𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 • Steve Harrington

Chapter 9

( Monday, January 21st 1985 )

AS Julie stood at her locker in her school's grey gym hoodie and some denim flares, she read her report card, conclusively deciding her maths teacher Mr Mundy had a personal agenda against her.

Her english teacher Mr Hauser was as sweet as ever. Reading 1984 in his class was typically the highlight of her day. He had the ability to make Orwell's communism sound like Cartland.

"Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie." Her report was suddenly snatched out of her grasp by stubby fingers riddled with silver rings.

Eddie Munson.

"What do we have here?"

"What the fuck, dude?"

"A report card." He glanced up from it with excitement sparkling in his dark brown eyes. "Woo-hoo-hoo. Who are you?"

"Somebody rapidly losing patience."

His lips twisted into a devilishly slanted smile as he opened the folded card to read what her teachers had to say about her behavioural performance. "Less participation than usual, but gets work done to an exceptional standard. Was that a good Mr Hauser? I can do a better Mr Mundy, wanna hear?"

"Or you could just give that back and stop being a prick already?" she tightly smiled.

"That's an interesting proposition," he pretended to think about it.

She did not have the time for this.

But he didn't care. "Poor oral conduct with a sufficient lack of respect for her superiors. Since when did he become the Czar of Hawkins High?"

She snatched her report back, closing it so she could slip it into her bag hanging off her shoulder.

"Okay, I'm sorry. That wasn't cool of me." He sounded like he meant it, but his grin wasn't pleading his case very well.

"Yeah, no shit." She clung to the strap of her bag.

"I just wanted to check that we're still on for later," he regards her more sincerely.

"Sure. Same place?"

"As always." He leaned his elbow against the edge of her locker, inching himself closer so he could lower his voice.

She only watched him unflinchingly.

"I got some good stuff in, but I won't charge you as much as its worth. You know, as a more active apology."

"You're a real tool, Munson." She shut her locker. "Seriously."

"You're smiling, so I take it we're good."

But she bared no reply, turning and walking away.

"It's a nice smile," he called after her.

She only shook her head, turning the first right.

Just as she headed a little further down the corridor, a classroom emptied, and the fifth person out of the room just so happened to have a familiarly large head of shiny hair.

She knew it was him, even if she couldn't make out much of his face as he tugged at the hem of his pine green sweater underneath his charcoal gilet and dusted off bagel crumbs with his other hand.

Tammy Thompson left three students after him, smiling longingly at the back of his head. "Bye, Steve."

He barely glimpsed over his shoulder, his backpack hanging off it, "Yeah, bye," and returned to his terrible attempts at ridding himself of crumbs.

"Harrington," Julie called out as she approached.

He looked up.

Her long brown waves, held out of her face by a triangle-tied green bandana around her head, bounced with each step. She was even wearing tiny golden hoop earrings today—not that she didn't every other day, it was just the first time Steve noticed. Then there was the school spirit in her Hawkins High sweatshirt—he forgot she was on the soccer team sometimes.

And what perfume was that? Something with a fruity twang, but pleasant to his nose nevertheless.

"Usually the food actually goes in your mouth."

"You're hilarious," he said flatly.

She stopped just feet away. "How'd the date go with Heidi?" She teasingly wriggled her eyebrows as she said the name of the girl he met in the flower shop two days ago. Of course quoting her advice on flowers worked; who understood women better than women?

"I cancelled last minute," he shouldered his backpack. "Told her I had a headache and it wasn't a good call."

"You're an idiot."

"I wasn't ready yet."

She couldn't argue with that, so instead she released a deflating sigh. "That's fair. But you should really make use of girls that show interest because they won't come barking up your tree often."

"Yeah, all right, all right," Steve rolls his eyes.

She smiled in the same way he had. He was used to her teasing, expected it even, and it never once ceased to make him smile. It made her enjoy it all the more.

"You have a free now, don't you?"

"I do," her head jerked back. "How do you know that?"

"I have one, too. I usually see you hanging around."

"Okay..."

"Would you maybe"—he shuffled around on his feet, shrugging to play it cool—"wanna hang around together?"

But she saw through him. She always did. Her eyes narrowed, unable to suppress the small side smile extending across her face.

"You're squinting at me."

"You're nervous."

"I'm not. Don't be ridiculous. Why would I be nervous?"

"You tell me."

Steve's lip parted only slightly. Was she teasing him now? "You're killing me here. Do you want to or not?"

"I normally study with a friend."

"Okay. That's cool." It wasn't cool. "Then I'll just leave you to it—"

"I wasn't finished."

Steve froze from where his body was ready to angle itself and walk away.

"I was going to say one day off couldn't hurt, but that's only on one condition."

He searched her light eyes, lost in deep intrigue. "What's the condition?"

"That we at least pretend to study for five minutes."

He didn't even try to hold back his smile, astray in the ocean riddling the blues of her eyes. "Pretending's good." He nodded behind him, "The library work?"

"Too quiet," her eyebrows cinched. "I was thinking we actually try to hold a conversation."

"Because we're so bad at that."

She laughed through her nose, shaking her head.

He couldn't place why he loved making her laugh so much.

When she settled, her eyes fixed on him. "No, I know a place."

And he didn't mind where it was, and he most certainly didn't mind where he was going.