Near To You (One Direction Fan Fiction)

Chapter Four

Near to You

04

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Why don’t you be the writer and make me out of clay? Why don’t you be the author and decide the words I say?

The Writer – Ellie Goulding

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            I was late.

            I cursed my bad luck as I hustled up the stairs of the old building where my new tutorial would take place. I unravelled my scarf as I reached the final stair. Even though it was only mid-October, frost was already beginning to coat the deadened leaves and grass. After weeks of being trapped in a stuffy auditorium with three hundred other students learning about the ways of writing, we were finally going to get down to the actual business of it. Of course, on my first day of the tutorial, however, I slept past my alarm.

            I knew it was most likely because of the late night I spent at the coffee shop, waiting for my new companion who never showed, but I pushed my annoyance aside as I found the door I was looking for. He had no way of contacting me to tell me that something had arisen, and I had gotten some of my writing done. I could not help but be a little worried, though. What if something bad had happened to him?

            I shook away the ridiculous thought. It had been stupid to expect that Zayn would be able to come whenever I had happened to find the chance myself. He probably had far more important things to do than share a coffee with some strange girl he barely knew. I wrenched open the door and hesitated by the threshold. Twenty-seven pairs of eyes stared up at me.

            The room was not set up as I had anticipated it would be, with rows of desks facing the teaching assistant. Instead, there was one long table where everyone sat facing each other, resembling a boardroom meeting. At the head of the table, half-perched on its surface, sat a young looking man with an amused expression.

            “You are Lewis, I take it.”

            I bowed my head in embarrassment and nodded.

            “Take a seat. You are only a few minutes late and we’ve just begun.”

            I took the only available space near the centre of the table between a girl with the brightest hair I had ever seen and a boy whose dimples showed when he flashed me a quick smile. The TA returned his attention to a girl sitting a few seats away.

            “Continue, Fatima.”

            “…well as I was saying, I primarily focus on the horror genre, specifically the style of the gothic novels pre-1700.”

            “Next?”

            A boy with dark hair and equally dark eyes spoke up.

            “I’m Thomas Dixon.” He smiled smugly at us all. I immediately felt a sense of distaste for him. “I like action and adventure, like Indiana Jones mixed with Die Hard.”

            I rolled my eyes subtly. He was just a stereotypical teenage boy who wouldn’t be taking this class seriously. The TA glanced around the room, looking for his next volunteer. When no one spoke up, his blue eyes flashed my way.

            “What about you?” He suggested. “Name and preference.”

            “Oh, well,” I became flustered as once more all eyes were on me. “I’m Michelle, Michelle Lewis, and I prefer the romantic genre.”