as I retold what happened, but as soon as we were out of there, she took me to get ice cream and we rented a movie.

"I've never been more proud of your fighting spirit. You're so much like your mom was. She would have been proud." She told me as we sat on the couch under a huge blanket. We both cried and it was a day I would ever forget.

Now, as I search the campus looking for Louis, I recall that day and the burning in my chest that I can only describe as pure anger.

How fucking dare he make up fake shit about me to his boys?

If he thought he could get away with that shit from me then he has another thing coming.

As I walk aimlessly around the campus, I come upon a couple of rather attractive students. I'm almost 100% sure they know Louis just by their looks, which makes me sound like a snob but I don't really care. I let out a huff of annoyance and decide to just walk up to them.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to sound as polite as possible, considering these people did nothing to me. They all cease their conversation and turn to stare down at me quizzically. Sometimes I hated being so short. Looking up to everyone got old. "Do you guys know where I could find Louis Tomlinson?", I ask and hope they couldn't see the steam that was probably coming out of my ears.

I look between the two taking in each one of their appearances. The two guys look to be polar opposites: one with tanned, tattooed skin and dark features, high cheekbones, caramel colored eyes, and a reserved smile. He's beautiful and almost angelic. The other boy is fair skinned with bright blue eyes and a blonde quiff. His smile is bright and friendly. He also has no visible tattoos littering his skin. They're both equally attractive in their own ways and I can't help the slight self consciousness I feel for interrupting Both of their wardrobe is similar to something Louis would wear so maybe they know him.

"Who's asking?" The blonde smiles down at me. I tense slightly when I hear an accent. It's not British but he's still fucking foreign.

Dammit to fucking hell.

"A friend." I try to smile sweetly at them to mask my anger.

The two boys gave each other sideways glances before a small, knowing smile slipped on their faces.

"Sweetheart, you look mad as hell." The blonde one commented before throwing his head back in a loud laugh. "I'm Niall, by the way."

Fucking Irish.