Chapter Text
The lights came up and the music stopped, and Steph was running out from behind the staircase.
“Max, stop!”
Max turned to the sound of the voice, one arm holding Ruth up by the collar against the lobby wall. Ruth squeaked as he dropped her, hastily scurrying past Steph and into the hallway of the Waylon Place. Steph would check on her later. As weird as Ruth was, she still felt a small pang of guilt letting Max get all up in her face like that, and that guilt grew at the reminder that Ruth and the other nerds have probably been dealing with that for years. Whatever, Steph’s making up for it now.
Steph could see the relief in his eyes as he walked over to her. Most people probably couldn’t, hidden under all his aggression and douchebag bullshit, but when you’ve been hanging in the same circle since the third grade, you learn to pick up on certain things.
“Steph, we can’t have a party here, this place is hella haunted,” the look on Max’s face was genuinely sober, as if trying to convey to her the gravity of the situation. On any other day, Steph would have laughed in his face. The great Max Jägerman, freaked out by a couple of ghosts? Their friends would never let him live it down. But today, with the future safety of these nerds, who she’d somehow come to appreciate, in the balance, his complete lack of awareness only served to frustrate her.
“Get behind me Steph,” Max grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him, “I’ll protect you”
“No, no it’s not real, stupid! ” Steph wrenched herself out of his grasp as Pete jumped out from behind the parlour wall, still in his Lin Manuel Miranda get-up. “That’s not a ghost,” she gestured lamely towards him, “It’s Peter Spankoffski.”
That grabbed his attention. Max stalked over to Pete, staring him down. His steps were slow, and menacing, thumping deliberately against the floorboards. Pete lowered his head, any confidence from his ghost persona had all but dissipated, and, suddenly he felt the way he did in the Pasquales parking lot. He was vulnerable, and the only solace he could find was that Max would be quick. He felt cowardly, knowing that Steph was only a few feet away seeing his frankly pathetic demeanour. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t get another black eye.
A vile laugh broke from Max, a cruel grin growing on his face, “ Oh ho ho! Micro-Peter finally decided to grow some balls, huh? Stand up to the Jägermeister?” Max stopped inches from Peter’s face, and grabbed his shoulders. His grip was tight, and Pete reared back as far as he could, feeling Max’s noxious breath on his face and his fingers digging into his arms.
“I thought I told you to stay away from Stephanie Lauter, Micro-Peter . Come on, I thought you were smart.” On instinct, Pete nodded, trying to keep his eyes off Max and off Steph. God, he didn’t want to see her reaction to this. That morning in the bathroom had already been embarrassing. Pete had heard someone calling his name from outside the cubicle, and he’d expected Ruth and Richie. That would’ve been fine, they’d all seen each other with bruises before. But that time, Steph was there, and the shame certainly was a new feeling. It created a fiery pit in his stomach, reminding him that the way Steph saw him had changed forever. He was no longer the random, funny nerd she’d cheated off. He was a pathetic, gangly kid cowering in a bathroom because of a dumb bully.
Max was holding Pete in place, sneering at him and offering little reprieve to his building panic. But the worst feeling for Pete was that fiery pit of shame, burning hot in his stomach. It felt it was consuming his insides and laughing, because how could Steph want to ever talk to him again? He was pathetic. Slight relief could be found in the way things started to fog as Pete tried to forget he was there, being taunted by a jock in front of Stephanie Lauter.
“Jesus, Max, leave him alone.” Steph called out from off to the side, and Pete could hear the disdain in her voice. Much to Pete’s relief, Max’s grip loosened, and he turned to face Steph, adjusting his arm so it rested across Pete’s shoulder.
“Me and Spankoffski are just having a little conversation over here, Steph. Reminding him of his place.”
Steph felt her insides burn at that. She opened her mouth to retort, to call Max a fucking psycho, or an entitled dickhead, but the words died on her tongue as her eyes met Pete’s.
It was embarrassing for Steph to admit that she thought her and Pete had a special bond. They’d only known each other properly for a day and a bit, yes, but Steph could say with full honesty that so far he was the only person she had been one hundred percent genuine with throughout her high school career. Her friend group, consisting of football stars and cheerleaders, was a product of Steph’s decisions in freshman year. She had been entrenched in the attitudes of her father, of ‘climbing her way to the top’, and “image first, Stephanie, everything else comes after.” The people she chose, the up and coming sports stars and the up and coming socialites, were more than happy with this. Being friends with the mayor’s daughter was like hitting gold in the high school economy, but there was no real connection. They were colleagues of the high school hierarchy, not friends.
Whenever Steph had a sleepover at Stacy’s or Brenda’s, the most important part of the night was distracting them for twenty minutes so she could touch up her makeup. Even on days where they could pretend to be fast and loose, smudged lipstick was a dealbreaker. Whenever Steph went to parties, she’d never go in the pool. No, she’d sit by the pool and crack jokes, because Steph was a cool girl . She wouldn’t jump at the chance to go in the pool if there was one available, of course not. She was a cool girl , she’d never jump at opportunities. They’d come to her in a soft breeze, and she’d accept or decline them with a similar attitude. She was a cool girl , so she’d sit by the pool with a can of beer, dipping her toes in the pool with an air of nonchalance. Because that was her role, and that was her image. Steph wouldn’t go as far as to say it was suffocating, but it was certainly boring.
Which is why, when she started to talk to Pete, Steph felt a connection. They were opposite ends of the social ladder, but he was funny, and he gave a shit. If Steph got a dollar for every time she wished she knew someone who cared, even a little bit, she’d be richer than her dad. Pete didn’t seem like the kind of guy to just be using her to social climb, because of that reason. He asked her how she was, he’d make sure she was okay, even if she was the reason he had been sporting a black eye for the past day. And here he was, Micro-Peter Spankoffski was right in front of her, rigid underneath Max Jägerman’s arm. Pete lifted his head from the floor, a pitiful look in eyes saying ‘ Don’t do this. Not now.’ And like that, Steph quelled her anger and held her tongue.
