Chapter Text
Steve has never done a single thing wrong in his life.
Alright, that’s not true. He’s done a lot wrong and likes to think he’s learning from it every day. He’s still young and fucks up, but as long as he apologizes, learns a lesson, and grows, that’s good, right?
So, what did Steve do so damn wrong to earn five children? Jesus, he was just minding his business this time. Not involved in anything, only living his life, getting past the holidays and into the last semester of his senior year….
What happened? What misstep did he make? How did it go so badly?
Steve can’t figure it out.
He rubs his hands slowly down his face and stares at the roof of his car.
“Okay, but, like,” Mike is saying, “if you keep him, he’ll literally die.”
“He will not. I love him already,” Dustin says as he holds possessively onto a twenty-gallon tank. Half of it is on his lap and the other half is on Lucas’. “I’m an extremely responsible pet owner.”
“You’re an airhead,” Lucas says. “Like, big time.”
“Am I, Lucas? Do you think you’d do any better?”
“I don’t even want to try. I don’t want that thing.”
“He’s pretty ugly,” Max says as she sits in the front seat, turning to look back at them. “But we have to keep him alive. I don’t want to, so that leaves Mike, Dustin, or you, Will.”
Will sits squashed between Mike and the backdoor. “I’d definitely take him!” he says brightly. “I’d keep him alive. My mom would think he’s super cool.”
Dustin scoffs from the other side of the backseat. “My mom would, too,” he says. “And I love him.”
“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters. “Since none of you decided to tell me the truth about why I’m picking you up today, I’m going to launch that thing out of the window in ten seconds.”
“Don’t be cruel, Steve,” Dustin says. “He’s innocent!”
They all look at the bullfrog sitting in the tank, not even moving. He’s definitely ugly, and that tank is probably way, way too small for him. But one of them has to keep him alive for a couple of weeks and write a report for extra credit.
Not every kid has to, obviously, but Steve thinks Mister Clarke wants him out of the classroom because he’s been such a distraction since he got so big. The kids have watched him grow up from a tadpole to the fat monster he is now, and Steve would put money on Clarke offering for the kids to keep him.
Why he doesn’t take the guy in himself, Steve doesn’t know—maybe he’s got eight of them already.
“Wheeler or Byers,” Steve says. “You guys are at each other’s houses all the time, so you’ll see him a lot, Henderson. But,” he adds and holds up his finger, “you’re going to ask your damn parents first.”
“If I ask my mom, she’ll say no!” Mike says. “We have to sneak him in.”
“Uhh, no. No, no. Bada boom, baby. Byers it is,” Steve says and turns on the car. “Lower the goddamn window. He stinks. No!” he adds as they start complaining. “We use logic and reasoning. Maybe if you told me the truth, I dunno. I’d be more lenient.”
“What makes you think it’s your choice, Steve?”
Lucas groans. “Can we just go? I vote Will, too.”
“Will,” Max says, laughing. She looks at Steve. “I mean, how else do you want us to get our way?”
Steve raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Is that how you see me? The cool brother who lets you get away with whatever the hell you want or something? Well, not anymore, shitheads,” he declares. “I’m ignoring the next SOS. And the one after that. And the one after that. And probably all the ones after that.”
“But what if we need you?” Will asks. “Because we’re in danger?”
“And how are you gonna be in danger except for diving nose first into it, huh? So whose fault is it, really?”
“It’s not that we dive nose first into it,” Lucas says. “It’s just Hawkins.”
Steve holds his hands out above the steering wheel. “So? So? Who cares that it’s Hawkins? Yeah, weird, random shit happens. No one but you shits cares. And the police, occasionally, which is when you should not care at all.”
“Kind of always ends up the opposite of that,” Max says. “I definitely don’t go looking for it. I try to talk them out of it.”
“Oh, please,” Mike says. “You tell us how stupid we are and our plans are and take over all the time.”
“Mhmm,” Dustin and Lucas hum.
“You get it after Steve,” Will says.
“Yeah, well. That just means you’d all be dead without Steve and me.”
Steve shakes his head. “You know what? Passing the torch to you, Max Mayfield. Good fucking luck,” he says. “You lost the car. It’s official. Donezo. That’s what I am. Just completely done. I’m out forever.”
“Sure, Steve,” comes the usual chorus.
He sighs.
What did Steve do wrong?
Cruel and unusual punishment since September. It’s March. Spring is almost here. He’s literally been with these shitheads for multiple seasons and that’s just not right—it can’t come close to a year.
No way, baby. He’s cutting the cord.
Sure, Steve echoes through his skull.
Jesus.
He takes Will home first so they can help him get the bullfrog—fucking named Slappy—inside, ask Joyce if it’s okay, then starts carting around the rest of the children. One by fucking one and when did this happen?
Steve is eighteen. He’s an adult, not a babysitter, not a nanny. He’s barely an adult and way too young to care about a bunch of thirteen-year-olds who sure, Steve him every five minutes.
Barely any pleases or thank yous. Ungrateful assholes.
Cutting the damn cord.
He has to drop Max off at the end of the street because of her brother and the bane of Steve’s existence. Billy Hargrove already knows Steve is a chosen babysitter, and after the brawl in the fall and implied nefarious things, he doesn’t need to give Billy any more ammo than he already has.
How Max turned out okay is a mystery. Well, maybe not okay. That kid says some shit that rattles Steve to his bones and she just keeps talking like it was normal or something. And the swearing and the brutal sarcasm, the intense defensiveness.
That last one is recognizable and Steve doesn’t have to wonder why she learned it.
Why did Billy learn it?
Maybe he was just born that way.
Steve likes Max a lot because she’s way past the guys in maturity, and she’s sharp and funny and hates Billy almost as much as Steve does. Hoo, does Steve have a burning hatred for her brother.
They rolled into town from the sunny southwest but Billy is anything but friendly or laid back. No stereotypical surfer dude personality. He is a raging asshole of epic proportions who has set out to make Steve’s last year in high school as shitty as possible.
After their full-on brawl, Billy did back off of Steve a little, but Jesus. Gym and practice suck and he still runs his mouth all the time.
Every time he alludes to Steve’s friendship with children and his sister, Steve reminds him that Max sure hates his guts and it always wipes that stupid grin off his face. Steve thought Billy was going to kill him the first time because, hoo, that guy was mad, but it seems to be a sore spot he doesn’t like spat in his face.
Kinda like how Steve doesn’t want any part of his life spat in his face for no damn reason.
Whatever.
Steve gets the children home and could cry after. He really could. But he goes home instead and tries not to cry over math homework because that’s more important than fucking bullfrog SOSes.
To think. It’s only Monday.
Tuesday isn’t any better, but at least it’s warmer. Spring is coming, and flowers are starting to dot the hills as the frost melts faster. Soon, everything will be in bloom and really pretty. One of his favorite seasons, but he’d like to experience it outside of school.
Steve will be working next year, but at least he’ll have days off that won’t include fucking math.
He’s halfway asleep in fourth period when Mr. R starts talking about a group project. He has mentioned it a few times and Steve has to wake up because a group project? It’ll be a nightmare just because of that, but it’s also a big chunk of their final grade.
Which means working with a group for a little over a month.
Mr. R mentions pairs today, though, so only a small group. Which, honestly, is going to make it or break it. They’re not in grade school anymore, where goofing off and taking projects less seriously wasn’t a big deal.
This is a graduating-high-school big deal.
Steve sits up when Mr. R starts reading off pairs. It takes him until the D last names to notice his teacher, his stupid fucking teacher, is pairing them up by those closest in last names.
His heart sinks.
Oh, no.
“Hargrove, Harrington,” Mr. R says boredly. “Johnson, Jones.”
“Oh, fuck,” Steve whispers. He glances at Ken to his right—a guy on the basketball team who shares most of Steve’s classes that he’s friends with.
Ken cringes sympathetically.
Steve sighs and dreads glancing back, but he does. Billy Hargrove always sits in the back row, and he’s two rows over from Steve, but he’s looking right at him.
The grin that broadens across his face, tongue pressed to his canine like a fucking animal, spells the worst trouble of the school year yet. Billy winks, and Steve turns away, holding his head in his hand.
“He’s gonna kill me,” Steve hisses at Ken.
“Well,” Ken sighs, “if he does that, at least you won’t have to work at your dad’s company.”
“A big fucking win there,” Steve whispers. He sighs and folds his arms on the desk, dropping his forehead onto them and groaning.
Ken pats his shoulder.
Fifth period is free, which is usually a luxury. Not fucking today, and Steve knows that the minute he steps out of the classroom with Ken. He still hightails it down to his locker to get rid of his shit and hopes he can get outside to sit with his friends and avoid his new project partner.
No such luck.
“Hey, Harrington,” Billy says, sidling up to Steve’s locker and planting his shoulder on the one beside it. He grins. “You and me, huh?”
Steve shakes his head, staring inside his locker at his books. “We’re gonna do this my way,” he says. “Which is with as little communication as possible.”
“We gotta make three presentation boards with differing opinions and write three papers each. Debating each other’s opinions. I don’t know, Harrington,” Billy drawls, shaking his head. “Gonna be difficult without buddying up pretty often.”
“You can buddy up with this,” Steve says and waves his middle finger. “Okay? That’s how I feel about it.”
