"CALIFORNIA DREAMING"// Will Byers x reader

I1I

I'd like to say that I'm adjusted by now, though adjusted doesn't seem like the right word to use. 

Lenora is a strange town filled with people (mainly girls) who only care about lipstick, and who has the prettiest outfit of the day. School is boring—a snore fest, and the teachers are douchebags. 

I miss Hawkins. 

I miss Mike's stupid morning routine of sleeping until the last possible second, and Nancy's voice telling him to hurry the hell up. Ted and Karen arguing until the cows come home—and the consistency of a routine. Oh dear god, I miss the normalcy of Hawkins. 

I can't say that I'm sad to be here, because if I did that wouldn't be true. Will's here—so I've got him. And he's enough. Will paints a lot, most of the time. I think he's painting Mike. He doesn't talk much at school; I don't think he likes school very much. I can't say I blame him. 

It's just, there's little to say for the town of Lenora. Joyce's thrown herself into work and we hardly ever see Jonathan—crammed up in his room with piles of weed everyday. His friend Argyle, who has proven himself to be the comedic relief and the problem all tossed into a tiny baggie that he lives off of. 

Today, El—sorry, Jane's presentation is due. And a girl sitting across from Will is attempting—failing, but attempting to get his attention. She pushes her shoe against his. Will is ignoring her, quite blatantly but she doesn't seem to get the hint. 

I'd like to focus on Jane, the problem at hand, the problem that revolves around the specific blonde girl sitting a few rows down from the front. The cocky expression on her face makes it even more punchable. I could end her if I wanted to. 

And this, this is precisely the only thought that gets me through the day. Yes. I could—and am currently trying not to kill Angela. 

Will pulls his shoe away from the girl. Turns and gives me a nervous expression. 

"And that's why, I've chosen Helen Keller as my hero," Angela finishes. Her smile is bright and plastic. Her gaze drifts over mine, most disgustedly. 

"That was wonderful, Angela," Mrs. Gracey answers Angela's smile. "Truly wonderful. Now let's see who has to top that." She reaches into her container. Pulls out a flap of paper. "Jane." 

El's face tenses slightly. She grips her diorama, the one she's been working so hard on the past week. The figures are painted neatly—well as neat as she could—stationed in their very spots. Hopper—and Mr. Fibbly the squirrel. 

"You got this," I whisper to her as she passes. 

El nods, as I exchange glances with Will. 

Angela makes a face as El stands at the front of the room. 

"For my hero," El starts, her voice wobbling slightly. "For my hero, I chose...my dad." The class chitters. "And for my visual aid, I made a..di-y-or-am-a." Her pronunciation is getting better. I pray that the class has decided they're not stuck up assholes but I give them too much credit. 

"More like, diarrhea," a boy snickers.

El tries to laugh along with the class. 

"Now class, let's be respectful," Mrs. Gracey says. Entirely unhelpful. 

"This is my dad," El says. "He made the best eggos, and we liked to watch Miami Vice on Fridays." She picks up the tiny squirrel. "And this is Mr. Fibbly. He is a squirrel." 

The class laughs loudly, and I restrain the urge to yell 'shut up.' 

Angela snorts. 

Something I forgot to mention. El and her lack of powers have made it difficult to stand up for herself. Plus her never attending school before...she doesn't quite—grasp the social dynamic. At all. So, I've had to uh—step in occasionally. The energy bolts in Angela's locker were by far the best—

"And this is the alarm that my dad made," El points to the wiring. "I—I was never—" Angela's hand waves in the background. "I was never scared..because—" 

"Angela, can we save our questions for the end?" 

"Sorry, Mrs. Gracey, I'm not trying to disrupt Jane or be disrespectful or anything," she blinks sweetly, innocently. "But I just had a tiny question? I'm just like, confused. I thought the assignment was supposed to be about a historical hero. A famous one?" 

"My dad was in the paper." El murmurs. 

"Your local paper?" She arches an eyebrow. "Not to be rude, but like, no one reads that." 

That's enough. I squeeze my fingernails into my palm. Don't get another detention. Don't get another detention. Don't get another—

"Angela, shut the hell up." 

"Y/N!" 

Beside me, Will groans inwardly. 

Shit.