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Nancy had left the bathroom door open a crack.
Jonathan hadn’t noticed at first, too absorbed in his own reflections on what had just happened. How he’d ended up alone with Nancy Wheeler in her bedroom of all places, but more importantly, how she’d almost just gotten herself killed by a monster. As she turned the shower on, he could hear the steady beat of water against the tile, and her bare feet padding across the rug, and the simple proximity of it had him holding his breath, afraid to move or breathe or look up, as if he might open his eyes and see her naked before him. Maybe she’d forgotten to close the door, or forgotten he was in her room at all. People did that sometimes, acting as if he snuck up on them or had purposefully hid himself, when in reality he just was easy to ignore.
Bravely, he approached the bathroom door and began to pull it closed, keeping his eyes half-shut.
“What are you doing?” Nancy called from inside, her voice echoing.
“Closing the door,” Jonathan answered too quickly, “You- you left it open.”
“I know,” she said quietly, “Just leave it, okay? A couple inches. I can’t be alone right now.”
At first, he’d been surprised she’d trust him enough, after what he’d done, to leave the door open while she was in such a vulnerable position, but it didn’t take him long to realize that he was probably the least of her concerns, and that she’d probably leave the door open in the company of just about anyone if it meant feeling a bit more protected from that thing. Whatever it was. He still wasn’t sure. He didn’t even have any guesses.
“Okay,” he said, and sat back down on her bed.
There was a light floral scent hanging in the air, perfume maybe, that seemed to make his thoughts fuzzy. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, nor was it unfamiliar. He could place it a few times in his memory, most recently as Nancy pressed close to him in the dark room, closer than they’d been since they were children, maybe ever. She’d invaded every one of his senses then.
Much farther back, nearly forgotten, was a cold afternoon the fall his father had left for good, when his mom had left him and Will at the Wheeler’s. The Wheeler’s house had always made him nervous. Mrs. Wheeler was nice enough, but Mr. Wheeler always seemed to look at him as if he was going to steal something. Then again, it wasn’t as if this were an uncommon occurrence. A good portion of the men in town seemed to hold him in contempt ever since he’d had his last growth spurt, and it wasn’t a mystery as to why.
Before he’d left, his father could find pride in little else but their resemblance. Now Jonathan just wished he could scrub his father’s features off his face. If not for his own sake, then his mothers.
So, Mr. Wheeler kept a close eye on him. Or at least he tried to. It only took around twenty minutes before he fell asleep in his recliner. To be fair, watching Jonathan was a bit like watching paint dry. Any other thirteen-year-old would at least have something to say, while Jonathan did little else than sit remarkably still on the edge of the Wheeler’s new leather couch, a bit too afraid to lean back. He’d been trying to maintain this, keeping as as silent and inoffensive as possible, when Nancy walked in, her steps loud enough to make Jonathan realize that Mr. Wheeler was a much heavier sleeper than he’d thought.
Nancy was wearing something quite typical of her then; red socks that pooled at the top of her ankles, white tights, a pair of black mary janes, and a little purple frock that fell just above her knees. Her hair was pulled into two pigtails and secured with neat red bows. That fall, she’d worn only purple and red to school every day. Behind her back, some of the other girls teased her. They’d said she looked like a little kid. Jonathan supposed that at some point, Nancy must’ve caught on. When they returned from Christmas break, her red and purple outfits had been abandoned, and from then on, he’d only ever seen her color-coordinated.
Nancy rarely said very much to him, but he felt as if he knew her better than he knew most people his age. So when she grabbed his arm without explanation and led him upstairs, he didn’t feel the need to ask what she was doing.
She was faster than he expected, and Jonathan trailed behind her as she pulled him into her room and instructed him to sit on her bed. He watched as she dragged her desk chair over to the tallest of her many bookshelves, stood atop it in a precarious situation that, being his mother’s son, made him more nervous than he’d like to admit, and collected a stack of papers from the dusty hiding place above it.
