Evan Peters Imagines

Writing Prompt 10

Writing prompt: You have the ability to measure things by how dangerous they are. For example, a child will rate a 1 while a man with an assault rifle will be a 7. Then, one day the new, unassuming kid measures a 10. What do you do?

Summary: At your new school, you meet the Welcoming Committee. When you leave to use the restroom, you run into Tate Langdon.

You can see things others cannot. Not ghosts or whatever, but people's danger rating.

It wasn't a number on their forehead, but instead, it was a little voice in your head. It popped up when you met the person for the first time or if they had some change. You never met anyone with a rating over 5. The highest was the police officer that pulled you over when you were driving after curfew. The lowest was your sister's newborn baby who measured a zero.

School number three in a little under two years. You shook your head as you walked into Westfield High School. A girl walked up to you, beaming, her hand out for you to shake.

"Hello, welcome to Westfield High. I'm Jenny, I'll be your guide. Can I see your schedule?"

You handed her the paper that your mother brought you home after she signed you up for your classes. It came in a packet with a school map, a rule book, and a list of school supplies you were to buy. You watched her, the little voice in your head measuring a three.

"Well, Y/N, you have English which is down the hall right after the boys' bathroom," she started, telling you exactly where your classes were. Jenny walked away, leaving you to fend for yourself. You prayed that you wouldn't be called out by the teacher. With your luck, you ended up standing up at the front of the classroom. The students, your peer

Every time you looked up at their faces, the little voice called out numbers.

Three, two, one, one, two, four, four, ten, two, three, one...

You tensed, digging your fingernails in your palms. The numbers continued to bombard your brain as you tried to figure out who could be so dangerous that they scale a ten.

"Y/N, Y/N," Mr. Soltas called, placing a hand on your shoulder, "You can sit down, or go to the nurse or something."

"Can I use the restroom?" You muttered, gathering my things. He wrote you a pass, telling you that the bell was going to ring soon and that you would need a pass to get to your next class. You sped down the hall, accidentally walking into the boy's restroom. When you were safe in the girls' restroom, locked in a stall, you heard the bell ring. A soft hum of students changing classes and the slams of lockers echoed in your ears. The late bell rang and the soft hum disappeared. You walked back out, looking down at your schedule trying to find my second class.

You felt someone appear and you stopped abruptly. He stopped too and you recognized him from my English class. He kept his head down the entire time you were up there, barely making eye contact with me. His dark roots and blonde curls hung over his forehead, barely brushing over his eyebrows.

"Y/N, are you leaving already?" He smirked.

Oh god, he's hot.

His dimples deepened the wider he smiled at you.

"I can't find my class," you admitted, handing him my schedule.

"It's right around the corner, to the left."

You thanked him, walking around him. He hadn't told you his name. You walked in, handing the teacher your pass and taking an empty seat in the middle row.

It was somewhat quiet, the short conversations between my peers giving me tidbits of what this school is like. So far, you found that there were obvious cliques.

It was then when the questions popped into your mind, where would I sit during lunch?

The classes rolled by slowly. You introduced yourself to a few new people after they turned to give you a second look.

You felt like a wild bear that wandered into a neighborhood. Everyone stared at you, not daring to come close. You kept your books clutched to your chest and slowly relaxed throughout the day.

When lunch came around, you held a bag of chips in your hand. You scanned the room looking for an empty area or Jenny. You found a seat in the corner that was empty. There was a group of friends eating and talking a few seats over so you felt somewhat comfortable.

"You're in my seat."

It was the same boy from earlier, "Do you want me to move?"

He smiled and sat down in front of you, "No, you're fine. We can sit together."

You smiled gratefully and opened the bag of chips.

You ate together and talked about the school and how the school functions. You learned that his name is Tate and you can tell that he obviously hates it here, and understand why. He ate lunch on his own every day while people he's known since kindergarten sat a few feet away from him. He eventually learned to shut everyone out and stop trying.

~~

A few weeks passed and you became close friends with Tate. The two of you were sitting together on the couch in your basement eating ice cream.

"You, Ms. Y/L/N, make the best sundaes," Tate smiled. He had a drip of chocolate syrup trailing from his lip down to his chin.

"Here." You began wiping it with a napkin you had on the table.

The little voice in your head came back,

Down to nine, it stated.

You felt your arms tense and Tate noticed, his expression going from happy to concerned for a split second.

"It's fine, I'll get it," Tate smiled, carefully taking the napkin from my hand. You smiled back awkwardly, stuffing your mouth with more ice cream. You smiled awkwardly and he laughed, thinking you were joking around with him. You could see a glimmer in his eyes that you've never seen.