Taron Egerton Imagines

You're Different, I Like That

high school au

Edited

Y/N's P.O.V

I often find myself becoming a new stereotype every few months.

For example, I was 10 years old when I was first openly called a slur. Mum had agreed to help give me an undercut and cut my hair just over my ears. I was ecstatic that I finally looked like a character from a novel I had been obsessed with. Older kids would snicker and point and I was stuck in a sexuality stereotype that I didn't even know about.

When I first started high school, the nerd stigma began. No obvious bullying but definitely a prejudice for how I was to be treated by everyone simply because I could balance ionic equations in Chemistry faster than anyone else did.

A label for the music I listened to. A name for how I acted around my friends. A category for the opinions I chose to speak about.

Always a box to put me in.

The new kid stereotype was my most recent acquisition.

Mum had closed her last case as a solicitor to take a judicial position offered by the board of directors. It had been the picture perfect opportunity, really. The one tiny, microscopic detail her superior had forgotten to mention?

The position located itself interstate.

Ultimately, she had three choices; turn down the promotion, constantly travel for days to weeks away from family, or we would move. After a week's worth of debates with the rest of the family, mum took the third option, hence why I'm standing in front of a too-compact locker slightly below my reach.

I feel a shove, pushing me into the door of the locker.

"Why, if it isn't Y/N! What're the odds of seeing you here?" The culprit was this tall, green headed rat that'd befriended me as soon as I walked into English.

"For one, ouch; my locker isn't soft you know." I punch his arm playfully. "And the odds are actually quite big, Carter. You know, since a large majority of my classes I share with you, our lockers are directly across the hall from each other, you're hair is literally fluorescent you highlighter looking-" He rolls his eyes and I gather I've proved my point.

"Smartass." He interrupts. I grin back towards my locker to grab my stuff. "So, what were you thinking about before I made your day better with my presence?"

"Has anyone ever told you how modest you are? No? Shocking." All that rewarded me with was a wink.

"Just dreading Maths and that terrible room with the creepy face paintings scattered on the walls." I wonder what Mr. Jenkins and his surreal taste in art had in store for the class today.

"Oh yeah, Room 12 gives me the creeps. Ever heard of redecorating?" I hum in agreement while we make our way down the hall. "Well I'll walk you there anyway, anything to avoid Ms. Bridge chasing me down with her book bag."

We'd only known each other less than a week yet we could take any topic and turn it into a complex discussion. There's no boundaries and he might just be my favourite person here.

A door with chipped paint and big, bold rusted numbers comes into view- Room 12.

"I'd come in but there's a chance that Mr. Jenkins is in there. Plus talking to Taron really isn't my plan here and he's most definitely in there so." Carter excuses backing away from the door.

Now here's what I don't understand; everyone's problem with Taron Egerton.

He's in the same year level as Carter and I. I only really see him when I'm walking to and from school in the parking lot sometimes, maybe during lunch if he's near his locker or in the music room, very rarely with one or two mates near the back of the school or again in the music room, and of course, in Math.