Hating to Loving: A Zayn Malik Fan Fiction

Chapter Two

"Hey, Mrs. Daphne! D'you need your garden watered?" Someone yelled from the garden, which was across my room. God, who the hell wakes up so early in the morning?! Especially guys; don't they tend to sleep in?!

"Oh, God. Shut up. I want to sleep," I mumbled to myself, extremely irritated, and snuggled closer into my covers. What? Today just so happened to be sunny, but it's windy. So, I'm chilly.

"Yes, please! Do you have extra water?" Mrs. Daphne yelled back with her annoying high-pitched voice. She's a widowed, sixty over years old woman and she has the highest-pitched voice ever. Oh, and not to forget the fact that she flirts with all the boys in the neighborhood.

Gross.

"Sure, I do!" That person yelled back. Gah, stop yelling, jerkhole!

I slapped my covers away and hung my feet down the side of the bed, and groaned. What's the only way? Look. I unwillingly made it to my balcony and I looked down with my eyes half squinted. What?! It's bright!

"Hey! Shut up!" I shot at that person before zombie-walking back to my bed. Yes, that is polite in this neighborhood...for the youngsters, that is. But it's just a youngster to youngster kinda thing. There's nothing like youngster to adult. That's just pure rude.

That person snickered as I walked away. And, I know it was a youngster, because it sounded like Zayn Malik.

Wait... Zayn Malik?! My eyes widened in fear. ZAYN MALIK? But... My hair... My face... My clothes... Oh, God, my hair! I ran back to my balcony, and I swear I was ready to faint. It was him! But he was watering Mrs. Daphne's garden... At eight in the morning? Zayn Malik watering a garden?

Ain't that a a first.

I thought he was cool. Well, more like he thought he was cool. So why is he watering the flowers in the garden? Totally absurd.

"Yeah, looking pretty this morning, Zendaya!" I heard him yell at me when I was still frozen on my spot. Oh, did I mention he pronounced my name slower than needed? Bastard. It's a Saturday, ugh. He had just officially ruined my Saturday mood.

"Looking so hot this morning, Zayn!" I shot back sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I folded my arms across my chest. He's an ass. No doubt.

"Ouch, you hurt my feelings," he clutched his chest, the part where the heart is and made a face. He was typical? Oh God, won't this be good. Ugh. "I'm hot everyday!"

What. The. Eff?! Cocky arse.

I held my hand out and shook my head at his ridiculousness before walking back to my bed. He was so full of himself; conceited. Gah, if girls these days did have taste for guys, they wouldn't fall for a guy like him. Geez. But that also just proves something: That girls nowadays are oh-so-typical.

But then again, since when did Zayn live in this neighborhood? He couldn't possible travel from the street a few blocks away, right? I mean, he could, it's just. Why the hell would he come all the way here if he lived a few blocks away? Senseless.

Or, he could've been living in this neighborhood except, I haven't ever taken special notice on that. Because every single day when I walk home, alone, my head is always down. No, I don't have a third eye, that's freaky. I just hate looking up and facing people and saying hi. Call me antisocial, but that's what I am.

Wait... Why am I caring so much? Stupid, seriously.

I got up from my bed again and dragged myself to the bathroom and prepared myself for the day.