billy.

jane austen? what the hell?

word count: 2,508
warnings: swearing, flirting, mentions of billy being a dick, mentions of billy almost running over The Party, fluff

Billy Hargrove was a big time fucking flirt. This was a well known fact to anyone that roamed the green-and-orange-stripe adorned walls of Hawkins High School. Billy is fucking beautiful, and he knows it too. But he's also a dipshit. When he moved here, of course I noticed him. We don't get new students that often, considering Hawkins, Indiana isn't the most desired place to move your family to. And even less often are those new students from California. Or that gorgeous. But I'm also a pretty shy person, so I find that it's in my very nature to observe my surroundings, and he was definitely observed. I do know that I am not popular. That I do not go to parties. I simply exist. So when this pretty boy, who is all I am not and does all of the things I do not do, starts looking at me during the classes we share, in the lunch room, in the parking lot, in the halls, I notice that too.

Now at first, I just thought, people make eye contact. They glance at one another. But Billy Hargrove was starting to stare at me. He was really looking at me. At lunch, I would glance up from my book to find him already looking at me. Now, I didn't invoke that. He was looking at me of his own accord. What I found the most interesting, was that I did not think myself to be his type. I did not throw myself at his feet the second he strolled down the hall in those tight ass jeans. I had classes to pass. I watched from afar as he slung his arm over whatever who-the-fuck-knows girl he was involved with for that week. I wasn't into sports, I was into shit like English. I read. I talked to people occasionally. I didn't wear a new sweater every week to impress a boy. That was why I was confused. I'm not saying that I'm not like other girls, it's just not everyday I draw the attention of a guy. Specifically one like Billy Hargrove.

I also knew more than enough about the reputation he'd put together for himself in the short time he'd been in Hawkins. Fighting, smoking, bad-ass teenage boy. So naturally, I assumed that while he was fucking gorgeous and a suck up to teachers when he needed to be—that I'd witnessed firsthand in English class—he was also an asshole. This hypothesis was tested one afternoon.

———————

I walked to my car after school, realizing my shoelace was untied when I was almost there. I picked up the pace and set my foot on the back bumper of the car to tie the lace before I set off for home. I noticed, as I did this, that Billy Hargrove was leaning against his blue Camaro, finishing off a cigarette. In the spot beside my car. He wasn't parked there when I got there this morning, but then again I was early, so I guess he'd arrived after me. I made eye contact with him and he offered me a smirk. I offered a quizzical look back. I slung my backpack over my shoulder to fish out my keys, and unlocked the car. Before I could open the back seat door and toss my backpack to the floorboard, Hargrove spoke to me. "I like your shirt. Y/N, is it?"

I looked up at him, successfully finding my keys. "Thank you. And yeah it is." I was just an old gray Queen t shirt. Nothing special, although one of my favorites. I continued my ritual, disposing of my bag, and paused again, leaning against the trunk when he asked, "What'd you get on that last English test? I swear she pulled some of those questions out of her ass. But then again, I only read the last chapter of the book, so." I laughed lightly. This was the first time we'd ever actually talked, and the self-conscious part of me worried I was about to get duped. That maybe this was a prank. It wouldn't be the first time.