You Wound Me, Styles
Pressured
A couple of weeks have passed, and Harry's work shift in the bakery switched from Fridays to Saturdays instead. I visited him often, mainly because food was one of my great weaknesses and because he gave me discounts.
Moving onto today, the morning had just begun with the alarm clock's cacophony. My eyes were ajar as I groaned my way to the washroom. I wasn't particularly looking forward to my first day of school.
"This is Arabelle Rose Morel," my first period teacher introduced to the group of curious eyes. All gazes riveted on me; some were amused, some had boredom apparent on their faces. "What a lovely name. I reckon you're not from England. Your surname sounds French."
Ahh, the lovely accent-coated words. I could listen to these people babble non-sense all week long.
"I'm from Quebec, Canada," I replied.
"Canada." Her brows flew upward as if a bee flew into her mouth. "Why, that's lovely."
"Yes, Canada," I nodded, grinning cheekily. "Eh?"
But apparently, no one in the classroom understood my little jest, so I followed the teacher (with a deflated ego) and shrank into a cold, empty seat.
The girl seated to my right had given me a little nudge. "Do you know Harry? Harry Styles?"
Oh, would you look at that? Another cute little accent.
"Yes, I know him," I answered.
"Well, he's looking at you." At that minute, I turned my head and scanned the room for Harry's conspicuous curls. Just when I caught his gaze, he immediately averted his eyes and acted as if I wasn't there.
"He's blushing now," the girl whispered.
"Is he?" I narrowed my eyes at my lap. Just as I was about to fold my arms over my chest, a shadow loomed over me, and I looked up. Styles stood in front of me.
"You didn't tell me you were gonna go to this school today," Harry said, keeping a lop-sided smirk on his lips as he slowly spoke. His thorn green eyes told me all things mischievous.
Harry had my attention all school day. He would do little things such as: asking for hugs (to which I hesitantly accepted), ruffling my hair (to which I pulled of unamused llama faces on), and calling me Rosie (to which I nearly frowned at).
I also overheard a conversation between two people, and one of them remarked something along the lines of, "Harry's showing off his girlfriend again."
However, I paid no mind, seeing as Harry was quite the flirt at school. He was very popular with the females, mind you.
I remembered that I, in fact, needed to return Harry's clothes, and when I did so, I got odd looks from people.
"Arabelle, what is the answer to this question on the board?" My math teacher thumped a finger on the whiteboard.
I yawned a little, just awakening from a light nap. It was math class, you see, and I couldn't care less about the subject.
I looked down for inspiration. And then the answer came to me.
"Seventy three percent," I answered quite confidently.
The class seemed astounded that I had gotten the question correct at such a short amount of time. But, you see, I had a calculator on my lap all along.
Nonetheless, Harry was one of the people I impressed, and he showed some more of his slight chivalry throughout the rest of the day, such as opening the door for me, making sure I was alright, etcetera.
At some point in the afternoon, I told Aunt Elizer about Harry, and she replied with, "I told you he was interested in you."
"He was flirting with other girls, too."
"But he paid attention to you the most."
"I don't know..." I shrugged. Then my mom joined the conversation.
"I say you keep him, Arabelle," momma dearest said firmly. So firmly that it was almost an order.
"Rose, just give the poor boy a chance," Aunt Elizer butted in.
The two stared me down, seeming as if to tower over me. It felt like they were slowly getting bigger, and I was shrinking in size. The air was so serious that I could almost hear their mind gears setting to work.
I could almost hear their thoughts.
Just give him a chance.
And so I finally gave in. "Alright, I will."
Of course I let a few more weeks roll by before I mustered the courage to ask Harry out.
Once I decided that I needed to suck it all up, I strode into the bakery and faced a shell-shocked Harry.
"Harry, tell me the truth." I let my eyes melt into his. "Do you have a crush on me?"
Harry's pupils dilated, and he seemed a bit taken aback. "Why are you asking me this?" His voice was still that low, accented tone.