Billy cackles and bites his lip, still grinning. “Man,” he finally says, “did I hit a nerve somewhere? I’m feelin’ so much hostility from you, Stevie boy. We’re teammates. Classmates. Partners.”
Steve inhales slowly. “That has all been against my will,” he says. “And I had two black eyes for almost two months. I dunno. You probably hit a lot of fucking nerves.”
“You still mad about that?” Billy asks and waves his hand dismissively. “You came outta it as pretty as ever. You stayed Maxine’s best friend and chauffeur. Thought you forgave me.”
“I’d love to deck you right now,” Steve says, looking at Billy. “Like, truly. I would love to. Stop fucking grinning at me, dude. This is important for us to graduate and you’re gonna ruin it.”
Billy’s grin broadens. “Am I?” he asks. He shrugs. “I kinda want to graduate. So, I guess we’re at an impasse, huh? You know what that means, right?”
“Pray fucking tell, man.”
“We gotta work together,” Billy says. “Team effort to make it happen. So, let’s do it. I won’t ruin it if you don’t, King Steve.”
“It’s that shit right there,” Steve says, pointing at him. “That’s what’s already ruined a lot. If you make this a nightmare, I’m doing it alone.”
“You gonna debate yourself?”
“Yup.”
“Got this funny feeling that’ll be a disaster. Maybe it’s watching you fail almost every class we’re in ‘cause you don’t bother stayin’ awake. And you’re gonna get on my case about ruining it?”
“I’m leaving. That’s what I’m gonna do, Hargrove. Fuck off, man,” Steve says and smacks his locker closed. “As little communication as possible.”
Billy rolls his eyes. “Give me your number for when we gotta meet up.”
Steve laughs. “Yeah. So not happening.”
“No?” Billy asks, raising his eyebrows. “Sure, man. You take a look at that project sheet you got and find me later. Maybe I’ll feel generous then. Otherwise, good luck, sweetheart.”
He saunters off, and Steve watches Billy go, shaking his head. Whatever, man. It’s the goddamn cockiness and dismissiveness, like he didn’t beat Steve to a pulp one night because he lost his fucking mind. It’s all that and more.
It’s the fact that Steve feels like Billy could easily do it again. Wave it off later like it was nothing. He’s a violent piece of shit, in Steve’s eyes, and he’s always fucking around, never taking anything seriously. Billy just had to run the school the second he got here, and he’s got that, man.
It sucks, but whatever.
Steve will try to debate himself. He does it literally all the time when the kids ask him for help.
He grabs the project sheet once Billy is out of sight and reads it before sighing and leaning forward, bumping his head on the locker.
Yeah, okay. It’ll be difficult on his own. Probably impossible.
Definitely impossible if Steve tries to buddy up with Billy fucking Hargrove.
——
Steve gets a couple of books he needs at the library on the weekend. He successfully avoided Billy at all costs, even if the guy kept staring at him expectantly.
Like Steve will crawl up to him, roll over and beg for help.
Nope. Fuck that.
Steve is motivated. He can get as much done as possible with little communication with Billy. He starts writing outlines because he’s pretty good at that, even if everything always seems to fall apart after. Nance told him his thoughts don’t connect very often, but they do to him, so Steve’s not sure how to fix that.
She dumped his ass months ago, so it’s not like he could ask her. Well, Steve could, but that’s weird, right? Nance would definitely take pity on him because she’s super grossed out by Billy and feels bad for how stupid Steve is, which she informs him of often enough.
If Steve gets desperate, he’ll call her and ask for some advice, maybe.
Maybe.
After the outlines, Steve starts reading the first book on Saturday afternoon. He wakes up two hours later and decides lying in bed probably isn’t gonna do it because this is why he doesn’t read. It’s not that he can’t—he just can’t focus or, if it’s boring, like this book is, they put him straight to sleep.
By next Wednesday, Steve has read precisely thirty pages, fallen asleep two more times, and hasn’t written shit. And that’s one week down, which just isn’t fair. Time drags when Steve wants it to and flies by when he doesn’t.
He’s ignoring the kids, though they’re starting to bug him more often.
Steve threatens to turn the radio off and even does sometimes, but then he starts getting worried about shit they might be planning and turns it back on within a day or two. But they seem to think they’ve given him enough time to chill out so he’ll be their chauffeur again, but that’s not happening.
They’re threatening a splitting headache by Wednesday evening, shortly after they woke Steve up from a blessed nap of fuck-this-shit.
He tentatively sits at his desk and holds his head in his hands as he stares down at the zero amount of work he’s done.
“I think my mom is gonna get me a fifty-five-gallon tank for Spud for Easter,” Will says. “So he can move around. He can only kind of go in circles or back and forth.”
“I can’t believe you renamed him. Will it still be temperature controlled?”
“Yes, Dustin,” Will sighs. “I’m taking really good care of him. I guess they live a while, so he’ll probably be with us for a long time!”
“Spud,” Mike laughs. “He’s pretty cool.”
“Spud is spot on,” Max mutters and doesn’t sound happy.
“What’s up, Mad Max?” Lucas asks.
Max sighs and it crackles over the line. “Him,” she says. “I dunno. Just being him, I guess, but also weird.”
“Weird, how?”
“I think he’s doing something for a class but he’s getting super annoyed about it,” Max says in a low voice. “He told Neil it was a part of his final grade after he grilled him, and Neil’s kind of been harassing him about it now, even though he knows he doesn’t have to.”
Steve glances at the radio, frowning.
“That man is unnecessarily strict,” Dustin says. “I guess assholes are.”
“Big time,” Max laughs. “Hey, wait. Don’t say anything for a sec.”
It goes quiet for a few minutes, and Steve feels a little antsy about it.
“Oh my god!” Max finally yells. “Don’t let him say—Billy, that’s mine! Stop—”
“Harrington!” Billy Hargrove barks into the radio. “I know you’re fuckin’ there, man, and I’m gonna talk into this thing until you respond. You can have it back when Steve decides to stop bein’ such a prissy bitch, Maxine.”
Steve scrambles for the radio and grabs it, hitting the side. “Give the radio back to your goddamn sister, Hargrove!” he says. “Do you have to be such a fucking prick?”
“Yeah, man,” Billy says indignantly. “It’s been eight days. We got less than four weeks now because of you. We gonna do this shit or what?”
“I told you what I’m doing. I’m literally doing it as we speak.”
“Yeah? How much do you have down? Started the boards yet?”
“The boards come after. I’ve got… you know what, no! I’m not discussing this with you. We are not fucking partners, man.”
“That’s exactly what we are, pretty boy, or do you wanna ask Mr. R if he got it wrong? Huh? Even I’m not this stubborn, man. Every time you walk into class, you look like you’re gonna puke. Four weeks. Suck it the fuck up and meet with me and let’s get it done.”
Steve rubs his temple, looking up at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. He hits the side of the radio. “Give me your goddamn number.”
Billy laughs. “You that stupid, Harrington? You can’t call here. Give me your number. Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve got no interest in calling you for anything else.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Hargrove. I’ll give you my number at school tomorrow. Okay? Okay? Give your sister the radio back.”
“Love it when you take that tone with me, babe,” Billy says dryly. “Gonna use this thing if you chicken out.”
“Oh my god,” Max finally says. “Oh my god. Asshole!” she yells, and Billy yells something back, but Steve can’t make it out. “Steve? Are you serious? You’re on a project together?”
Steve rubs his hands over his face before lifting the radio. “Yes. Yup. We sure are,” he says. “Don’t worry about it, guys. Sorry, Max.”
“I mean… I’m sorry for you.”
“...yeah, we all are,” Mike mutters. “Sorry, Steve.”
Yeah, well. What can Steve say to that?
He fucking agrees.
Bright and goddamn early in the morning, Steve pulls into the school parking lot. He has a designated spot and so does Billy Hargrove. He’s always here well before Steve is, but it does not surprise him that Billy is waiting outside his car.
Not an iota.
Steve mutters to himself and shoves the car door open, grabbing his backpack. He slings it on and looks at Billy as he walks two spaces over to Steve’s BMW and leans on the trunk.
Big grin, a smoking cigarette in his hand, and sunlight shining off his leather jacket and aviator sunglasses.
“Morning, Stevie,” Billy says. “Thought I’d catch you before you avoid me all day.”
“That’s the rule of thumb I live by, man,” Steve says moodily. “Write my number down and lose it the second we finish this.”
“Sure, Steve,” Billy says, opening his notebook and plucking out a pen from his pocket. “Meet me in the library in fifth. We’ll go over it.”
Steve sighs and looks up at the sky. “Yeah, whatever,” he says and looks at Billy as he takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke away from them. “Are you gonna take this seriously?”
Billy looks at Steve from over his sunglasses. “Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ve been waitin’ on you for over a week. You’re asking the wrong person.”
“Whatever,” Steve says and walks to the school. “I told you, I’ve been doing my part.”
“Uh-huh,” Billy says and walks at Steve’s side. “Did you bring it?”
“Uhh. No?”
“Why not?”
“For you to shit on it?”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how much you struggle already. Goddamn, Stevie. I’d be more worried about math if I were you.”
“I am plenty worried about math,” Steve grouses. “I have multiple classes to think about trying not to fail. Not just this one.”
“You been this dumb your whole life?”
“Is it like looking in a mirror?”
