Week number two, I thought as I walked into Mr. McCall’s classroom. Mondays, school, and me all hate each other equally, and I already can’t wait for this day to be over even though it hasn’t necessarily begun yet.

I let out a loud sigh and watched as a few people’s heads whipped around so they could stare me down. Feeling uncomfortable under their glances, I looked straight ahead at my desk and the boys who were already sat at theirs. Sorry I sighed? I thought. I didn’t realize it was a bad thing to let out such a natural noise.

“It’s going to be sick,” Jon Jon stated excitingly to Tate as I sat down in my seat beside him. I had to refrain from letting my eyes roll at the word “sick,” seeming as it’s another stupid slang word. Since when is “sick” a good thing, and why is it a good thing?

“You should come,” Tate nodded towards me.

I furrowed my brows, “Where?”

“Yeah, you should,” the Asian beside me beamed. That doesn’t answer my question…

I must’ve been giving Jon Jon a look since he and Tate began chuckling, making me instantly look away to hide my flustered self. Fuck, why must I be so damn shy? Finally, the muscular blonde responded with, “Leah Skidmore is throwing a party. It’s supposed to be ‘The Party of the Year’ since we’re celebrating the start of Senior Year. You should come.”

“Oh,” is all that fell from my lips before I puffed out my cheeks and stared down at my lap.

A party? Me? I’m not sure those two would mix well together. I can’t imagine myself drinking or wearing slutty outfits. I can’t even see myself dancing since I’m way too timid for that shit. Is that even how all house parties are? Booze, drugs, inappropriate clothing, hooking up, and grinding? I mean, that’s what I’ve seen in movies and on television shows, so that’s what I’m expecting it to be like.

I’ve never even been invited to a party that wasn’t a sleepover or a small get together. Wouldn’t I have to be invited by Leah herself? Shit, I don’t know how these things work.

I let my shoulders shift up and down, “I don’t know. I wasn’t invited.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tate waved his hand dismissively towards me. “J.J. and I are good friends with Leah. I’m sure she’d be okay with having an extra guest over. Two, if you want to bring Hayden along with you.”

Good friends with Cake Face, eh? I wonder what Hayden will think about that since she’s accusing Harry of being the type to hang around Leah and making it seem like it’s a bad thing.

“Maybe.”

“Well, it’s on Saturday at eight,” he informed me.

Jon slapped his hand to the desk, catching us by surprise. “Damn! Eight in the morning?! I won’t be able to make it!" Thank God the late bell hasn't rung yet because I can only imagine how many comments we'd get from Mr. McCall on Jon Jon's shouting.

Tate looked at his friend questioningly before gazing towards me to find that I’m stifling my laughter by biting down on my lip. “Dude, what house party has ever been in the morning?”

“Oh, you meant eight in the evening?” Jon Jon asked, seemingly in deep thought. “Oh, duh.”

“Yeah, duh,” Tate spoke slowly while crossing his eyes. His friend only shook his head and stuck his tongue out at him.

“Saturday?” I asked, and Tate nodded. “Oh, I might have plans that day.”

That is assuming that Harry still wants me to come out to lunch with him and his friends. Although it’s only lunch, they seem to be an exhausting group to hang out with, so I’m sure I wouldn’t want to go to a party afterwards. Let’s be honest though, he probably forgot about asking me to join them already. I’m sure Tate will forget about this party invite by the end of the week as well.

“Well, if you can’t make it, that’s okay,” Tate reassured me. “Just let me know by the end of the week so that I can give you the address, and let Leah know you’re coming.”

“Okie Dokie Artichokie,” I earned a chuckle from the two of them.

---

The next day, I had to check the students’ agendas in Study Skills for the first time. I know it’s not something to be nervous about since I literally just have to scribble their names and the number of points they earned down on a paper, but holy shit, I was nervous. I’m being forced into speaking to these people first, and that’s way out of my comfort zone. I know it’s only to ask them, “What’s your name?” and say, “Please show me your agenda,” but I still am uncomfortably shy.

