The Babysitters: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter 11

October 30th, 1984

"Bye Dustin, I'll see you after school," I said the next morning, pulling over in front of his middle school to let him out.

"Aren't you busy after school?" He asked.

"Oh shit, yeah, I have the dinner. You'll need to get a ride with someone else."

"Yeah, I know I already arranged for Mrs. Sinclaire to pick me up. How come I remembered and you didn't?" He scoffed.

"I don't know. I've just been busy lately," I mumbled. I wasn't completely lying. I have been insanely busy. But it's been on purpose. If you ask me, staying busy is the best way to keep your mind off mourning your best friend. You can't lay awake at night plagued with a guilty conscience if you're so exhausted you can barely keep your eyes open. We were coming up on the anniversary of Barb's death, and coincidentally I noticed myself getting busier and busier. And more and more tired.

"Yeah ok," Dustin rolled his eyes, getting out. "Bye Y/N, love you."

I drove my car down the hill to the high school, parking next to Steve's BMW.

"This shit is so stupid," I heard him say from his open window. "This paper is crap!"

Nancy was helping him write a college essay. Poor thing.

She flipped through the papers in her hand. "No, no its not crap." Her tone was not reassuring. I opened the car door and crawled into the back seat.

"Let me see," I said, making little grabby hands at the essay. Nancy reluctantly passed it to me, giving me a look that seemed to say, 'Be nice.' I rolled my eyes. I scanned over Steve's scribbled handwriting.

Stuff about basketball.
His grandad in World War II.
His parents getting married right out of high school.

Where any of these topics connected I wasn't so sure. Steve had the writing style of a fifth grader, and the paper was littered with spelling errors. I think there were maybe four compound-sentences in the entire essay.

"Totally not as bad as you think it is," I lied through my teeth. I passed the papers back to Nancy. "You know, personally, I think college is a bunch of bull. Like, why should I pay masses of money to do the one thing I'm trying so hard to just be over with, you know?"

Steve deflated in the front seat. "Dad's going to kill me if I don't get in to any schools."

"It's ok. This is fixable," Nancy said. "Can I mark on this?"

"Whatever, go ahead," Steve shrugged.

Nancy began analyzing the essay, trying to connect Steve's points he wanted to make with the aimless sentences. She wasn't condescending, but anyone would feel bad having their writing critiqued by Nancy Wheeler. She's just too perfect in comparison.

"Do you think I should start from scratch?" He interrupted.

Nancy hesitated. "When's it due?"

"Tomorrow for early application." Nancy didn't respond, glancing back down at Steve's paper. "You know what, screw it. It's fine," He said, grabbing the paper dejectedly.

"Hey hey calm down," I said. Nancy turned back to look at me, giving a weak smile. This paper was sort of hopeless and we both knew it.

"I'm calm, It's whatever. I'll probably just end up taking that job offer at my dad's or whatever. I mean, at least then I'll be around for your guys's senior year."

"Steve, your dad sucks ass," I said. Even though he was quite literally absent in every form of the word, he still tried to control Steve's life from afar.