Billy cackles. “Fuuuck, man. At least you got Daddy to take care of you once you’re outta here,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll do fine in corporate.”
Steve shakes his head. “And what are you going to do? Go back to the only place that probably wants you? The other side of the country?”
“Uh-huh. The faster we get this done, the faster we get to say goodbye to each other for life, man.”
“Cannot wait.”
Billy smiles and flicks the cigarette butt away before they walk into the school. They go their separate ways, but Steve isn’t looking forward to fifth period.
At least it seems like Billy might take the project seriously.
Hoo, baby.
Steve finds out how wrong he is when he walks into the library after his longest day in a while.
He’s already waiting for Steve at one of the tables, but Billy doesn’t have a notebook or even a pencil with him.
“Are you serious?” Steve asks as he stops on the other side of the table. “Where’s your half?”
Billy shrugs. “When you’re ready to show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” he says. “For now, let’s find out how far we’ve gotten.”
“Jesus,” Steve mutters, sliding the chair out and sinking into it. He rips open his backpack and pulls out a notebook and the two books they have to read, plus another he got for extra help. “Finish these already?”
“Haven’t even cracked ‘em open,” Billy says, leaning forward on his elbows. “Not the most exciting nonfiction out there.”
Steve stares at him. “Seriously? And you’re yelling at me?”
“When did I yell at you?”
“On the fucking radio. Like you need a reminder.”
“You got a weird definition of yelling. Barely raised my voice,” Billy says airily. “Do you wait at their beck and call, man? You answered so fast.”
Steve rubs his eyes, then holds his head in his hands. “I swear to god,” he says. “I’m not talking about the kids. We have to do this. I’ve gotten my outlines down and read some of this one.”
He grabs the book and shakes it. Billy nabs it out of his hand.
“Yeah? Is it good so far? Suspenseful? Are you forming opinions?”
“That’s what I’m doing,” Steve says. “Dude. Stop screwing around.”
“I can’t lose the only thing that keeps me warm. You should try it sometime.”
“Jesus. Gross. Stop it,” Steve snaps after Billy snickers. “You have to read these, man.”
Billy leans further forward and raises his eyebrows. “And how far have you gotten?”
“I’m at least reading it, okay? I’ve been busy,” Steve says. He grabs the book out of Billy’s hand. “I know you’re working on this. You can’t lie about that.”
“Didn’t say I wasn’t. I just haven’t started reading the books yet.”
“Then how are you working on it? Bullshitting?”
Billy grins. “Gets you far in life.”
“Yeah. Super far. Turns you into a prick with violent tendencies.”
“Are you still upset about that? After all this time?”
“You almost broke my fucking nose! Not even six months ago!” Steve says. “You lost your fucking mind. You know how fun it was explaining that shit to my parents?”
“Daddy didn’t coo over you?”
Steve’s eye twitches. “Nope. That’s not what he did,” he says. “I’m gonna leave. Seriously. I will fucking leave.”
Billy sighs. “You’re so sensitive. Sorry about before, man. There. Can we move on?”
“I dunno! Can we? Can we talk about the project?”
“Tell me what you’ve got for your outlines. Promise I won’t make fun of you.”
“What a load of bullshit,” Steve says and sighs. He has a headache already. “So, I don’t know anything about the world wars beyond the few things I remember in school and a couple of documentaries. Mostly, those have been on, you know. The human atrocities by Hitler and when we joined the war.”
Billy raises his eyebrows. “We’re debating the first world war, babe.”
“I kn—Jesus! I know. I’m just saying I don’t know shit about it. I know more about the second one,” Steve says, waving his hand. “I know which one we’re debating. I don’t know why who started it is such a big deal.”
“You don’t know why who started a world fuckin’ war is a big deal?”
Steve holds his hands over his face, then sighs. “Will you please let me talk? Literally everyone I’ve mentioned this to keeps saying it’s one of the great debates,” he says. “So, it’s been debated a million fucking times. I’d rather find books or something and just copy their points.”
Billy rests his chin in his hand, gazing blandly at Steve. “You ever done anything original in your life?” he asks. “Roberts is gonna sniff out plagiarism a mile away.”
“Literally a million times,” Steve says. “So, no, he won’t. And it means we don’t have to talk beyond the stupid boards.”
“I don’t copy, Harrington. We’re doin’ original work.”
“How are your grades, by the way?”
“You really wanna know?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
Billy laughs. “As down the board,” he says and grins. “How about you listen to the smart one between us, huh?”
Steve sighs. “You’re the liar between us,” he says. “Are you even going to graduate?”
“Uh-huh. Gonna wear one of those pretty honors sashes, too,” Billy says. “Too bad they don’t got dunce caps for morons like you.”
“There’s a difference between stupid and not caring. I don’t care. As long as I get Cs, I stay on the team and pass.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Billy says, smiling. “Lemme guess. Your first outline hits Ferdinand.”
Steve rubs his temples. “Mhmm,” he hums. “I mean, that’s the great debate, right? How’d it happen from that guy’s assassination or whatever?”
“Typical,” Billy says and leans back, resting his hands behind his head. “Let’s start somewhere not typical.”
“Why? Why? We’re in high school.”
“Man,” Billy says. “I see the fuckin’ problem. Aren’t you gonna go to Purdue? Make things interesting and you start earning easy As. It’s a good habit to get into. Probably fuckin’ yesterday for you, but I gotta work with what I got.”
“Yeah, because you’re earning easy As,” Steve sighs. “Should’ve stuck to my guns, man. Done this myself. I’ll call Nance if I run into a snag.”
Billy laughs. “You’re gonna call your ex-girlfriend shackin’ up with that weird Byers kid and ask her to help you debate yourself?” he asks. “How’d that happen, anyway? How do you lose a girl like that to Jonathan Byers?”
Steve stares at him. “If you think I’m going to talk to you about anything personal, think again. No way is that any of your business.”
“So, you did lose her to him, huh?” Billy asks and waggles his eyebrows. “How bad are you?”
“I swear to fucking god,” Steve says, holding out his hands. “Dude! Will you concentrate?”
“Boys.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” they say to the librarian on the other side of the library.
Billy snickers. “I don’t need to concentrate to get this right. I gotta hold your hand through it, obviously,” he says. “No wonder you get along with middle schoolers.”
Steve shakes his head for a while. “Alright,” he says. “I’m done. Out. If you’re going to shit on me for not working with you and do this when I try, I’m done! I quit. Debate yourself, too.” He stands and grabs the books, tossing them in his backpack.
“Aww, sweetheart,” Billy says, grinning. “You don’t gotta get so mad. I’m tryin’ to help you. You need it.”
“Yeah. I really don’t,” Steve says. “Don’t call my house until you grow up.”
“I’m not the one runnin’ away ‘cause my feelings are hurt,” Billy says and shrugs. “Alright, man. Catch you later. Come find me when you start feeling that pull to ask your rugrats for help.”
“You know, I’ve never asked them for help,” Steve says and slings his backpack over his shoulder. “They send me SOSes all the goddamn time, though, because they know I’ve got their back,” he says and smiles after Billy laughs. “Super funny, right? Max never has to explain why she says SOS. Not once. But I always come running.”
The grin drops off Billy’s face and Steve can see him clench his teeth. He salutes him.
“Bye!”
Steve leaves the library, shaking his head. A predictable waste of his fucking time and he hates Billy Hargrove just a little more than he thought possible.
The guy is a nightmare.
He has no idea how he’ll do something like this on his own, but Steve isn’t putting himself through this again.
——
Steve successfully avoids Billy on Friday because Billy looks pissed the fuck off all day long and ignores him.
It’s such a lovely change. Of course, Steve wishes he knew how to make it stick before Billy eventually stops being a prissy bitch and starts tormenting him again, but still. It’s nice to have some peace for a day. He even takes the day off from thinking about the project.
By Sunday, it’s all backfired on Steve spectacularly.
Okay, he’s feeling some panic. There’s zero work done beyond the outlines, which, let’s face it, are not good and done with as little effort as possible. Steve can barely get through another thirty pages of the book, and he’s stuck on Ferdinand because that’s so where it all started, but Billy said not to start with something typical.
But who fucking cares what Billy said?
Still, Steve’s pencil refuses to move when he puts it on paper, and by Sunday evening, the panic is settling in. And, of course, the children aren’t happy because when are they ever? When do they give Steve a fucking break?
He’s fully aware he’s the one that keeps the radio on, but still.
“Steve? Are you there?”
“Oh, uhh. Yeah, actually, let me call you back. No, no. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Steve says hurriedly into the kitchen phone. He’s aware he also carries the radio around and looks at it on the table. “I’ll meet you at your locker? Perfect. Thanks, Brenda. Good night.”
“Steve? Anyone know where Steve is?”
“Failing another date,” Mike laughs.
Steve grabs the radio after he hangs up the phone. “What,” he says through gritted teeth, “do you want?” He realizes it’s Max asking and frowns. “You okay?”
“Uh, no? Did Billy beat you up again?”
“No!” Steve says, holding out his hand. “Jesus. Why?”
“Well, he told me he was going to, but that’s usually because he already did, soo. He also keeps asking me if you’re crying about the project you guys are working on yet. Like, he literally won’t stop talking about it if we’re in the same room.”
