Chapter Text
August 27, 1991
When she came out of her room that afternoon, Robin's favorite dingus was zoned out in front of the TV. His feet were on the coffee table with his legs crossed at the ankles. Steve rubbed his feet together like a cricket while he chewed on one of the hoodie strings.
Robin wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Stop being a gross boy and get those feet off the coffee table."
He either couldn't hear her or ignored her while the TV droned in front of him.
If he wasn't going to listen to her, she'd make him. She dropped onto the couch next to him, close enough that his whole body leaned toward her.
"What's on?" She asked, swiping at his feet.
"The Sunday Afternoon Movie ended. The Blues Brothers." His voice was monotone, and he didn't turn to talk to her.
Robin didn't like that answer at all. The content was fine, but she felt anxious about the delivery, and it made her skin itch.
"The movie's okay, but Carrie Fisher is a goddess." Robin didn't think people were supposed to root for her since she was one of the villains chasing the Blues Brothers, but baby Robin had rooted for her the first time she came on screen. When Carrie Fisher took out that bazooka and shot at the heroes of the story, it was perfection.
"She is," Steve agreed. The monotone invading his voice softened for a moment. She could hear her best friend in there, somewhere.
Robin glanced at him sideways. What kind of mood was Steve in if he didn't take her up on talking about Carrie Fisher? When she wore those adorable, shiny pigtails, wielding a flamethrower? Or that cute sweater and the semi-automatic?
Robin had called every guy in her sophomore math class a "contemptible pig" (in her head). It made the class tolerable when she raised her hand and said, "The answer is 49 squared (you contemptible pig)." Steve would love that story, and he could pry it out of her if he kept up his side of the conversation.
"Anyway," Steve said, ignoring her perfect topic of conversation. "The TV Guide is on top of the TV, if you want it. I was going to watch whatever was on next."
Robin glanced at the TV. A Sizzler commercial was on, tempting her with its shrimp scampi and steak dinner. She didn't want to waste eight whole dollars, plus tip, on subpar shrimp and steak. However, Steve would cook her anything she wanted, and it would be ten times better for half the price. Not to mention, cooking was a sure way out of a Harrington funk. "Can you make scampi tonight?"
He was quick to agree but showed no enthusiasm for it. "If you go grocery shopping.”
Carrie Fisher didn't get him talking, and dinner didn't either. That was the confirmation she needed to know that something was going on with Steve. This wasn't the normal Sunday blues; this was bigger.
What happened? Why today?
Steve shifted in his seat as the commercial break ended. He tucked his legs under him but didn't look away from the TV. If she didn't know better, Robin would have guessed he was excited about whatever was on next. His face still looked bored and a little sad, but his posture was tense with anticipation, and he leaned slightly toward the TV like he was watching a baseball game.
The TV screen faded into deep, inky space studded with tiny stars. Off-screen, an invisible orchestra played a few recognizable sweeping chords. A very recognizable starship sailed onto the screen.
Robin's shoulders dropped in relief. It was an old Star Trek rerun. "This could be fun." She could plan the grocery list while it played in the background. She could also use the time to force Steve to fess up about whatever the hell was bothering him.
"It's for nerds," Steve said with a shrug. He looked as bored as he had been a few seconds ago, but his voice cracked with careful indifference when he spoke. "I should turn it off. That way you can go grocery shopping."
The opening credits faded into the bridge with the crew at their stations. Someone hailed the ship, and William Shatner overacted on screen.
Something was up, and she didn't like it. Steve should be giving her a hard time for watching the show or for making fun of the greasy alien makeup.
"Suck it up, buttercup," she said as she pushed herself off the couch. Keeping things light was the only way she had a chance of cracking Steve's mood. "I know you can deal with nerd shit, and I have a list to write first."
"With you? All the damn time."
That was the right sentiment, but the wrong rhythm. This was worse than she had first expected. Robin would stick by Steve's side until she solved this mystery. Robin grabbed her notebook from the kitchen counter and told herself she would keep an eye on him.
Summer 1979
In April of 1979, Steve turned twelve years old. His parents decided this was the year he was old enough to go on his own summer vacation while they went on theirs.
Steve thought he was being sent to one like the summer camp Tommy went to every July. It would be a whole summer away from Hawkins to mess around outside. If he were lucky, he could even learn to canoe on a lake.
If Steve learned how to canoe at summer camp, with none of his friends around to witness it, he could come back a hero. He could lord it over Tommy before school started, taking everyone out for a canoe ride. Taking girls out for canoe rides.
It was a perfect plan. Except his parents had already made other plans by the time he asked them about it. Steve wasn’t going to summer camp; he was going to his Grandma’s house.
