Every time I see Louis with Isla I feel physically ill. She's so giggly and flowery around him and he tries so hard to reciprocate, but you can tell that he is not enjoying himself. I don't know if it is because he's fighting his sexuality or not. The fact of the matter just happens to be that he does not have feelings for that girl.

The best part of my day is still engaging in small-talk with Louis, however. I'm hopeless.

"Harry, how do I do this?" Louis whispers in the mists of our pop-quiz.

I grant him a wide eyed look, meaning shut up, you're gonna get us both in trouble. He lets out a frustrated sigh, weaving his fingers through his well-kept hair. I feel myself softening when I hear him muttering self-destructive phrases about how stupid he is.

Louis isn't stupid, but he's also not focused, I've noticed. If he'd sit down and put his attention towards what we're learning, he'd probably do fairly well. Out of pity, I scoot a bit closer to him and slide my paper in his direction. I do my best to make it as inconspicuous as possible, but it probably looks a bit noticeable.

His blue eyes gaze at me innocently for a minute before darting down to the paper and examining my work as I continue to fill answers out. Normally I'd condemn someone for copying off of me on a test-style thing, but I obviously make exceptions for Louis. It's not my responsibility to make sure he isn't upset in anyway, but if I can help I think I always will.

"Thanks," He murmurs when class is over and all the tests are turned in. I give him a small smile as we collect our things. "I just don't get this rubbish."

I shrug. "S'just some math with fancy words."

"I suck at math. And everything else academically, for that matter," Louis says as we head out of the room.

"Then why are you in three advanced placement classes with me?"

Louis shrugs, "I guess I'm a good test taker."

I shake my head, "You're smart, Lou. You just have to apply yourself a bit more. Glancing at a problem and immediately deciding you can't do it does't mean you're stupid."

"It means I'm lazy, I know. That's what my parents always say."

"I'm not calling you lazy," I amend. "I'm saying you're smart enough to do everything you don't know how to do yet."

He huffs as I open my locker to retrieve my history text-book. Leaning against the adjacent locker, he explains, "It's so hard to concentrate. It's like I'm paying attention to what the teacher is saying and taking notes but when it comes time to actually do it I'm lost."

"I know what you mean. It probably has something to do with the fact that you're at the top of the social food chain and have parents that push you to not be lazy."

Louis hums in agreement as we make our way to the next class. My mouth spits out a suggestion before my brain gives consent. "You know, I could help you study after school one day. Maybe you could work better with someone one on one."

I felt a disturbance in my stomach immediately. In my mind I had basically asked him to hang out with me in a non-platonic way, even though he had no speculations of this. He nods, "Yeah, that would be brilliant. I haven't got practice on Wednesdays, does that work for you?"

I scoff, "Everyday works for me."

Louis gives me an eye-roll and a small smile as we step into the classroom. "It's a date, then, Styles."

"Good, then, Tomlinson."

With that he steps over to his desk across the room and leaves me with my melted-chocolate feelings and mushy thoughts as the bell rings and the emanate torture of history begins.

_

I become antsy when Tuesday rolls around. This means the next day is my study 'date' with Louis. I do fine with just talking a bit during and between classes, but a few hours of just us talking? I know I'm going to make an idiot of myself somehow and he's going to stop liking me and the entire earth is going to burst into flames.

Perhaps that's a bit melodramatic, but it's what it feels like. I'm succumbing to normal teenager problems. I've managed to stay above those until Louis comes sauntering into my life. That asshole.

I find my mind clouded as I sit on the bench, watching Liam try and perfect his crooked grind. My bored sits beside me along with Zayn, who's sending puffs of cigarette smoke into the air and trying to form a ring.

"Yanno, I think Liam should get gauges."

I lift an eyebrow, "Why on Earth would a person hate themselves enough to put giant holes in their earlobes?"

"It'd give him some more edge. Frankly, if it weren't for all the muscle and cheap thrift-shop clothing he'd look like a teddy bear."

"Teddy bears are fun," I say, pushing a few annoying stands of my curly hair from my eyes so I can look at Liam again. "But I see what you mean."

Zayn takes a long drag before speaking again. "The boy's got too much fluff about him."

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. "Weirdo,"

I earn a facetious slap to the arm before he tosses his burnt out cigarette onto the ground and leans back again. "You crashing that party with us Friday night?"

"What party?"

"Isla Tanner's party. There's gonna be booze, females, smokes. All the good things in life that you aren't into."

I shoot him an annoyed glare then stare ahead. "I guess I'm just gonna have to skip it."

"Tomlinson's gonna be there for sure, since she's his human gaydar blocker." He raises his eyebrows. "If that sweetens the pot at all."

I consider this for a moment, biting down on my lip. "I just hate parties."

"Yeah, we know, you hate fun things and anything remotely interesting. But it could really be a chance to have some fun with Louis. Maybe get him a little drunk, maybe a little game of Seven Minutes in Heaven."

"As tempting as that sounds, hard pass. I just remembered we have a huge chapter test in science. I can't study drunk or with a hangover."

