Disclaimer: I do not own One Direction (I'm working on it!) or any of the well-known people that might be mentioned in this story.

My name is Emma Cooper. I'm 18 years old, and I was born and raised in the beautiful, sunny, California. I don't have sun-kissed skin like the expectations of a California Girl, and I've got sea-green eyes. My mother is kicking me out of her house, and sending me to London.

Goodness, I wonder what you guys' first impressions of me are. I honestly don't see what I did wrong though!

I'm a graffiti artist. I know, I know, some of you may be giving me your disapproval shake of the head thing. I used to be just another teenager who would doodle in her sketchbook, write poems secretly and dream of becoming the next big artist.

But then I saw a mural painted by a fellow artist done on what used to be a plain white van. It had so much color, so much life.. It stood out to me. I got into sketching designs of my own, and a friend of mine who did a lot of street art stuff took me out one night and opened my eyes. I wanted to be the voice of the people who were never heard with my art.

Anyways, the cops caught me with a red spray can about 3 times (which isn't good for your 'Record' or something), pushing my mother's patience over the edge.

"You're going to go to a boarding school in London. The one Paul's mother sent him to, to become a disciplined child," she said sternly. Paul was her boyfriend who grew up in the UK I tried avoiding as much as possible.

At first, I got mad because I thought, How am I supposed to continue my passion all the way across the ocean? But then I realized that nothing would be stopping me in London. To make things better, my friend and partner in crime, Kevin, gave me his cousin's number in case I wanted to go check out the street art in London and I needed a tour guide.

"I guess I have to pay for my actions. I'll accept this terrible punishment," I said dramatically, running up to my room for effect.

Now, here I am, getting off the plane that whisked me off to a new and not-so-exciting journey. And I'm starting off my adventure with my sketchbook in my hand, in a plain white V-neck shirt, and some red sweatpants, with my dark brown and slightly wavy hair up in a high-ponytail.

A man in a long, beige trench coat stood in the middle of the crowd carrying a sign that read Mount Concord Boarding Academy.

"Hey there," I smiled up at the rather large, and tall man.

"Is your name Emma Cooper?" he examined me and the two suitcases on the ground beside me.

"You are correct," I nodded.

I hopped into the black car, and stared in awe at all the building that were in town. The differences between California and London had me thinking of new ways of presenting my future projects to the public. Before I knew it, we were parked in front of a large school surrounded by green grass and flowers that looked like they didn't belong there.

The grey sky made things more depressing than they should have been.

The big man helped me with my suitcases, and dropped me off at 4 building school, and left me to fend for myself.

Information about my dorm, and my room key was sent in a package to me earlier, so I could just head straight to the dorm and sleep.

I took 5 steps away from the main building, towards the dorm buildings, and I immediately gave up. I did not want to carry all this junk up to the third floor. A cold gust of wind almost knocked me down because I was rather petite.

"Excuse me?" a deep voice scared the crap out of me, "Need any assistance?"

I turned around and had to look up at the very attractive boy in front of me. He had black hair that was perfectly styled up, and into a quaff, and his eyes were a beautiful light brown that were enticing. He was wearing the school uniform for boys; a Maroon blazer with the logo right above the heart, with any kind of smart looking shirt under it, tan pants, and black dress shoes.

"I'm good— actually, no. Yes, I do need your help," I said nervously.

He chuckled deeply, bending down to lift my bags up from the ground. His cologne wasn't too strong, and perfect to me. If I were a dude, I would want to smell like him.

"I'm Zayn Malik," he let out a little grunt as he picked the bag up, he then nodded his head, telling me to walk forward.

"Emma Cooper," I flashed him a small smile and walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would take me to the 3 (and last) floor of the building.

"Where are you from?" he asked smoothly. Gosh, his voice was so rich and full of sexiness.

"Huh?"

"Where are you from?" he repeated, chuckling afterwards.

I fiddled with my sketchbook nervously, "I just moved here from California."

"What's in there?" he pointed at my sketchbook.

"Nothing important," I shrugged, hugging it close to me.

