Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Thirty-Eight. Ten Things I Hate About You

THIRTY-EIGHT
— ten things i hate about you

SHE USED TO dream of her first kiss. It would be foot-popping, hair-twirling, butterfly-inducing magic. He'd plant her lips on hers, whoever he was, and she'd melt into him. Her cheeks would blaze pink, and she'd turn from a frog and into a princess. She wanted it to be perfect. She didn't care if it was unrealistic. It would be perfect.

Her first kiss was stolen by Cam Quincy. They were fourteen, and he was, quote on quote, a nice boy. He was the captain of the lacrosse team, which she found impressive, because they were only freshmen. She remembered his blonde curls, and his doe eyes. His sweat-drenched hair and cheshire-cat smile as he stepped off the turf and towards her. Lucy liked Cam, because everybody liked Cam. 'Cam Quincy's gonna be the first to get his license!' or 'I heard Cam Quincy's dad is running for mayor!' She felt special. Everyone had their eyes on him, and he had his eyes on her.

He used to walk her home from school. He would hold her books in one hand, all four of them, like it was nothing. She would glance over at him, and he'd be talking about himself. She listened. She watched. Then, he'd realize his ego was showing, and he'd ask her about herself. Lucy would only talk for a minute. Can always found a way to make the conversation about lacrosse again.

    The rose-colored glasses shattered when he laughed at her trailer. He didn't realize she actually lived there. Lucy Hopper, Chief of Police's daughter, lived in a trailer by the lake? His face fell when he saw her frown. Cam gave her a hug. She put the rose-colored glasses back on.

She liked Cam Quincy. Cam showed her normalcy. Cam showed her what it was like to be a high school girl. And, one day, Cam invited her to a party. He had a three story house, a lot of booze, and too many friends. Lucy wore her shortest skirt, and her nicest shoes. She remembered sitting on the porch, a full solo-cup in her hand. Cam sat besides her, that cheshire-cat smile on his lips. He draped his arm around her shoulder, while she was talking. She had been going on about the stars. Lucy showed Cam every constellation in the sky that night, pointed them out individually with an enthusiastic pointer finger. Apparently, Cam Quincy didn't care about the stars. He pressed his lips to hers mid-sentence.

    His lips tasted like beer. She pulled away, and her eyes went wide. Lucy nearly dropped the solo-cup. Her cheeks went red, but because she was embarrassed. Her head was dizzy, but because it was so unexpected. Lucy chuckled, and pushed her hair from her face. It wasn't magical, it wasn't perfect— it was just a kiss.

She remembered his voice, deep and drunken. "Sorry, Luce." Cam apologized, but he did it again. Cam Quincy stole her first and second kiss, all within twenty-five seconds.

Point is, Steve walked past. When she pulled away from Cam, for the second time, Steve already had him by the collar. The solo-cup was knocked over, and she got beer all over her skirt. Lucy could only hear was Cam was saying— "What's the issue, Harrington?" She didn't hear Steve. All she saw was Steve's fist on Cam's nose.

She was angry, livid, furious, incensed with Steve. He punched her first kiss. He was the reason Cam Quincy stopped liking her. She remembered pushing Steve's chest. She told him off, told him she was perfectly fine. That day, she made her list. Ten Things I Hate About Steve Harrington. She didn't mention Cam Quincy's name— if she did, she'd never stop talking about him.