Leave Me Alone

17 year old Nichole Richardson transfers to Holmes Chapel Comprehensive School to study music, but not everyone is so friendly. 18 year old Harry Styles gets a kick out of making Nichole's life hell. Will she pressure through, or will she break and return to America?

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1. Heartless

Nichole's POV

 

"Nichole, relax. You'll love England. It's so beautiful and serene. We've got you enrolled in school, too. What was it called, dear? Oh, right, Holmes Chapel Comprehensive. It's wonderful, honey, just perfect. Trust me,"

Those dreaded words rang in my eyes as I walked to my locker again, head bowed, hoping not to be recognized. This was the last thing my parents did, the last thing they gave to me: my education. A tear rolled down my cheek as I reached my locker and balanced all of my books on the crook of my left arm. As I extended my right arm out to turn in my combination on my lock, someone walked behind me, hit me roughly, and knocked all of my books onto the floor. I sighed and turned to look at the culprit with a clear suspicion in mind. My view proved me correct. The bobbing curls in front of me turned and his emerald green eyes pierced into me. It was him. Mr. Popular himself. All-star performer and athlete. Harry Styles, my own personal Hell.

Harry had made a game out of teasing me since I first arrived, making fun of my American accent and knocking my history books out of my arms. He managed to find my locker and the teasing increased in stature. Anonymous love letters had started appearing there. At first, I found it cute. Someone in this school who found me so beautiful, so perfect, that they were afraid to approach me. I carried them everywhere. Soon, there was more and more and more. All getting worse, telling me how he was losing feelings for me because I wasn't nearly as pretty as he thought or I wasn't perfect because he saw me do countless things that just disgusted him. My heart shattered over those. What was happening? Was I not allowed happiness? After that, I isolated myself, choosing to sit in the back of class or in the corner of the cafeteria. Harry managed to find this utterly hilarious. He'd crack jokes about how I had no friends, how anyone as horrible and pathetic as me shouldn't deserve any, anyway.

Over a span of a few weeks, I'd learned to just avoid him. I only wished it worked.

"Hey, loner!" He called from across the hall. Every head turned to stare at me. Everyone knew Harry despised me. It was a fact here. One I hated. Yeah, when I first came here, I drooled over him like every other girl. But, unlike the other girls, I was different. And that was enough to get him to notice me. Unfortunately, it was in the wrong way.

I sighed again and gave a slight smile. He jogged over to me, kicked my books out of reach, and put his hands on the lockers surrounding mine. He gave me a cheeky smirk and stepped closer to me. "You know," he said. "You'd be a lot better if you weren't American. It must be tough, not having everything you're so used to. Do you miss it? Do you miss being in quite possibly the worst country in the world? Hell, I'd rather be in Iraq than America. I prefer not to be morbidly obese. I like looking like I do. All you ever see there is--"

"SHUT UP! You don't know anything, Harry! You don't know anything about my home, my family, my friends, or my life! I'm sick of you! Go play in traffic, or whatever you people say that means go kill yourself. I hate you!" I screamed before running off, my books long forgotten. Once outside in the fresh, crisp, March air, I felt the tears fall. The sobs ripped through my chest and I couldn't contain myself. I didn't mean to say the things I did. Not the last part, anyway. I don't wish death on anyone. I know how bad that hurts everyone else. But it's not like he'll take it literally. He despises me. It's a known fact.

 

Suddenly, a shadow crossed mine and I heard books being set down beside me. I looked up and saw a boy standing awkwardly beside me, like he didn't want to be seen here. "Who are you?" I asked, sniffling. He cracked a slight smile and sat down beside me. The dull sun caught his blonde hair and the wind played with it, lifting it and throwing it around, like a child. His blue eyes sparkled when they met mine. "I'm Niall. Niall Horan. I'm actually a friend of Harry's, but I don't agree with this. I don't think it's right, him teasing you like this. I'm not asking you to completely forgive him and forget everything he's done to you, just hear me out before you say anything, okay?" He asked. I grabbed my books he had brought me and nodded curtly. He sighed, and stood up to face me. "Nichole, Harry is a good guy. A bit jerky, I guess. Is that a word? I think it is, but maybe not. Oh well. It is now. Anyway, he may seem terrible, but he's a nice guy. He's just really confused. He was raised to not care for Americans. Don't ask me what kind of parents do that, but he was. He wants to treat you like everyone else, but you're on his radar, simply because of where you're from. Nichole, what you said back there proved is family right: that Americans aren't good people. And trust me, I'm positive it hurt him, deep inside," he said cryptically. I cocked my head. "What do you mean?" I asked. His focus turned back to the school. "I'd better go. Final bell's about to ring and it would not make Harry happy if I'm here with you. But here, take my number, and talk to me about it tonight. Later," he said, handing me a slip of paper and running back inside. I looked at his number, sighed, and walked to my car, my books pressed against my chest. In the three months I've been in this school, today was definitely the strangest.

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