“Stop shaking,” the chocolate skinned boy would instruct me, but that would only make me shake more. I get stupid fucking hand tremors when I’m nervous like this, but usually it’s only when I’m making presentations. It gets worse when I see people whispering to each other about it or hear the teacher tell me to relax, and then it gets to a point where I’ll feel like I have to puke. I hate nerves so fucking much. Thankfully, my anxiety slowly began to fade as I got to know my classmates more.

I learned that the kid who pointed out my shaking’s name is Will, and he’s a soccer player. The kid with the eyebrow piercing and gages told me his name was Ian, and I found out, by listening in on his conversation, that he actually plays trumpet in our school’s band. Naomi is the girl with curly brown locks that sits next to Ian. There’s also a boy with pale blue hair styled with a quiff, named Kameron, who happens to be the most fashionable person in the class.

Speaking of styles…

“Are you a vegetarian?” was the first thing Harry Styles had asked me when I reached his desk.

I furrowed one brow and raised the other at him. “Random,” I breathed out and shifted my weight onto my other leg. “No, I am not a vegetarian.”

“Then why didn’t you eat the wings on Saturday?” he asked. So he noticed? Or did Niall actually tell him? I guess it doesn’t really matter either way.

I still wasn’t comfortable speaking about my gluten problems, and I especially didn’t want Harry to know about it, so I said, “Oh. I just didn’t like it.”

“What?” he looked utterly horrified by what I had just said, and it made my stomach drop. I felt myself swallowing hard (which I’m pretty sure was definitely noticeable and loud) as all my nerves came flooding back due to my sudden embarrassment. These feelings take over me way too easily, and I don't like it. “But they’re the best!” was his only argument, and it was a noisy statement, seeming as he earned us a few stares.

“Well, they were gross,” I muttered as I tried to peer at his agenda that he decided to cover up with both of his arms. “Harry, come on,” I groaned. “I need to grade it.”

He just smirked and said, “Just give me an A. That’s what friends are for.” This again?

“Ha, funny,” I let out a forced laugh. “Let me see.”

“Nope.”

“Harry,” I warned.

“Devon.”

Well, if that’s how he wants to play, then I’ll play too. “Are we still on for lunch on Saturday?” I managed to ask without any trace of anxiety. Instead, I had crossed my arms and slyly gazed at him.

He widened his eyes a bit and scratched the back of his neck. “Actually, I have plans,” he said exactly what I thought he would.

“Well, friends hang out, Harry,” I stated proudly. “And since we’re not hanging out, that means we aren’t friends. Therefore, I can’t just give you an A.”

“Clever,” Harry’s growing smile was a dead giveaway that he was impressed.

“Now let me see your agenda.”

He held his hands up in surrender, “As you wish.”

When I looked over at his paper, I became slightly annoyed with the curly haired boy. “Really?” I asked flatly, looking up at his devilish grin. “All of that trouble, and you already had everything completed?”

“Just testing you,” he shrugged, and I rolled my eyes. “So just out of curiosity, if I didn’t have plans on Saturday, and I was able to go, would you have just given me an A?”

“I would’ve been stumped. That’s for sure,” I chuckled, but he didn’t seem to think it was funny.

“You didn’t think I would go, huh?”

I inhaled deeply and looked up at the ceiling before breathing out a, “Well, yeah.” The air in the room seemed to fill with awkwardness as he bit down on the inside of his cheek and scrunched his eyebrows together in a really cute way.

Wow, okay, this is not the time to be gawking. I quickly distracted myself by writing down his name on the paper and scribbling a three next to it.

“I’ll go next week,” he suddenly said, and I looked into his green eyes with confusion. “To lunch with you guys, I mean,” he scratched at the back of his neck before adding, “If you want.”

“Harry,” I laughed. “I don’t really care.” Well, I kind of do, but I wouldn’t admit that.

“Well, you seem to think I’m the ditching type.”

“No, that’s not it at all,” I frantically spoke before I realized he was tauntingly smirking at me, and I shot him a glare. But it’s true. I don’t think bad of him, I just expected him not to be able to go since no one can ever keep plans with me. I’m really just the ditch-able type.