In one quick movement, Nancy jumped off the chair and held the stack closely to her chest.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” she told him. Jonathan nodded his head eagerly, but she still stuck out her hand and made him shake on it before she surrendered her treasure.
At first, he didn’t quite understand what Nancy had handed him, too preoccupied with her neat, flowery handwriting. She dotted her I’s with little hearts.
Seeing his confusion, she explained. “It’s the homework from last week. We share most teachers, except for chemistry. I take physics. But Barb has chemistry and I can ask her if you want.”
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. “I can figure it out.”
Jonathan stared at her in wonder for a moment, at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he’d said, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I owe you.”
“You’re welcome,” Nancy said with a relieved sigh. She sat down right next to him, looking over his shoulder at her work. “You don’t owe me, though. I just didn’t think it was fair you’d fall behind just because your dad is…”
Nancy let her sentence drop, unfinished. Jonathan couldn’t even find the words for what his father was. How could he expect her to?
“I didn’t even think about it,” he’d said, and she looked up at him with a questioning expression. “School, I mean. It hadn’t really crossed my mind.”
“Well, then I guess you’re lucky you have me.”
For a long while after, Jonathan had thought of that every time he saw Nancy, and sometimes for no reason at all. Mostly, he thought of it when he couldn’t sleep. But somewhere between her first date with Steve Harrington and Will’s disappearance, he’d almost lost that memory. Maybe it was that single moment that made them click together easier than either of them would have ever imagined. Maybe that’s why he felt so strangely in her room.
With all that had passed between them now, he’d come to the dreaded realization that he’d always been a bit fascinated with Nancy. It wasn’t exactly a crush. It wasn’t conscious enough to be a crush. But it had always been there.
When they were children, Nancy had always seemed so alien to him. She flew past him on her way to ballet class or girl scouts or piano lessons. She wore ribbons in her hair, real ribbons, like the ones his mother would use and reuse on their presents every Christmas. Her nails were always painted, neatly filed, and never chewed down. Her socks never ever had holes. Even the way she used to dot her I’s with little hearts had seemed so unreal. Like a girl in one of his mom’s old books.
Everything Nancy owned was pretty. Everything she did was pretty. She was pretty. Not like Jonathan, who despite his mother’s constant reassurances that he had her eyes or nose or lips, would always, always, look just like his father. Rough and sharp and ugly. Just like Lonnie.
Jonathan took a deep breath and stood up. That flowery scent seemed to calm him down, maybe too much. His mother rarely wore perfume, and when she did, it was nothing like that. Never so delicate. His mother couldn’t afford to be delicate in anything she did. Neither could he. Kind, yes, but never delicate, never vulnerable. Yet the soft scent was so appealing it felt like a violent invasion to his senses.
Nancy was violent. Maybe just as violent as she was pretty. Who would’ve guessed? He’d never expected she could be, but something about it excited him. He’d spent so long being afraid of loud sounds and quick movements. Always on edge. But when she shot that gun, he didn’t even flinch. It was as if he were in some sort of trance, just staring at her.
It was refreshing not to be anxious. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, while his brother was missing and his life was completely upside down, but in that moment with Nancy, he’d really felt at ease. Maybe it was getting the gun out of his hands that really did it. He hated even holding the thing, and he’d certainly felt safer knowing she had it instead of him.
God, he was embarrassing. All these years and he still couldn’t stand the thought of a gun.
Jonathan ran his hands over his face and could feel his cheeks heating up as he remembered the look in her eyes before they’d headed into the woods. Scared, yes, but determined. As determined as he was, or had ever been, he’d never been able to look the part. Not like she did.
Eventually, Nancy reentered the room. It gave Jonathan chills to see she actually seemed relieved he was there. When she asked him to lay next to her, he couldn’t have felt more out of place. With his old, dark clothes against her clean, pastel bedspread, and his dirty face just inches from her soft, scrubbed down skin, he felt like a stray cat taken in out of the storm, like the kitten his mom had tried to save three winters ago, always curled up at the foot of her bed, itching with fleas. His mother’s cat hadn’t made it till spring; he wasn’t sure he’d make it till morning.
