I know this is short!!! I intended it to be longer but I have a plan for the next chapter and I don't want to have anymore on the end of this!!!!
FAN IF YOU REALLY LIKE IT!!!!
How To Turn A Good Girl Bad:
Step Eight: You Torment The Good Girl With Compliments:::
I looked over to the infuriating, annoying, big headed ass, which was sat next to me. “It’s purple.” I told him with a singe of annoyance. Blake’s smug grin didn’t leave his lips though. I narrowed my eyes at him. This has got to be the most pointless argument in history. Well we’re in science actually...but you know what I mean. Our work was laid abandoned on our desk, while the small liquid substance which was most defiantly of the purple variety was being held loosely in Blake’s grasp. He dangled it in front of my face as if to prove some kind of point. All I saw was a purple mixture in a glass tube being waved inches away from my eyes.
"That is blue in there.” He said tapping it lightly. The glass made the sound of a wind chime as his nail collided lightly with it. I scrunched up my face.
“Yeah and also there’s some red in there, which makes it purple.” I pushed his hand away from my face and glared at him. He just glared straight back.
“It’s not purple!”
“Yes it is!” I argued back stubbornly.
“Not it’s not.”
“Yes it IS!”
“Is too!” I felt as if I had the mental age capacity of a five year old now! Who actually argued like this? Feeling stupid or not, when Blake said #is not’ I still had to argue back. I had to have the last say!
“Look I don’t care what you say, it’s blue!”
“Obviously you do, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this argument! It’s purple!”
As you can see we are straight back to the same argument all over again. This is how we’ve been for the past ten minutes. It was even stupid how the whole thing started. Had I of been partnered up with any other partner in the planet, there would have been no argument. Either the other person or I would have dropped this a long time ago. But instead I was partnered with Daniel Blake, the one person I had a strange compulsion to prove wrong, without any concern to how much argument would have to be involved.
“I don’t think we can take your opinion in to consideration on this one, after all maybe you messed something up in that pretty little head of yours when you slammed it in to the table.” Daniel countered this time. My lips thinned at that.
I glared at him. It had been three days since I idiotically slammed my head on a table to wake myself up. And something’s telling me I’ll probably never live it down. Still my glare was a little too forced, the crazy half of my brain was a little too happy about the ‘pretty’ comment thrown in there.