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"There you are!"
Hopper turned to see his tiny brunette friend across the hall, a great, big smile on her face. He chewed slowly on his second sandwich of the day as he watched Joyce approach, fluttering up to him like a little bird, and a bemused expression spread across his face.
"Did you run here or something?" he asked through a mouthful of bologna.
"What? No!" Joyce frowned and quickly shook her head before the big smile crept back. "You weren't around the steps after fifth, and I was looking for you. I wanna ask you something!"
"So why are your cheeks all red then?" he asked.
Joyce brought a hand up to her left cheek and stood on her tiptoes to look at her reflection in his locker mirror. Indeed, her cheeks were changing ten shades of crimson, and only deepened when she saw it with her own eyes.
Hopper stopped chewing entirely and raised an eyebrow slowly.
"What's up?"
Joyce sighed and fidgeted with the lock on his locker door. Then she repositioned the textbooks in her arms, looking anywhere but at him. She tried not to think about how hot her cheeks were getting under his gaze.
"Well -- I don't know if you noticed, but the winter formal on Friday is a Sadie Hawkins," she said through a shallow breath before sneaking a peek at him with wide, worried eyes to gauge his reaction. But there was none.
He just kinda shrugged.
"Yeah, I know. Half the junior girls asked me already," he admitted, crumpling the empty paper bag that once held the rest of second-lunch and tossed it in the trash can over her head and behind her. Completely clueless, as usual.
"Oh yeah?" Joyce asked, keeping the smile plastered to her face, desperately trying to ignore the heaviness in her chest at his words. "Who?"
Hopper shrugged again and went back to rummaging through the mess in his locker, getting ready to skip his last class for the day and head out.
"A bunch of chicks. I told 'em 'No.'"
"Oh…" The heavy feeling disappeared just as quickly as it came. "A bunch, huh?"
"Why'd you ask?"
"Uh… well, I don't know," Joyce sighed and trailed off. "I just thought, maybe…"
"Yeah?"
"...You and I..?"
She didn't want to say it -- she couldn't possibly say it. The words caught in the back of her throat.
Hopper was getting impatient. "Spit it out, Horowitz!"
Joyce took a deep breath.
"Well, it's just that it's the Snow Ball. And I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to go… With me?"
She shifted her weight nervously and held her breath as she waited on his response. It felt like forever as she watched his face change from clueless to amused, confused, and then back again.
"Hmm, no thanks," he said finally, coolly shrugging his hunter green plaid jacket over his broad shoulders. "I got plans."
Joyce's face fell for real this time, and she leaned back against the lockers, letting his locker door shield her disappointment. Hopper was rummaging around his locker again, banging books around on the shelves and dropping his winter wear at his feet -- hat, mitts, a pair of long johns, and big woolly socks.
"Why don't you ask your new boyfriend?" he asked bluntly from behind the locker door.
"Who? Lonnie? Lonnie's not my--" Joyce bit her tongue and steered the conversation back on track, knowing the topic of Lonnie Byers was not a welcome one with Hop. She leaned forward to glare at him. "I wanted to ask you, dummy!" she told him, dejected. "Since you're like... I don't know. My best friend?"
"Aw," Hopper said, clutching for his heart and rolling his eyes. "You make it sound so special."
Joyce bounced on her heels in frustration. Sometimes she wished she was taller so she could properly smack him upside the head.
"I just mean-- We went to our first Snow Ball together. Shouldn't we go to the last one too?"
"Uh, no?" Hopper said and then ducked out of her reach when she aimed for his arm. "What? I'm struggling to see the big deal here. It's just a dance!"
Joyce raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. What a stick in the mud!
"It's the last Snow Ball, Jim."
"And this is the last week I can bag a doe, Joyce."
He bent down to gather up the small pile of hunting gear on the floor and shoved them into his backpack. Joyce set her jaw, grimacing.
"A deer?"
"A female deer," he grinned up at her.
Joyce clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
"You're telling me you'd rather kill some poor, innocent creature than dance with your best friend all night?" she asked, her voice trailing off, hopefully conveying the intentions behind the words -- I like you, you big doofus.
But Hopper didn't catch on.
"Yes, absolutely."
Hopper said it abruptly, and Joyce tried not to look too offended.
"Well, I… I thought you could only hunt 'til Last Light anyway?"
