You were peacefully at your locker, rummaging through your books and papers, trying to locate the assignment you had shoved in there last week. Suddenly, you heard an all-too-familiar voice cut through the air.

“Hey there, gorgeous!”

It was Pete Dinunzio, his trademark backward baseball cap slightly askew on his head, black hair sticking out in unruly tufts. You glanced sideways at him, your expression a mix of annoyance and mild curiosity. He stood there, leaning against the lockers with a casual bravado, as if he owned the place.

Pete had a reputation—one you’d heard whispered in the halls. Part of some nerd club with his three equally eccentric friends, he was known for his obsession with horror and all things grotesque. He often talked about films and special effects, his passion spilling over into cringe-worthy rants that made others roll their eyes. Today, however, his focus seemed to be on you.

You could sense the shift in energy as he tried to charm you, his eyes gleaming with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. He leaned closer, his tone conspiratorial. “You ever seen Night of the Living Dead? I bet you’d love it. The way they do the makeup—pure genius! You should totally check it out... maybe we could watch it together sometime?”