Imagines

Lost Girl

She breezed through the halls each day. Transitioning from class to class without a second look in any direction. She was ready to get the hell out of the small town and onto bigger and better things. She didn't know what she wanted to do with her life. The purple haired beauty didn't think college was for her. All she knew was that she had to get out.

She had two months. One more year of meaningless classes before she could escape. She planned on a big city, somewhere she could find herself through all of the confusion of becoming an adult. She dreamed of the day she packed her beat up car and drove for the horizon, no destination in mind.

Her french teacher spoke slowly, as if the class were freshmen instead of seniors who had been taking french since middle school. She sat, clicking her pen on and off as she stared at the lyrics scrawled around the half-assed notes she had been taking.

"(Y/N)," Mrs. Randolph said. The entire class was looking at her and she realized she had dazed off yet again. She looked up to the teacher and asked, in perfect french, if the teacher could repeat the question.

Mrs. Randolph looked to the ceiling with a roll of her eyes.

"What are you looking forward to after graduation?" Mrs. Randolph asked in her odd version of a french accent.

(Y/N) looked around the room, looking for some hint of inspiration. Running away to an undecided city would worry her teacher and she was beyond against drawing any attention to her unspoken plan. It was the first time all year Mrs. Randolph had called on her since the first day of class. (Y/N) sat in the back each day and kept her head down while she scribbled in her notebook.

Her eyes got caught on a boy she didn't recognize. His hair was dark purple, his lips plump and red, his skin as pale as hers. She shook her head and refocused on her teacher.

"The end of my homework days," she replied, her french near fluent. Mrs. Randolph nodded, unimpressed, but moved on with one of the final lessons.

(Y/N) found herself looking back towards the boy. He turned around just as she was staring at the dark shades of purple in his hair, and caught her eye. He smiled and (Y/N) looked back down at the mess of words on the lined paper. She kept her head down for the rest of the period, his flirty smiled etched on her mind.

When the bell rang she was one of the first students out of the classroom. She looked at her shoes as she walked towards her locker, the exact steps she had taken for the last three months. She went through the motions of changing her books for her last period and then slammed her locker door.

"Hi," she jumped as someone spoke, directly to her. She looked into the blue eyes framed by purple hair and wanted to fall into the floor. "(Y/N), right?"

She nodded, holding her books tight to her chest.

"Michael," he held out his hand to her and she stared at it for a few moments before she reached her shaky hand out to him. "I don't think I've heard you talk since the first day of this semester." He chuckled and she cracked a smile, still in shock he was speaking to her.

They stood awkwardly for a moment. (Y/N) had no idea what to say or how to talk to the gorgeous awkward boy. She knew about Michael Clifford. He was a gamer, a nerd; yet he didn't give two shits what anyone thought about him. He died his hair different colors nearly once a month and played guitar.

"Well, (Y/N), it was good meeting you officially. Maybe tomorrow you'll talk to me," he winked as he began walking away. She turned around and headed in the opposite direction almost instantly. Her face was still flushed as she sat down in her final class for the day.

********

"So, how is your day going, (Y/N)?" the same time the next day he was at her locker, smiling brightly. "This is where you said, 'my day is good Michael, how is yours?'"