I shook my head free of my pessimistic thoughts before flashing him a smile. “I’m actually doing something on Saturday as well,” I decided to say.

He grinned, “Oh, then what are you doing?”

“Devon, are you finished grading?” Mrs. Cross spoke loudly from across the classroom before I could even answer Harry.

“Almost,” I told her before turning back to Harry. “Sorry, I’ve got to finish this up,” I told him, and he only shrugged.

As I strolled around the classroom, meeting more students and learning their names, I couldn’t help but feel a hint of disappointment about the fact that I won’t be seeing Harry this Saturday. He and his friends seem like a fun set of people to hang around, but who knows, maybe Tate and his friends are just as fun.

It seems as though I can go to that party after all. Do I even want to go? Well, I can honestly say that the thought of me going to a party scares me. Maybe that’s just it though. I’m always too much of a wimp to do the unknown, and that’s probably why I only have one friend. Hayden doesn’t care about that stuff, but that’s because she’s matured fast (and believe me, she has), and there’s more important things for her to worry about.

“Here you go,” I smiled at Mrs. Cross as I handed the sheet of paper that holds the students’ grades to her.

“Thank you, Sweetie. I hope none of them were too much of a pain for you.”

I shook my head and lightly chuckled, “Besides Styles, everyone was fine.”

“Harry,” she gasped loudly, catching the boy’s attention, and I felt my heart drop again. What is this, “Embarrass Devon Day?” I didn’t think she was going to call him out on it. “I’m surprised. I thought you’d be one of my nicer students,” she teased.

But before he could defend himself, or rather say something mean to me, a certain blue haired boy spoke up. “Oh please. Do you really think Mr. ‘I’m so Cool’ over here is going to be easier on you?” Kameron playfully rolled his eyes at Harry.

“I don’t know, Kameron. I like to think all of my students are lovely and understanding,” Mrs. Cross stated. There was a long pause before everyone, including Mrs. Cross, burst into laughter.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Harry shrugged after we all had calmed down. “I did all of my work. And for your information,” he pointed towards the stylish boy with a smirk etched across his face, “I am very cool.”

Kameron scoffed and turned his body in his seat so that he was facing the curly haired boy. With a sassy expression, the boy said, “No. What you are is cocky. Bugging the poor girl doesn’t make you cool. In fact, being cool isn’t cool.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Harry chuckled, and Mrs. Cross and I exchanged amused expressions. I’m not surprised that she’s intrigued by this conversation. She likes to think of herself as one of us, so she usually just butts into all of our social interactions.

“Oh, but it does,” he threw his index finger towards Harry before closing his fist and setting it into his lap. “Being cool is far from attractive. You all think being jerks, dressing in tight clothing, not paying attention in class, and putting your feet on desks makes you so cool, but in reality, it just makes you look like a douchebag.”

“Kameron!” Mrs. Cross gasped loudly, and I slapped my hand in front of my mouth to hide my twitching smile that was struggling to hold back my laughter. I believe I even heard a tiny giggle escape from our teacher’s mouth, but she knew it wasn’t exactly appropriate to laugh at such a thing.

“You think I do that stuff to be cool?” Harry arched a brow at Kameron, his smirk never leaving his face. Once the boy nodded, Harry asked, “What makes you think I’m a jerk anyways?”

“Well, annoying a girl who’s just trying to do her job kind of qualifies as being a jerk,” Kameron teased.

“Hey Devon?” Harry turned his attention to me. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

I giggled a little and replied, “It’s all good.”

“Well, that was,” Mrs. Cross paused, “something.” She let out one of her famous cackling giggles which had us all join her in small chuckles. “You can go sit down, Sweetie,” she informed me. “If you want, you can sit with them today, and get to know them better.”

“Okay, thanks,” I nodded to her before walking over to my desk.

