Dismissed ⤯ Tom Holland

7 | Bleachers

Y/N

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"I may be incredibly attractive, but I will never be as narcissistic as Tom Holland, and I stand by that."

Oliver waved his hands definitely, leaning back against the metal stairs. The three of us were outside for a brief recess, but we decided to settle on the bleachers instead of the grass.

"That sentence was ironic," Jamie said, rolling her eyes, "and Tom's not narcissistic."

"Oh, really?" Oliver said sarcastically, "I walked in on him in the privy yesterday, he was just staring at himself in the mirror."

"Most people tend to do that in the bathroom, what's your point?"

"He didn't even piss, he just fixed his hair!"

"I'd give up," I said to the girl, "Oliver seems set on Tom being an egomaniac."

"I'm aware," she laughed, "I'll get back at him when we go to Glasgow."

"Glasgow?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah, that's the weekend privileges Matron was talking about," she explained, "we get to go into town on Saturdays."

"Sounds nice," I nodded, "what do you do?"

"Whatever we want," Oliver shrugged, "matron doesn't care, as long as we don't do anything illegal."

"As in?"

"Jake Roberts got in trouble for sneaking into a club," Jamie laughed, "he came back drunk, and threw up all over the trolley."

"Sad he graduated last year," the boy sighed, "that man was the life of a party."

"He was the death of the Headmaster though, he gave him a million detentions."

I smiled, amused, and let my eyes drift over the field. A lot of students were littered about, the rugby players making a ruckus on the field, and other kids picking dandelions. I was surprised there were any, considering the well trimmed grass.

But what caught my eye was a boy at the far end of the grass, surrounded by his friends. Tom would run a hand through his hair every five seconds, which only added to Oliver's statement. The poor soul needed a hairbrush, not his fingers.

Unexpectedly, a girl entered my view, sliding her arm around the boy and batting her eyes flirtatiously. At least, that's what it looked like, I didn't have a clear line of sight.

"Who's that?" I blurted out.

"Who?"

I pointed across the field, to where the girl was standing. Jamie glanced quickly at Oliver, a distasteful look in her eye, but it was long enough for me to notice. Clearly, whoever this girl is, she's not well liked.

"Claire Beckham," she groaned.

"What's her deal?"

"She dated Tom freshman year," Oliver cut in, "then he broke up with her."

"So what's all the touchy-touchy, stuff?"

"She's obsessed? She literally thinks she still has a chance with him, even though she can be a complete psycho to everyone else."

"So she's mean?"

"Yeah, maybe even worse. She's paranoid about everything."

I wrinkled my nose, unhappy about her description. If someone was paranoid at this school, it means I wouldn't be able to go undetected as easily.

"So why does Tom hang out with her?" I questioned, "if he's not interested?"

"He's narcissistic!" Oliver jumped back in, "I'm telling you!"

"Dude, no-" Jamie said, before getting cut off.

"More girls after him, the cooler he looks."

"Welcome to the standards of private uni," Jamie rolled her eyes, "if you can't get popular with your wealth, it's about the number of girls."

"Guys can be shallow," I shrugged, "that's why I don't like to associate myself with them."

Oliver looked offended, gasping and pretending to be shot down by my words.

"I'm hurt," he teased.

"You're an exception," I nodded, "for now."

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I just want to skip to the good part 

but I had to lay down the info first yoinkers!