There's just something about the past. Sometimes, the worst parts catch up with you and other times, it is supposed to meet you again. Maybe what we think has left our lives actually belongs in our souls forever.
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Steve Harrington x fem original...
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CHAPTER ONE Genevieve
I SPED DOWN THE HIGHWAY, checking my left mirror to make sure I could manoeuvre into the lane safely. I was extra cautious today on the roads, due to the fact that my nerves had been taking over since this morning. My poor mother had to listen to my ramblings about the new job I was taking in Starcourt Mall — the hip new place where everyone my age, and younger, hung out. I suppose it was a good thing that Hawkins had got something new. Save people complaining about the fact that there was nothing to do during the summertime.
I was glad about the fact that this wasn't my first job. I'd previously held one at Tom's bookshop, ten minutes away from Starcourt Mall. I'd worked there since I was sixteen. It was a homely little place. A shop that really knew me. Never really felt like a shop to me. I'd got the call at the start of May — Celia, the other girl who worked there, had been attacked during some type of robbery. Tom had decided to close the shop down, in case history repeated itself. In Hawkins, the unluckiest town in North America, this was a safe option. I grieved the little place for weeks. I still do.
Luckily, I found an advertisement in the newspaper for a few jobs. I answered a couple of phone calls and, by the start of June, I had a job in Starcourt Mall.
As I travelled down the road, I came across a set of traffic lights. The amount of times my mom had waited impatiently at them, clicking her tongue, made me laugh. The sound of my laughter carried over my radio, that was playing Rod Stewart's Baby Jane — one of my favourite songs. I'm sure the driver in the car next to me wondered what the hell I was laughing at, but I didn't care. If Hawkins was a crazy town, it gave birth to crazy teens, just like me.
The light finally turned green and I drove off carefully. However, just as I was making my move through the crossing, a brown 1983 BMW came speeding across the red lights, on their side. I sounded my horn, coming to an automatic stop. The car stopped just inches from mine — a second generation 1981 Volkswagen Scirocco. I put my window down to get a better view at who the hooligan was.
There was no way.
Of course it was Steve The Hair Harrington.
I rolled my window down. "Red means stop, you ditz!"
"Bite me!" He yelled back.
I flipped him off, which caused him to glare at me. I continued in my tracks, turning up Baby Jane on the radio. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. What was it with self entitled BMW drivers? Not to shove every single one of them in a box, but any time I had came across them on the roads, they never used their blinkers, always zoomed in and out of lanes and now, to add another on the list, whizzed through traffic lights despite them being red. I sighed deeply. The car journey had been going okay until now.
