Hey! It's me, PeacockFeatherPen. I chose this name because when I write, I always write with my lucky peacock feather pen. Simple. Haha. I decided to write a One Direction fanfiction, because. I love One Direction. I really hope you guys like it. Some of the inspiration for this first chapter came from Twilight. Thanks Stephenie Meyer. Anyways. Here we go!
~PeacockFeatherPen~
"Um, are you sure about this, Ali?" my mother asked me for the billionth time.
I stood at the airport, hefting my backpack over my shoulder. My mother stared at me, her baby blue eyes - a mirror of mine - wide with concern.
"I'm sure," I say, moving my chocolatey bangs out of my eyes. I forced a smile on my lips. "I'll be fine. Dad'll take awesome care of me. Congrats on your new job."
I gave her another bear hug, kissed her cheek, and boarded the plane. I waved to her until we were off, and my mother, and the home I'd always known, was gone.
That's exactly what happened. My mother Jessica got a new, big-paying nursing job...in England. I really...didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave Miami.
I offered to move in with my estranged father. He lives all the way in Chicago, the windy, foreign city. So, here I am.
I placed my headphones in my ears, cranking up Ed Sheeran's "+" album on my fully charged iPhone. I was prepared to listen to it on repeat, the entire flight.
I didn't have many bags with me - just three cheap suitcases, my backpack, and my acoustic guitar. That's all I needed, really. I turned my gaze to the window, watching me soar, soar away from what I'd always known.
XXX
"Ali? Is that my Ali?"
My eyes flung open, and I turned to find the loudest voice in the airport. "Dad?" I called, yanking my earphones out of my iPhone.
I felt him before I saw him. My dad, Robert, wrapped his strong, hairy arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. "I missed you!" he said at top volume in my ear.
"I missed you too," I said, giggling. I hug him for a few more minutes before he steps away, examining me. His eyes traveled from the white beanie on my head, to my black Red Hot Chili Peppers crop top, and to my fitted dark skinny jeans.
"You're...you're beautiful!" my dad choked, wrapping his arms around me once more. And I heard the whispered, broken, "You look just like your mother." The last time I saw my father was when I was twelve, all pimples, frizzy hair, and braces. He and my mother divorced when I was three.
Dad's happiness was infectious. He boisterously reached for my bags, chatting away about how much he missed me. He lead me to his rusty Ford red truck, the very same one he'd used when I was twelve.
A flood of memories rushed back when I saw my dad's truck - six year old me sitting in the backseat, with the makeshift leather belt as a seatbelt strung across me, juice box in hand, singing along to my favorite "The Lion King" CD, giggling as my father imitated Pumbaa's voice. I thought of nine year old me sloppily dripping vanilla ice cream on my dad's ratty seats. Tears sprung to my eyes.
He noticed my pause, and my loud, shaky swallow. "You all right?"
I shook my head, adjusting my beanie. "Fine, Dad. Just..."
"Pretty sentimental, huh?"
I nodded. "You have no idea."
He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, grinning at me. We sank into those same, holey carpeted seats.
Dad began to drive, and I studied him. He looked the same - fluffy brown hair that was streaked with silver, hazel eyes, scruffy chin. He was wearing a blue polo that fit him snugly, and plain jeans. My dad was a psychologist. I never used to understand his job when I was a kid.
"By the way, Ali," he began. "I got a surprise for you."
"Surprise?" I raised my eyebrows. My gaze immediately went to his free hand.
He was unable to hide his wide smile. "You'll see it before you leave for school tomorrow morning."
"Oh."
After that, the ride was strangely silent. I unrolled my white earbuds and cranked up some Young the Giant. My eyes fell shut, and the two hour long ride back to my father's house was overtaken by chill, indie lyrics and the lead singer's raspy voice.
We pulled up to that same three story white house, with the same red shingles. I stared at my new home for a moment, then quickly hopped out of the car and went for the trunk. Dad shooed me away. "No, Al, I got these. You go on upstairs. Pretty sure you remember where it is." He smirked.
I scowled, but went to the strangely unlocked door and stepped inside. The foyer of Dad's house looked the same - living room off to the left, kitchen down the hall, dining room further down. Big, tan wraparound couch. The only new thing I noticed was a giant flat screen in the living room, mounted on the wall.
I smiled at that and hurried upstairs, noting that all of my school pictures were horribly placed along the staircase, from kindergarten to last year.
Vomiting in my mouth a little, I reached my bedroom.
The walls were pale lavender, my comforter and all of the accents in the room black and white. It looked like mt father hadn't touched it since I came here last. My two Nikon cameras were still strewn on my computer desk, the camera lens beside it. My copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix was still on the floor, open to page 362.
