The Niall Project (Niall Horan Fanfiction).

Tante-Marie is a 16 year old English girl.
Niall Horan is a 19 year old Irish Lad.
When they both cross paths at school, do sparks fly?
Or do fireworks...?

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5. The Next Few Words.

Art was okay. One Direction, being famous and all, could choose the classes they wanted, providing it wasn't GCSE ones. Only revision or Younger Years would help.

It was quite nerve-racking when I found out Niall had joined Art with me, but Miss Ceeliia, a Lithuanian Exchange teacher, allowed him to sit beside me, if he didn't mis-behave.

"Seriously, I'm a singer, not a trouble-maker" he muttered, when she'd left the classroom to find canvases.

I didn't laugh, or look at him. I tried to remember the piece I was going to be painting. It was a piece I'd been working on for a while, and I'd only finished improving it the night before, so I dumped my folder on my desk, and pulled out my finished draft.

Niall smiled approvingly, and opened his mouth to say something, but Milly, the girl who was seated the otherside of Niall, got there first.

"Wow, I can't believe you chose Art!" she stammered, and smiled sweetly. I wasn't surprised when Niall started chatting to her because she was Irish too, and I just smiled to myself, and began working as soon as Miss Ceeliia was back with the Canvases.

I began to draw the faint outline, loosning my hand, letting myself draw freely. I added the sharp curves and strong strokes, and after a couple of minuets, my girl character was beginning to take place.

Niall finished speaking to Milly as soon as I'd finished the outline, and when I'd collected my paints, I began neat strokes.

Brown paint brightened the Canvas in front of me, but something stopped Niall. He wasn't smiling, but eyeing somebody. Everything happened so fast then...

I wasn't sure what had happened.

But all I know was Niall pushed my stool back, me with it, guarding my work as Lewis Cartly, a low-life no-body, squirted a bottle of paint down towards my work. But it wasn't my work that was drenched with red paint.

It was poor Niall.

I clambered off my stool, and I don't know why, but I slapped Lewis across the face. It all happened so quick, like I said, that I couldn't be fully sure that's what happened.

Niall told me repeatedly, but I didn't fully understand.

Miss Ceeliia was fuming. She gave Lewis and I a call-out, even though Niall tried to explain to Miss that it was Lewis.

She didn't even give Niall a second glance.

Lewis and I were sent down to the Main Reception, and she'd asked Niall to wash himself up and head that way too, even though he'd done nothing wrong.

Lewis held his face all the way, trying hard not to look at me. I'd only been lightly affected by the paint, a few drops over my face, hair and shirt, but that was all. Lewis was almost as coated as Niall, but I felt so bad for allowing Niall to do that.

I tried to wonder what his Agent or Manager would do. They would propbably dismiss him, and it would be all my fault.

Lewis and I were seated, while the assisstants took our yellow slips, and gave us tissues to dry off.

"You should have totally been sprayed. But that Irish Priss and his lame singing jumped in".

I badly wanted to slap him again, but I held back, and instead punched him in the arm. It wasn't hard, but hard enough for him to cry out, and for us to get seperated. I was seated behind the main desk beside a moody teacher, and Lewis was at the back of the room.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Niall arrived, and was seated behind me. Luckily, the receptionist allowed us two to chat.

"I'm sorry, Niall. I can't believe...I don't even know what was happening. Your coated. Oh God, you should have let me get hit. And my poor painting. It'll probably be binned anyway".

Niall smirked, and took my hand. I was a little taken aback, but he didn't look too romantic, or didn't do anything romantic, so I allowed him to wipe the paint off.

"God, it's not you that should be sorry! It should be him. He was bang out of order. Why would he try to do that? Is he a...trouble-maker?"

I nodded.

But I was too caught up in his dreamy stare.

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