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“I thought that you said she was a priss.”
“Okay, well, it’s not my fault that’s how she presented herself to everyone in high school. Nancy Wheeler was the town priss, you were the mean jock secretly wearing a wig—”
“A wig?”
“Well yeah, your hair fell out because you overdid it with all of these products that were laced with chemicals that the FDA had to ban because they were making people infertile, and you didn’t want anyone to find out so you would drive to South Bend to get a wig.”
“Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter. I was the know-it-all who was too good for everyone else and that’s why I ate lunch in the back corner with a beaten-up old copy of Crime and Punishment even though let’s be honest, it’s the worst think Dostoevsky has written, but I needed to seem pretentious. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that the self that is presented to the lion-riddled Colosseum of Hawkins High is probably not their truest self.”
“I think what you’re trying to say is that you have a crush on Nancy Wheeler.”
“A crush? I do not have a crush –” Steve leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed, slightly tilted his head, and raised one eyebrow from under the lock of hair that was falling in his face, and that was how Robin knew that there was no more bullshitting to be done. “Okay, fine. I have a friend crush. I think that she’s really cool and I would like to know more about her and spend more time with her in a capital-P Platonic sense, because I don’t have a lot of friends, and no offense, but I don’t think you can always keep up with my brain.”
“I’ll try not to take any. But more importantly, I don’t think you and Nancy just want to giggle and braid each other’s hair. I think you two want to kiss and scissor.”
“Scissor?”
“It’s when you… you know…” Steve uncrossed his arms and brought his hands up in front of his chest. He made a peace sign in each hand, twisting the left so that he could link his outstretched fingers together, the webbing rubbing against each other in a crude demonstration of his meaning.
“Steve, what the hell is that?”
“It’s… it’s scissoring. I read about it. In a magazine.”
“Okay, well I can tell you right now that I don’t want to do that with Nancy. Or anyone.”
“You don’t want to scissor Vickie? Or Julie Christie?”
“Whatever that is? No, not really. Think about your hips. Wouldn’t that hurt?”
“I bet you’re thinking about Nancy’s hips right now.”
“I’m doing no such thing and you know it.”
“Is this about me? I totally get it. You don’t move in on a friend’s girl, blah blah. But I am giving you my blessing.” And he even made a poor Sign of the Cross to demonstrate. Because, well, let’s face it: Robin was probably a better match for Nancy than Steve ever was. He was a better man now than he had been when they were dating, sure, but Robin was right: he couldn’t keep up with her, and Nancy was the same way. By the time Steve parsed out whatever was going through one of their minds, the other one would be five steps ahead. They made a good team, digging through library archives and talking to serial killer who had actually been framed by demonic entities.
And besides – and this was where Steve knew that he had matured, because even a few years ago, he would have rolled his eyes and scoffed at what he was thinking – Robin deserved it. Happiness. A girlfriend. Whatever. Life in Hawkins sucked for everybody, and she had this big secret on top of it. One of the best ways to shut the haters up? Bagging the prettiest girl in school.
“It’s not about you. It’s not about Jonathan. It’s… both of you. Neither. I don’t know. But she… Nancy doesn’t like me.”
“Sure she does.”
“I don’t… I’m not… shaped like you.”
“Neither is Jonathan.”
“You know what I mean.” Robin backed up against the opposite wall, the back of her head hitting the concrete just hard enough to make a dull thunk. She looked up, afraid to meet Steve’s eyes, as she slid down into a sitting position. She didn’t know how many words she said in a day, but there were a few that still couldn’t quite come out. Like her. And if she couldn’t just say the words in front of Steve, the one person in this godforsaken town she actually trusted, then what made her think she could actually gather up the strength to talk to a girl about it?
Steve dropped into a crouch, shuffling a few steps up before sitting in the middle of the floor and crossing his legs. “Maybe she just hasn’t figured it out yet.”
Robin didn’t meet his gaze, only shook her head.
“How’d you figure out that you like girls, anyway?”
“How did you?”
“Because when I was five years old, my parents took me to see Robin Hood in theaters, and I thought Maid Marian. Wow.”
“I mean, she was a total fox.”
“Right?!”
“… The babysitter in The Exorcist.”
“Your parents let you watch The Exorcist?”
“My parents let me watch anything that they thought was interesting.”
“I… I understand now why you turned out the way you did.”
Robin laughed a little, a snort in the back of her throat. That was a good sign. Steve was learning how to deal with her neuroses, at least a little bit. Maybe hanging out with all of those children gave him some practice in calming down the teenage girl equivalent of one of those tiny dogs that was always shaking. Or maybe it was the whole saving the world thing. Who could really tell?
“You wanted to scissor the babysitter in The Exorcist. Okay, that’s when you knew.”
“No, I wanted her to be my babysitter.”
“Okay. So then what’s the first girl you wanted to kiss? Real, fictional, whatever.”
“Probably the older sister in Poltergeist.”
“Jesus Christ, is your type just horror movie characters?”
“And you’re so shocked that I might have a crush on Nancy?” Hawkins was a walking horror movie, and a high-budget one at that. And who, with her quick wits and brushes with death, was better equipped to be the Final Girl?
“So you admit it!”
“I said might.”
