Patrick Stump Imagines

The Notebook

You threw what seemed like the thousandth thing in your locker outside before groaning and running a hand through your hair. A poor junior from behind you screamed in shock and dodged the notebook, running away from you. This obviously wasn't something normal on a Friday morning.

"God, where the hell is it?" you asked in annoyance. You looked at the back of your locker—the "secret" part—but saw nothing. Finally tired of looking for the damned notebook, you picked up your stuff and placed them crappily in your locker before grabbing what you needed and ventured off to your next class.

Nothing's been going right lately. Your little brother stole your phone and deleted all your apps and messages last night, your mother accidentally gave you the wrong medicine to drink last Wednesday (which unfortunately caused you to have an allergic reaction to it) and you woke up to no milk on your cereal this morning. Usually, your days were perfect and you'd wake up to sunshine and rainbows and whatnot.

A group of students approached you and greeted you as usual before you opened the door to your Biology class which was practically empty except for some kid going through the scene phase in one corner, applying what seemed to be her 12th layer of eyeliner, and a redhead with glasses in one corner, tapping his table quietly as if it was a drumset. You sighed and sat on the front seat in front of the teacher's table, banging your stuff on your desk. This caught the redhead's attention, but when he saw who you were, he averted his gaze back to his finger-drumsticks or whatever he thinks they are. You turned around and observed him and remembered who he was; Andy Hurley from your Physics class. You had no idea you had the same schedule for Biology, too.

You looked away and saw the door open from the corner of your eye, some other emo kid—probably about 5"5—running inside, closing the door violently as if he was late and threw his things frustratedly on the desk behind you. You were immediately uncomfortable with him.

He was sweating and smelled horrible for someone his age. But no doubt did he have an attractive face. You tried to decipher who he was, but you couldn't remember anyone like him that you've encountered before. Well, at least not in the three months of your current school year.

"You're that (Y/N) kid, right?" he asked, snapping you out of your daze. You nodded in confusion before turning you attention back to your stuff. "Well, Patrick asked me to give yu this."

He reached inside his messy bag and pulled out something very important to you; the damned notebook that you lost sometime this week that you have been trying to look for since this morning.

You took it in shock and shook his sweaty hand. He shook yours back as you gasped. "How did you find this?"

"I didn't. My friend, Patrick did."

He let go of your hand and took out his own notebook, writing today's date down on the corner. You weren't even looking at him anymore; your attention was all on scanning the notebook, making sure everything was in place and nothing was destroyed. Fortunately, it was still the same as you remembered it.

"Hey," he called. You turned around as your eyes met. "Patrick asked me to do this, because, you know, he found your notebook and didn't doodle on it or thought of destroying it. Can I have your number?"

"What? Why? What makes you think I'll give you my number when I don't even know your name?" you asked in confusion.

"I don't know! Ask him," he retorted. You rolled your eyes before turning away and ripping a portion of your notebook and scribbling your number down on it.

You called him quietly as he turned his head to you. "Tell him not to spam my inbox, okay?"

He nodded and took the number from you, placing it at the back of his notebook as he looked back at you. "Thanks. My name's Pete, by the way. He's been wanting this since—"

The door opened as you saw probably the whole class and your teacher walk in with a frown on her face. "Alright, which one of you four locked the goddamn door when they were walking in?"

Pete looked down in shame as he raised his hand up, your teacher's face going from 0-100. She called for him and wrote him a detention slip before letting him back to his seat. He heaved a long sigh before looking at you frustratedly.

"Hey, I probably won't be able to tell Patrick the reason why I cant go home early today. Can you tell him that I got detention? Just a favor. Please. I can't imagine the look on the little guy's face when he has to sleep alone in our apartment. He's my best friend, and I'm pretty sure you know what it feels like for your best friend to be sad. Think you can do that?" he asked kindly. You nodded before asking for Patrick's number and placing it at the back of your notebook.

To be continued...