But being so close to Nancy, with his head resting against one of her soft, silk pillows that smelled so much like her, his anxious thoughts struggled to prevail against the urge to rest. Somehow, for the first night since Will disappeared, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
—
Nancy hadn’t meant to watch Jonathan sleep, but as she desperately tried to drift off, she found herself meditating on his peaceful expression. In a way, it felt like an invasion of privacy to see him this way. Then again, maybe it made them even.
It was remarkable how unchanged he was. A night in the woods did nothing to alter him, not the mildewy denim scent that lingered around him, or the softness of his threadbare clothes. Even his hair, which always looked to be about a day overdue for a wash, was the exact same.
She’d emerged from that tree feeling reborn in the worst possible way, like the calf they’d seen on their eighth grade trip to a local dairy farm, with its hair matted straight out of the womb and its legs pre-broken, pressed against the rusted bars of the pen. The thought of its poor little face gave her goosebumps, and she was sure she’d looked at Jonathan that same way after he pulled her out.
Maybe most remarkably, he didn’t look at her any different than he always had. He had that same kind look he always wore, sad eyes and soft features. She’d never looked at him so closely, and she was surprised to find how much she liked looking at him. As of last week, she’d taken great pleasure in looking at Steve— who could’ve been a model ripped right out of Teen Beat— but now the very thought of him made her sick. Jonathan was so drastically different from him that his picture made her feel as if she could breathe again.
Where Steve took after his father, Nancy was quite sure Jonathan took after his mother. It was more than just their looks, it was as if they moved the same, down to the smallest details. Maybe it wasn’t much of a surprise, the way he’d moved as her shadow when he was a boy. As children, Nancy had rarely ever seen Jonathan unless he was trailing close behind his mother.
But she had liked Mrs. Byers, always kind and reserved and a bit odd. She was so different from the other women in town, who all acted and dressed mostly the same. Nancy had tugged on enough strangers' dresses to know that. Mrs. Byers was different, certainly, but Nancy had always found her easy to trust. She could never understand the things that were said about her– how she was a bit off, unstable– even if she knew some of it was true.
Jonathan was much the same. He felt safe, even when all outside logic told her he wasn’t. Deep down, she knew it was impossible that he’d ever really hurt her. Nancy couldn’t even bring herself to feel nervous as she asked him to sleep beside her.
He tossed and turned in his sleep. At some point, he’d thrown his arm around her and begun to draw her closer to him as if she were a stray pillow. She knew if he woke up now, he’d be embarrassed beyond repair. He’d apologize a million times and insist he sleep on the floor, or worse, leave entirely. But she couldn’t bring herself to fight it. She wanted to be close to him.
It was times like these– what were times like these, she’d never had times like these– that the most trivial things came to mind. Maybe it wasn’t all trivial. It did have to do with Barb, after all.
Barb had slept in the very spot Jonathan now occupied more times than Nancy could count. They’d gone entire summers without parting, switching off where they slept each night. Even on school nights, it wasn’t uncommon for a study session to go late and turn into a night curled up under Nancy’s covers, reading trashy magazines and sharing gossip they never had much stake in.
Eventually, Mike fell into the same habit with his own friends, much to Nancy’s chagrin. Boys were loud and obnoxious, and though Barb often suggested they just sleepover at her house, Nancy held her ground. Besides, it seemed that Mike’s little group grew every single year. So much so, that eventually, thankfully, her parents let him take his little gatherings to the basement. Once again, the upstairs was free of boys, and Nancy and Barb could continue with their own important business while the boys did… whatever boys do.
It had failed to cross Nancy’s mind that Will, who had always been too nervous to stay the night alone at their house, had often dragged his older brother along to their party sleepovers, letting him stay in the basement. So, when the boys moved their own operations downstairs, Jonathan was banished to Mike’s room.
This wouldn’t have been much of a bother to Nancy at all, really, if Barb hadn’t found out. Jonathan was quiet, so quiet in fact that she rarely remembered he was even in her house at all, and had been startled by his presence on more than one occasion. But when Barb found out, she nearly had a stroke.
