Other side of paradise (Jason Dean x reader)

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Across the cafeteria was a display table.  The table was run by one of the school's best seniors, Peter Dawson.  He was pushing a hot issue, childhood hunger in Africa.  It was a slow running campaign, and he wasn't drawing that much traffic to his cause.  You felt a little bad for him, but at the same time, it was his own fault.  He shouldn't have expected that much attention or care from teenagers.

"Westerberg feeds the world," he shouted.  "Come on people, let's give that leftover lunch money to people who don't have lunches!  Those tater tots you throw away-"

"God, aren't they fed yet?!"

Your sister was the one to make that remark.  Sometimes you wished that the CPS agency wasn't as hellish as it was and they could get you in a family who was actually humane.  You know, a sibling who isn't shitty to everyone else, and parents who gave a fuck about their kids.  This was like some form of Hell for you, even after everything with your biological parents and the foster homes.  It felt even worse knowing that you were one of the torturers, no matter how much you hated it.

"Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa," McNamara questioned.

"Oh sure, Pilgrims, Indians, Tater tots... it's a real party continent," Veronica sassed.

"Sawyer, guess what today is," Chandler asked you.

You thought for a moment, nothing really coming to mind.  You couldn't really think straight for some reason right now, and for some god awful reason you felt like you were being watched.  And it didn't help that the Heathers' + Veronica were staring at you intently, awaiting your answer.

"Ouch," Duke whispered.

"It's the lunchtime poll," your sister informed you.

"So, what's the question," McNamara questioned.

"Yeah, what's the question Heather," Duke added.

"Goddammit Heather, you were with me in study hall when I thought of the question," Chandler said angrily.

"I forgot," Duke admitted shyly.

"You're such a pillowcase," Chandler insulted.

"This wouldn't be the crazy thing you two were babbling about over the phone last night, would it," you asked nervously.

"Of course it is," Chandler exclaimed.

She grabbed your arm and pulled your notebook right from your bag, grabbed Duke's pencil, and stuffed it in your hand.  You were supposed to record answers, but they were never used for anything, so you often just doodled or scribbled random things on the page.  She began to drag you to the first table unfortunate enough to need to answer whatever wild question she had come up with.

But the feeling that someone was watching you was becoming insufferable.  You knew that it was most likely just paranoia, but you just couldn't shake the feeling.  So you decided to just take a quick glance around the caf to prove to yourself that you were being crazy.  But with that quick look, you saw something surprising.  

Someone was watching you.  There was a boy in the back corner, at one of the loneliest table under a broken light, making everything dark and gloomy.  You had never seen this guy before, and you were a little offput by the large dark trench coat he was wearing.  He was staring right at you, and you quickly turned away, not liking the looks of him.  He seemed creepy...

By now, Heather had taken you to the table full of people who were rich and popular, but not as rich or popular as the Heathers.'  They were talking about one of the girls cardigans, and you were honestly pleased to disrupt this shallow conversation.  To be fair, the Heathers' never had any conversations with substance either.  You still hated it though.

"Check this out," Chandler began.  "You win five million dollars from the Publisher's Sweepstakes, and on the same day that that big Ed guy gives you the check.  Aliens land on earth and say they're going to blow up the earth in two days.  What do you do?"

"That's easy," one of the girls replied.  "I'd just slide that wad over to my father, 'cause he is, like... one of the top brokers in the state."

"If I got that money," another girl started.  "I'd give it to the homeless.  Every cent."

"That's beautiful," you told her.

Heather smiled at the group and grabbed your arm, dragging you away.  You knew you were in for an earful, and once Veronica got wind, you could count on a second stern talking to.

"What are you thinking," she seethed.

"Wait, I was just wondering, can we go talk to some new, different types of people," you asked.  "We always talk to those girls and the jocks.  I was thinking..."

"Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she muttered.  "Do I look like Mother Theresa?  If I did, I probably wouldn't have a problem talking to the geek squad."

She pointed over at the table of nerds and future I.T. overlords (Yet another thing straight from the script), and you wanted to run over and sit with them.  They looked like they were genuinely having fun talking to each other and making jokes.  Not getting dragged around by a Heather asking the same people ridiculous questions.

"Does it not bother you that everyone in school thinks you're a piranha?"

"Like I give a shit.  They all want me as a friend or to fuck," Chandler told you.  "I'm worshipped at Westerberg, and I'm only a junior!"

"Just for this once.  Please," you begged.

"Fine.  But, we're going to a party at Remington University tonight, and you're coming."

Ah yes, how could you not expect a catch?

"We're just going to go around and brush up on our conversational skills with the scum of the school."

You smiled as you walked over to the geek table, and began to talk to them, actually recording answers for once.  You began to walk around the school, you managed to reverse the roles and ended up being the one to drag Heather around.