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

the first chapter

At the start of your last year at Padua High School, as you sauntered in through the double doors wearing a faux sixties minidress and black leggings with a pair of headphones you noticed that the halls were... different. They seemed more alive than usual, which is really saying something as they're normally packed to the brim with cliques making too much noise accompanied by too much zit cream.

But no, you think as you walked over to your locker, kids spotting you and making a beeline in the opposite direction. No, the halls are even louder than usual - and most of the conversations are revolving around one guy, a student you've never heard of before. Intrigued by everyone's sudden interest in this mystery student, you pull your headphones down to your neck and snap your fingers toward the twittery girl group close to you, and start switching stuff out in your locker as she nears you nervously.

"Y-y-yes, y/n?" she asks with a shaky hand that you see is more of a nervous tic than a reaction.
You take note of the idiosyncrasy that could be used for a character in Drama later and with your head in your locker ask, "Who's dis kid everyone'ss talking about?"
"Patrick Verona!" one of her twittery friends pipes up, and as you look up to her and her friends scold her for talking to you she continues. "He's this guy from Australia, or at least we think he's from Australia, and everyone's been talking about all the stuff he's done!"

'Yeah?" you ask, finishing packing and leaning against your closed locker interested, "What'ss he done?"
The girls blink because you're still talking to them, and the first girl stutters nervously, "Well... he went to jail, but he broke out, so that's why he's here, because the laws in Washington are different to wherever he used to be. And he's eaten an entire duck."

Every girl echoes the sentence with wide eyes, but you simply raise on eyebrow. This kid sounds interesting; definitely not normal teenager material.
The second girl continues: "he killed a state trooper, can you believe it? And he drinks and smokes outside of school and he-"

But you don't hear anything else because your blood starts to boil at the word smoking. Smoking is wrong! Where is this boy? You wanna talk to him, get him to quit smoking and maybe hang out with you during your last year - he sounds cool, and from all these rumours swirling about, you're guessing he's not getting many friends over the next nine months apart from your crowd you hang out with every so often.

Wordlessly you drift away from the gaggle of girls, whom you hear breathe a sigh of relief that you're gone even though you as a general rule don't hurt people unless you've been antagonized, and stride to the school cafeteria where the new kid probably is after his meeting with Ms Perky. Ooh, she would have mocked the hell out of his Australian accent - she did with your English one at first.

Upon entering the cafeteria you immediately spot the outcast, sitting alone away from everyone with his feet propped up in another chair. You don't see any cigarettes around him, but nevertheless you walk up to his table and ask with your hands pressed on the table, "So you ssmoke then?"

The guy stares up at you, a puzzled look on his face. "Uh, no. It's bad for you," he replies in a strong Aussie accent.
"Good," you confirm and sit down opposite him. He just continues to watch you. You ask, "Sso... how much of it is true?" and his expression turns from puzzlement to confusion.

"How much of what is true?"
"You know - the rumours circling. I thoughd id might be fun if we hung out, seeing ass rumours are already bussing about you and they're always around me. So what have you done?" you ask, leaning back in your chair. As his eyes grow wide at the knowledge you just gave him, you get a text from your boss at the pool hall for your call-in to work tonight, and you text back your agreement before Patrick finally finds his tongue.

"I don't understand. What kind of rumours are people spreading about me? I just came from Australia and stayed in Milwaukee before coming here - I haven't done anything remotely bad in my life, yet people are acting like I'm the worst."
"Ssecond worss," you correct - nobody is as bad of a cool casual bitch with a reputation in this school than you. But you lean forward in your chair and repeat to him, "Wait - you've never done anyding? De rumours aren'd drue?"

"Are yours? Cuz you're y/n l/n, right?" he asks back, and pauses for a moment before asking curiously in a twangy tone, "Not to be completely rude, but what's up with your speech?"

"Oh," you shrug as you lean forward in your chair, winding your legs absent-mindedly round the legs - you knew this was bound to come up sooner or later, and let's face it, you don't get asked about yourself a lot so you gotta grab this moment while you can.

"I have thiss sspeech impediment called a 'Sstrident lissp.' I can'd always remember what that means, but for me it's ssometimes hard to pronounce S's and T's and D's. Doesn't worry me though: once I get oudda here, I'll get enough money to afford sspeech therapy, and I'm always feared here; nobody daress make fun of my lissp."

His thin eyebrows go up, and he repeats in shock, "Nobody makes fun of you for your speech?"
You shake your head, letting your preceded reputation begin to sink beneath his skin, and he takes his weight off one arm to ruffle his curly hair.
"That's crazy. Do you think they'll not make fun of my accent if I hang around with you?" he asks curiously, and you almost coo in sympathy at how outcast this poor boy must've been after moving from Australia.

"Hey, y/n, is it true your parents are in prison?" Joey shouts from across the cafeteria, breaking the moment, and you shout back, "Yeah, they're hanging out with your criminally sstupid brain!"
Everyone in the cafeteria including your friends the lunchladies chortle, and as Joey storms off with the look of a toddler being denied his toy, you turn back to Patrick.

You take a bite out of his breakfast burrito, which he doesn't argue about, and he asks in disbelief, "Are they really in prison?"
"Yeah," you confirm, and his eyes become positively spherical before you add, "Oh, and before you get dold anything else about me - yess I did date a guy who'ss in prison, yess I do work underage at the pool hall but don't dell the adults who would care aboud that; but I don't ssmoke cigarettes, I ssmoke weed. Ssigarettes can sseriously harm you; weed, on the other hand, is reladively harmless and can actually help alleviate sstress and joint pain. Want one?"

You reach into your pocket and bring out a joint, not bothering to hide it from the other students nearby who wouldn't snitch out of fear of you anyway, and Patrick's eyes grow ever wider. You didn't even know that was possible.

He looks between you and the thinly wrapped joint you're holding with your thumb and forefinger, your pinky held out in the good old British way, and licks his lips lightning-quick to get his words out.
"So... everyone's got rumours about the two of us, but all yours are true? Like, all of them?"
You nod.
"Even the one where you lost your virginity at 14?"

You shrug, light up your spliff, and reply as coolly as you are able to about that, "Well, I was only a few weeks away from durning 15, does that count? And yeah, yeah I did lose my virginity at 14, to a guy who left school here and moved cuz he couldn't take the rumourss aboud him anymore. I honestly have no idea why I decided to lose it to that guy: I mean, he didn't even let me call him embarrassing nicknames like you are, Paddy Cakes."

Aforementioned Patty Cakes blinks a couple times before processing all the information you just threw at him, then his furrowed brow clears as he understands why you're here.

"Right. So... you think that because we've both got rumours swirling round us, we can form some sort of alliance?"
You blow a puff of smoke into his face, causing him to roll his eyes in contempt, and say, "Well, that was when I thought that these rumours about you were drue like mine, but turns out the only druth was that you're Australian, so I don't know anymore. What do you think?"

You don't wait for him to reply and instead say, "Meet me in de pool hall at 6 thiss evening. I'll be working on de bar, okay?" and get up and start to walk to your first class. You don't hear him protest, so it must mean you've won him over.

Patrick Verona. Hmm. Maybe you can convince him to come over to the dark side...