"You make it seem like it's pretty special to you," he raised his eyebrows at me.

"I said it wasn't a big deal. What would make you think otherwise?" I challenged, with a small smirk on my face.

He nodded, as if telling himself something, and the elevator doors opened once more. He helped me drag the suitcases to my door before turning back to me, "Well, I better leave before I'm caught hanging out in the Girls' Dorms."

"Of course, that's why you wanted to help me," I rolled my eyes, forgetting I said that out loud.

"No! Of course not! I just, uh," he started stuttering and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I was just kidding. I didn't mean to say that out loud, sorry," I apologized, "Thanks again for the help, Zayn."

He let out that beautiful chuckle of his before smirking, "See you around, Emma."

Before I could slip the key into the keyhole, the door swung open, and a girl with beautiful, curly blonde hair, and friendly blue eyes helped me pull my luggage inside.

"Thank you so much," I sighed in relief, offering her my hand once we were done.

"You're very welcome," she shook my hand happily; "I'm Tracey Long."

"You don't have an accent," I gasped.

"Technically, we have the accents here," she winked, grinning. "I'm from Houston, Texas."

I took a moment to admire our room; light blue walls with a large window on the opposite wall facing two simple, white beds. A little drawer separated the two beds, and in the back of the room were two wooden cabinets beside a large bookshelf.. Pressed onto the wall with the window on it were two study tables and two chairs for each table. The carpeted flooring made the room smell a little bit like home. The room had a separate door that lead to a mini living room, with a plasma screen TV on the wall and a single sofa. I was surprised when I saw another door that lead into a large bathroom.

"We need to go furniture shopping or something," she sighed, placing her hands on her hips. She was skinny, yet curvy where necessary.

I honestly felt like a bag of dirt while standing next to her. I got changed into some pajamas, and walked over to where all my unappealing, disorganized luggage bags were.

"How long have you been here?" I asked, quickly unpacking, and organizing my stuff.

"I arrived yesterday," she explained, placing her books on the bookshelf, "You know the guy you were with, out in the hallway?"

"Not really, I just met him," I shrugged.

"He's in some famous band here in the UK," she fell onto her bed, and stared at the ceiling, "I heard a few girls in the hallway gushing over him."

"What's he doing here?"

"He's good friends with the owner or something. He comes to sit, or teach some of the classes I think," she furrowed her eyebrows, as if saying to herself that something in the story wasn't right.

"He teaches? He looks a bit young, don't you think?" I laughed a little.

"Relax, afraid you won't have a possible relationship together if he's a teacher?" she joked, "He tutors the grade 9's. Makes sure their doing alright and stuff," she smiled.

"Shut up. What grade is he in?"

"Calm down Curios George, I think he's in 'Year 12'. They call it 'Year' here, I get so confused," she rubbed her temples melodramatically.

"So he's," I did the math in my head, "18?"

She shrugged, "Don't ask me. Ask him." She let out a tired yawn, after all, it was 10pm and tomorrow was our big day to get ourselves settled in our new room.

I jumped onto my own bed which was farthest from the door and pulled the quilt up around me, "I might do that actually."

"Do what?" she yawned again.

"Ask him how old he is," I turned to face her with a smile.

"Watch out for the other girls though," she chuckled, rubbing her eyes.

"What? How big is his band?" I had honestly never heard of a 'Zayn Malik' before today.

"I don't think he's that famous, I'm just saying; he's hot. There are bound to be girls dying for his attention, praying he takes them to Prom or some crap," she chuckled. "Goodnight, Emma. Sleep tight," I heard her say softly.

She was right. Those girls were probably as gorgeous as Tracey was too.

What was I? Just some lousy 18 year old, who liked poetry and bringing life to walls.

"Night, Tracey," I sighed.

Hey there, guys! This is my first story on here, so this is pretty big, and special to me :3 Haha!

This is just the beginning, so if you're bored already, don't give up on me just yet!

I would love it if you guys gave me some feedback, and told me some of you guys' opinions. Be the nice, and lovely people you all are :)

Review, please! If you have any questions at all, feel free to ask! I don't bite!

Much love xx