Why is he talking to me?

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You dedicate sumthing to me...i returning the favoorrr

ENJOY READERS...comment/ votee pleassee 

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I slammed my bedroom door open and Josh looked up from the magazine he was reading. Or, should I say, he looked up from MY magazine which he was reading in MY bed!

“Hey my mom said we could order pizza. Do you like pepperoni?” I asked him. He was about to say something but I interrupted him. “You know what?” I said. “I don’t really care, I’m ordering pepperoni.”

 He put down his magazine, slowly. “Hmm, I see you like Justin Beiber.” I ignored the urge to give him the finger.

 “Why do you say that?” I asked, confused.

“Cause you have posters of him on the wall and a magazine with him on the front cover?”

“Well one: my best friend glued those posters on my wall, so it’s not coming off and two: that’s not my magazine.” I said truthfully, my hands on my hips and eyes glaring.

“So you don’t have Beiber fever?”

“Ew no.”

“Why ew?”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“I’m just curious.”

I sighed dramatically and answered, “Okay well; he sounds like a girl, he’s seventeen and hasn’t hit puberty yet and he just sucks ass.”

I walked over to him, snatch the magazine out of his hands and pushed him off my bed. Thud—down he went. I smiled evilly to myself.

“Ouch!”

"Now you can keep talking but just know all I am going to hear is blah blah blah blah blah.” I said, making talking motions with my hand.

He smiled. Why is he smiling?

“Why are you smiling?”

“'Cause you’re hot.” Again I ignored the urge to give him the finger. I walked over to where he was standing, next to my closet and wrapped my arms around him and leaned towards his lips. He leaned in too. When our lips were about to touch, I kicked him, hard, where the sun don’t shine.

Just like that he was down holding his sacred place.

“What was that for?” He squeaked, with his face scrunched up in agony.

I shrugged. “I don’t like you and I enjoy seeing you in pain.”

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