I sank down on my window seat, staring out my father's green yard. A few tears escaped, thinking of the coming morning. School. School in Chicago.
I watched the rain start to fall, and I began to cry silently. I heard my father sit the bags outside my door, thankfully not coming in. I wasn't ready for this...
Later that night, after a pizza dinner, I curled up in my bed, clad in sweatpants and a stretched out tank top. My pillow was wet with tears.
My eyes drifted to the clock that was beside my bed - only six more hours...
XXX
When I woke for school, Dad was already gone. The morning was cloudy coming through my window. I quickly showered, did my eyeliner, and stumbled to my suitcases. I nervously pulled on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a one-shoulder ying yang top, and my red beanie. I wormed my feet into my combat boots.
Cranking up some more Ed Sheeran as I was getting ready, I tried to pretend that I was going anywhere, anywhere else but Fields High School.
Trying not to hyperventilate, I grabbed my backpack, pulled on my black leather jacket and grabbed a granola bar from my dad's cabinet, wolfing the thing down in three bites without tasting any of it.
Walking outside, the first thing I noticed was the unfamiliar, bright, shiny, red Fiat 500 with a blue ribbon taped to the front headlight, sitting right of the house.
What?
Stunned, I pulled it off. The note was in my dad's slanty handwriting, that I recognized from his notes in birthday cards he'd send me every year.
Thought you might want a faster - and more stylish - way to get to school. Surprise. Good luck on your first day!
- Love, Dad
Chuckling to myself, I slipped the note in my jacket pocket and climbed in, my shocked eyes scanning the new interior.
The knot of horror in my lower belly grew as I put the keys in the ignition, starting up the Fiat. I pulled slowly out of my father's driveway, and onto the street.
I fiddled with the radio a little, finding an oldies station playing "Hey Jude" by the Beatles. Singing along to the nonsense lyrics, it really did calm me down.
Take a sad song, and make it better...
After driving straight for ten minutes, I saw the sign for Fields High School. There was no way to make this sad song better - except to just go back home, to Miami, and forget all of this happened.
I found an empty space, far away from the front building. A few kids were looking up, studying the foreign car. I pull my hood over my head and speed-walk to the front of the school.
The office was a bright room, cut in half by a long counter. A heavyset blond woman with inch long red fingernails was tapping on a Mac desktop, chatting into an outdated desk phone. A sheet with my name on it was on top of the pile in one of the wicker baskets. My schedule.
She didn't seem to notice my arrival. I decided to wait patiently. The longer I could put off going to class the better. My feet lead me to one of the squishy chairs set up in the corners.
And that was the first time I saw him.
I almost had a stroke when I saw the dark figure leaning against the office counter across from me, thumbs hooked casually on the pockets of jeans.
How long had he been there? Was he there when I came in?
This guy was incredibly, breathtakingly...beautiful. He was tall, and had dark, unruly, curly hair that sat like a mop on top of his head, sweeping across his pale forehead. My eyes traveled to his chiseled cheekbones, his straight nose, and his full, pink, bow-shaped lips. He was wearing a Rolling Stones shirt under a leather jacket, dark, fitted skinny jeans, and converse sneakers.
My stare last landed on his almond-shaped eyes. His deep, sharp, mossy-green eyes. They were almost a jade color, framed with thick, dark lashes. They seemed to pierce right through me, rendering me speechless.
The guy held himself with an aura of confidence and...danger. I sank back deeper into my seat on instinct.
The corner of the stranger's heart-shaped lips pulled up in one corner, in a smirk that stopped my heartbeat. He had deep dimples on either side of his mouth. "Like something you see, beautiful?" His voice was a deep, raspy, seductive purr.
I immediately looked around me, wondering if he was addressing someone else. His husky chuckle pierced my ears. "Yeah, I'm talking to you. You were staring." I heard him push himself off the counter, walking closer. His converses stopped in front of my seat, and his body sank slowly down across from me. A cheeky grin spread over his face.
"Don't believe I've seen you around before," the stranger said.
"Today's my first day," I squeaked.
"Ah, a newbie." His eyes fell to the sheet clutched in my hands. "What's this?" With long fingers, he reached over and tugged the paper out of my grip with ease.
As he ran his eyes over the words, I noticed how ridiculously long and thick his lashes were. They looked almost fake.
He finally looked up, a smirk on his perfect lips. "We have a class together."
"Which one?" I blurted out.
Suddenly, an overweight, balding man with glasses in a too-tight suit, came from a door in the back of the office. "Harry Styles," the man barked.
