(DISCONTINUED)

○ 2.0 :: Smart, Sweet, Savage and Sexy ○

Dedicated to @onedirection4ver because I love all of your comments, and plus you pretty much named chapter 15 :) xx

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"I give up!" I announced, leaning backwards against the wall.

"Pumpkin, you're not even trying," Harry laughed.

We were in Harry's room at his frat house, but despite the suggestive teasing from the other boys when we'd walked in, there was no action happening in there. Actually, we were studying. And no, that wasn't a code word for something else, as Louis had insinuated. I was sitting on Harry's desk with my back against the wall and Harry was sitting on his chair, books spread between the two of us. I had happened to mention that I wasn't exactly a hundred percent okay with the material we were covering in Sykes' literature class, and then ten minutes later we'd said goodbye to Anne and next thing I knew, we were here. Harry insisted that since this was the only class we had together - and, consequently, the only class he could help me in - it was his duty to do absolutely everything he could to help until I understood completely.

"I just don't see why this is necessary!" I huffed. "I want to be a journalist, not a theatre critic. Why do I have to analyze Shakespeare?"

Harry looked up at me in surprise, putting the book down and rocking backwards on the hind legs of his chair. "You want to be a journalist?" He asked, genuinely interested now.

I shifted on the desk. I had never really talked about it to anyone apart from Frida, and even then we hadn't said much. "Uh, yeah."

"First class answer, Pumpkin," Harry snorted.

I rolled my eyes. "You're already rocking on your chair. Don't make me push you," I warned.

"At least tell me why," he whined.

"You're acting really annoying."

"And you're acting really shady."

"I don't have a reason," I shrugged.

"Everybody has a reason for everything!"

"Not me," I said simply, shrugging a single shoulder.

Harry looked at me incredulously. "Really?"

"I don't know!" I defended.

"You do know," Harry repeated. "What do you like about it?"

"It's just..." I sighed. "I don't know. It's just something that's always appealed to me. When I was little I'd see them covering cool stories on TV, and my Dad would read me articles in the paper he thought I'd like, and some of those articles were just... you feel like you're there, you know? It intrigued me. Plus, I like writing, and journalists just seem so... free. You get to travel and meet amazing people and go to amazing places and get first-hand experiences of amazing things..."

Harry smiled. "And there's your reason."

I blinked.

"I don't want to say I told you so," Harry said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and his ankles on the table, "but..."

I narrowed my eyes at him in warning. "Then don't."

"I told you so."

I shoved his shoulder. Hard.

"Shít," he yelled, flailing his arms in a last minute attempt to save himself. I rolled my eyes, grabbing both his hands and pulling him onto his feet at the last second before his chair toppled. It must've been almost a minute before Harry recovered. "Y-you just tried to kill me," he accused.