Steve walks to the counter to lean against it and hold his head in his hands. He sighs and hits the side of the radio. “I mean, you can’t blame a guy for not wanting to work on a project with him,” he says. “Billy has himself to blame. Tell him to shove it up his ass. No! Don’t tell him that! Don’t say that.”
Max laughs. “Surprisingly, I know what I can and can’t say, Steve,” she says. “Oh my god. You guys are acting like fifth graders.”
“You are barely a seventh grader, ma’am.”
“School is literally done in less than two and a half months. Almost an eighth grader.”
“Almost high schoolers,” Dustin says. “Ready to ride that wave.”
“Are we?” Will asks. “When did we get ready for that?”
“Pretty sure it’s only Dustin who thinks he’s ready,” Lucas says dryly. “Are you okay, Max?”
“Yeah,” Max sighs. “You know what it’s like here. I think all of us can’t wait for whatever project this is to be over.”
Steve frowns. “The project is causing it to be worse there?”
“Yeah,” Max says slowly. “One of them is in a bad mood, so both are. That kinda thing. It just gets old.”
He knows Max isn’t telling the entire truth because she never does regarding the Hargrove and Mayfield household. Steve suspects everyone argues, and Billy is probably an asshole like his dad is an asshole, so they must feed off of each other.
Probably screaming or at least boiling tension. The tension is what Steve experiences at home and he’d feel worse if he didn’t think Billy deserved it.
He’s probably a nightmare for his dad and stepmom too.
Either way, Steve doesn’t want it to be more stressful at home for Max than it already is. He doesn’t want to be the reason for that—no fucking way. That kid deserves to live a little, even if it costs Steve some of his sanity.
Groaning, Steve drops his forehead on the counter. “Fucking Christ,” he mutters. He stays there for a little while, then grabs the radio. “Alright, shitheads. I’ll tell Billy to cool it about the project. Put our heads together and get it done and over with.”
“Don’t literally put your heads together,” Mike snickers.
“Billy’s skull is way thicker,” Lucas agrees. “He’d kill you instantly.”
“Oh my god,” Max mutters. “But, yeah. Don’t let him be a prick, Steve.”
“I’d probably need God’s powers for that, little lady,” Steve says. “I can only contain so much greatness at once.”
“...where do you contain any greatness?” Lucas asks.
“His hair, obviously,” Max says.
“Alright, assholes. Turning the radio off for the night. Also, the BMW? Free rides? Down the fucking drain. Bye-bye!” Steve says and turns the radio off. He sighs and leans back against the counter, looking at the ceiling.
Why?
What did he do?
They’re all pretty Christian here, but maybe he should get a rosary or something.
Try it on for size. See if he can earn his forgiveness there.
——
Marching straight up to Billy’s locker bright and early Monday morning probably takes all of Steve’s willpower.
Like, his entire life’s worth.
Especially because Tommy H is with him.
“Hargrove,” Steve says and steps in front of Tommy. “Let’s talk about this project.”
Billy leans back against the lockers and raises his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? You think I’m feelin’ generous today?”
“Maybe he finally stopped being a little bitch about it,” Tommy laughs as he sidesteps Steve and leans against the lockers next to Billy. “Did you finally get over yourself, Steve?”
“Uh-huh. Rich,” Steve says to Tommy, then looks at Billy. “I brought my shit. Let’s sit down and talk about it. Probably rework the entire thing to fit whatever you’ve done.”
Billy looks Steve up and down. “What made you finally give in, huh? That clock ticking above your desk?” he asks and smiles. “Realizing how much time you’ve wasted?”
“Yup. All that,” Steve says, waving his hand, though he has other choice words he’d like to say. “Fifth?”
“Just let him fail,” Tommy says. “That’s about the only thing you’re good for, Harrington. Always failing.”
Billy pulls a lighter out of his pocket and Steve notices he swipes his thumb along the side of it. It’s lost its shine, so he must do it a lot.
“Hey, man,” Billy says to Tommy. “I’ll meet you in Spanish. Keep singing my praises to that girl you sit by.”
“Heidi,” Tommy snickers. “You gotta remember their names, man.”
Steve watches him walk off and feels a little queasy, shaking his head. He looks at Billy and sighs. “Fifth?”
Billy stares after Tommy. “Yeah, Harrington. Fifth,” he says. “The funniest shit about that kid and his girlfriend,” he adds, “they come from perfect fuckin’ families. They gotta lie about bein’ kind and having decent friends.”
“Uhh,” Steve says and frowns. He looks at Billy. “Yeah. It’s almost Stepford Wives-ish with their parents after you hang out with them too long.”
“You got that fuckin’ right,” Billy laughs. “Cookies on the counter and perfect smiles. Cigars and whiskey in the den. Then I gotta hear Freckles tell me about how good he fucked Carol the night before like I give a damn.”
Steve cringes. “Yeah, well. That’s how they are, man,” he says. “You’re still running with them, so what’re you complaining about? That’s all he talks about.”
“Not complaining. Observing,” Billy says, waving his hand. “He thinks he knows somethin’ about pearl diving but he’s been hitting the same dry sea bed for five years. Where’s the variety?”
He glances at Billy, then down the hall, and at Billy again before Steve laughs. He really can’t help it. “Jesus fucking Christ, man. Thanks for that imagery,” he says and sighs after Billy grins. “Please tell me this isn’t how it’s gonna go again.”
“Kinda sick of talkin’ about diving, Stevie.”
“Thank fucking god,” Steve mutters. “Let’s hit the bleachers outside in fifth. Fresh air.”
“Man, it’s March. You outta your damn mind?”
Steve blinks, then holds out his hands. “What? Why? It’s nice out today. Sunny.”
“It’s fuckin’ March. It’s cold.”
“See, now, this is where I get to call you a little bitch,” Steve says. He dodges Billy’s attempt to shove him. “Wear a damn jacket! You can smoke. I can yell. It all works out.”
Billy rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “Let’s see how long it takes before you lose your shit again.”
“Your fault,” Steve says, pointing at him. “Completely your fault. Later, man.”
“Later, pretty boy.”
Beyond Mrs. B tearing into Steve for a solid three minutes in third period for catching him with his head nodding, the day goes by okay. It’s probably an ominous sign, honestly, and Steve isn’t looking forward to this.
But he’s not about making Max’s life miserable, even if it means making Billy less miserable by getting him to shut the fuck up for once.
Fifth period is here, and Ken sends Steve off with a few words of encouragement—deck him if you need to—and Steve heads out of school to the football field.
A few kids are dotted along the bleachers, but Billy is pretty easy to pick out. He’s got two girls sitting next to him already, and he’s the picture of relaxation, so this is probably, definitely going to go badly. Thankfully, whatever Billy says to them makes them leave, and Steve climbs the bleachers, smiling shortly at them as he lets them pass.
Giggling and twirling their hair like talking to Billy is a privilege and not a living, waking nightmare.
“You actually brought your stuff,” Steve says as he sits one bench up from Billy. “Hallelujah.”
“Told you I’d show you mine if you showed me yours,” Billy says around a cigarette. He plucks it from his lips and glances back at Steve. “You start with Ferdinand?”
Steve sighs. “I told you I did. But now I can’t go any further because your obnoxious fucking voice is haunting me when I try,” he says and smiles blandly after Billy snickers. “Tell me where to start.”
“Tensions between Germany and Russia,” Billy says and winks. “Tension between the countries building up and all the reasons why. Then we debate if ol’ Franz’s assassination was really the trigger.”
“Literally every country had tension. Like… Hungary-Austria. Germany and Russia. Serbia and France.”
“Serbia and France weren’t mad at each other, babe.”
“So many countries,” Steve mutters and pulls out his notebook. “And millions of people died.”
“Followed by millions more starting the same year the war ended,” Billy says. “Not as hotly debated, but the flu pandemic kicked off in the trenches in France. Most people ask if one man was the cause of all this death, but that’s boring. Everyone starts that way. Let’s get into the countries’ conflicts.”
Steve grimaces, staring down at his notebook, then at Billy. “Seriously?” he asks. “Why do you care so much about making this good?”
“Stevie. It’s gonna get you past the finish line or keep you stuck with Jonathan Byers another year.”
“I’m not gonna fail that bad, man,” Steve says. “Roberts won’t even care.”
Billy shakes his head. “Yeah, he won’t care about the easy A he hands us and not havin’ to look at us for the rest of the year,” he says dryly. “Fuuuck. How’ve you made it this far in life, huh?”
Steve sighs, looking up at the sky. “Listen,” he says and looks at Billy. “Weren’t you the one who talked about bullshitting?”
“Yeah, man. I bullshit when and where I want to. Make it count when I need to, too. Have you been payin’ any attention?” Billy asks. He shakes his head and puffs on the cigarette. “Same on the court and every other class.”
“Pearl diving?”
Billy cackles and looks at Steve with a white grin. “I keep my pearls to myself, man,” he says. “But yeah. C’mon. You ever put effort into anything other than your hair?”
Steve smiles shortly. “I’m a proud parent, man. Takes a whole lot of effort,” he says. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll be the Stepford Dad minding my kids. What’s so bad about that?”
“Definitely ain’t got anything goin’ on upstairs,” Billy says. He only laughs after Steve kicks his arm. “We gotta meet outside of school to get this done, and since you wasted so much valuable time, we gotta do it fast. Your place?”
“Yeah, I’m not putting you anywhere near my parents.”
