G O O D G I R L S [BILLY]

C H A P T E R T W O

William C. Hargrove
Hawkins, Indiana
1984

Billy did not want to move to Indiana.

If there's one thing that's certain in this life, that would be it. It took everything in him to accept the fact that this was his reality, that as sudden as a rainstorm, his entire life was changing right before his eyes. Every bone in his body ached to return home, to the sunny shores of California where he knew he inherently belonged, and the dismal clouds and looming haze of the autumn months in Indiana thrusted every reason upon him to want to go back even more.

What he was accustomed to in California was not that of Indiana nature. This place was a backcountry, dated, and tired little town with no sand or sea and much less sun than he'd ever been used to. Hours spent along winding country roads, spanning over miles and miles of the American Western frontier, delivered dread and pulsing irritation to the seventeen year old. The angst and exasperation that'd been bubbling within him for weeks only grew broader with his arrival to the woodsy oasis. His life on the West Coast, where paradise was his own personal playground, could never be beat by this unfortunate, radioactive time-bomb of a town.

Anger riddled his body when he learnt of the town he'd be living in, and that ferocious, pulsating animosity that moved in with him hasn't left since. Billy's personality became consumed by the livid resentment that coursed violently through his veins, and his step-sister, Max, knew that firsthand.

During their journey to the school on their first official day as students at Hawkins, as Billy blatantly ignored her for the entirety of the ride, she couldn't help but notice how each and every thing about the town managed to piss him off in some way. She'd counted the amount of times his jaw clenched and unclenched, nostrils flared and unflared. It was like everything  that ticked him off he allowed to simmer and expand in his quivering anger, and his body would respond just as well. Max could feel his indignation radiating off of him like chemical waves. She could see out of the corner of her eye, not daring to turn full view at her hotheaded step-brother, that his knuckles were white and his brow furrowed. She could only imagine what words must be flying through his mind. Fear he might combust from the heated irritation bubbling inside of him washed over her, and she found herself sinking further into the leather of his seats.

"Oh, look at this fuckin' place," he groaned, revving the engine of his blue Camaro. The high school appeared in the horizon, a dismal building with no color or courtyard or sign of life worth living. Crowds of teenagers waiting around the front turned to find the source of the loud, thundering engine, and locked eyes on the foreign, blue muscle car as it swung around the turns and glided into a spot. His anger was clear in the way he drove, in the way he handled his car with no care at all, and the drama that lived vicariously through the way he drove brought attention to him that he never would have expected. Billy laughed sadistically as he spotted all of the wandering eyes and rubberneckers, muttering, "Just what I wanted: a fucking audience on the first day."