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The Run and Go

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Three minutes.

Three minutes is all Harry Styles registers as he slams his foot down onto the gas pedal on his car. He has exactly three minutes to make it to homeroom, and he’s not going to make it. Unless time stops, he can’t make it in time. He has three minutes to make his beaten up truck move out of his driveway and down the road to school.

Harry is not usually late. He gets up with just enough time to spare, because he knows good and well that he is the only one in the house when he leaves, so he needs to be responsible. He has places to be and things to do, and being on time to school is one of them.

Needless to say, the truck rolls up to the front of his building at just five minutes past eight.

He settles his features into a mask of nonchalance, aiming to deceive the untrained eye into believing that he is in fact completely fine with being five minutes late on the third day of school. He steps out of his truck with his head set high, and in the most low key manner, books it down the parking lot and up the stairs.

The tardy slip in his hand is burnable, and is tempting to Harry. He ultimately decides against it, though, and instead decides to try and slide into english without going into cardiac arrest.

All eyes turn to him when he does in fact open the door, so he just plasters a winning smile on his face and hopes for the best.

Inside the classroom stands a relatively short man. He has blue eyes and sweeping brown hair, and doesn’t seem much older than Harry himself. He has tattooed littered arms, but throws Harry for a loop, as he is not Harry’s english teacher. He freezes in his tracks when the mystery man stops speaking. Harry desperately searches for his actual teacher, only to find that he is not there.

“Care to sit? Or will you stand all day right here as I talk?” the man asks with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Harry realizes the man is addressing him and flushes. He seeks out his friend Niall to see if he could clue him in as to what’s happening.

“Mate, I haven’t got all day. I’m here limited time. Care to sit?” the man repeats, and he looks annoyed as Harry refuses to both answer and do something.

Harry snaps out of his confusion and startles, “Sorry, just late is all.”

The man goes back to looking amused, “I can see that.”

Harry blinks, “Alright, well, uh, here’s my pass. Also, where’s Mr. McCarthy?”

The man stretches out his hand to take the pass from Harry and responds, “Out grabbing a few things for today’s period, take a seat and I’ll finish explaining.”

Harry then walks up the aisle to his seat and flings himself into it. He’s always had a comedic as well as a dramatic streak, so being late is something that is easy to play up and make into a joke. The people around him watch him in amusement as he gathers himself together and attempts to make it seem as if he wants to be there and pay attention to this weird man speak.

Once Harry is settled, the man continues, “As I was saying previously, my name is Louis. I see no need for formalities considering the fact that I am merely a student teacher. My friends and professors call me Louis, and I feel the same about you guys. I will be accompanying this class throughout the first semester, and Mr. McCarthy and I will be working closely. He will be back in just a few minutes, so I figured I’d start by talking about myself and take questions. Does anyone want to know anything about me?”

A few girls fling their hands up and ask him frivolous questions, such as his favorite color and movie just to get him to talk some more. Niall eyes Harry from across the room and straight up rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to toss a piece of wadded up paper at Harry, and succeeds. Harry sends one right back and they giggle manically like children. This is how they spend the rest of the period, even when Mr. McCarthy makes his way back to the classroom.

When the bell rings, Harry slaps Niall’s palm and they grab their stuff to roll out. School is neither one of their callings, and they make it clear. Finishing a class like english calls for celebration.

“Mate, you totally fucked with the student teacher. He straight up looked ready to slap you when you gave him that blank stare. I was fucking rolling, best shit ever,” Niall exclaims as he grabs his stuff, laughing at Harry’s previous manner. He continues, “Mate, everyone was cracking up. The fella seems nice enough, but no one can out-do you. Rolling up late then not saying shit! Classic.”

Harry mentally pats himself on the back for his terrible behavior, clearly it was good to someone. He instantly revokes it though when said student teacher calls his name, motioning for him to go over to him.

“Hey you, over there! Curly haired kid, c’mere,” he says.

Niall cackles and stifles it into his fist. “Have fun,” he says, “See you next block, or not.” Niall giggles gleefully and walks out. Harry slaps his neck and groans.

Reluctantly, Harry walks over to where Louis is standing and waits for him to start the conversation.

“What’s your name, mate?” he asks Harry with a slight tilt of his head.

“M’name’s Harry,” he mumbles.

“Well Harry, I have to say, throwing wadded up paper balls at other people can be fun, but not so much in class,” Louis says.

Harry’s eyes widen, “Shit.”

Louis eyebrows raise, “Keep your words to yourself and stop throwing things. I haven’t been here for a whole day and you’ve already hit me with every possible act of disrespect. You showed up late to class, didn’t respond to my inquiries for comedic affect, and threw things when I spoke. Smooth moves.”

Harry’s eyes widen further, “No you’ve got it wrong.”

Louis eyebrows raise further, “I’ve got it wrong? Explain how I’ve got it wrong.”

Harry takes in a deep breath, “I wasn’t responding because I was trying to get people to laugh. I just seized up, y’know? I don’t like being late. Sometimes when I know something is going to happen, I just don’t respond. I don’t like eyes on me for bad.”

Louis looks at him carefully, “You don’t like eyes on you?”

Harry’s face hardens, “That’s not what I said.”

Louis shrugs in an air of nonchalance, “Alright, whatever. I’ll drop it, but I don’t want to see it again, alright? You have more to offer than throwing paper across classrooms and rolling your eyes.”

Harry bites his lip and feels his face heating up. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Apology accepted, luckily I don’t care much,” Louis says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Harry nods. When Louis looks finished, Harry bolts.

Yet again, Harry has three minutes. He has three minutes to make it to the other side of the school and slide into his seat in bio. Harry has to book it again. This time though, he has his thoughts to accompany him down the corridors and up the stairs.