“Wouldn’t wanna show ‘em what smart and successful is really like? I got you, man.”
“How about your place?” Steve asks. “Wouldn’t want your parents to see what well-behaved looks like?”
“Don’t hurt Max’s feelings like that.”
“Hoo. I don’t blame her for it. Just you, pal.”
Billy shrugs and blows a line of smoke from his lips. “I was a smile on my mom’s lips and a twinkle in my dad’s eye once upon a time,” he says and looks at Steve. “Neil just can’t stand how much smarter I am.”
“Mhmm,” Steve hums. “Sure. That’s it. I’m sure you’re a peach.”
“You’re the only one that’s not on board.”
“Wonder why that is,” Steve sighs. “Maybe the diner. Big tables.”
“The library, man. We’re gonna have to meet up a few times and I’m not buyin’ you dinner.”
Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “We’re going to get kicked out of the library. I can feel it.”
Billy laughs. “Maybe you should learn to control your volume.”
“Maybe you should learn to stop being a piece of shit. Like, as soon as possible.”
“You know all the right things to say to get to a man’s heart, huh?”
“Get back to me when you’re a man.”
Billy holds up two fingers. “Two weeks, babe,” he says, then lowers one finger. “Unless you got a problem with my attitude?”
Steve sighs as he stares at him. “Me and everybody else,” he says. “My parents beat manners and respect into me. Too bad yours missed out on you.”
“You’re a funny guy. You know that?” Billy asks though he looks pretty annoyed suddenly. “Always fuckin’ joking. Can’t take one to save your life, though.”
“Is that what I’ve been doing?” Steve laughs. “Taking jokes? Seriously? You’re an asshole who says I’m stupid every five seconds, and you literally beat my face in, Billy. Sorry, but you know. Ha ha. Never gonna forget it.”
Billy shrugs. “It’s not like I broke your nose or busted your skull. You got bruised up. Stop fuckin’ whining like a baby about it,” he says. “You don’t know what being bruised up is, man.”
“I don’t, huh? Nope. You’re right. You’re Mister Tough Guy, always getting into fights,” Steve says dryly. “Such a thing to be proud of.”
“I can swing and take a hit. You can’t even land or handle one,” Billy says. “Anywhere in life. Failing classes, hittin’ on girls, and this big project. You gonna fail all the way down to retail in that mall they’re opening?”
“If you put this much effort into being normal a day in your life,” Steve says, “you could actually impress people.”
Billy leans closer, narrowing his eyes. “What’s normal, Stevie boy? In your opinion?”
“Uhh. Not trying to make everyone as miserable in life as you clearly are.”
He cackles and pulls out a pack of smokes. “Is that what I am, Harrington?” Billy asks as he knocks a cigarette out. “Miserable? Babe, I’ve never been so fuckin’ high on life. You’re one of my reasons for living in this shithole.”
Steve laughs. “Yeah. I don’t want that responsibility. Shove it up your ass, man,” he says and smacks his notebook closed. “That’s about enough for today.”
Billy sighs loudly. “You runnin’ away again?” he asks as he lights his cigarette. Rubs his thumb along the side of the lighter. “Freckles did tell me you like doing that. Running away. You gotta get some thicker skin.”
“Go talk to Tommy then, man. He’s got all the answers,” Steve says tiredly. He finishes putting things away and stands, slinging on his backpack. “I’m trying to get this done. Maybe you should take your own advice, Hargrove.”
“I live in the moment, sweetheart,” Billy drawls. “Call you later?”
“Call me when you can do this without being a dick. And you know what, Billy?” Steve asks, pointing at Billy’s chest. “Leave your little sister alone. She’s never done anything to you.”
Billy squints up at Steve. “What’s shitbird been sayin’?” he asks, voice pitched a little lower, which means he’s angry. “That she hates me? Goes both ways.”
“Just leave her alone. Take your frustrations out in a normal way rather than on your sister. Who is a child, by the way.”
“I don’t know, Stevie. She’s a bit of a bitch,” Billy says. He stands up and raises his eyebrows. “Like I said, goes both ways. She gets it easy in the house, so calm that parental instinct down.”
“She’s a good liar, too, you know. Almost as good as you,” Steve says. “But she’s a child, so not quite. I know it’s not easy for her. You think you have it worse, so you get to be an asshole? I dunno, man. Maybe you should get some thicker skin.”
Billy smiles, but there’s nothing amused about it. He puts the cigarette between his lips, then blows the smoke toward Steve and doesn’t say anything. So, Steve leaves.
And he’s not just annoyed this time but genuinely pissed off. Why can’t Billy be tolerable for a few days so they can finish this and never look at each other again?
Steve doesn’t realize until after sixth period, when he goes to his locker and sees Brenda standing there, arms crossed and lips pursed, that he forgot to meet her this morning.
She’s not thrilled and even less so knowing he met up with Billy Hargrove instead because she’s one of the few girls not obsessed with Billy.
So, Steve loses another shot.
Certainly isn’t the first or twentieth time, but whatever. He goes home that night not in any mood to socialize, anyway, and stares at all the work he hasn’t done.
But Billy gave him a starting point, Steve supposes, so he tries to rewrite his outlines and hopes things get easier from there. Highly, highly doubtful, but what can Steve do?
He’s tried twice and Billy hasn’t let it happen. The last thing they need is to get angry enough that Billy feels the need to get into a brawl—they’ll be pulled into Chief Hopper’s office and that’s not something Steve ever wants.
Billy and Steve ignore each other for the rest of the week. It’s whatever—probably necessary. Apathy is starting to set in, anyway, instead of panic, which Steve will take. He’ll always take handing himself over for punishment rather than worrying about being punished.
There won’t be a project. At least, not on Steve’s side, and he’ll have to cook something up. Trying not to kill each other probably won’t fly, but what kind of excuse will work, so Mr. R doesn’t fail Steve on the spot?
On Saturday, his parents go out for one of their breakfast-shopping-lunch-friends-dinner days, which means Steve has the house entirely to himself. He puts on a movie after breakfast, turns it up loud, turns off the radio, and zones the fuck out.
The phone rings just before noon, and Steve would love to ignore it, but it could be Dad or Mom, and he doesn’t need to make the same mistake twice.
With a heavy sigh, Steve gets off the couch and walks into the kitchen, plucking the phone off the wall.
“Hello?”
“You in that big mansion all by yourself today?”
Steve raises his eyebrows, blinking a few times. “I dunno. Can you ask that any more creepily?”
“I can try if that’s what you want.”
“Dude,” Steve sighs. “Why are you calling my house?”
“‘Cause I wanna know if you’re alone or not, obviously,” Billy says and sounds a little distracted. It also sounds like he has a cigarette in his mouth. “Are you?”
“Why?”
“The fuck do you mean why? The project, genius,” Billy says. “I got an offer for you.”
Steve sighs. “Lay it on me, Hargrove.”
“You stop talkin’ about my fuckin’ family,” Billy says, “and I’ll stop insulting your intelligence or lack thereof.”
“Mhmm. Mhmm. Super great start, man. Like, what an offer. Can’t refuse that one. Bye-bye.”
“Hold on a fuckin’ second,” Billy laughs. “Starting right now, huh? If your parents aren’t home, I don’t gotta do the parents thing. Easiest way for us to work together.”
Steve shakes his head. “Because that’s been going so well,” he says. “What makes you think it’ll go any better if you’re in my house?”
“Gave you my offer, man. Add a stipulation if you want.”
“Uhh. We speak in post-it note form.”
“We gotta debate, Stevie. You want me to live there for the next couple of weeks?”
Steve sighs and drags his hand down his face. “If I let you come over here,” he says, “anything you see, do, touch, hear, whatever… you keep it to your fucking self, man. Forever.”
“Shit,” Billy laughs. “Will I feel more comfortable a little dressed up? Maybe a tie?”
“Yeah, actually. Learn how to button your shirt.”
Billy cackles. “Never,” he says. “No makin’ fun of your mansion. Got it. Anything else, babe?”
“Bring a six-pack. Can’t get or find one? Don’t bother coming over.”
“Easy,” Billy says. “See you in fifteen.”
Click.
“Fifteen?!” Steve hisses. “Right now? Jesus fucking Christ.” He covers his face and moans against his hands. “Why, man? What the fuck did I do wrong?”
He turns the TV off in the living room and hurries upstairs to freshen up. He and his room, though his room is always clean. Steve can’t really have it any other way or he can’t sleep.
Steve looks around and commits it to memory. His last safe sanctuary before Billy Hargrove waltzes in and ruins it. He doesn’t want him here or anywhere in the house—not even the backyard. But they have the day free and maybe being in Steve’s place will put Billy on his best behavior.
Which probably isn’t any different than his worst, but still.
He walks downstairs and hears the roar of the Camaro’s engine in the driveway a few minutes later. Steve walks to the door and opens it, leaning against it and crossing his arms.
Shakes his head as Billy holds up a six-pack and slings an actual goddamn backpack over his shoulder. Who knew he even owned one?
“Hey, Harrington,” Billy says. “Nice place. You buy it yourself?”
Steve looks up at the sky and sighs. “We’re going to my room and that’s it,” he says firmly. He grabs the six-pack out of Billy’s hand and looks it over. “Your dad won’t care that you took this out of the fridge?”