"Is there anything I can do to get you to be a normal teenager?"

I shrug, standing and kicking my skateboard up by the nose. "Teenagers scare the living shit out of me."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, My Chem. You're just missing out on the finer things in our awful existence."

"No offense, but more than most of the things that you consider 'fine' will get your mother arrested. For murdering you."

Zayn does a lazy shrug, "She'd get over it. I'm an angel."

I let out a laugh before hopping on my board. "Later, mate,"

He waves as I propel myself by kicking the ground, riding out of the skate-park and towards home.

It was the big day at last and when I woke up with the thought of spending time with Louis on my mind, I decided nothing could possibly ruin it for me. Until I see him casually walking into school with girl number two on his arm.

This time it's the captain of the debate team, Jean Walker. She's arguably the most intelligent person our pathetic little town has ever produced. Unfortunately, she knows it, too. She wrote her valedictorian speech in the third grade.

"What the hell?" I mutter under my breath, shutting my locker with more force than I meant to. Zayn laughs.

"Isla already resigned from her beard career."

I groan, "Or he fired her for a new one."

Liam grants me a sympathetic look. "Sorry, mate. Maybe when he comes to terms with his sexuality..."

I sigh, "He's not gay, lads. Evidently,"

I give one last sorrowful look to the new power couple and receive a clap on the back before heading to class.

_

"So, you and Jean?" I question when Louis settles his books and things at the library table. I didn't want to immediately jump down his throat, but I couldn't contain the question.

"Yup," He replies with little enthusiasm, popping the 'p' and opening his text-book.

I nod, trying to seem like I'm not as interested as I am. I flip to the study guide I constructed for the big test in my notebook. "How come things didn't turn out with Isla?"

Louis releases a huff, "She tried to get me to have sex with her Monday night, so I broke up with her yesterday and asked Jean out."

I try not to scoff. "Gotta keep the anti-gay image,"

"Anyways," He switches the subject. "Where do we begin?"

I clear my throat and glance up at him. "Where are you struggling?"

Louis flicks through the thin pages of the text-book in search for the unit we're on while rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. I assume he's just woken up from a nap, considering he had film class last period. He's extra cute when he's tired.

"Um, I dunno, really, everywhere. The formulas in particular confuse me." He says, peering up to meet my gaze.

I stare back for a minute then grab my bottom lip with my teeth. I ripped my eyes away and picked up my notebook, tossing it down on the table in front of him.

"Here is my D.I.Y. study guide. It has absolutely everything you need to know. Tear it out and use it, I'll explain whatever you still don't understand."

He gives me a frown, "Don't you need this?"

I shake my head no. "I've pretty much got everything down."

"Alright," Louis speaks without conviction, carefully freeing the paper from the spiraled wire. "I know we're doing pretty basic stuff to start out with, so I should get it, I just don't."

"Don't get down on yourself," I give him a small smile. "Maybe you're just over-thinking it because you're used to understanding big complicated smart things because you're a genius."

Louis cracks a smile, shaking his head, "Shut it,"

"Make me."

He glares at me before I feel a swift kick to the shin. Dull pain shoots through my calf, and I exaggerate my reaction. "You twat!"

He laughs and apologizes for the potential bruise he's caused. "Honestly, Lou, you're a very smart person. I know you probably don't hear that a lot. Needing a bit of help doesn't make you an idiot."

"It's just that my parents expect so much out of me grade-wise that I've sort of started shutting down. My older sister graduated number two of her class and she played football and the cello, and my younger sister skipped two grades, and if I don't follow in the same path I'll probably get disowned. I've been pushed through all these honors classes and I barely pass every one of them. I physically and mentally cannot push myself any harder, I think I've fried my brain out."

I frown. "That's awful... Have you told them how much pressure you feel?"

He almost laughs, "Yeah, like they give a rat's ass about how I feel."

I have no idea what to say. No wonder he tries so hard to please everyone. It's what he was brought up doing. It's sickening. "I'm sorry, Louis."

"Ah, don't worry about it," He shrugs. "One more year and I'm gone anyways."

"That's the only hope I've been holding onto since freshmen year; being as far away from this place as I can possibly get."

"I want to go to New York," Louis says, looking like he regretted it as soon as he does.

I turn my head to the side, prompting him to continue, "Really?"

A light pink tinge spreads across his cheeks as he fiddles with his pencil. "I just think it would be ace to be in a big city.. And, like, there are cool jobs there or whatever."

"I'm not going to make fun of you if you tell me what you want to do with your life."

"It's gay."

I roll my eyes. "No, I'm gay. Gay is synonymous with homosexuality, it's not an insult or a negative adjective."

"Well, if I told people how badly I want to be on Broadway, I'd get beat up or spit on for being a faggot."

We both stare at each other, and I can see all that he's been through. Louis Tomlinson is the class clown, popular jock who's scared of being himself because ever time he's tried he's been chastised. I wish I could've been there his whole life to tell him it's okay to be different. I wish his parents would've taught him that.

"Then move to New York," I say. "People don't beat each other up for being gay on Broadway."