“Well, what I’m trying to say is that you’re the babysitter in The Exorcist. Maybe Nance thinks that she wants to be your friend because she doesn’t know that she wants more than a hug and a high five.”
“Your logic is flawless.”
“Thank you! About time someone admitted it!”
The risks were… high. Robin knew that. They were also different. If she asked out Vickie and Vickie said no, then Vickie might talk to the rest of the Hawkins pep band about the creepy dyke who hit on her. Everyone would find out, Robin would go back to being the kid who sat alone at lunch, but it wouldn’t totally matter. She’d get out of Hawkins soon enough, find somewhere with more people like her. A few more months of hell, which she had already been through.
But Nancy was a friend. Or something more. And if she wanted it to be something more, and Nancy didn’t, and Nancy was creeped out, Robin knew that her secret was safe, but in the process, she would lose the care and trust of someone that she really, really liked.
It was safer to do nothing, then. At least with insufficient evidence on her side.
Robin jerked upright at the sound of a bell, the one that they placed on the counter in case someone decided to interrupt the Family Video’s regularly-scheduled shit-shooting. There was only one person who rang a counter bell like that, and as Steve and Robin looked at each other, they both realized that the other person knew.
“Can you go handle our customer?” Steve asked, pulling himself out of a crouch and looking at his wrist, which was suspiciously absent a watch. “I think I want to take my break.”
“Steve!”
“Hey, it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’re better with the customers than I am, anyway. Especially the babes.”
“Steve, don’t you do this to me!” And… too late. He was already gone, slipped out the back door of the storage room, excuse sufficiently manufactured. As the bell’s soft dinging continued, Robin stood up, hands shaking and heart thundering in her chest as she made sure she was suitable for public consumption. Hair, uniform, posture… all of those were as good as they were going to get.
“Hi, sorry, it’s hard to hear back there sometimes.” She opened the storage room as she was still straightening out her tie. Goddammit, why didn’t they have any uniforms the right size? Everything was too big, rumpled, no matter how many times she tried to cuff her sleeves and pants legs.
“Isn’t that the point of the bell?” Nancy, for her part, looked as… well, nice. Put-together as ever. She had dropped the perm recently; probably too much upkeep when you never know if your town is going to be turned into a dystopian hellscape.
“I… yeah. You’re right. I guess we should get another one.”
Nancy pursed her lips, nodding as she held back a smile. “Is Steve around?”
“He actually just went on break, if you want to wait for him.”
“No, that’s fine. Between us ladies, I trust you more anyway. See, Steve doesn’t pick out movies so much as –”
“As background noise for fooling around.” Dammit, Robin. First you interrupt, then you make an off-color joke. You interrupted to make an off-color joke. Moron. What if there had been kids around? You’re not really shaking the big scary dyke reputation, now are you? But Nancy was laughing, agreeing with her judgment, which… ew. Mental images about Robin’s best friend were now coming to light. Goodbye, no thanks, let’s move on.
“Anyway…” Was Nancy blushing? No. That was probably just makeup. She actually knew how to put on makeup. Probably did it early in the morning too rather than haphazardly throwing some blush on in a moving car because seriously how are you so pale. “I figure that I should probably start my education on the scary and supernatural, and as Hawkins’ resident believer, you’re the best guide I have.”
“You know our ‘horror’ section doesn’t have any documentaries, right?”
“And the Weekly Watcher is just a stupid tabloid, right?”
“Point taken. Follow me.” No, Robin, don’t do that arm motion. You’re not Glinda the Good Witch. How are you so bad at this? How does Steve Harrington’s best friend not know how to talk to women? Is it the hair? Would that solve everything? “Well, we have to start with Fright Night. I mean, it’s a classic, and this copy just came in, so you know the VHS works. Oh, and Creepshow, it’s a bunch of short films, so that’ll help you, you know, broaden your palate.” This would be easier if Nancy actually said what she wanted, whether she was joking around and wanted some entertainment or if she actually wanted to be better prepared for the next weird thing dropped into flyover country.
Well, better to cover the full stretch of possibility, then. “Oh, The Evil Dead, obviously, I mean I think we’ve lived through that. An American Werewolf in London. I don’t think werewolves are real. I mean, we totally would know that by now. Someone shows up to work every 28 days looking like they got lost in the woods and we just don’t put that together?” Then again, menstruation also did that. “But it’s one of my favorites, so, worth it just for that.” Stop rambling stop rambling stop rambling.
An idea suddenly came over Robin, the little lightbulb over her head going ring ting ting just like the bell on the counter. There was no way that Steve would let her live this one down, but if he considered it solid evidence… “And if you get too scared… ta-da!” Fast Times at Ridgemont High. With one scene clocking in just before the one hour mark that Steve Harrington claims to be of particular interest to Robin’s… community. “And I think that’s a good place to start!” And if not, you know where to find me. No, that sounded desperate.
“And I know where to find you when I want to… further my research.”
“I’m the expert in all things cinematic and supernatural. Self-proclaimed.”
“If you need someone else to proclaim it, I’d be happy to write you a reference.”
And now Robin was blushing. Hard enough that she didn’t actually check Nancy out before Wheeler walked out, handful of tapes in her hand. Well, she did check her out, but not in a creepy way. Just a glance. Just a normal glance at a friend.
She should have recommended Poltergeist.