143

Ch1

I rolled my eyes as they scanned quickly across another article about Louis Tomlinson. Our town was small - just on the outskirts of Doncaster - but they treated him like a celebrity. The article that I began reading was probably the tenth this month about this kid's accomplishments. Honestly, I don't know why I continued reading. I basically knew everything about him already from the other nine articles that the town's local paper did on him, plus the one that appeared in the newspaper from the nearby city.

"Adelaide, did you see? Your boyfriend is in the paper again." My mum teased as she strolled into the kitchen with her coffee mug. She was already dressed for work, with her hair up in a tight bun, and her glasses perched on her nose. She always teased me when a new article about him came about.

I scoffed, but let out a light laugh. "I hate him. I just despise everything about him."

My mother chuckled, as she came closer to place a peck on my cheek. "You only think you hate him. Have you actually ever had a conversation with the boy?"

I scowled at the thought. "Never. And I don't plan to."

I let my eyes move back to the picture of Louis, in which he was kicking a ball into the net for his football team. I don't understand him fully. I've never really paid attention at our school football games, but apparently he's 'scholarship worthy' because he was approached by a lot of universities. Meanwhile, I sat my arse at home and applied to the universities that I thought I might have a chance to get an acceptance letter from.

Oxford, Cambridge, Leeds, and Manchester all offered him scholarships among others. I didn't have any schools scouting me out. It really just pisses me off because he doesn't deserve it. Wait, no. I mean, if you look at his grades (4.0+ GPA), and the time he has dedicated to football, you'd call me crazy, but if you just listen to the kid. God. He just makes me want to sucker punch him in the face.

I didn't lie when I told my mum that I'd never had a conversation with him. The only time I can ever recall him directly speaking to me was back in freshman year. He had asked me what I had gotten on my stupid History test. He'd scowled and turned away when I told him. I didn't know much about him back then, so I didn't understand the scowl, but later learned that he was only upset because I had gotten a higher mark than he had. Cue rolling of the eyes.

I completely understand the concept of a good, clean competition between students, but he's just ridiculous. His mother is the guidance counsellor at our school, and I'm almost positive that Louis uses that to his advantage. How else did he know my final History mark in freshman year before I did? The little wanker went onto his mother's computer and found it, that's how.

What made me hate him even more was the fact that he had declined. He'd said no to all of the prestigious schools that basically offered him a free ride through whatever program he chose. He'd chosen to play football for some other university that wasn't known for their varsity team or anything. I wasn't completely sure where he was actually going, I'd scrunched the newspaper in my hands before I read anything else about him. Furthermore, he'd chosen to decline his acceptance to such amazing schools, rubbing it in all of our faces that he actually had a choice to do so.

"I'm off to work. I'll be home around six. Try to get the rest of your things packed today, Adelaide." My mother said, as she made her way around the kitchen, towards the front foyer of our house, "Need I remind you that I'm dropping you off at school tomorrow?"

I sighed, putting the paper down, and then taking the last gulp of orange juice from my glass. "Yeah, yeah, mum, okay."

Time flew by while packing that night, and the next day flew by as well. My mum and I made the two and half hour drive to my new home. My mum wasn't totally keen on the idea of me going to school so far away from home, but I'd convinced her eventually. We were from a little town just outside of Doncaster, South Yorkshire, and I'd been ecstatic when I had learned that I had been accepted at the University of London. Sure, it was a two and a half hour drive from my little home in Rossington, South Yorkshire, but I wasn't going to decline the acceptance (unlike someone else we all know).