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CHAPTER THIRTY THREE " HE HATED IT YET IT COMFORTED HIM "
WITH THE INFLUX OF COLLEGE ACCEPTANCE LETTERS in classmates mailboxes and the passing of midterms, all people could talk about was their plans for the upcoming fall. Even in the locker room, much to Steve's chagrin. All of his teammates buzzed after practice, excitedly telling each other where they were going or where they weren't going—all the things they couldn't wait to see. Steve took to the showers to tune them out, focusing on the rushing water instead. But he had to get out at some point and when he did, of course it was Billy who had the floor.
Steve wrapped a towel around his waist and padded to his locker to change. Billy was too loud to tune out now and Steve found his ears perking up as Billy chatted with Tommy H. two lockers down.
"Nah, I ain't going to college," Billy told Tommy. "But I am getting out of this shit town. The Midwest, man, it ain't for me."
"Then what will you do?"
Billy shrugged. "Heather hooked me up with a job at the pool. I'll lifeguard there for the summer, make some nice cash, then drive my Camaro back to the West Coast, man."
Steve narrowed his eyes at Billy's back. It only made sense that Billy Hargrove would also be heading to California this fall, just like Dylan. The universe liked to taunt him.
"That sounds better than what I'll be doing," Tommy H. said in response. Steve could see the envy on the other boy's face. Tommy acted tough but he was a coward. He wouldn't do anything to upset the status quo. "My old man told me I better enrol in a trade school or my ass is out on the streets."
"That's fuckin' shit, Tom," Billy turned his head—locking eyes with Steve, who cursed that he'd been caught eavesdropping. "What about you, King Steve? Got any great plans?"
"No," he slipped a shirt over his head. "I'll be staying here."
"Of course," Billy grinned; his eyes flashed a wicked sense of humour. "All alone? I know Dylan ain't staying here."
There was no way Billy could no Dylan was going to California, she'd only found out yesterday but it sure felt like he knew. Billy simply had a knack for discovering exactly what was bothering someone and using it to his advantage. Steve jumped into his jeans and slammed his locker shut. He didn't even bother fixing his hair, wanting too urgently to leave this conversation. "Yeah, Billy," Steve said though he knew his response was only satisfying Billy further. "All alone."
"Figures."
"Fuck off, Billy." Steve grumbled out before leaving the locker room. He hated giving Billy a reaction but sometimes he irked Steve so much that he couldn't contain it.
He wanted to go look for Dylan but he knew she was busy—out with Nancy and maybe Jonathan, too—letting Nancy explain complicated concepts and easily made grammar mistakes, stuff that Dylan and him mutually used to not care about. But she pulled herself together and started pumping out A's and B+'s and he was proud of her, really, he was, he only hated being alone and left out. Which, to be fair, he had only isolated himself. Dylan invited him to study with them, she got Jonathan to agree to write his college essay, she even let Nancy try to convince him it wouldn't be weird. Still, it felt weird. So Steve would spend those nights and afternoons alone, sometimes with Rex or another boy off the basketball team, sometimes Dustin would need his help but it wasn't the same. He didn't have a circle anymore, people he could call up anytime and get a Coke or pull some mischief, like the old days of Tommy, Carol, Dylan and him. He didn't mind losing the first two but Dylan? He wasn't sure how to live without her around. He'd done it for one year and it killed him everyday.
He had what? Five months before she left? And who was staying? Tommy? That was the type of people he was left with. Even Billy had dreams of California, much to Steve's dismay. He hoped Dylan was unaware of this, not that he thought she held any affection for him anymore. He had this horrible daydream in his head of a scenario where Billy and Dylan drove up the coast in his Camaro, her red hair tangling with the wind out the window, sun kissed their skin, and they— He kicked a can across the school parking lot, feeling some satisfaction as it hit Billy's tire. It was an illogical daydream but it bothered him anyway.
"Calm down there, tiger," Steve looked over his shoulder, a girl stood behind him, her bookbag hiked up over one shoulder. She pointed at the crumped can now under Billy's Camaro. "You're really gettin' out of hand—furiously kicking garbage around the parking lot."
She was mocking him, he could sense the sarcasm. "Sometimes a man just needs to make a scene," he joked back.
"I can see that, Harrington. Who knew King Steve had such anger issues?"
"I feel like a dick because you know my name but I don't know yours," Steve knew she was familiar— dishevelled short hair, lanky, big eyes—they possibly shared a class together, but he couldn't put a name to a face.
"Robin," she told him, seemingly unfazed that he couldn't remember her. "Buckley."
"Well, Robin Buckley, I apologize if I have disturbed your peaceful walk to your car with my rage," he held his hands out in front of him to direct her. "Please continue, I promise not to bother you anymore."
"Well, thank you, kind sir," She bit her lip but a smile soon broke out on her face. "Sometimes a lady just wants to get to work with a little peace and quiet."
An idea popped into his head. "Where do you work?"
Robin seemed reluctant to answer, her cheeks flushing a deep red. "Uh, Scoops Ahoy, at the new mall—it's not opened yet. I'm helping set up shelves, real hard work."
"Cool," he said. Robin looked slightly confused. "I'll probably see you around."
HIS MOTHER HOVERED OVER HIM, her lips pursed and she made a humming sound as she attempted to help him write a resumé.
"You have absolutely no experience," she said, defeated. "Who would we use as a reference? Did you go there and grab an application?"
Steve nodded and pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his back pocket. His mother eyed the wrinkles in the paper with horror.
She sighed. "Filling that out is probably your best bet. If we made a formal resumé, I'm afraid it would be a bit too lacking."
Steve looked at the half-empty piece of paper on the kitchen table and agreed. Instead, he grabbed a pen and started filling out boxes on the application form. His mom ran her fingers through his hair, scruffing it up. "I think a job is a good idea," she said. Steve could tell she was sincere. Not like his father, who had scoffed at the idea. "It'll teach your some responsibility and I'll bet you'll like not having to ask your dad for money all the time. It's very liberating."
He gave his mom a warm look. He felt bad for her sometimes; dad was always away and there was no way she didn't know what he got up to sometimes, and she always had to ask him for money. She didn't know that liberation anymore. But she was always caring and thoughtful. If it were his dad trying to help him curate a resumé, Mr. Harrington would have given up and told him it was 'pointless.'
"Thanks, mom."
She nodded. "What would you like for supper tonight? I could make something, order, whatever. Is Dylan coming?"
"No," Steve said, a frown forming. "Dylan won't be coming. You should order a pizza."
His mother's gaze lingered on him for a moment. She gave him a familiar look—it meant she had figured something out that he hadn't told her. He hated it yet it comforted him.
Did I just write this book so I could listen to reputation AND thirst after Steve Harrington at the same time? Maybe so! Thanks for all the votes/comments!! Hope you enjoy this lil chapter 💗