I’m honestly way too nervous to sit over there with them. My nerves always have me looking ridiculous, and I’d prefer not to look like a fool. I have a confusing way of living, really. I’m okay with sharing my embarrassing stories to strangers and friends, but I’m not okay with going through the embarrassment.

But like I’ve said before, I’m always too fucking scared to do shit. I think it’s time to put a stop to that. I mean, it’s my last year of high school, for crying out loud. It’s time for me to live a little. Besides, it’s not like I’ll have to see these people ever again once the year is over.

I grabbed my backpack from under my desk and carried it over to another set of desks, and there I was, standing before Kameron and Harry who were still chatting away about coolness.

“Ah, there’s the girl who was trying to get me in trouble,” Harry whimsically scowled at me.

I pouted and sat down at a desk that was across from the two boys. “I was just saying it like it is,” I stated.

“You did the right thing, Girl. He needed to know,” Kameron flattened his lips and exaggeratingly nodded. “He just needed to know.”

“Shut up, Man,” Harry chuckled as he played with his headphones. “I already know I’m awesome. Stop denying it.”

I rolled my eyes, “You’re getting ahead of yourself there, Styles. I think Kam, here, is onto something. You just might actually be a douchebag. Those tight pants just scream, ‘I’m a dick.’”

“Whoa, language,” Harry teased me. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.”

“You think those tight pants scream, ‘I’m a dick’?” the blue haired boy asked, completely ignoring what Harry had to say. “More like, ‘I have a dick.’”

I snickered, “They definitely put an emphasis there, don’t they? That’s probably why they should remain girl pants.”

When I heard a hiss, I looked towards Harry to see that Will was making the sound effect with his index finger resting on Harry’s shoulder. “Want some ice for that burn?” he asked casually, and Harry pretended to sulk.

“You guys are all cool,” the curly haired boy huffed. “And I don’t mean cool cool. I mean the douchebag cool.”

And that’s when I lost it. I probably sounded like a seal as I let my laughter take over, and I clapped as I let the noise fall from my lips. When Kameron, Harry, and Will started laughing, I think it was just because I looked silly, but for once, I didn’t care. For once, I was glad to have stepped a little out of my comfort zone.

---

“I can’t believe my baby is going to a party,” my mother chirped excitedly as she squeezed me to her chest.

“Um, can we wait until we get home to do this?” I asked, motioning to her as she kept me in the tight grasp of her humliating hug.

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

My mother, Hayden, and I were all at the mall, trying to find me a dress to wear to the party on Saturday. It would probably surprise anyone that my protective mother is actually letting me go to a school party where peer pressure is sure to be thrown at me, but it actually doesn’t shock me one bit. My parents have always trusted me more than they probably should, but they believe I won’t do anything stupid. They think I’m smart enough not to come home high or drunk, and they are definitely right.

They’ve raised me well, I guess. They taught me the goods and the bads, and they’ve shown me that they’ll be nothing but disappointed if I do anything that’s against their beliefs. Disappointment is something I never want to see upon their faces or hear from their mouths, so I’ve naturally became what’s known as a Goody-Two-Shoes. I don’t cuss around my parents, I don’t do any type of drug, I’m a virgin, blah, blah, blah. Basically, I’m the definition of a prude.

Anyways, I already told Tate I was going to go to the party when he brought it up to me on Wednesday, and he had insisted that I put his number into my phone so that he could text me the address or even just so he could tell me where to meet him at the party. I’m not going lie, I’ve stared at his number a couple of times because I’m giddy that a guy actually gave me his number, but I still have yet to text him.

“What about this one?” Hayden held up a really short, highlighter yellow, dress.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I groaned, and the two of them laughed as my mother finally pulled away from me.

Hayden placed the dress back on the rack and began browsing for more options, “What kind of dress are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” I whined. I really hate shopping. My mother always shows me ugly floral dresses that I don’t want, and since I’m too nice for my own good to tell her that they are hideous, I always wind up trying one on. Hayden always screws around and shows me dresses that she already knows I wouldn’t buy. Then, when I pick out stuff myself, they’re both always so picky and judgmental over what I want. There’s just no winning with them, and it’s resulted with me disliking this activity.