The guy - Harry? - turned to me and grinned, standing up. "I've been summoned," he said dramatically, setting my schedule on his now empty seat.
The guy walked toward the unsmiling fat man, then turned and threw me a wink. "See you around...Alison." Before I could formulate a word, the back door slammed shut.
What the hell just happened?
When I stumbled to the counter, the blond woman was clucking her tongue at the back door. The sign on it said "Principal Welch".
"That Harry Styles," she says, chewing noisily on her bubble gum. "He spends way more time in the front office than he does in class, of course."
"Why?" I blurted.
"Why - did you see him?" the woman hissed. "That boy is dangerous. He was called in because he was caught throwing cigarettes at the cheerleaders during their morning meet."
I gulped. "Seriously?"
She pursed her big red lips. "I mean, he is...a bit more good-looking than most high school boys..." Her eyes fluttered, and I swallowed a laugh. That was an understatement.
"Anyways," she said, flushing. "Th-this is your first day? Did you pick up your schedule?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, make sure you come back at the end of the day, and I'll make sure you're all prepared for tomorrow as well and your classes are followed. Just follow the schedule for today, and I'll see if I need to switch anything around."
"Thank you." I smiled numbly at her, and I heard a husky laugh from the principal's office behind us. Kind of like he was mocking someone.
Ignoring the way my bones turned to jelly, I turned,pushed the door open, and hurried out.
XXX
First period - English III, Mrs. Barter
Second period - biology, Mr. Muse
Third period - French, Mrs. DuBois
Fourth period - Honors geometry, Mr. Vance
C Lunch
Fifth period - Mindless Art, Ms. Hastings
I read the list quickly, folding it up and slipping it in my pocket so I wouldn't have to walk around with a stupid sheet of paper in front of my face the entire time. I followed the school's signs to A building, and to the 300s.
When I walked into the English classroom, the first thing I did was scan the room for a messy, curly mop of hair.
The pang of disappointment was impossible to ignore. As I gazed at the plain-looking kids in the class poke each other with pencils and giggle over things on Twitter, a bony hand landed on my shoulder.
"Alison Steele?" an icy voice sneered.
I nodded, flushing. Mrs. Barter was unsmiling, her red hair stiff and unmoving. "Go ahead and find a seat then."
Without looking at her, I hurried to an empty seat next to a pretty blond girl with wide hazel eyes and dimples. "Sorry about Barter," she said, grinning at me. "Lady's a bitch."
"Is she?" I chuckled.
"You're in for a semester," the girl said. She slid a stick of bubble gum between her candy pink lips. "I'm Regina."
"Alison Steele. I go by Ali."
"Pleased to meet you." Regina smirked, leaning towards me, seeming to be well aware of her cleavage popping out of her Hollister top. "So." She looked quickly around the room. "Have you met him?" she whispered.
I had a vague idea on who she was addressing. "Who?"
"Fields High's resident badass, of course," she mumbles. "He's the talk of the school. Harry Styles. He has brown curly hair. Green eyes. Absolutely beau-ti-ful. Has the fittest ass in all of Chicago."
I coughed nervously to hide my laugh. "I, uh, I guess I have met someone like that. In the principal's office this morning."
"No." Her mouth fell open. "What happened?"
"He just kind of walked up to me and looked at my schedule. Apparently we have a class together."
"He came to you?" Regina sniffed. "He barely goes up to anyone, besides his amazingly hot bestie Louis Tomlinson." She fanned herself, and shook her head in awe. "Which one do you have together? Harry barely goes to his classes."
"I don't know," I admitted. "He didn't tell me."
"He is so mysterious," she purred. "You have to tell me which one."
I nodded a little.
"What lunch do ya have?"
"C?" I squinted, remembering my sheet.
"Same." She held her hand up for a high-five, and I weakly gave her one.
The PA system crackled just then, and a buttery, cheerful voice started to speak: "Good morning, my fellow Fields High Wolves! This is your student body class president, Liam Payne, with the morning announcements! Louis Tomlinson has arranged a drama club meeting after school today in the auditorium at three. Today's lunch - ham hoagie with or without pickles..."
My eyes drifted to the big windows beside me, and I saw a tall figure with curly hair walking in the parking lot. He was talking animatedly on an iPhone, his posture rigid. A lit cigarette was in his other hand. I noticed as he started to yell, before fiercely jabbing at the phone's screen.
He slipped the phone back in his pocket, running a large hand through his curls. I watched, captivated, as Harry's tall frame loped to the woods behind the school, the lit cigarette still visible until in faded into the darkness of the trees.
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~PeacockFeatherPen~