It took them seven hours to drive to Pittsburgh from Hawkins: five hours of driving and two for a lunch stop and a gas break on the way there. All to drop off Steve and the old TV at Grandma Vivian’s house.
The house was half the size of his parents' house. It was yellow with white trim, and blue hydrangeas grew underneath the windows. Steve had already grown accustomed to rattling around his giant house, with the space and privacy it allowed him. He wondered how he would live with another person in such a small place.
Dad grunted as he carried the TV inside. They had recently upgraded at home, and his parents were happy to offload the old one on his Grandma. According to his mom, she was still using an old black-and-white TV.
Mom fretted over him while he hauled it inside. "Daniel, you're going to throw out your back. Be careful.
"I'm fine, Cecelia."
Neither of them paid much attention to Grandma or Steve.
“Hello, Grandma Vivian,” Steve greeted her. He was good at minding his manners around adults. They seemed to like it.
"Steve, it’s so good to see you.” She wrapped him up in a big hug. “It’s so, so good to see you.”
She was the only hugger in the whole family. His Dad’s parents were alright and distant at best. And his mother’s dad, his other grandpa, had died when Steve was two. He didn’t remember him at all. But Grandma Vivian always smelled nice and always greeted him with a hug.
“And you’re so big. What are your parents feeding you?” She nudged him with her elbow as if they were in on a joke together, and his parents were the butt of it.
Steve smiled at her. He realized right then he was almost as tall as she was. He was shorter last Thanksgiving. She seemed adult-sized to him then. It was weird. Considering he was going through a growth spurt right now, he would be taller than her before the summer ended.
“Your parents are already inside, so let’s grab your bags and get you inside, too.” She bent over as if she would grab his luggage.
“I’ve got that, Grandma.” Steve dashed around her and grabbed his stuff before she could. The suitcase and duffel contained his clothes and shoes for the summer. His backpack had the real prizes. Steve stuffed it with magazines, the crossword puzzle book his mom insisted he take, his pocket knife, and the odds and ends from around his house. He grabbed anything he thought he could use to keep busy this summer.
Grandma Vivian turned around and ushered him inside. As they walked inside, they entered the living room. His parents were still messing around with the TV. His mom stationed herself at one end of the room, using her vantage point to direct her husband. His dad was fiddling with the cables behind the TV, and only his legs were visible.
Grandma left them and guided Steve down the hall to a bedroom. She pushed the door open and let him step inside.
“This is going to be your room,” Grandma said. “I hope it’s to your liking.”
The room, his new room, looked ancient. He had never seen this room before today. When they visited for Thanksgiving, Steve stayed with his parents in a hotel. He didn't even know Grandma had a guest room for him. He hadn't thought about it before now.
It was, he assumed, his mom‘s old room before she moved out to go to college and marry Dad. If that was true, shouldn't it look like a teenage girl's room - outdated and feminine?
The bed frame was brass, and as Steve dumped his luggage on top of it. The mattress squeaked under the weight. The bedding at least looked new, a blue plaid Steve liked well enough. On the opposite side of the room from the bed was a small desk and dresser. Both were clear of clutter except for a small banker's lamp on the desk and a transistor radio on the dresser.
“I went shopping at Macy’s for new linens to neaten up the room,” Grandma said. "Don't hang anything on the walls with tape. Otherwise, decorate it to your heart's desire while you're here. This is your room, Steve."
"Uh, thanks."
"Why don't you unpack a little while your parents finish setting up my new TV?" She patted the door frame twice and walked back to the living room.
"Sure," Steve said, flopping down on the bed.
He stared at the wall above the bed. There was an art print in a frame. The picture was of a little girl at the seaside, in a red-and-white striped swimsuit, crouching down and looking at something in the shallow water. He wondered if this had been up since the room was his Mom's.
Mom taught him that art prints in frames were tacky and middle-class. She sniffed that only real art should ever be put up on the walls. That’s why their house was filled with real art. His dad called it a smart investment. His mom called it a show of taste and refinement.
Steve didn’t know anything about art, except what his parents told him about the cost and clout. He decided he liked the picture in his room with its visible, messy brushstrokes. It captured the brightness of a day at the beach.
Dad shouted at Steve to come in and see the new TV.
Dad turned it on, and everyone oohed and ahhed at the color picture and sound quality. Steve tried to be polite, but it was their old TV. Grandma seemed thrilled about it, and now he didn't have to watch a black-and-white TV all summer.
Now that they were done with the TV, his parents were out the door and gone in less than an hour.