“Says it puts hair on a man’s chest,” Billy says with a dry smile. “As long as I replace it, I’m good.”
“Huh,” Steve says and steps aside to let Billy in. “My dad started counting them in Sophomore year. I think he got tired of it by this year, but maybe he finally remembered he was a lot more like you once upon a time.”
“Charm and charisma get you places. So does blowing off some steam,” Billy laughs. “Try it sometime, Stevie. Your head is full of it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve sighs. “Come on, man.”
“Man, you grew up here? You’re an only child, right? Bet chores were fun.”
“Still are,” Steve mutters. “I like cleaning these days. Anywho,” he says, leading Billy upstairs hurriedly. Predictably, Billy misses nothing.
He snickers as he looks at the frames on the wall. “Perfect little family, huh?” Billy says. “Always the ones that don’t smile. Look at you, man.” He points at a picture of Steve sitting on his mom’s lap when he was about five. “Your head’s always been too big for your body, huh?”
“Jesus,” Steve says, laughing, unable to help it. “Shut the fuck up, Hargrove.”
It takes a couple of minutes to get Billy into his room because he wants to talk about everything—not make fun, just talk—and Steve cracks open a beer the second they step inside.
“Ahh,” Billy says and walks to Steve’s desk, leaning over it. “Finally get to see how much you were lying about.”
“I didn’t lie. Told you I started the book and my outlines. That’s what I did,” Steve says and sits on his bed. “I even redid my outlines.”
“Yeah, man, I can see that,” Billy says. “Not great, Stevie. But if you don’t lose your shit on me again, maybe we’ll get through it.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah? Tell me about your half, then. Be honest for once in your fucking life. Tell me what you’ve gotten done,” he says. “It’ll give me a good place to jump off from if we’re debating.”
Billy glances over his shoulder as if to say, that ain’t happening, but at least he doesn’t actually say it. “Read some of the books,” he says, shrugging. “Got a few ideas down. You wanna start verbally with Hungary-Austria and Serbia?”
“Look. I know of them and their tensions and sort of their roles,” Steve says. “I’m not ready for a debate. Verbal is not happening.”
“Too bad,” Billy tsks, turning back to Steve’s outline. “I’m good with my tongue.”
Steve shakes his head with exasperation. “Are you ready for that? Seriously?”
“Always ready to use my tongue.”
“Dude.”
“Yeah, Stevie,” Billy laughs and looks at Steve. “I could debate you right now. You get Serbia, obviously. Maybe not so obviously, if you don’t know shit about any of this. Guess we gotta study.”
“Mhmm,” Steve hums dryly. “Yeah, let’s do that. I can do studying in silence.” He grabs the beer and downs a long drink before he sighs. “Give me one of those books.”
Billy grabs everything off Steve’s desk and dumps it on the bed next to him. He picks up his backpack and hops on the bed, leaning casually against the wall like he owns the place.
“I picked up a few more books,” Billy says and opens his backpack. He tosses them on the bed between him and Steve. “The ones you got are shit. And we aren’t copying.”
Steve sighs as he looks at the three new books. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m gonna read three books in a few weeks. It takes me a few years to do that,” he says. “My concentration zips out of the window.”
“Uh-huh. I watch it do that every time you step into a classroom,” Billy says and grins after Steve points at him. “What? That’s just me agreeing with you, babe.”
“I’m not your babe,” Steve mutters and grabs a book. He flips through it, grimacing. “I’m gonna ask Max if you’re actually like this for everything or if you saved it up for me.”
Billy snorts. “Shitbird comes to me for homework help all the time,” he says. “Always end up screamin’ at each other, but that’s her fault.”
“Sure it is,” Steve says. He glances at Billy and smiles as Billy stares at him. “What? That’s just me agreeing with you, babe.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Billy says and looks at another book, though he smiles. “I saw you talkin’ to that girl on Monday. The blonde one. What’s her name?”
Steve blinks a few times. “Huh? Who?” he asks, looking at Billy. “Oh! Brenda. Yeah,” he adds slowly. “Why?”
“She looked pissed, man. Haven’t seen you with her since.”
“I wasn’t ever with her,” Steve says, sighing. “We were going to plan a date, but I got, uh, distracted. Kind of forgot we were meeting to plan one and she wasn’t huge on my apology. No harm done, really. She doesn’t like you, by the way, so I wouldn’t even try.”
Billy glances at Steve, then down at the book. “Wasn’t goin’ to,” he says. “You forgot about setting up a date with her because of little ol’ me, huh?”
Steve grumbles and looks at the book, not seeing the words. “You know what, Hargrove? Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what fucking happened,” he says. “And she really doesn’t like you. So, I guess it’s your fault.”
He snickers. “Yeah, my fault,” Billy says. “My fault you can’t concentrate on one thing at a time. I think you got that ADD shit.”
“I do not. Just, you know. Can’t keep my thoughts in order all the time. I’m not, like, hyper.”
“Guess you’re not that. I knew a kid with it back home. Killer fuckin’ artist, man, but he was worse in school than you. Teachers aren’t that tolerant,” Billy says with a weird bitter, mocking tone. “To people who are a little different.”
Steve blinks and looks at him. “And you are?”
“To the right people, yeah,” Billy says defensively. “Not carbon copies.”
“Yeah, okay,” Steve laughs. “Billy Hargrove, the tolerant asshole of Hawkins High. You make more than my life a living hell. If you’re tolerant, you gotta be, you know. Fucking tolerant.”
“You’re not different or special or unique,” Billy says, pointing his pencil at Steve’s chest. “You’re just another fuckin’ lazy jock. Everyone called you King Steve, but you know what, Harrington? I never met the guy. Not even when you landed a blow.”
“There were more important things going on than school, man,” Steve says. “Jesus Christ. Sometimes you have to drop shit that doesn’t matter anymore for the important stuff. I didn’t give a shit about high school that night. Sorry you did.”
Billy stares at Steve, tapping his pencil against his thigh. “I wasn’t thinking about high school that night, either,” he says. “More important shit. Just thought I’d meet who everyone was telling me about. Like you were impressive.”
“Maybe I was for stupid reasons before you came to Hawkins,” Steve says. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Especially not now. We’re almost done. Can we not fight? You’re not gonna get a rise out of me, man. So can we please do this?”
“Whatever you say, Harrington,” Billy says. He sighs and relaxes a little—Steve didn’t even realize how tense they both got.
He would love it if this stopped, but Steve thinks the project probably won’t get done. He had a little hope when he opened the door, but not so much anymore. Why does Billy care about any of that?
Because he’s an immature jackass, that’s why.
Steve stares at the book for a long time before he sighs and sets it on his lap. He looks out of the window before he gets up and opens it. It’s a beautiful, warm day—probably enough for Billy, too.
He doesn’t say anything, only glances at Steve before he looks at the book and flips a page noisily.
One beer down. Two more to go.
No copying, sure, but Steve does make bullet points on his outlines based on the most significant events throughout World War I. Tensions in the countries and millions of people dying for the first paper still seems weird, but whatever.
Billy sneezes.
It makes Steve jump out of his skin, and he looks at him, watching Billy wipe his nose with the inside of his shirt, which is disgusting, honestly. Steve grabs the tissues off his desk and tosses them at him, and Billy only rolls his eyes.
He sneezes again, and this time, it kinda keeps going.
Steve stares at him through numerous sneezes. His face is literally turning red and his eyes are watering. “What’s happening?” Steve asks. “What is this? Are you dying?”
“Shut the fuckin’ window,” Billy groans, and it sounds like his nose is clogged up. “You people got pollen clouds out here.”
“Are you having an allergy attack?” Steve laughs. “No, no. I’m kinda enjoying this.” He grins as Billy holds a tissue against his nose, glaring over it with tears in his eyes. “Jesus Christ. You’re human.”
“Fuck off, man,” Billy says before flying into another sneezing fit.
He goes through half the tissues before Steve takes mercy on him and closes the window, but he’s laughing.
“Man,” Steve says and collapses on the bed beside Billy. “I wish I had a camera. Billy Hargrove, covered in snot and just as human as the rest of us.”
Billy glares more, wiping his nose for a while. He finally sniffs and balls up a tissue, tossing it over Steve and into the trash by the desk. Makes a perfect basket.
“Fuckin’ hate it out here. This happened the second we stepped outta the car when we moved here,” Billy says, wholly clogged up. “Got over it right before school.”
“Shit. Almost missed my chance to stay King Steve.”
“Uh-huh,” Billy says dryly. “You ever seen a pollen cloud, Stevie? A guy cut a tree down two houses down the street from us. Shit is from a nightmare.”
Steve smiles and shrugs. “Welcome to spring, man,” he says. “You weren’t like this back home?”
“We don’t got seasons like this. It’s hot and sunny or cool and sunny. I got it mild out there,” Billy says. “Gives me a fucking headache now.”
“Oh, cool. You can suffer a headache with me while we’re together. Mine is Hargrove-shaped.”
Billy rolls his eyes. “You lose your cool every two minutes. I don’t even gotta be involved. I hear it on the radio,” he says and grins. “You’re always losing your shit on them too.”
Steve sighs. “They’re shitheads and deserve it. But it’s out of love, really,” he says, then squints. “Sort of.”
“Uh-huh. They got codes, you know.”
“Yeah, dude. I know.”
“What’s the new one mean?”
