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CHAPTER ONE " IT AIN'T BAD IF YOU DO IT WELL "
SHE SAT AT HER DINING TABLE, PLAYING with her plastic fork. Her father sat across from her, staring hungrily at the bucket of chicken in front of them. Marsha Holland had left to go get the door, no doubt in Dylan's mind that Nancy Wheeler would be waiting patiently at the other side.
Dylan had no problems with Nancy, she even liked girl, but Dylan hated these dinners. Her parents set them up in an attempt to feel closer to Barb in her absence but they just fell flat. The dinners were awkward and filled with tension.
Her mother returned to their dining room, Nancy in tow along with Steve Harrington. Dylan ran her eyes over the boy incredulously, pondering why he would be in her house. She knew he was Nancy's boyfriend but he never knew Barb, not in the sense that they'd been friends, anyway. She knew that first hand. Dylan had been friends with Steve Harrington since they were toddlers and their shitty friends, namely Tommy and Carol, had come along in eighth grade, turning her into a popularity craving bitch, until Barb went missing. Steve Harrington never gave Dylan's young sister a second look. Somehow Nancy managed to get Steve to wander from his exclusive clique and long list of 'it' girls.
The teenage couple took a seat and finally, much to her father's relief, the five of them could dig into the fast food.
Nancy was quick to acknowledge the elephant in the room: the large FOR SALE sign perched on their lawn. Her mother excitedly explained to Nancy how they had hired an expert (a hack, if one asked Dylan) private investigator to find Barb — which meant refinancing and digging into Dylan's college funds. Not that the young girl was even going to college, Barb had always been the smart one, and with Dylan's grades, it could really go either way. Still, the costly demands of the PI rubbed Dylan the wrong way. Dylan kept her head down as her parents relayed the details to Nancy, pretending to be intently tearing into the chicken wings on her plate.
To her surprise, each time she glanced up, Steve was shooting sympathetic looks her way. She hadn't taken him for the compassionate type. Not the Steve she knew.
A wooden chair screeched across the hardwood floor, almost tipping backwards as Nancy abruptly stood. "Sorry," she managed to stumble out. "I just have to, uh, run to the bathroom."
Confused by her outburst, Dylan watched Nancy until she disappeared the long hallway. The girl's face was scrunched up, as if in pain, and her eyes were glossy. Dylan could recognize the expression completely, often seeing in on herself; loss, guilt.
"I love KFC," Steve spoke up, attempting to slice through the awkwardness. "Finger lickin' good."
Dylan stifled a laugh and shook her head at Steve's well-meaning idiocy.
"Who wants pie!" Marsha Holland said, pretending the last two minutes never happened.
"I'd love some." Steve smiled politely.
Dylan's mother stood, followed by her father. "I'll get the kettle, honey."
Then there were two.
"You've changed," she mused, "you don't seem to the grade a asshole you were."
"You don't seem to be the stuck up bitch you were—"
"Here you go, kids." Her mother sat a store bought apple pie between the two teenagers. "I'll be back in a minute with the coffee."
Dylan smirked at a mortified Steve, who had paled considerably since almost calling her a bitch in front of her mother.
Chuckling, she grabbed the knife from in front of Steve and cut into the pie, placing a piece on a plate for the boy then herself. "It's okay. I think it's safe to say we've both become better people in the last year."
"You could definitely say that," Steve nodded. "No thanks to Tommy or Carol."
"Oh, yeah, those two," she shook her head. "I don't even know what I saw in them. Carol thinks she's head bitch now since I turned in my crown."
Mid-bite, Steve pointed his fork her way with a matter-of-fact expression. "She'll never wear it as well as you," he said with a mouth full of pie.
Nancy returned with bloodshot eyes and smudged make-up. The two other teens pretended not to notice. Dylan gave her a knowing smile and pulled out her chair. Nancy sat between Dylan and Steve once again.
Dylan leaned back in her own chair, raising her eyebrows at Steve and prompting him to comfort his, clearly, upset girlfriend. For a brief moment, Steve's face bunched in confusion before realization dawned on him.
"Oh—right," he said quietly then cleared his throat. "Nance, babe. You okay?"
Dylan rolled her eyes at his pathetic attempt.
"Just fine, Steve." Nancy replied. The tension in her voice could cut through metal.
This was all too much for Dylan. Barb's disappearance, her parents selling the house, Nancy's stupid dinners, Steve and Nancy's relationship drama — one more thing and she would just boil over — leaving behind nothing but a chaotic shell of a person.
Her parents returned to the table with tea and sugar and a half dozen mugs but Dylan decided not to stick around for the coffee. She shoved the rest of her apple pie into her mouth and stood up.
"I've gotta ditch," she said, food half-chewed. "I'm meeting Carol at the movies."
She didn't even try to make up an original lie that Steve and Nancy would believe. She couldn't be bothered as long as her parents bought what she was saying. They were so oblivious to everything their eldest daughter did nowadays that they still thought Dylan was friends with the much bitchier redhead.
Steve's eyes followed her as she left, his brown eyes glinting with suspicion. She was careful not to lock eyes with her former friend or else she might feel too guilty to head to her destination — which was definitely not to the movies.
"My dads going to be home soon. You'd better go."
Dylan picked up her rumpled clothes, tossed askew on her fling's bedroom floor. She swiftly pulled on her underwear and wriggled into her tight jeans.
She frowned at the boy below her, stretched lazily across his double bed. "Trust me, I wasn't planning on staying around to cuddle."
"You sure about that, doll?" His cocky smirk lit a fire in her veins. "You're in my bed almost every night — I think you're starting to fall for me."
Dylan turned away from the boy with a scoff, picking up her bra and clasping it, then throwing on her knit sweater.
"In your dreams, Hargrove," she spit. "You're about a year too late. I don't fall for dicks like you anymore. But I sure don't mind using 'em."
