Chapter Text
January 2nd, 1984
It was already dark out in Hawkins by the time Nancy Wheeler had begrudgingly completed her advanced literature essay on The Scarlet Letter. The words, at least the legible ones towards the end of the paper, were sloppy and seemed to have been scrawled in a frenzy that had utterly no regard for lines, margins, or Hawthorne's pretentious writing. She hadn't read the book; and the chapters she had read were jumbled to the point where she couldn't differentiate Pearl from Hester (and whether Roger was having an affair with Dimmesdale or??). Either way, it wasn't like teachers should be expecting the best considering they were hardheaded enough to assign homework over the holidays.
To her benefit, it wasn't like Mr. Caster would grade the paper too harshly considering he was witness to Nancy's longing stares at Barb's empty desk over the past month. Her teachers, especially Caster, were also well aware that she was a good student and an exceptional writer at that. During class however, Nancy wasn't sure if being plagued by the constant feeling of loneliness and guilt was worse than the unabashed looks of pity her teacher gave her when he wasn't too busy taking advantage of his height to glimpse down girls’ blouses. Even though she wasn't exactly looking forward to the first day back from winter break, she admitted to herself that spending time in school would mean less time being watched like a hawk by her parents. Not only were they still warming up to her new boyfriend, the recent disappearances called for strict curfews and bedroom checks that put prison security to shame.
While she tapped the metal tip of her pencil lightly against her temple, the setting sun began emphasizing the artificial light that lit her desk, causing her eyes to droop within 20 second intervals. Deciding that it was the inevitable time where she was compelled to turn off the lights, lay down, and block any morbid thought from invading her mind, she slipped into pajamas and tucked herself into bed. It was in those moments that she longed for when her mother would read to her while holding her hand until she drifted off. Instead, Mrs. Wheeler's affections were now expressed by her constant questions of concern. Whether Nancy was eating enough, if she was keeping her grades up, if she slept well at night. Whenever she even mentioned Steve she could see her mom restraining herself from asking the inevitable question, “Are you using protection or is it already too late to ask?”
Steve. The boy who constantly disappointed yet somehow redeemed himself with apologies and acts of kindness. Like the other day, when he suggested that that they take pictures in a photobooth at the mall but sitting in the confined space made Nancy remember entering that same booth with Barb. The same graffiti that read "Call Angie for a good time" and "place ass here" were still scratched haphazardly on the wooden bench inside. While details on whether it had been on Barb’s birthday in August or the weekend prior were blurry but it affected her to the point where she couldn’t bring herself to smile in any of the pictures despite Steve’s attempts to crack jokes and even tickle her ribcage.
When the booth finally produced the set of dreary pictures, he couldn’t help but smack his lips and state aloofly, “Well, that was a waste of three dollars.” Nancy knew he had been trying to be lighthearted and somehow hoped the emotion would transfer to her, however, the entire ordeal could have been avoided if he hadn’t badgered her to go out and “distract herself” for two hours straight in the first place. Not to mention he'd basically dragged her there with the promise that she would have the time of her life even though she'd made it perfectly clear she was perfectly content staying at home. So logically, Nancy gave him a piece of her mind that may have included the tasteful words “mega-douche” and “assface” before calling her mother to give her a ride home.
Like clockwork, there were soft clinks from the pinecones and pebbles hitting her window later that evening. After scoffing to herself a couple of times, she found it within herself to roll out of bed and slide the window up. As soon as he saw her face, Steve bombarded her with self deprecating apologies and various offers of “making it up to her.” Something about the fact he was an only child made Nancy figure he was used to getting everything he wanted, even if it meant making puppy dog eyes and over exaggerated frowny faces. It was impossible not to smile down at him, accepting the fact that she may have lashed out a little and that he didn't deserve to stand outside shivering in the middle of an Indiana winter for too long. Almost immediately, he'd recognized her conceding smirk and returned a grin before taking it as an invitation to climb up into her bedroom.
As she hid under a mountain of covers, the memory seemed distant and unclear although though it had only been 2 weeks before. Even more daunting however, was that she could still remember Jonathan Byers laying in bed next to her as if it were yesterday. The fact itself made her shiver a little and she tried shoo-ing away the recollection of the faint smell of cinnamon and burnt toast that he'd left behind on her pillow or the way he made sure she'd fallen asleep before even closing his eyes or the soft rhythm of his breathing. As strange as it sounds, that had been the first and only time she'd slept with a boy her age. Of course not in the sexual sort of way, but even in her relationship with Steve, they'd never attempted to stay together the entire night and she couldn't say that she didn't prefer it that way. He had the tendency of hogging blankets.
Eventually, the desire for sleep became overwhelming as her eyelids began to flutter shut despite various thoughts that continued to pop in her head; the last image in her mind being Jonathan's face when he accepted the camera she'd given him only days before.