Cracks in Anchors

rumeurs sont plein de merde la plupart du temps

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“I think he’s trying to say something about how ugly we are.”

A sigh crawled out of Harry’s throat. “No I am not calling you ugly.”

“Then are you talking about having babies or something?”

“No Tom, I am not talking about having babies either.”

This was torture -literally. It’d been ten minutes and Harry had only said three sentences the entire class and kids kept not understanding, which delayed the learning train to our brains. It made me sigh and wonder what the human race had succumbed to; why it seemed like as new generations came to be they got duller and duller and faker and faker.

“He wants to know what the verb ‘to be’ is.” All eyes turned towards me and I saw the hint of a smirk painted on Harry’s warm face.

“Good job Sullivan, and do you know what the verb is?”

“Soit.” A smile that spread itself towards both ears graced his face.

“Vous semblez être le meilleur élève que j'ai, mon amour.” His accent one second was British and in the next it was French, which made me blush because I couldn’t help but think that damn, his voice kinda made me hot and bothered, if you know what I mean.

But then, after the blush seeped back down into my heart, I thought about what he said and looked at the black board wide-eyed. You seem to be the best student I have, love. Love, what was with him calling me “love?” Maybe it was just a British thing, or maybe it was because he liked me more than he should have. And deep in my bones, where the light failed to shine, I sort of wanted him to like me more than he should have. Because, as the days dragged on and I kept thinking about Harry and that day at McDonalds, I started to feel differently about him. I started to see him in a new light, I suppose. Whenever I looked at him all I saw was a boy - a 23 year old boy who had more obligations than he probably should, or could, handle. I saw a pair of tattered jeans he wore too often and white t-shirts he probably wore when he wasn’t at work and curly hair that he had to tame everyday. I saw the aftermath of teenage angst and mischievous eyes and lost hope. I saw guilt like it was a tangible form on his shoulders, I saw a speck of carelessness in his eyes. I saw everything I wasn’t supposed to see.

“Oh, uh, thanks Mr. Styles.” But Harry had already moved on and was writing on the chalkboard and had his back turned to me. He wrote a conjugation then turned back to us, stuffing the chalk into his jeans pocket.

“What does this mean?”

“We didn’t learn this yet, Mr. Styles.”

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“You know who Turner Cuddy is, right?”

“No, not really.” I shrugged and tugged my glove onto my hand, the scarf around my neck swinging in the chilly wind. “Oh, well he was spreading some pretty rough rumors.” I nodded, feigning interest because in all reality I didn’t care. I knew rumors were just that - rumors - and I pitied anyone who actually believed them. Like last year, when a boy in my grade told everyone that the school nerd was a closet sex-addict and that she tried to rape him at a party. The stupid half of the student population believed him and the not-so-stupid other half didn’t and thought it was a load of shit. Which it was.

Nonetheless, the rumor spread like wildfire through the halls and three months later said nerd moved without any farewells.

“But it’s about you, Sullivan.” I shrugged on my winter coat and began walking away from the girl in my French class, heading towards the parking lot.

“What about me?” I decided to give in to my interest, wondering simply if it was a stupid rumor or something just cruel. Which, as I listened to her and walked, I realized it was the latter and to this day was the cruelest thing another human being had done to me.

“He’s saying you and Mr. Styles are having an affair. Like fucking in the supply closet during study halls.” That made me stop in my cold tracks, turning back to her and biting my chapped bottom lip.

“Well that’s ridiculous, nobody believes him, right?” I saw from the hesitation in her eyes that yes, people believed him and yes, they were calling me a teacher-fucker.

“Whatever, I know that it’s not true, so I’m not going to worry about it.”

But that was a lie, I worried about it as my mother drove me home; when I did my homework and took minute-breaks which turned into hour-breaks to browse the internet; when I ate dinner silently and when I sat down to watch TV in the living room. Then I started to worry if Harry heard the rumor and what he would think - if he would laugh it off or wonder if he would loose his job and decide to ignore me for the rest of the year. God, I hoped it was the first, because for some odd reason I felt like I needed Harry, like he made going to school easier and more copeable - like I wanted to be there.

Harry was like a heaven-sent, and I couldn’t begin to fathom just how much he would mean to me.

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“Harry, I heard some rumors about you today.” Louis talked through a handful of peanuts as he drove us back to his apartment.

“What rumors?” I just got out of school and was tense after I saw Sullivan’s face when I told her she was my best student, which I technically meant in an honest manner. She was the best, compared to all the dumb-asses that surrounded her. They couldn’t even say a simple sentence in French while Sullivan could reiterate anything and everything I said. I wasn’t even that good at French when I was in high school.

“You’re having an affair with Suzy?”

“I don’t know a Suzy.”

“Sully? Oh-”He snapped his fingers as he stopped at a red light. “Sullivan! You’re having an affair with Sullivan and fucking her in the supply closet during study halls.”

“Where’d you hear that?” I rubbed at my eyes and rested my head against the window, wondering how that rumor came about; but god knows it only takes one conversation for rumors to fly out of control.

“I was at Starbucks and heard some high school kids talking about it.”

“Figures, but that’s a load of bullshit if I’ve ever heard any.”

“You would know, you’re like the king of bullshitting.” We pulled into the driveway and I flung the door open, jumping to the concrete while loosening my tie of the day.

“Hell yeah I am.” It wasn’t something I should have been proud of, though, because lying to your fiancé wasn’t something a “real” man would do, but then again, maybe I wasn’t a real man just yet. Maybe I was just a kid, getting into too much shit that I couldn’t handle, stuff that I just couldn’t bear. Like lying to my fiancé, if we were that anymore(which I hoped we weren’t), and taking my female student out to McDonalds when she should have been learning about math.

But fuck it; I was young and not in love.
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I bough the Teen Vogue with Harry on the front today at the grocery store hehehe. Sigh, I don't knowwwww, are a lot of people still into this story or what? Comments are bad-ass and if you comment you, in fact, are bad-ass, and who doesn't want to be bad-ass? xx.