Lounsbury Prep

Zayn gnawed on his thumb nail as he sat in his economics class. The book that had just been slammed on the desk in front of him was daunting, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the wrong decision by switching schools. Sure, his last school had been a joke, but was a joke really worse than getting so much schoolwork that he was afraid the tower of books would topple over on top of him? What if he got trapped and no one found him for days?

He heard a deep voice clear its throat next to him, and he turned to find Liam smirking at him. Once he caught Zayn’s eye, he leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry. It looks a lot worse than it is. At least, that’s what my friend Ed told me when he took this class last year.”

Zayn wanted to believe his roommate, and his sentiment seemed genuine, but it didn’t really do much to soothe his fear. But instead of dwelling on it, he turned his attention to the old man at the front of the room, trying his hardest to hear what he was saying in his worn voice.

The more sentences that came out of the man’s mouth, the more twisted Zayn’s stomach became. If everything he spoke about the class came true, then Zayn was certainly going to fail, and everything he’d done to get away from his old life would have been for nothing. Briefly, Zayn wondered why the hell he’d taken the class in the first place. He was so out of place in a math classroom; numbers, logic, and arithmetic had never been friends of his, even in primary school.

“Mate,” Liam laughed as the two boys left class together, “you look like you’re going to puke. Seriously, relax.”

“Yeah, the class isn’t that bad,” an unfamiliar blond chimed in. His accent was very distinct, and it wasn’t hard for Zayn to figure out that he’d crossed the Irish Sea to attend Lounsbury. “I should know. This is my second year taking it.”

“Niall, don’t scare him. Can’t you see he’s about to wet himself?” Liam laughed shortly before nodding to his friend on the other side of Zayn. “Zayn, this is Niall Horan. He’s Irish. Niall, this is Zayn. He’s English.”

“Hi,” Zayn responded with a friendly smile. “Is it really your second time taking the class? Is it that bad?”

Niall snorted and shook his head. “Not at all. I just don’t study, don’t do my work, and don’t listen in class.”

“He typically sleeps,” Liam chimed in matter-of-factly. “We’re not sure what we’re going to do with this little potato.”

“I’m not a potato,” Niall responded in a flat voice. “So, Zayn, what class do you have next?”

“English,” the brunette answered, taking only a second to glance down at the schedule in his hands. “Do either of you have English, too?”

“No,” Liam answered, “but I think Harry does. Just look for the kid with an absolute mess of curls on top of his head.”

“But be careful, ‘cause the boy really likes to talk during class. You won’t be able to get him to shut up ever,” Niall agreed with a nod. “And Liam, you’re in no place to make fun of Harry’s hair, since your style was almost as bad freshman year.”

“Hey,” Liam snickered jokingly. “My curls reeled in the ladies. You’re just jealous because they don’t go for the whole ‘dark roots’ look.”

Zayn stayed silent, watching carefully to make sure that he didn’t miss the proper room. When his eyes locked on the familiar number, he took a step to his left, falling out of place with the other two friends.

“I’ll catch you at the room later, yeah?” Liam called to him with a wave, not bothering to wait for an answer before continuing down the corridor.

Zayn took a deep breath and stepped into the nearly-empty English classroom. There were a couple other boys in there, but not even the teacher had arrived yet.

Just walking into the classroom made him feel more at ease. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he could swear that the comforting smell of old books lingered in the air, inviting him to scan the shelves on either side of the room and pick one of the numerous books that struck his fancy.

It took the new boy only about ten seconds before he spotted the hair Niall had described. It was dark brown and wild, covering portions of his face with a craziness that refused to be quieted.

Zayn took a deep breath and tried to bring forth an outgoing nature that he’d never attempted to develop before, pretending he didn’t notice his racing heart as he walked over to the boy. “Hi,” Zayn greeted, pushing his anxiety deep down inside of him. “I’m Zayn.”

The boy flicked his green eyes up to the stranger standing across from him, his long eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Just as soon as Zayn had appeared, Harry’s face relaxed in recognition. “Oh, Liam’s roommate, right?”

The amber-eyed boy nodded. “Mind if I sit here?”

“No, of course not.” Harry sat up straighter as Zayn sat down next to him. “So Liam said that you’re new this year, yeah? How do you like Lounsbury Prep so far?”

“It’s a lot of work,” Zayn mumbled, eyeing his very full backpack under his desk. “My parents told me it would be hard, but I didn’t really believe them. I should have listened better.”

“It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” Harry assured him. “You’ll be able to handle it easily, trust me. If I somehow managed to stay here without flunking out, then you’ll have no problems.”

“Not the most hardworking of students, huh?” Zayn teased, laughing shortly. He had no idea what it was about the boy sitting next to him, but he could feel his timid nature slipping away quickly. The curly-haired boy was incredibly inviting and had a warm aura that Zayn couldn’t help but absorb. He knew already that they were going to get on quite well.

“That would be an understatement,” Harry laughed.

Before the boys’ conversation could go any further, the man Zayn presumed was the professor walked in. He stood ramrod straight, his unkempt white eyebrows sticking out in all directions, and his head shone in the overhead lights hanging from the ceiling.

Zayn tried to suppress the shiver that threatened to flash up his spine. Already, he was getting a vibe from his new teacher that he was difficult. And while Zayn was always up for a challenge when it came to English, since he was so confident in his abilities to analyze text and write clear, detailed papers, he had no idea if he was up to the Lounsbury standard.

When the man began to speak, his voice was gruff and deep, which just made Zayn’s hesitance grow. “Boys, I am Mr. Hartford. I will be your teacher for English Literature. And make no mistakes about it; this will be a difficult class.” His lips spread back into a remotely wicked grin as he added, “Prepare for a bumpy ride.”



“He’s absolutely bonkers,” Harry groaned as he gathered up his books, rushing to try to leave the class as soon as possible. To Zayn, it appeared that Harry had gotten much of the same impression of the man as he had. “I’m preparing myself for a D right now. And I won’t even care.”

“You wouldn’t care about getting a D?” Zayn gasped, completely shocked. “How could you possibly go to this school if you don’t care about your grades?”

“My parents have money,” he snickered. “They don’t care if I pass or not. And hell if I care.”

Zayn had to admit that the other boy had a point. Although he’d never think that way, since his parents weren’t exactly made of money, he could see himself thinking similarly to Harry in a couple weeks’ time if the work turned out to be as difficult as he thought.

“Hey, you want to head to lunch?” Harry asked, nodding toward the corridor that would lead them in the direction of the dining hall. “We’ll get prime seating, since our class is the closest.”

“That sounds great,” Zayn nodded before following the curly-haired boy toward the desired destination.