From behind the wall separating the parlour from the lobby, Richie watched the ordeal, Grace and Ruth behind him. Richie’s throat was tightening, watching everything fall apart, and Ruth clutched his hoodie, her knuckles white and pale in the moonlight. Grace was huddled next to her, mouthing a prayer rapidly with her eyes shut. Max clicked his tongue and scanned the lobby, before Richie finally caught his notice. But, more importantly, what Richie held caught Max’s notice. Richie had lowered his camera, no longer recording, but his eyes flicked down at the device when Max’s eyes landed on it. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened.
“And what, Shitlips too?” Max sauntered over to Richie, letting go of Pete. As Richie’s heart began to race, he saw Pete exhale shakily from over Max’s shoulder, “Come on , Steph, I thought you were better than this! You’re too good to be hanging out with these nerds .” Richie stood frozen in place as Max reached down, yanking the camera from his hands. Max brought it up to his own face, scoffing to himself and inspecting it like an ancient artefact. Richie swallowed, inching backwards slightly, pushing Ruth and Grace further into the parlour.
“What- you were gonna record me, Shitlips?” Max let out a breathy chuckle as he spoke, until his eyes narrowed, and his face turned to a scowl. Pieces started to visibly connect in Max’s brain as the amusement in his tone dropped, replaced by something low and menacing, “What were you gonna do, fuck-nugget? Try and humiliate me or some shit?”
“It was all a prank, Max,” Steph broke him out of his rage-induced stupor, attempting to turn his attention away from Richie. It seemed to work, as his head whirled around to Steph’s direction. He didn’t drop the camera though. Richie gulped, and Steph continued, “A trick, to scare the shit out of you. Because you deserve it.” Steph tried to keep the bite out of her words. She didn’t need any other nerds getting beat up because of her, but God it was so hard with Max. She’d spent the past ten years ignoring all of his bullshit, and now that she was noticing it, his mocking tones and his shitty nicknames and his entitled attitude, it was infuriating her. It amazed her that within a couple of days someone she knew so well was somehow managing to push all her buttons with every single thing they did. Of course, with that, she felt the guilt, because up until now, she had enabled his behaviour. She’d let him walk all over anyone unpopular, and, if she was honest, she didn’t even know Richie’s last name wasn’t Shitlips until today. But now wasn’t the time for guilt, she could feel all of that when Max wasn’t about to rock Richie’s shit.
“Yeah?” Max walked into the centre of the lobby, the floorboards creaking under his weight, “Well, Steph , your actions have consequences. I learnt that at an anti-bullying assembly.” With those words, Max brought his arm down, letting go of the camera and chucking it into the ground, where it smashed beyond repair. Steph winced at the sound of glass shattering and metal pieces flinging across the room. From the parlour, Richie made a noise of despair.
Walking over to the staircase, Max grabbed his case of beer, before turning to the door. As he opened the door to leave, he turned around, “listen up, you fucking nerds,” Ruth, Richie, and Grace all peeked out from the parlour, and Pete looked up from where he stood next to Steph, “If you’re not all pussies and actually show up, watch your back at school tomorrow. You will regret this.” Max turned his head to eye them all down individually. Ruth and Grace both ducked back behind the wall. Richie swallowed and Pete averted his eyes. Max’s gaze lingered on Steph, but she didn’t back down. She remained composed and glared right back at him. Finally, Max broke eye contact, and he turned back to the door.
“Jägermeister out.”
Max slammed the door behind him, and the faint sound of him hopping down the creaking stairs could be heard.
Richie, Ruth, and Grace joined Steph and Pete in the lobby once any sounds of Max were long gone. The silence was palpable, save for Richie’s awkward shuffling towards his camera, now smashed and splintered into the Waylon Place floor. Pete winced as Richie attempted to gather any of the pieces, his efforts fruitless. Richie was muttering something to himself, and all Pete could hear was about Richie’s footage. God, Richie had so much footage on that thing. Birthdays, short film scenes, vlogs (from when Ruth decided she’d become a vlogger. That phase lasted about a week), all on an SD card that was fractured in pieces.
Pete remembered one specific video, now lost to memory, from a work event for Ted’s work that Richie and Pete had been forced to go to. Ted had brought Pete and Richie’s uncle had brought him, and that whole night they’d been bored out of their minds. The food wasn’t even that good, and to Pete that was the only thing to look forward to. Until Alice Woodward, who he only ever spoke to at those kinds of events, pulled that camera out of Richie’s backpack. From then, they spent the rest of the night racing down hallways in office chairs, filming as they went. The next day Alice went back to Clivesdale, and she asked Richie to send her the footage before she left. He never got around to it.
God , how could this prank have gone this wrong? Pete turned his gaze from Richie on the floor to the front door, which had been blown slightly open by a strong gust of wind. He figured they should leave, but no one was making any effort to do so. Not even Grace, who definitely had a strict curfew. To Pete, no one was moving because no one wanted to acknowledge that time was still passing. If they moved, they’d head home, they’d sleep, they’d wake up and go to school. And tomorrow was not something any of them could deal with right then, sinking in their defeat. At least, that was Pete’s hypothesis. Max was pissed, more pissed than he was before, and in less than 24 hours they’d be facing his wrath again .
Finally, Pete spoke up. His voice was quiet and wobbled in pitch. He continued staring at the door, slightly ajar, and words filtered through his head to his mouth, as if on auto-pilot.
“Oh man, why did we do this ?”