At first, Nancy couldn’t really understand all the fuss. Yes, Jonathan was a boy, but she’d known him so long, and he was just so nice and quiet all the time, that it didn’t feel as if he counted as a real boy.
“Of course he counts, Nancy,” Barb had told her, arms crossed over her stomach while she looked at her as if she was being the most ridiculous person in the whole wide world. “And he’s not just a boy, he’s a boy our age.”
At thirteen, Nancy had only just begun to come to terms with the fact that boys could be worth her time. The concept of a boy her age sleeping over just a room away may have been thrilling– if it were just about any boy but Jonathan.
There was nothing wrong with Jonathan, quite the opposite. She’d always found it very sweet how he was willing to stay over so his little brother could have fun, even if she was somewhat aware of the fact that he also did it to get out of his house whenever he could. She may have been only thirteen, but it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots between Jonathan’s sunken eyes and her mothers concerned whispers over the phone.
Still, it was a noble gesture all the same, especially with the way that the boys, being boys, rarely ever thought to try and include him. Nancy would’ve tried, or at least she told herself she would have, but she was always quite sure Jonathan preferred to be alone.
But now that he occupied the room right next to hers, it seemed that he was unavoidable.
“I just don’t think we should bother him,” Nancy said. Barb was pressing her ear to the wall to see if she could hear anything, though what she could possibly be listening for, Nancy had no clue.
“You’re no fun,” Barb sighed. She plopped down on Nancy’s bed again and began flipping through one of their magazines, but suddenly, a smile crept over her face. “I know why you want me to drop it!”
“What?”
“You like him, don’t you?” she giggled. Nancy turned beet red, which only seemed to fuel Barb, “Nancy! I can’t believe you. Jonathan? Really?”
“Would you shut up?” Nancy clasped her hand over Barb’s mouth. “I do not like him!”
“Why else would you insist I leave it be, Nancy, really?” Barb smiled, clearly enjoying provoking her just for the fun of it. While Nancy had still never really had a crush, she’d enjoyed years of teasing Barb for hers. Finally, it was time for payback.
“He’s just… quiet, that’s all,” Nancy shrugged. “I just don’t see why we should mess with him! He’s not very interesting or anything.”
“That’s not exactly true, you know,” Barb said, her voice slightly more serious, and much lower. “I’ve heard people talk about him.”
“What?” Nancy had never heard anything about Jonathan, she barely even saw him at school.
“Well, people just say he’s weird, I guess,” Barb whispered, “He always sits alone, doesn’t have any friends, his family is… well, you know.”
“That’s not his fault!” Nancy said, suddenly defensive. She wasn’t sure why she felt so protective over Jonathan, but the idea that people were making fun of him for things so totally out of his control made her furious. What sense did that make?
“I’m not saying it is,” Barb crossed her arms over her chest, offended Nancy would imply otherwise. “But people do.”
“People who don’t know any better.”
“And you know him so well?” Barb teased, seeming more and more convinced of her earlier theory.
Nancy rolled her eyes, “Better than you know Adam from English class.”
“Hey!” Barb laughed, “No fair! You know he lended me a pencil last Tuesday.”
“So, romance isn’t dead!” Nancy sighed dramatically, falling back onto her bed with a loud thump. The two girls giggled loudly to themselves, and spent the rest of the night debating whether Adam from English was cuter than Tim from Algebra.
All the while, Nancy couldn’t help but think of how Jonathan could probably hear them giggling and gossiping through the wall, as they’d heard Mike and his friends a hundred times before. She wondered if he was annoyed, freely covering his ears with a grimace she’d never seen on him, or if he was the same as always; sitting quietly, with that pacified pout that never seemed to say much to anyone but her. She would have bet on the latter.
Now, as he laid next to her, Nancy silently noted that this wasn’t the first night she’d stayed up thinking of Jonathan Byers. Maybe not even the second. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.