Hah, she had him there -- according to Indiana fish and game regulations, he wasn't allowed to hunt after the sun went down. Honestly, she didn't know much else about hunting other than that small fact, but Joyce clung to it like a life raft.
"Why don't you just come to the dance after? Meet me there?" Joyce persisted.
"No can do!" He pressed his lips together, unapologetically. "I plan to be elbow deep in guts and blood after Last Light."
Her jaw dropped, and it made him smirk.
"What is wrong with you?" Joyce exclaimed, horrified. "That's disgusting!"
"So's a Sadie Hawkins!" he exclaimed, shaking his head as he went off. "Girls asking guys? What's next? Cats chasing dogs? C'mon, Joyce."
Hopper snorted at his own joke and stood up.
Joyce curled her nose at him and ignored his rude, passing comment, even though it made her blood boil. Why was she asking him again? Oh right. Those pesky feelings. The same ones she'd been fighting for the last four years. Just when she thought she had them beat, making herself believe she only ever wanted to be just his friend, those feelings would rear their ugly head again and make her act like a complete fool. This wasn't the first time, and it likely wouldn't be the last.
"But it's the last Snow Ball!" She tried with him one more time.
Hopper slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the last of his junk shoving it back in the locker, anywhere it would fit. He heaved a sigh.
“So? We had Homecoming last month. Prom's in spring. How many dances do we need?"
Never mind that Joyce was helping Karen plan each of those dances and leading the Pep Club in decorating the gym for all of them too. He knew perfectly well how much it all meant to her. Joyce couldn't believe he wasn't a being bit more sentimental about all of it.
"It's our last Snow Ball." She gave him the look. That's when Hopper finally got it.
And then he rolled his eyes.
"You realize that none of the guys are going, right?”
"Nuh-uh.” Joyce shook her head. “Not all the guys. Some of the senior guys are going with the gals!"
She didn't know exactly how many, and she left out that it was mostly the steadies going together. For some reason, the single senior guys seemed ho-hum about the winter formal this year.
"No, none of the guys are going," Hopper assured her again. "Trust me. We all have plans. Besides, that dance is only for the freshmen and middle-schoolers now. Last year was so lame."
"Plans?" she echoed.
"Yeah. I told you! My card's punched all week."
"Heya, Hop!" Benny called out, interrupting them from down the hallway, catching their attention over the top of the other student's heads. He raised his .22 in his hand to Hopper like a chalice. "Hunting?"
"Hunting!" Hopper hollered back and turned back to Joyce. "See? Hunting."
Joyce rolled her eyes and let out a grumble.
"How many times can a man go hunting in a week?"
"Well, Beatles say there's 8 days…" Hopper started, slamming his locker shut.
"Let me rephrase that," Joyce interrupted, looking to cut with her words. "How many times can a man go hunting in a week and bring home absolutely nothing?"
Hopper narrowed his eyes on Joyce, unamused. She knew full well he hadn't gotten anything yet this year, and he was quickly running out of time to prove his machismo to his pals. Now she was purposely rubbing salt in those wounds.
"Look at you, being funny," he said flatly, pushing by her to follow Benny out the double doors. "Don't let me spoil your little dance, okay? Slow dance with Karen if you have to," he added with a wink and an obscene smirk.
"I hate you, Jim Hopper!" Joyce called out after him, meaning every word in that very moment. Just when she thought Hopper might change, here he was, being his same-old callous self.
"Feeling's mutual," he chuckled over his shoulder. "See ya later!"
"Yeah, whatever," Joyce grumbled back. "Jerk."
Her spirit was crushed. Her crush? Crushed. Was it too late to bottle all those feelings back up? Swallow her pride and ask one of the shy, senior guys instead? At least, she thought, Bob Newby’s a sure thing.
Lonnie could be her back up choice, but she already knew he'd laugh in her face too, just the same as Hopper had done. Lonnie wouldn't be hunting, though. Just drinking and partying at the quarry or whatever he and his miscreant friends liked to do for fun -- she still hadn't quite figured that out, though she was beginning to think maybe being a miscreant was more fun than it sounded. More fun than hunting poor innocent creatures anyway. Or playing the lone wallflower at the winter formal...
As the last bell rang, Joyce wondered why all the boys she liked had to be such jerks.