The hallways of the American high school felt like a movie set.

Lockers clanged open and shut. Neon-bright posters screamed about prom, bake sales, and football games. The smell of floor wax and cafeteria pizza clung to the air like a second skin. You moved through it all like a ghost, your accent still sharp on your tongue, your unfamiliarity marking you as different before you even said a word. Exchange student. New girl. Quiet. Foreign.

You stuck out, even when you tried not to. And the worst part? People noticed.

Especially him.

Evan Peters.

You heard his name before you ever saw him. He was in the yearbook like ten times from last semester alone. MVP. Homecoming King. Drama Club. He played football, dated cheerleaders, and had that kind of fast, lazy grin that made teachers go soft and girls whisper 'bout him. His hoodie was always halfway zipped. His hair looked like it never listened to him, curling in that careless way like he woke up cool.

You first met him in English.

He sat behind you. Tapped your chair with his sneaker constantly. Asked you how to say swear words in your language. Teased you for your handwriting. Called you foreign exchange mystery girl for a week straight.

And then one day he just… showed up at your locker.

“Hey,” he said, tossing an apple from one hand to the other. “So, like—be honest. Is our school totally lame compared to where you’re from?”

You rolled your eyes, but your heartbeat betrayed you. “I don’t know. Haven’t had a fire drill during math class yet, so… maybe.”

He grinned. “You’re funny.”

You weren’t trying to be. But you didn’t say that. Because Evan Peters was the type of guy who treated eye contact like a challenge. And when he looked at you — really looked — you felt like your skin was made of something thinner than bone.

After that, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

He called you “exchange kid” in the hall but remembered every class you had. He offered to help you with your locker combination like it was brain surgery. He found your spotify playlist once when you left your phone open during group work and told you it was “weirdly good.” He started sitting next to you at lunch. Just… showed up.

He flirted like it was breathing. Like he didn’t even realize it. Like it wasn’t intentional — until it was.

One afternoon, you were sitting outside under the bleachers, headphones in, notebook open. The sky was cold and cloudless, sun cutting sharp across the pavement. You felt the air shift before you even saw him — that Evan kind of stillness, that he’s-here awareness.

He sat next to you like it was already his spot.

“People say you’re shy,” he said, popping a Skittle in his mouth. “But I don’t buy it.”

You didn’t answer.

He smirked. “You’ve got that quiet chaos vibe. Like, if you wanted to, you could destroy a man with one sentence.”

You turned to look at him. Finally. His grin faded for just a second — not gone, just quieter now. Like maybe he was the one getting nervous.