Second Snapshot (Picture This Sequel: Niall Horan)

-Just label me. [Chapter 21]

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE-  Just label me.

My whole world could be described in one simple word. Revision. Attending every single revision session there was during the lunch hour and staying up to all hours had been my life for the past week and it was all too familiar. This was like the whole of my teenage years in high school creeping back into one, I’d worked for my academic position, sleepless nights and algebra packed days I had probably at least opened every single text book there was out there.

Today, was no exception. Sitting at the back of Mr Lowry’s classroom I narrowed my eyes at the dust dancing around in the late summer sunlight that was peeking through the orange blinds that hadn’t been shut properly. The early 1800’s. He boomed in his bored and impassive tone that I had grown to hate as the seconds slipped by with such lack of haste it was surreal.

“Ashley!”

His deep voice brought me from my desolate thoughts of the way dust lingered in the air as everyone slowly turned their heads to look at me smirks rising on their lips as he crossed the aisle sauntering forwards to me his Corduroy trousers swishing together with each step.

“Would you like to head this lecture instead?”

Refraining an eye-roll I sat up in my seat straighter and poised my pen on my paper that was clearly displaying my brief notes that I suddenly felt defensive of. I knew this stuff anyway.

“No, sir.”

I echoed in another bored tone and he curtly nodded before spinning on his heel and sauntering back down the aisle having a wave of an affect as everyone slowly turned to face the front again.

“That’s what I thought. And if anyone else would like to drift off into dreamland then they can let me know and we can arrange for them to teach the class about the 1800’s instead. Do I make myself clear?”

He questioned getting a low murmur of ‘Yes sir’‘s and nods.

After about another ten minutes I was again, bored out of my mind and could not concentrate for my life. Tapping my pen on the wood of the desk I let my mind go elsewhere. I scolded myself as my eyes kept landing on the track on the other side of campus. It was barely visible from here, a blur of white lines dipping in and out around the red tarmac as a bob of heads covered the ground sprinting across. That used to be me. I kept on gazing down at my white lace up plimsolls and debating whether they’d be good enough to run in for a few minutes, I had this sudden urge, craving even, to run again. The feeling of the burning tarmac through the soles of my shoes and the sun splashing the athletics department heavily causing sweat to rise on your brow as you covered distance by the split second.

My prayers were answered as the bell rung and I swiftly scooped up my pencil case, ramming it into my bag and sauntering straight out and spilling into the busy halls. Giving a few people I merely knew the names of smiles I pushed my way through to the doors at the end of the corridor. It was then, that I saw her.

Sophie Arts.

And of course, right by her side, was Jasmine Fields. Jasmine and I, went back a few months before Sophie. Jasmine was a quiet girl, with bright red hair and geeky glasses that she had appeared to have ditched now, a porcelain complexion and a curvy frame she was needless to say, a pretty girl. Although, she was more cute, than anything. With her tiny button nose and other small features and little Alice bands. We had met at a photography class, I, as always, went on my own; it wasn’t that I didn’t have friends. It was just that sometimes, it’s nice to do things on your own, nobody to depend on or rather, nobody to depend on you.  Jasmine, was on her own too, but clearly she was ready to change this. She seemed weary of me at first, I was the year above her and the ‘it’ girl if you please, Ellie had just made her breakthrough and was determined to bring me with her, I was unwilling amerced in her gleeful limelight and by then, word had spread. And I, gained the name of, That Dawson sister. I couldn’t say that it bothered me, it didn’t exactly intrigue me either, I never did crave fame, but I got it anyway. Marching right up to me, she gave me an un-even smile her shiny pink lip gloss glinting against the lights. “Hi.” She had said sticking out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Jasmine, Jasmine Fields, and you’re Ashley Dawson, right?” She wasn’t anything special, just another aspiring photographer that I was a little better off than, she wasn’t amazing, neither was she bad. To be fair.