how to love // z. m.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Giggling the whole way down Fifth Avenue, I made a quick turn on my skateboard, escaping the dog.) and bought a big blueberry muffin which would be my breakfast.

I smiled politely at the middle-aged woman behind the counter, said thank you, and then walked out of there, carefully taking the first few bites of my muffin so that the crumbs wouldn't get all over the place, though it didn't really help at all.

Luckily, the dog hadn't waited outside for me, so I was in the clear. I'd lost the bone a while back, but that hadn't stopped the dog from still hunting me down.

I didn't really know what to do today, so I figured I might as well go to Central Park. Maybe meet some people and mingle with random strangers.

Could be fun.

...

Not really, but what else is there to do, right?

Right.

I took the skateboard and set it down in front of a homeless shelter as I passed, because they would need it more than me, I'm sure. Plus, I was in a huge need to get a new one, anyway. I mean, it's covered with Hello Kitty stickers, after all.

I made my way over in the general direction of Central Park, and finished my muffin. I threw the napkin into a nearby trash bin and clapped my hands together, getting off the crumbs.

"Toni?" I turned at the sound of my name, and saw someone who I'm sure should be ignoring me.

"Zayn?" I asked, even more shocked than Zayn himself. "What are you doing here? Wait, don't answer that. I don't really want a repetition of yesterday."

"Me, neither." He smiling, actually, and caught up to me. "So, where are you going?"

"Just to Central Park," I said as if it were normal for me to be talking kindly to someone who I thought hated me. "You?"

"Pretty much the same thing." Even with sunglasses on, like he usually had because of his superstar status, it was obvious to me that it was him. But then again, maybe it's just because I saw him with sunglasses on last night and the image is still fresh in my memory. "So, listen."

"I knew there'd be a catch here somewhere," I said, interrupting him.

"What?" he asked, looking genuinely confused. Yeah, I'm sure he is.

"You're being nice to me," I explained. "After that little argument yesterday? It kind of doesn't make sense for you to be nice to me, let alone call me out in a public place, or anywhere for that matter."

"I thought we were friends!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "Well, okay. Not really."

"Mhm," I agreed. "More like acquaintances."

"Yeah, but seriously," he continued. "I need to talk to you."

"About what, Zayn?" I pushed dramatically, and he rolled his eyes.

"I really do appreciate what you're trying to do for the boys," he started. "I do."

"Doesn't really seem like it."

"Well, it's the truth," he sighed. "But I honestly don't need your help. I mean, what's so bad about growing up or being mature? I'm getting more sensible. The guys should be happy about that."

"But you're taking everything entirely too seriously," I pried on. "You're going to be miserable all your life if you don't sit back and have fun every once and a while, or like me, all the time."

"I do have fun, though!" he defended. "Singing and doing concerts is fun."

"But not if one of the dancers is trying to do the Macarena and you're sending her death glares," I mumbled, trying to keep myself from getting too annoyed.