“New one?” Steve asks, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t remember a new one. I don’t really pay attention to the codes or call signs.”
Billy yawns and rubs his eyes. “Spud,” he says. “It’s a distinct one.”
“Oh,” Steve says and laughs. “Dude. Spud is not a code. Those fuckers lied to me a few weeks ago. SOS and I had to pick ‘em up after school because it was an emergency. The emergency was moving a twenty-gallon tank to one of the kids’ homes. Spud,” he sighs, “is a bullfrog. Half of them love him. Half of them hate him. Actually, Will wants me to go see him soon.”
He scratches his chin, frowning. “Dunno if I care that much. What?” Steve asks as he looks at Billy, staring at him with his eyebrows raised. “What?”
“You’re not their fuckin’ babysitter, man,” Billy says. “You’re their goddamn dad.”
“Shut up. I am not.”
“You are. Bet you know more about their personal lives than your own friends.”
“That’s definitely not true,” Steve says. “Of course I don’t.”
“Oh, babe. There wasn’t even any conviction in that.”
“Shut the hell up, man. I don’t know them that well. I just met them in the fall and I’m trying to lose them.”
Billy laughs. “You could turn the radio off.”
“It’s, like. You know. A slow release.”
He cackles. “Fuck, Stevie. What’s Maxine’s favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Strawberry,” Steve says and points at Billy’s nose. “But I only know that because it’s my second favorite and we had a debate over mint chocolate chip and strawberry.”
“Christ,” Billy says. He sniffles and grabs another tissue to wipe his nose. “You are gonna do the Stepford Dad thing, huh? Pathetic.”
Steve sighs. “Being a dad is not pathetic. Honestly, thought I wanted a few, but now that I know what they’re like at thirteen? Probably not. Still not pathetic,” he mutters. “They’re better company than Tommy and Carol ever were, and they’re stuck at thirteen, man.”
“Can’t argue that,” Billy says. “Gonna drop ‘em after graduation.”
“No, shit?” Steve asks, frowning. “Why are you keeping them at all?”
“Popular kiddos, Stevie boy,” Billy says and slaps Steve’s shoulder a few times. “Steps on my ladder to sittin’ at the top. I know they’re fuckin’ gross, man. We got in a thing drivin’ home after a party because they tried to get frisky in my backseat. Stopped in the middle of the street to tell them that wasn’t happening. You know what Freckles said to me?”
Steve cringes. “Jesus. What?”
“You’re jealous. I get it. Maybe you’ll learn something,” Billy says mockingly. “I asked him if he wanted to walk home or walk home looking like Steve Harrington.”
“Fantastic,” Steve sighs. “Glad my name comes up like that. Jesus Christ, man.”
Billy laughs. “Ehh. It worked. Shut him right up,” he says. “Left ‘em on the side of the road at two in the morning. He came groveling a couple of days later.”
“He’s literally the worst, Billy,” Steve says. “I don’t know how I stuck around him so long. Before Carol, even. I woke up to her sucking him off in the back seat of my car after a party, so. Who really had it worse?”
“Yeah?” Billy asks and cackles after Steve nods. “Fuuuck. I would’ve killed ‘em both. That is worse, man. They’re all style, no substance.”
“And you’ve got substance?”
“You know me, babe. I got plenty of it.”
Steve shakes his head. “You’ve got something, Billy,” he sighs. “That’s for damn sure. Not the project. You don’t have that.”
Billy grins. “Somehow, you still got less than I do.”
“And you’re the one that wants to be… clever or something,” Steve says, throwing his arm in the air. “Impressive. Earn your easy A. Be interesting. You’re not doing shit for it.”
“I’m waitin’ on you, sweetheart.”
“Then we’re both failing.”
“C’mon. You gotta have somethin’ hidden in all that hair.”
“Dude,” Steve sighs. “You fucking start it. Then I’ll go along with it.”
Billy squints like he’s considering it, then shakes his head. “Nahhh. You start it. Then I’ll fix it,” he says and waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll win the debates easily enough.”
Steve shakes his head. “Nope. No way. You’ll shit on anything I do even if you promised not to,” he says. “And I’m not about that. We’ll just fight.”
“Have we been fighting?” Billy asks with a frown. “Aw, shucks. You really are so sensitive.”
“I swear to fucking god.”
“You’re a pushover dad, huh? And you ain’t got no one to wear the pants.”
“Jesus.”
“C’mon, Harrington. Impress me,” Billy says, gesturing at himself. “Make me feel something.”
Steve looks at the ceiling, then at Billy. “How about I open the window again, huh? That made you feel lots of things,” he says. He sits up, sighing after Billy grins, and holds up his hands. “No way. You’re starting.”
“Debate me.”
“Debate, go fuck yourself.”
“Alright. The benefits of having someone fuck me far outweigh that. You wanna hear ‘em?”
“Jesus,” Steve mutters again. “Dude.”
Billy smiles. “Babe.”
“Are you ever going to take this seriously?”
“Are you?”
“I have been! You keep ruining it,” Steve says, gesturing broadly at their stuff on the bed. “And adding unnecessary books. You don’t even know if they’re good because you’re not reading them.”
Billy raises his eyebrows. “Neither are you.”
“I am! I’ve gotten three chapters in,” Steve says, pointing at the book accusingly. “It’s the most boring shit I’ve ever read.”
“That’s why I got the other books,” Billy snickers. “Try ‘em out. Debate me.”
“I’m gonna fucking deck you, is what I’m gonna do.”
“Aww,” Billy says mockingly. “You’d break your knuckles on the wall instead.”
“You think I don’t have good aim? Is playing beside me in games not a good indicator?”
“Ooo. Here we go. Nah, man. You’re a passer. Can’t ever fuckin’ hit the basket.”
“That’s not even slightly true. I got the winning basket last year, asshole.”
“That’s not what anyone’s told me.”
“Because you surround yourself with fucking goons and liars!” Steve says, throwing both his arms in the air. “Who only want to impress you. Not that you have anything worthy to give, by the way.”
“You don’t know me like that, baby,” Billy says imploringly. “I could have it all and more.”
Steve points at him. “You’re a jackass. That’s all you are. You know what?” he says and stands. He grabs another beer and cracks it open, pointing at Billy again. “I can’t believe Roberts did this to us. Everyone knows you hate me. For no reason, by the way. Just because you’re a jackass. I knew… I knew this project wasn’t gonna get done. And you’re the reason why. If I was with Ken, he’d be, like, encouraging. Because that’s what real friends are. You don’t even know what real friends are like, do you? Were you just born this way? At least I know how to fucking end you,” he adds, gesturing at the window. “I’m only gonna talk to you outside from now on. And as soon as we earn our goddamn… Fs! As soon as we earn those and have to explain to our parents why we failed History so fucking badly, I’m going to deck you. I’m going to lay you out. I swear to god. You are a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. And what did I do to deserve you? Breathe? Hoo, not anymore, baby. You can be someone else’s nightmare the second we fail. You got that, Hargrove?”
Billy rests his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, watching Steve with faint curiosity but mostly blandness. “Wow,” he drawls as Steve breathes deeply. “Oscar-worthy, man. You finished yet?”
“Well, if you’re asking—”
“I don’t know why you’re pitchin’ such a fit,” Billy says. “This whole fuckin’ time. Losing your shit for no reason. I’m just trying to finish this project, but you won’t let me.”
Steve’s eye twitches, and he breathes in sharply, but Billy keeps going.
“You gotta manage your stress levels, Stevie,” Billy says and reaches into his backpack. He pulls out six papers paperclipped together, and tosses them on the bed. “Finished the whole thing ages ago, but you’re always yellin’ at me, so I couldn’t tell you.”
He stares at Billy, then at the debate papers. Billy again. Papers. Steve narrows his eyes before he snatches them up and looks at them. He looks at the top one, handwritten, and, shockingly, Billy has pretty perfect penmanship.
Angular, but easy to read, spaced well, unlike Steve’s messes. He titled the report and debate points, and just the first one is multiple pages, but it’s not a ton of work. The following report is written by a typewriter, and Steve frowns at it, looks it over, and realizes it’s his part. But Billy wrote his side, so it’s not really his, but… Billy wrote his part. And Steve takes the time to read the first page to ensure it’s not nonsense, but it isn’t.
“Dude,” Steve says slowly, looking at the next one in Billy’s handwriting. “What the actual fuck?”
Billy rests his hands behind his head and leans back against the wall, raising his eyebrows. “What? You got a problem with it being done now?”
“Dude,” Steve says and turns to face Billy. “Dude. What the fuck?!”
“What?” Billy asks innocently. “You gonna yell at me more?”
“How long have you had these?!” Steve asks, throwing his arms up. “How long?!”
“Man, I don’t know. Time was flyin’ by ‘cause I was having so much fun,” Billy sighs. He grins. “You gotta write yours, but just copy what I put down. Maybe throw a thought or two of your own in so it sounds more like you. Dumb it down more than I already did.”
Steve inhales slowly and breathes out even more slowly. “You said you weren’t gonna say that anymore.”
“You’re right, man. Sorry,” Billy says, saluting Steve. “You’re welcome, too.”
“Dude! No fucking way,” Steve says and shakes the papers. “No fucking way! Are you serious? I don’t know if I want to punch you or kiss you.”
