𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 • Steve Harrington

Chapter 6

( Sunday, November 18th 1984 )

LISTENING to the rasp of her Pink Floyd record, Julie laid in bed reading in the same way she did most nights. She had been for a long while now, having just turned the vinyl over two songs ago to resume the album.

A knock on her door sounded in a 'shave and a haircut, two bits' sequence.

She laid her book open to hold the page, and headed to the door that she came to see Steve Harrington stood on the other side of with his hands in his back pockets. He was characteristically dressed in a navy blue sweater and some jeans, an awkward look riddled on his face.

She was stood in a yellow ringer tee and some brown cord flares, suddenly grateful she hadn't changed into pyjamas so soon.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Your mom invited me over for dinner."

"And you said yes?"

"She's my boss."

"Conveniently."

Steve grit his teeth, having already expected the conversation would circle back to this. "Yeah... about that, I'm sorry I lied about the recommendation, I just kind of panicked in the moment. I really need this job."

"You're loaded."

He scrunched up his face, "According to who?"

"The Ray-Bans and cashmere you wear on purpose." She was eyeing his outfit with a look of distaste that made Steve extremely offended.

He pinched at the navy fabric. "What's wrong with my sweater?"

"I think it'd be easier to cover what's not wrong with it."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry I lied. Dinner's ready and your mom wants us to set the table."

And just like that, he was turning around and heading downstairs, all with his head hung low. She knew she touched a nerve and even with her ongoing teasing, that was far from her intention. She was winding him up more than anything else, but she didn't expect it to hit so close to home.

Inevitably, she felt remorse.

When she joined him downstairs, he was already making a rolled-up sleeves effort of laying out three plates across the table—one at the head, one on the left and another on the right.

Julie grabbed cutlery. "Look, man, if I knew insulting your sweater would cut that deep, I wouldn't have said anything."

"It's not that."

"Then what? The Ray-Bans?"

"You just assumed I was rich and you were right." He grabbed cutlery of his own.

"I mean, you drive a BMW at eighteen, Steve. It doesn't take rocket science to put two and two." She laid the knife and fork at either side of the plate on the left of the table, whilst Steve covered the plate on the right.

"I asked for the job because I've had everything handed to me my entire life," he told her suddenly, grabbing her undivided attention. "And I realised when we were writing that letter in detention, that it's not done me any favours because now I don't really know what I want. I don't know if I want college or even what I would study. So, whilst I'm here and biding time, I need to take some responsibility."

Without sugarcoating things, Julie felt like a jerk.

"Sorry to eavesdrop," her mother strolled into the joint dining room kitchen from the front of the house, "but detention? You didn't say a word about that." She headed straight for the oven, taking the casserole out and sitting it on the stove.

"Yeah, it's not on her," Steve interjected, looking over his shoulder. "I got into this stupid fight at school and she was caught in the middle of it."

Julie's lips parted.

"Took some of the blame."

Eileen shifted her weight onto her left leg, her attention zeroed in on her daughter. "Why would you do that?"

Julie only shrugged. She was speechless.

"Christ, you kids." Eileen shook her head. "There's no broken bones?"

"Just the black eye but it's fading," says Steve.

"What was this fight about?"

Julie took a brief glimpse at Steve, deciding it was her turn to have his back. "A boy in class said something nasty about me and he was just defending me."

Steve's head turned so fast he almost got whiplash.

"You know how jerks in high school can be."

Eileen's eyebrows pushed together. "What boy has any business running his mouth about my daughter?"

"Mom, it doesn't matter. It was basically forever ago now, and there's no hard feelings."

"Maybe not for you, but I'm thinking of getting in some punches of my own on the little shit."

"Mom," Julie laughed disbelievingly, a small smile curling on Steve's lips.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," he input. "Let's just say the kid's going to have a limp for a long while."

"A man after my own heart," Eileen pouted, "I knew it. Steve, have as much food as you like, alright?"

Steve waved the invitation off. "I'm not a hogger."

"Maybe not, but you're still a total pig," Julie remarked.

Steve caught on that she was referring to the sandwich in detention. "You offered me the half."

"Because you were practically drawling all over the paper I leant you, by the way."

"The moment I asked I knew you'd hold it over my head for life."

"Bold of you to assume you'd know me for life."

Eileen had been watching them go back and forth like a game of tennis. "You guys really only met when you left your glasses behind?" she asked.

"Yes," Julie answered gingerly. "Why?"

"If I hadn't known, I would have assumed you had known each other longer is all."

Julie rolled her eyes at her mother's smile. "God forbid."

"Watch the tone," Eileen pointed warningly. "He's a guest, play nice."

"Yeah, Jules," Steve smirks. "I don't bite."

"But you talk and somehow that's worse."

Steve snorted at that, causing Julie to smile.

"Young lady, you're on ice thinner than saran wrap," is all Eileen says before she leaves the kitchen again, her footsteps clapping through the house.

"Smartass," Julie mutters.

"Know-it-all," Steve retorts.

"Well, one of us has got to know something."

"Like you know to get a grip?"

"You said it best yourself..." she picked up a butter knife, rounding the table and stopping at the place set at the head of it with a mirthless smile. "I know it all."

"You know, that'd be a little less terrifying if you weren't holding a knife."

"Get me a sharper one and it'll make my day."

"At the expense of my life?" Steve scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks."

But Julie only laughed as she placed the knife back down after wiping it clean with a dishcloth, and Steve smiled to himself all the while, too.