It was a good thing Steve double-checked the car while they were still occupied with the TV, because he had almost lost his lucky quarter to the back seat. That wouldn’t have been lucky at all.
His lucky quarter was one he made with Tommy last summer. They were playing by the train tracks, and Tommy told him how to make lucky quarters. His older brother, Joey, had done it the year before. He said they waited for a train and put whatever change they had in their pockets onto the rails. Joey said if you were lucky, it didn’t fall off before the train came and smashed it flat. Last year, Joey came away with a flattened quarter—a lucky quarter. Tommy said he’d gotten extra ice cream for dessert every night since.
Of course, they had to try. Tommy had two pennies, a nickel, and a quarter in his pocket. He put them on the rail. Since Steve paid for their ice cream that afternoon, he only had a quarter on him. If he'd known they were making lucky quarters next, he'd have made Tommy pay for his own cone. As the train rattled down the tracks, it looked like Tommy was gonna be the lucky guy. But not that day! Even with four coins on the tracks, Tommy’s all fell off, never to be seen again. Steve only had one, but not only did his quarter stay on the rail, the train smashed it flat.
Tommy lost all of his money, and Steve came away with his new lucky quarter.
Steve always kept it in his pocket; it gave him luck in his Little League games and on school tests. He didn’t take it out around Tommy, though. Tommy was a sore loser and bitched about it every time he saw the damn thing. It was the one thing that wasn’t lucky about the quarter.
He put it on the dresser next to the transistor radio. It earned its pride of place in his new room for the summer.
Grandma made dinner about two hours earlier than Steve usually had it at home.
“When you get older, you’ll understand that old people eat early. We go to bed early, too,” Grandma explained when he complained about eating so early. “We’ve got ice cream for dessert, but I bet you’re gonna want that a little later on, to stave off the midnight munchies.” Grandma Vivian tittered at her own joke.
Steve didn’t know how to react. If Tommy had said something like that, he would have rolled his eyes and told him to shove off. If his parents said something like that, he would have said, “Yes, ma’am,” and "Yes, sir.”
Steve had no idea what he should say to his grandma. He was only now realizing he had never been alone with his grandma before. Now, they were stuck together for two months.
What had seemed a very short amount of time when he thought he was going to summer camp now loomed before him like it would never end. Trapped with his Grandma in her old, tiny house for the whole summer.
It looked like his lucky quarter was out of luck.
“Come on now,” she said, backing him into her parlor. “We’ve got this fancy color TV, and I’m gonna watch my show. It starts in a few minutes.” She sat down on her mustard-colored velour couch and patted the seat next to her. “Sit down now. I'd like you to join me for this. I’m going to bed soon, and you’ll have plenty of time to yourself."
Steve had no idea what old people watched. His parents didn't watch TV unless it was the nightly news or sports. Occasionally, his mother would put on some dry documentary from PBS. Steve watched shows after school, but he did that for the noise, not because he cared what was on the TV.
Of all the shows his grandma might watch, he wasn’t expecting Star Trek. When he was a little kid, he remembered a nanny watching it once or twice, but that was his only real memory of the show.
All he knew about it was that the only people who cared about a stupid old space TV show were nerds. Two, at his middle school. One was a guy a year younger than him, named Jeff, and the other guy a year older and starting high school next fall. A real creep named Keith. Jeff could’ve been cool if he tried, but Keith never could have been, not with a mouthful of braces and his bad attitude.
Steve didn’t want to offend his grandma, though, so he kept quiet. It was only the first day here; he could sit through thirty minutes of a dumb show. If there was one thing Steve knew for certain about life, there was always a price to pay for upsetting someone. He had no idea what Grandma’s was, and he wasn’t in any rush to find out.
His opinion remained the same for the first ten minutes, but then the captain got into a fist fight. That was exciting, even if it looked kind of fake. The captain, named Kirk, also got to kiss the hot green girl. Which was very cool.
Kirk had two best friends, just like Steve. He thought that Bones and Spock were way cooler and nicer than Tommy and Carol ever were, too.
That summer, every weeknight when they aired reruns on Channel 63, Steve and his grandma watched Star Trek together. They’d eat a small bowl of chocolate ice cream or rainbow sherbet while they watched. A treat with a treat, his grandma said.
Steve loved Captain Kirk right away. He loved how Kirk fought for his friends and his ship. Steve learned to love the rest of the crew over the summer. Everyone on board worked together. They were friends and crewmates. The show made the future seem like it might hold good things. Better things than Steve thought possible before the summer.
By the end of the summer, he was brave enough to tell his grandmother that.
“That’s why I like it too,” she said.