Billy cackles. “You know what, Harrington? I’d let you do both,” he says, winking. “Fair’s fair, right? I got one board done and another half finished. I’ll finish this weekend. We gotta get familiar with reading those out loud, but we got time to waste after.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Steve asks as he looks at the papers, then at Billy again. “Like, for real?”
“Like, for real, babe. I could've told you if you weren’t so angry all the time.”
“Stop it,” Steve says and sighs after Billy snickers. “You jackass. I fucking hate you, man. Do you know how much stress I’ve been under? And yeah! Angry! Every goddamn right to be,” he adds in a mutter, sitting down next to Billy. “Time to waste after. Holy shit.”
Billy knocks his elbow against Steve’s. “Have I impressed you yet? Do I got anything worthy for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?”
“Ahh, shut up,” Steve says and sighs. “Your work is impressive. Not you as a whole.”
“Just can’t admit it, can you?”
“There’s nothing to admit,” Steve says, flipping through a few more pages. “Jesus fucking Christ. When did you do these?”
“Worked on ‘em on the weekend and some nights, mostly. Hit the library every weekend, too,” Billy says. “Can’t even get a thank you for all my time and effort.”
“It’s apparently super easy for you,” Steve says dryly and looks at Billy. “I’m gonna read every word to make sure it’s legitimate. But, yeah. You know. Thanks.”
“Uh-huh,” Billy laughs. “This stuff is easy for me. You got a pole up your ass, so I thought I’d do a little more heavy lifting.”
Steve shakes his head. “God, I hate you,” he says and laughs. “I could really deck you.”
“How about a kiss?” Billy asks and puckers his lips.
“Man, shut the hell up,” Steve laughs, bumping his shoulder against Billy’s. “You asshole.”
“You gonna call me names all day long?”
“What do you think you do?”
“You’re so mean to me, babe. I’m boiling over with kindness and respect for you.”
“Mhmm,” Steve hums, shaking his head. “How about you actually do that? You’re not a total villain. I knew that before these, though,” he adds, holding up the reports. “It was when I opened the window.”
Billy sighs. “Pollen clouds, man,” he says. “Max thinks it’s the funniest shit until I wipe my nose on her shirt sleeve.”
“Aww, man. That’s nasty,” Steve says and shudders. “If you get kicked in the balls, you deserve it.”
“Ehh. Sometimes, maybe,” Billy says and smiles. “We’re just kids.”
“Aren’t you an adult now?”
“Tuesday,” Billy says. “I don’t know if we should hope for big changes, man.”
Steve smiles. “Yeah, probably not,” he says. “Is someone going to throw a kegger for you?”
“Fuuuck. I wish,” Billy says, sighing. “My stepmom is makin’ a big dinner. I’m expected to be in all night like a proper young man. Gonna be hell on earth.” He pulls his lighter out from his pocket and rubs his thumb against it. “Max is gonna be just as happy.”
“Hmm,” Steve hums, frowning as he looks at the lighter, then at Billy. “Yeah? Why’s it gonna be so bad? Max says your dad is an asshole but not much else.”
Billy looks down at his lighter and shrugs. “Yeah, he’s an asshole. He’ll start his speeches about respect. Respecting authority. Responsibilities. All the new ones I got as a young man,” he says mockingly. “He’ll tell me I’m a shitstain but use polite language. Goin’ nowhere, but I gotta learn to pound pavement, anyway. I already got a job at the pool this summer, but I don’t start until it opens. He doesn’t know that and won’t care when he does. I could be rakin’ in more dough than he ever has, and I’d still be his golden mistake.”
Steve stares at Billy, who is clenching his teeth and still not looking at Steve. He blinks a few times and looks at the lighter in Billy’s hand. He sees letters on the bottom but can’t make them out.
“Shit, man,” Steve finally manages. “That is hell. Kind of sounds like him and my dad would be best friends. Is it always like that?”
He smiles and it’s bitter. “Nah,” Billy says. “It’s not.”
Steve watches him, then looks down at his lap. No, it’s not always like that.
It’s worse.
That’s plain to hear, but Steve doesn’t really know what worse is. Jesus, Neil sounds a lot like Steve’s dad, but that’s not how he’s ever felt when Max mentions him. He seems like a different type of asshole and Steve suspects it’s not good.
He thinks about the black eye Billy had a few months ago with a small cut on his cheek like it came from a ring. Of course, everyone gossiped about it, and Billy ate that shit up, but Steve wonders.
No way, right?
The thought makes him feel queasy.
“Hey, forget about it, man,” Billy says suddenly and in a much lighter tone. “We all got shit dads. I only knew one kid who didn’t. Guess they’re bred that way. Read through those and write yours out.”
Billy presses his hand against the bed to stand up and Steve doesn’t know what possesses him—foolishness, probably—but he grasps Billy’s wrist. He doesn’t yank it away like Steve thought he would but looks at him with a quirked eyebrow.
“What?” Billy asks.
There’s a faint warning, but Steve pretends he doesn’t hear it.
“Can I see that?” Steve asks, pointing at the lighter in Billy’s other hand. “For a sec?”
Billy seems like he’s chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at Steve. After a hot minute of tension, he hands the lighter to Steve.
Steve turns it over in his hand and brushes his thumb where Billy does. It’s worn smooth, and the shine is gone, but there used to be something painted on it. The two top corners are still visible, but who knows what it was.
He looks at the bottom of it and sees the initials SH. Steve looks at Billy, who seems a little caged. A little resigned, too, but Steve doesn’t know why.
“Was it someone else’s before?”
Billy rubs his nose. “Yeah,” he says. “My mom’s.”
“Oh,” Steve says. “What’s her name?”
“Samantha Hargrove,” Billy sighs. “Most people called her Sam. Not Neil, though.”
“Kinda figures,” Steve says carefully, but Billy only smiles wryly. “Is she…?”
“Dead? I don’t know, man,” Billy laughs. “Probably not. She ran out on us. I figure she’s living the good life on a beach somewhere or she’s got a better family.”
Ran out on us. Ran out on me.
Pretty loud and clear too. What the fuck? Who just leaves their kid behind like that? If it was because of Neil, shouldn’t she have taken Billy?
“Jesus,” Steve sighs. “Sorry.”
“Don’t fuckin’ apologize to me, man. Don’t throw a pity party, either. Got that plenty when I was a kid and I sure as fuck don’t need it now.”
“I’m not… Jesus, I’m not throwing you a pity party,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, yeah. That’s normal. I’m sorry I’ve said some of the things I have. I didn’t know it was that bad.”
Billy snorts. “How bad do you think it is?”
“Come on, man. I’m not that stupid.”
“If you open your mouth about anything, I’m gonna close it for you.”
Steve sighs as he looks at Billy, rubbing his thumb along the lighter before he hands it back. “I’m not like that,” he says. “I told you I come running if Max asks me for help.”
“You assumed that was all me,” Billy says and smiles, nothing kind about it. “I remember that crystal fuckin’ clear, Harrington.”
“I know. That’s what I’m apologizing for,” Steve says and shrugs. “I can pick you up if you ever put out an SOS.”
Billy barks a laugh. “You think I’m a fuckin’ baby, man? That I need the hero of Hawkins to be my savior?”
“Not really,” Steve says, picking at his comforter. “Maybe just someone to hang out and drink beer with.”
“Because you feel sorry for me.”
“Because no one deserves that. You know that, right?”
Billy stares at Steve for a stretch and looks strange. He stands up. “I don’t need or want any pity. Especially not from you, Steve,” he says firmly. “I got this done. That’s all that matters.”
“Okay,” Steve says and holds up his hands. “If you say so. You did get it done, man. I’m gonna write those out today. When do you want to meet to read them?”
“Fifth,” Billy says shortly, pocketing his lighter, not looking at Steve. “For a few days. At the bleachers, so we don’t get booted from the library.”
“Sounds good,” Steve says and frowns. “You sure you don’t want to stick around? We could watch a movie.”
“We aren’t friends,” Billy spits with so much anger it surprises Steve. He looks a little wild as he looks at Steve. “Alright? We’re not friends. This didn’t make us friends. I don’t need you in my fuckin’ life, and I don’t want you there, either.”
Steve’s shoulders feel weighed down, but he nods. “Alright, man. I get it,” he says. “See you on Monday.”
Billy doesn’t say anything as he grabs his backpack. He leaves everything behind; the papers, the books, Steve’s outlines. And he leaves the bedroom, closing the door quietly rather than slamming it.
A minute or so later, Steve hears the Camaro’s engine in the driveway. He sighs and looks at his hands, wondering why he always makes a misstep.
Always does something wrong.
Sometimes it gets him a bunch of kids he doesn’t want.
Sometimes it gets him a fist to the face.
Sometimes it gets Billy Hargrove being vulnerable and Steve saying the wrong damn thing when he could’ve fixed this.
Not the Hargrove family. But the thing between him and Billy—maybe he could’ve made it better if he knew what to say, but Steve didn’t. What do you say to any of that except I’m sorry?
But this is Billy and Steve isn’t entirely surprised about whatever sets him off because a lot of shit does. Still, the magic words have to be there so they can stop getting pissed off at each other.
Besides… Steve really wants to know the Billy he just met because he’s never seen him before. And he was the real deal. So, what does he say to make it right?
Maybe he’ll figure it out, and hope he doesn’t make it worse.