I didn't bat a single eyelash as I said, "Because I want to date you."
Moving onto today, the morning had just begun with the alarm clock's cacophony. My eyes were ajar as I groaned my way to the washroom. I wasn't particularly looking forward to my first day of school.
"This is Arabelle Rose Morel," my first period teacher introduced to the group of curious eyes. All gazes riveted on me; some were amused, some had boredom apparent on their faces. "What a lovely name. I reckon you're not from England. Your surname sounds French."
Ahh, the lovely accent-coated words. I could listen to these people babble non-sense all week long.
"I'm from Quebec, Canada," I replied.
"Canada." Her brows flew upward as if a bee flew into her mouth. "Why, that's lovely."
"Yes, Canada," I nodded, grinning cheekily. "Eh?"
But apparently, no one in the classroom understood my little jest, so I followed the teacher (with a deflated ego) and shrank into a cold, empty seat.
The girl seated to my right had given me a little nudge. "Do you know Harry? Harry Styles?"
Oh, would you look at that? Another cute little accent.
"Yes, I know him," I answered.
"Well, he's looking at you." At that minute, I turned my head and scanned the room for Harry's conspicuous curls. Just when I caught his gaze, he immediately averted his eyes and acted as if I wasn't there.
"He's blushing now," the girl whispered.
"Is he?" I narrowed my eyes at my lap. Just as I was about to fold my arms over my chest, a shadow loomed over me, and I looked up. Styles stood in front of me.
"You didn't tell me you were gonna go to this school today," Harry said, keeping a lop-sided smirk on his lips as he slowly spoke. His thorn green eyes told me all things mischievous.
Harry had my attention all school day. He would do little things such as: asking for hugs (to which I hesitantly accepted), ruffling my hair (to which I pulled of unamused llama faces on), and calling me Rosie (to which I nearly frowned at).
I also overheard a conversation between two people, and one of them remarked something along the lines of, "Harry's showing off his girlfriend again."
However, I paid no mind, seeing as Harry was quite the flirt at school. He was very popular with the females, mind you.
I remembered that I, in fact, needed to return Harry's clothes, and when I did so, I got odd looks from people.
"Arabelle, what is the answer to this question on the board?" My math teacher thumped a finger on the whiteboard.
I yawned a little, just awakening from a light nap. It was math class, you see, and I couldn't care less about the subject.
I looked down for inspiration. And then the answer came to me.
"Seventy three percent," I answered quite confidently.
The class seemed astounded that I had gotten the question correct at such a short amount of time. But, you see, I had a calculator on my lap all along.
Nonetheless, Harry was one of the people I impressed, and he showed some more of his slight chivalry throughout the rest of the day, such as opening the door for me, making sure I was alright, etcetera.
At some point in the afternoon, I told Aunt Elizer about Harry, and she replied with, "I told you he was interested in you."
"He was flirting with other girls, too."
"But he paid attention to you the most."
"I don't know..." I shrugged. Then my mom joined the conversation.
"I say you keep him, Arabelle," momma dearest said firmly. So firmly that it was almost an order.
"Rose, just give the poor boy a chance," Aunt Elizer butted in.
The two stared me down, seeming as if to tower over me. It felt like they were slowly getting bigger, and I was shrinking in size. The air was so serious that I could almost hear their mind gears setting to work.
I could almost hear their thoughts.
Just give him a chance.
And so I finally gave in. "Alright, I will."
Of course I let a few more weeks roll by before I mustered the courage to ask Harry out.
Once I decided that I needed to suck it all up, I strode into the bakery and faced a shell-shocked Harry.
"Harry, tell me the truth." I let my eyes melt into his. "Do you have a crush on me?"
Harry's pupils dilated, and he seemed a bit taken aback. "Why are you asking me this?" His voice was still that low, accented tone.
I didn't bat a single eyelash as I said, "Because I want to date you."
