Wildest Dreams [H.S.]

It is the first day of senior year and Barbara Stewart has planned exactly how she is going to tackle the next ten months. What she did not plan was for the new kid to be a snake eyed nonchalant punk with a bit too many tattoos and a certain interest in her.


13. Thirteen

In less than five minutes, Harry’s Cadillac slows down and takes a soft right turn, making its way into my driveway. The car jumps a little when it drives over the bumpy asphalt. I am relieved when Harry turns off the engine. It is not loud, but it is loud enough to wake my lightly sleeping mother, and even though she is a great woman, I am not sure I want her to step out on the front porch in her bathrobe and introduce herself to Harry.

I do not think Harry has ever been one to meet the parents, and with us barely being more than strangers, I doubt he would find it comfortable. 


“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” Harry says as I make my way around his car and soon join his side. He is standing with his hands in his pockets, and his eyes resting on the yellow wooden house in front of us. 

“It’s nothing special,” I reply. I have always liked my home, but when I face the facts, then it is nothing special. It has an important value to me, but that is mainly because I have spent all my childhood years in that house. It is so filled with memories, and in some way, I guess that makes it special. 

“I don’t believe that.” Harry protests coolly. 

I glance at him. His eyes are still turned to the house and he is aware that I am watching him. I can tell by the small pulling at the corners of his lips.
“Where do you live?” 

This calls for a reaction.
He allows the barely existing smile to grow.
“Nowhere special.” He says with a particular dreaminess. The smile does not quite reach his eyes, but still I catch myself not quite believing him. A guy like Harry Styles is bound to live somewhere special, at least somewhere worth telling about. 

“I don’t believe that either,” the words come out confidently and I am surprised that my voice did not loose its strength. This time he decides to turn to me. 

“That’s funny.” His brows furrow slightly, “I am not as special as you crack me out to be, Barbie.” 

“I never said you were,” this time I fumble a bit more with the words. They come out too fast in a failed attempt of saving my thoughts from being too obvious. 

“Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles with a hidden irony. 

But I didn’t. 


When his green eyes are locked with mine, the air around us gets harder to breathe and I am positive that there is only him and I in the world in that moment. He pulls his lower lip in between his teeth and tilts his head a bit to the side, watching me with wonder. I pull at the sleeve of my shirt, forcing it over my hand. In this second, his eyes are not sparkling with flirtation but with a particular tenderness. It makes me uncomfortable.
There is a moment of vulnerability right before he raises a hand to my face. I forget to breathe as he, with a light touch, brushes a sling of hair behind my ear. I want to close my eyes and consume the atmosphere, but instead I force myself to keep eye-contact with him. 

I am not sure what game he is playing, or if he is playing at all. All I know is that I don’t know anything at all. The way his fingers feel against my skin lights parts of me on fire, and all I know is that I can not keep up with him. He is so sure of what he is doing. Not for a moment does he seem to hesitate, and I am so unsure. I do not know how to play with him, and how can I when I don’t know the rules.
I part my lips a little and allow myself to suck in a great deal of air.

He is well aware that I am captivated by his sparkly eyes and the smirk that all too often spreads across his face. He knows exactly what it does to me, when he let his fingers run slowly down behind my ear, even after he has tucked my hair away.

“I should really get going,” his words come out as hazy whisper. 

I manage to reply with a faint nod. I do not want him to go. I want to stay out here for the rest of the night. I want to talk about all the things we should not talk about. I want to get to know this boy to the depth of his bone. 

When his hand falls down his side, my mind yearns in protest, but my body stays completely still. 

“Goodnight, Barbie.” He takes a step backwards. “I’ll call you,” a satisfied smirk grows on his lips, as he turns to his car. I stand still in my driveway and watch the red Cadillac disappear down Rose Hill Road.

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