That Wallflower (A One Direction/ Little Mix fan fiction)

Chapter 7

OH MY GOD EVERYBODY I ACTUALLY EDITED THIS ONE FOR YOU!

YYYAAAAAAAYYYYYY!

My way of showing my love. I guess. :D

Chapter 7

"So you and Niall seem close," Harry stated.

I looked up from the English textbook. I shrugged. "I guess. He's a really nice guy."

"Hmm," he hummed.

One of my eyebrows rose as I looked up at him. "Why are we talking about this?"

"About what, Jade? As the teacher I think it's your responsibility to keep us focused on the stake at hand. Why aren't you doing that?"

I grunted. He's always so annoying. I've barely adjusted to it, but it was enough.

"Okay. So a metaphor is like a simile except you're not making it clear that it isn't real, I guess you could say." I still don't know why I was chosen for this job, I'm bad at explaining things. "Like..." I looked around my room and my eyes settled on Harry's hair and I blurted out an example. "If I were to say you had a mop of curls on your head. It's not really a mop but it describes how your curly hair goes in just about every direction there is."

He snorted. "Find yourself thinking about my 'mop of curls' often, Sweetheart?" he smirked.

I scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It was either that or referencing to your hair being the color of crap." I was hoping that the insult would slap him into silence but instead he leaned forward abruptly and gently took my hand in his.

"You know you can touch it if you want," he whispered.

My eyes were wide and my mouth was gaping. To say I was in shock was an understatement. I hated that he did this. He always needs to flirt and at the most unnecessary times he takes his flirting to whole other level. I just hated everything about him, especially since he made me feel this way.

My lips quivered as I looked for something to say but no sound was produced as he laced his fingers with mine and then led my hand to his hair. God, this was actually pretty freaking strange.

If not incredibly sexy.

I slapped the thought away as my hands suddenly could feel the softness of his hair. His curls were silky and plush, as if he was the model for a hair ad.

Looking into his eyes, star struck almost, it didn't take too long for me to come back to reality as I harshly tore my hand from his, letting go of curls I didn't even know I'd begun holding. I swallowed and shakily pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

"Do you have any metaphors for me?"

"She is a mystery, a book with one too many words of experience as her pages are continuously turned. A poor little soul that's previously been burned."

I felt as though the last sentence wasn't supposed to be heard since his voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"I asked for a metaphor not a Shakespeare poem," I muttered spitefully.

"I think I'm getting better at this," he grinned as if he hadn't heard me.

I rolled my eyes. "On to the next thing."

~*~

My eyes finally opened as I muttered a bunch of angry words. I got out of bed and grumbled all the way to the door of my dorm to yell at whoever was waking me up at this ungodly hour.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded in annoyance.

The three girls before me giggled.