Detention ➳ Larry

Chapter twelve

(Louis' POV)

"I have to go to class. See you in detention," Harry says quietly, lightly brushing my shoulder as he runs to his class. I watch him as he disappears down the hallway, morphing into a crowd of students and vanishing from my vision.

What was that about? It was like he couldn't even bare to look at me. What's wrong with me? I'm not that ugly, am I?

He said we couldn't just be friends, but that could mean a billion things.  I'm in grade 12 and he's in grade 10 and our personalities are completely different. He was probably acting like that because he doesn't want to be friends with me. He's popular and I'm nothing but a loser.

I shrug and walk to my English class, ignoring all of the questions in my head. I sit down at a random desk, not even paying attention to my surroundings. My instructor claps his hands to get everybody's attention but I completely zone out from reality. 

Somebody taps my arm lightly, making me flinch and snap out of my trance. I look over to see a blond boy with blue eyes and braces. His eyes remind me of the ocean and his hair is darker underneath. He has a confused expression on his face.

"Huh?" I ask, thinking that he wants something.

"Uh . . . Mr. Simpson wants us to work on the project about the book Of Mice And Men with the person next to us, so . . ." he stops and raises an eyebrow at me.

"Oh! Right, sorry. I wasn't really paying attention." I admit.

"That's okay. What's your name?" he asks.

"Louis Tomlinson. And you?"

"Niall Horan. I'm in grade 10." he explains.

I scoff, "Garde 10? Well, what are you doing in grade 12 English class?" I ask surprised.

Niall smiles and shrugs, "I'm smart, I guess.  Skipped it."

I nod, "No kidding."

"Anyway, so we should probably start working on this project, right?" he says, passing me a piece of lined-paper.

I take the paper from his hand and flatten it on my desk, then absent mindfully write both of our names on the top corner.

"Who's Harry?" Niall laughs.

I poke my head up and furrow my eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

Niall reaches across the gap between our desks and points to the top of the paper, "You wrote Harry Horan instead of Niall Horan." he explains.

I look down and see that he's telling the truth. I feel my cheeks turn a darker shade of pink, "Oh, sorry." I explain, furiously rubbing my eraser against the name, making it fully disappear.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks curiously.

I frown, "Yeah. Perfect."

"Are you sure?"

I sigh and rub my temples, resting my elbows on my desk, "It's just... can I ask you a question?" I say, sticking my head up to look at him.

He smiles, "Sure."

"What do you know about Harry Styles?" I ask, knowing that he's in the same grade as him.

"Harry Styles? Well, he's an arse, to say the least. He's goalie for the football team, a stuck-up jerk, and he's rich." Niall tells me.

"Rich?"

"Filthy rich. He's quite mysterious, actually. He doesn't let anybody get close to him except Liam Payne and Zayn Malik."