“Well, figure something out,” she rolled her eyes. “You’d definitely want a short dress because you’d look ridiculous in a floor-length at a house party. Do you want straps, or no straps?”

“Does it matter?”

Hayden let out a long frustrated sigh. “Of course it fu-reaking matters,” she covered up her cussing out of respect for my mother who’s too busy scanning the dresses to listen in on our conversation. This is another way I know my mother will pick out a bad dress; the fact that she’s not listening to what I’m interested in wearing. “Do you want something that says, ‘I can be sexy’ or do you want something that says, ‘I’m at a party full of slu-ggish people, and I’m still dressed classy.’”

I laughed at her attempted save for almost saying ‘sluts,’ “Sluggish people, huh?”

“It was the best I could come up with. Not my finest moment,” she shifted her weight to her other leg and began playing with her blood orange colored hair. “Anyways, answer my question.”

“Um, I think I’ll go with classy.”

“Alright. So short, but not too short, straps or sleeves, and it has to be a solid color because you don’t like any print.” I smiled instantly at her knowledge. I like print on anything but my dresses. I don’t even like wearing dresses, really.

I nodded, “Yes. Plain would be great.”

“You’re so boring,” she shook her head disappointedly at me before walking away to search somewhere else.

I let out a sigh of relief and began browsing by myself. I have no idea what I’m looking for, and I’m honestly scared that I’ll be too dressed up. What do they wear to that shit? Short dresses with boobs and butts flopping out? If that is the case, I might as well just go in my underwear.

I could text Tate, but asking a guy what you should wear to a party since you’ve never gone to one would be humiliating. Plus, what would he know about girl's attire? Zero. Zip. Nothing.

“How about this one?” my mother placed her hand on my shoulder to gain my focus.

The dress in her hand was long sleeved and had a shiny blue floral print on it. It was actually a pretty decent dress, but the gigantic bow wrapped around the dress’s center was enough to make me change my opinion.

I scrunched my face up in disgust and replied, “Nah.”

“Well, what’s wrong with this one?” she slapped her hands against her thighs before examining the dress over.

“I don’t like bows,” I shrugged, and continued to look through the rack of dresses.

“You are the pickiest,” she snapped, but even without facing her, I knew she was smiling.

Hayden came walking over with a few dresses in her hand and pushed them to my chest. “Go try these on.”

“But I-“

“I don’t care. Just stop being so damn finicky, and pick one. It’s not like you’ll have to wear it ever again.”

I sighed, “I guess.”

“Oh, take this one too,” my mother placed the dress I had just rejected into my arms.

“I don’t even know why I bother telling you ‘no,’” I grumbled more to myself as I walked over to the dressing rooms. After finding a stall (I guess you could call it that), I locked the door and hung the dresses up onto the metal rack. Each dress had something I didn’t appreciate at all: a zipper that zips down the full center of the dress, a see-through waistline, itchy fabric on the skirt, or a turtle neck. These are also far from classy…

But there was one dress where I couldn’t find a single flaw on it.

When I slipped it onto my body, I loved how it hugged my skinny torso and how it was still so comfortable. I jumped around a little in the stall to make sure I would be able to move around in the dress, and sure enough, I could. I bent forward and peered into the mirror to make sure no cleavage would pop out (not that there’s much to look at anyways), and it passed the test. The last test was to turn around, bend over at a ninety-degree angle, and look in the mirror to check that my booty isn’t hanging out.

It didn’t pass that test so much, but it wasn’t too bad. I decided I just wouldn’t bend over at the party. If I drop anything, which is bound to happen, I’ll just squat down to grab it. I tested that movement just to make sure it wouldn’t tear the fabric or anything, so I know I can do that.

So there I was, standing in a navy blue dress that made my baby blue eyes stand out. Its sleeves go down to my elbows, the neckline ends just below my collarbone, and the skirt part of it is loose and swirl-able. By swirl-able, I mean I can spin in circles, and the skirt will spin with me. I like that shit.

