Billie Jo

She got out of the car, slinging the messenger bag over her shoulder. She blew her mom a kiss and then started walking up the steps to the school. She was cute, I could tell that from the start. But the ass on that girl?

My mom smacked the back of my head as I let out a low whistle. "Michael!" I rolled my eyes. "No fights." she said as I opened my door. "If I have to pick you up on the first day, there's going to be hell to pay."

I snickered at the inadvertent rhyme, waving and shutting the door. I walked up the sidewalk to the school, none too happy for my first day of eighth grade.

* * *

That girl with the killer ass was in my math class, one seat ahead of me too. Well, I knew one class I wasn't going to be paying attention in. I'm sure more would be added to the list eventually, but probably not for the same reason. A guy can hope though.

She was pretty fucking paranoid though. Kept smoothing out her skirt and biting her nails, giving these small random glances around the room. I took a lame chance and asked her if I could borrow a pencil. She handed it to me without even looking behind her.

At least I got to find out her name when the teacher took roll call. Billie Jo. There was an 'e' on the end of her name apparently, but she told the teacher that was a typo.

Cute name. It fit her.

* * *

Saw her in the office later that day after I punched a kid. She was using the phone. "Mom? Mom, they want me to take PE...Mom, I... okay." She held the phone out to the secretary. I had to wait an extra ten minutes when she transferred the call to the principal. Billie looked at me for a minute, and then stared at her pale blue fingernails.

"You're in my math class, aren't you?" I asked.

She smirked. "I think you already tried your lame pick up line for the day." Then she looked embarrassed and turned to look at the clock, smoothing down her skirt again. I don't know why. It wasn't wrinkled and it wasn't all that short either.

"Bring in a note from your mother tomorrow." The secretary told Billie, scribbling out a pass. "Give this to Coach Farr."

She took the pass, smoothed down her skirt one more and left the room.

* * *

We had one other class together. Our sorry excuse for a study hall, where the teacher left for fifteen minute smoking breaks and the room ran wild. I sat down next to her and she barely looked up from the book she was 'reading'.

"You just don't give up, do you?"

"Nope."

She rolled her eyes and stared hard at that book for the rest of class without turning a page.

* * *

It was two weeks later. I'd ditched most of school, but showed up for eight period. I walked to her locker, planning on pushing my luck again. "Hey, Billie?"

She looked at me, terrified. Which definitely freaked me out. She dropped the book she was holding and I bent down to pick it up.

"Hey, doll." A guy said, stopping a few feet away from us. She turned back to her locker shaking.

I looked at the jerk. "Leave her alone."

The two guys next to him snickered.

"Her?" One of them asked.

"Yeah."

The one who called Billie 'doll' snorted. "Dude . . . that bitch ain't one if you get what I'm sayin'."

It took a minute for that to register. I gave Billie a quick glance. She was staring determinedly at her locker, tears streaming down her face.

I turned back to the three guys. "I said leave her alone."

"Didn't you fucking hear—"

"I heard you just fine, asshole. Now get the fuck out of here before I beat your faces in." My reputation for my left hook made them leave, but not without the muttered 'fag'.

I turned back to Billie Jo and handed her the book she had dropped. "Can I walk you home?"

She wiped her eyes and wet cheeks on the back of her hand, but still refused to look at me, putting the book I had given her in her locker. "I . . . you heard what they said."

"I don't care." I said. "I mean, I'll stop hitting on you now, but that's no real loss to you." She gave a small smile. "Even though you're a damn cute girl." She looked at me finally. "Yeah, I said girl." I grinned. "You're not exactly my type."

And she giggled. I walked Billie home and she was so much happier now that I knew her secret and she knew it didn't matter. For some reason all I could think about was how well she stuffed her bra.

That was the day Billie Jo became my best friend.

My life changed forever as I heard the fallen autumn leaves crunch under her two-inch heels.