The Art Of Reputation (Patrick Verona X Reader) [COMPLETED]

the prologue

Edit - PLEASE DON'T SKIP

Right, since I've made this fic I've had an annoyingly large amount of people asking 'why the misspell' or telling me 'that's not how english people sound.'

The character of y/n has a speech impediment that I have included in the next chapter as a means of introduction to the character of Patrick. I tried to show y/n has a speech impediment by deliberately misspelling words so when you read it in your heads, it hopefully sounds like how someone with a speech impediment might talk.

I am English. Please stop telling me what I'm meant to sound like.

I would respectfully like people to stop commenting about the speech, because I've gotten so many that I'm tired of it and just want the comments to not be people judging my writing. If you have a genuine helpful suggestion for my writing, please put that down instead of tearing me down.

Right, now that's all done, on with the show...

"Quiet guys, y/n's here."

"Hey, y/n, is it true you fucked the football team?"

"Did you hear about y/n? Apparently Michael Eckman caught her working at the bar at the pool hall."
"I thought only 21+ people could work there!"

"That'ss right," the gossiping kids hear behind them, and all together they turn to find you standing before them, hands tying your hair up.

At your hip hangs a large metal ring of keys. It jangles and clinks as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, and when you finish tying your hair into a messy bun the bravest of the students gulps and asks, "y/n... are you really from England?"

You raise your eyebrows, bemused. "What, did ya think I wass putting on the accent? Oh, and by the way Joey," you shout down the hallway of Padua high school in Seattle, and the cocksure young boy pops his head up, "yess, I have fucked da football deam, and no, I will definitely not fuck you."

Satisfied with the frozen statues of fellow students before you, you walk away from them and to the nearby group of A/V kids - Michael Eckman.
He ducks his head like it makes him somewhat invisible as you draw closer, but you still see him, and grab his arm and pull him into the hallway to walk with you.

"Hey, Michael," you begin whilst you make the scared young boy try to catch up with your fast walking, "the guyss at the hall are chill with my running the bar at 18, but don't chat about it at sschool otherwise one of the adultss'll grass me up. Otherwise I'll do do you what I did do those lads that got all leery with me de oder day."

A little behind you, Michael cowers. You turn to him and his eyes bulge in concern for his safety.
"You'd really kick me out the place with your bare feet? I saw you do that and I still have no idea why you're fine to be seen with us, the school geeks and the virtual outlaw," he adds, and you ponder the latter sentence before nodding casually.

"I've alwayss had a good rap with the nerds. You're okay for now - jusst don't be a nark," you reply coolly, and after patting him on the head like he was an earnest puppy you start to walk down the hall independently.

Nah, you wouldn't really beat up Michael like you did them guys. The geeks of the high school are just scared and under your thumb enough for you to take pity on them. Joey Donner the narcissistic idiot, however, you would gladly kick the shit out of.

As you round a corner the aforementioned dickhead of Padua begins to walk in step with you. You glance his way uncaringly and find that, unsurprisingly, his expression is smug and irritating.

"So, y/n," he says in a cocky tone that makes him sound even more of an idiot than before he opened his mouth, "how about us hanging out at the pool hall tonight - you cleaning the bar, me leaning against it, talking the night away."
He doesn't even pose it as a question, so sure that after all the slagging off he's done to you, because of his confidence and conventionally good looks you would fall at his feet chanting, 'I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy, oh please go out with me god of modelling.' No chance - guys like him make your prison ex-boyfriend look good. And he's in there for accidentally murdering an orphanage full of children. Nice eyes, though. And gentle. And a phenomenal snogger.

You smirk at him and say in a fake sugary voice, "Why don't you date Katarina Stratford insstead?"
Joey smarts and halts in his tracks, which you again smirk at and walk away from, satisfied. Sometimes you talk to the only other person in the school that doesn't care about people either, Kat in the year below, and you once heard some pretty good gossip from her. Of course, you won't tell anyone - that's what blackmail's for.

You keep walking without anybody approaching you, as you like it, and enter the guidance counsellor Ms Perky's office. As you open the door she looks up from her clunky laptop with a lit cigarette in your hand, and you close the door with a tut.
"Perky, remember what we ssaid? Ssmoking is bad! God, just dake some of my weed insstead, I dold you," you tell her like she's the child and you're the adult, and drag the chair round to the other side of the desk to sit next to the counsellor.

You take the cigarette out of her hand and replace it with a joint of marijuana from your bag, and Perky rolls her eyes but lights up the joint. You prop your feet up on the desk and lean across to peer at the laptop.
"How's the wriding going?"
She sniffs in disdain and takes a puff of the joint. "What's a synonym for 'quivering'? I think I've used it too much already."
"Why is it quivering all the dime?" you ask incredulously, taking out your own joint and using Perky's lighter that's lying on the desk.

Ms Perky continues to tap on her laptop, muttering under her breath every so often, and you lean back on your chair more and watch the students walking outside in the hall.

Since you've been at this school after you moved from England four years ago, all kids here seem to want to talk about is the abundance of rumours surrounding you, and your fun and careless demeanour. Of course, there have been some dumb enough to try and approach you, but none worthy have gotten past the 'so scared they shit their pants asking' stage, which you consider as sweet. You want everyone to not want to get too close to you; it's been like that since a few months into your move.

Sometimes you think of possibly dispelling these rumours and reinventing yourself to become a nicer person to other people. But why deny things that are the truth?

Anyway, it's not like anything in this boring old high school is ever gonna change. Everybody here are just carbon copies of each other, and you're one of the only students who doesn't follow the crowd. And, unfortunately, even in your last year it looks like that's never going to change.