“This is it,” I walked out of the stall, still clothed in the outfit I have chosen for the party. My mother and Hayden pushed themselves off of the wall across from my stall and began scanning my body from head to toe. “I want this one,” I stated proudly to Hayden who had picked it out.

“I don’t know,” Mom dragged the words out as she brought her fingers to her chin. “I think it’s too short. Your butt will be hanging out for the whole world to see.”

I let out an exasperated groan and clenched my fists at my sides, but before I could call her out on her dramatics, Hayden chimed in with an, “I agree.”

My eyes were so wide, I swear they could’ve popped out of my head. “You picked it!” I screeched, and Hayden shrugged.

“That was before I saw it on you.”

“I hate shopping with you two,” I spoke through gritted teeth as I stomped back into my stall and shut the door behind me. “I’m getting this one,” I said loudly to them, hoping I wasn’t being too obnoxious to other people that may be in the dressing room with us.

I took another look at myself in the mirror. It’s not that bad, is it? I feel like my mother always criticizes what I pick out because she knows it bugs me, but I don’t understand why Hayden would pick this out and suddenly not like it. So it must be bad? Right?

A knock sounded on the door, snapping me out of my thoughts. “It's occupied!” I shouted to whoever was on the other side of the door.

“It’s me,” Hayden’s voice rang throughout the room. “Your mom went to look at more dresses." Of course she did, I rolled my eyes at the thought. "Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

I took a step towards the door and unlocked it for her, allowing her to slip inside and relock it. She sat down on the tiny bench in the corner of the stall and stared down at her phone as I started to slip the fabric off of my body.

“I wish you were coming with me,” I sighed. “I’m going to be a nervous wreck.”

She looked up at me with confusion written all over her face. “Why? You’ll have Tate with you. Just stick with him, and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not so sure, Hayden. I barely even know the guy, I most likely won’t know anybody else there, and you know I won’t drink or anything.”

As I stepped into my pants, Hayden let out a deep breath. “You need to let loose a little, Dev. Take a shot or two while you’re there. It’ll help relax you.”

God, she’s awful at advice. Did she not hear me say I won’t drink? “Okay,” I grumbled, not even bothering with the conversation anymore. As I pulled my shirt over my head, I decided to change the topic. "You know that this is Leah's party, right? And that Tate is good friends with her?"
She crossed her arms and shot me a smug look, "You're defending Harry's honor still? Devon, you said Tate and Cake Face are just good friends. I was saying that Harry is the type to just go hookup with her. Tate isn't like that."
"You don't know that," I quickly defended the boy.
"Does Tate really seem like the kind of guy who would do that?"
I contemplated the question for a minute. There really is no way to tell with the short time I've known him, but he does actually seem like a legitamently gentle guy. So far, he's lived up to everything he's claimed he is. There's no reason for me to think bad of him now, so I finally mumbled a, "No."
"Exactly," she nodded. "I know you have your suspicions, but I would never try to set you up with someone that I know for a fact will break your heart. That's why I'm asking you to please, please, please, put this thing with Harry to rest. I'm only looking out for your best interests."
I breathed out an, "Okay," but I still refused to believe horribley about the curly haired boy. Why should I give Tate the benefit of the doubt and not do the same for Harry? That wouldn't be fair at all. I don't even know why I'm thinking too much into this. The most we'll all ever be is friends, and that's only if they don't throw me away like yesterday's lunch the way others have.

“You looked hot in that dress, by the way,” she beamed and shot me a wink.

I let out a forced laugh, “Then why didn’t you say that before?”

“I couldn’t just deny your mother,” she said as if my question was stupid, but I guess my question really was dumb because now it all makes sense. She just wanted to be respectful of my mom rather than saying that my butt hanging out will be totally fine. “Now, are you almost done? We’ve got to get out of here before your mother comes in with another pile of dresses.”

Notes

Another update! Yay! So I'm back in school and it may take me a while to update again. I've mostly just been working on this over weekends because there's too much going on during the week. Thank you for your patience. Love you guys<3

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