"How is it? How is it, you pretty thing-" Words, panted, made their way from his mouth, heavy on wet, uneven breaths, interspersed with kisses to that delicate flesh crushed against him in the confines of his car, a banged up Oldsmobile his dad had given him, saying only, "Don't wreck it, and don't screw girls in it." And what had the 17-year-old Jim Hopper done except tear off the already sagging front fender on a parking block at the Sinclair station, and now, while he was assumed to be figuratively pantsing the debate team on the subject of the recent Cuban Revolution, he was quite literally pantsing the gorgeous Chrissy Carpenter in the back of his sky blue coupe.

"How is it?" she breathed, head thrown back, golden hair askew, sweater someplace in the floorboards, that flimsy little Spiegel bra leaving nothing to the imagination, eyes drooping as she met his gaze. The smirk that came over features spoke of nothing but memory. "Not half bad."

"You sly kitten," Jim growled, hands encompassing her waist, fingers nearly lacing together on her spine while his thumbs sunk deep into the flesh of her belly. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Maybe," she gasped, any further flirtation drowned out as he claimed her lips once again, tumbling them headlong across the backseat, one fair foot poking out of the rolled-down windows.

June of '59 may not be as hot as some had predicted, but it was warm inside the Oldsmobile even with the windows down, and current company did nothing to keep the young womanizer cool and collected. Chrissy knew, the whole school did – Jim Hopper was a player, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Bob Newby had been there the first time Jim screwed her, well – not right there, but he knew about it and was fine, having realized that his fortunes lay in the words of radios and choosing to set his sights on his studies. What a boring son of a gun. Bob had agreed to take Joyce Walker, who was scrawny, to prom that very night so that Jim could take Chrissy. Funny that they both knew each other weren't exclusive, and yet they were gonna dance like there was no tomorrow at that high school prom. And probably find someone else, each to themselves, to make out with in the back of a car, just like this.

"You're gonna break my heart one day, Jim Hopper," Chrissy breathed, delightfully disheveled, sprawling in languid contentment across the seat beside him. "You probably are already planning how to do it."

"Sure," Jim agreed complacently, placing a lazy kiss behind her ear. "You gonna run off with that Ned Hemmings if he comes stag?"

"Not if he's wearing that hideous sweater he wore last year."

"Anne Wetherby said he's a good kisser."

"How would Anne know," Chrissy sniffed. "She's never been with a boy in her life."

"Gossip's gossip." Jim shrugged, fingers playing slowly up and down her arm, seeing the tiny freckles and fine hairs illuminated by the bright sunlight. "They talk about us."

"Let them talk." Chrissy sat up abruptly. "When I'm graduated here, I'm going to Indianapolis. I'm done with small town life. I want to see the world."

"That's not quite the world, doll," Jim drawled. "But it's close enough."

"I'm going to go to beauty school. Make lots of money and have all the men love me."

"One part'll happen, and the other won't."

"What do you know, Jim." Chrissy smiled, and kissed him. "Debate class is about over. We best get along."

That night at prom Chrissy did not run off with Ned Hemmings, and Jim did not shag someone else in the bushes behind the school; that scrawny Joyce Walker was a decent dancer, and Bob was just as bad as everyone always knew. No, Jim Hopper went home early that night at the behest of Susan Tubbs who had biked to prom late, asking if there was any way they could have the lend of his family's car for the next day when they drove into Blackburn to pick up some of their family there visiting from the city.

"I thought she just didn't have a dress," Chrissy said as Jim bade her goodnight, and Jim only shrugged, wedging Susan's bike in the back of the Oldsmobile and winding his way home in a stifled and crabby mood.

"What time do you have to leave?" he asked in a begrudging tone, turning onto Dearborne and dimming his lights as another car passed – likely on the way to pick up another promgoer. "You all going to drive out early?"

"Whatever Mom wants," Susan returned pettishly, lacing her fingers together in her lap. "We really do appreciate it. Our car's going to be in the shop at least another few days, and they're only visiting for the weekend, but it would be such an inconvenience if we couldn't see them."

"Don't they have a car?" Jim complained. "How'd they get from Indianapolis to Blackburn?"

"Uncle Rich does, but he's staying in Blackburn for work. It's my aunt and cousin we're picking up, so they can come see me and Mother."

"Ah. Real important," Jim returned bitterly. "Well, Dad'll lend you the car, good thing there's no school tomorrow, or -"

"Thank you so much," Susan gushed, the car pulling into the grassy drive between their two houses. "We do appreciate it, we'll come over in the morning."

"Crack a' dawn, I expect. See ya," Jim sighed, and shut off the car to unwedge Susan's bicycle, head inside to inform his parents, and curse his existence from the darkness of his bed.

Dawn came much earlier than he would have liked, and the Tubbs ladies were on the porch as the first birds began tweeting, Mrs. Hopper letting them in and giving them a hot breakfast while Jim sulked in the bathroom and doused his face in cold water. The ladylike chatter drifted up the stairs and already set his teeth on edge, just as he heard his mother calling, "Jim? Jim, dear, you'll be late getting to Blackburn by noon if you don't hurry."

"Trust me, I'm hurrying!" he called, burying his face in the towel and letting out a dog-like growl, before sucking in his breath and turning to shrug into his shirt and button it with haste. Why. Why couldn't he be whizzing about town today, enjoying a summer weekend and hearing about what all went on last night after he left. Why couldn't he hassle Bob about his dancing, pity Joyce about her hair, and compliment Chrissy on her shocking show of fidelity? But no. He would be stuck in the car with Mrs Tubbs and Susan, and sister-of-Mrs.-Tubbs and cousin-of-Susan. Rue the day.

Clattering down the stairs, Jim glanced to his dad's easy chair, the man all but hidden behind Saturday's newspaper, silently hoping for an appeal, but the man gave no indication of his awareness and so Jim doggedly led the way to the Oldsmobile, keys in hand, silently resenting the fact that not even a pancake had been saved for him on the counter.

Jim drove. Drove with a set face and his mind on nothingness, not Chrissy, not Bob, not even pancakes, following the interstate to Blackburn with the feminine chatter tuned entirely out, slowing only once they'd taken the appropriate exit to receive instructions from Mrs. Tubbs to the hotel where their family had put up for the previous night.

"I'll go in and fetch them," Susan began excitedly, yanking the backseat door open almost before they had stopped and Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes, putting the vehicle in park and hearing Mrs. Tubb's voice suggest, "Jim, go with her and carry their bags?"

"Ma'am," he returned with dogged compliance, clambering out and following Susan up the stairs with an air of saintlike resignation, stomach rumbling at the thought of the sandwiches he saw his mom send, and hoping against hope that the aunt and cousin did not have a lot of baggage.

"Which room are Mrs. and Miss Lewis staying in?" Susan inquired primly of the clerk, who directed them to room 1211, just down the hall on the right, and Jim followed, letting Susan rap, and then squeal and embrace each of the figures who answered the door.

"Diane!" she exclaimed, flinging herself at the younger of the two woman, wrapping her cousin in her arms and clinging there with the tenacity of a drowning cat. "It's been too long!"

"It has! Oh, I'm so excited to be seeing your quaint little town again." Pulling away, the cousin regarded Susan with an intelligent eye and a pleasing smile. "Dad really wishes that he could come, but they need him here for at least today, if not today and tomorrow."

"At least we get to have you," Susan gushed. "Our neighbor Jim drove us in since our car is in the shop, and he can carry your things as well."

"Oh, and this is Jim?"The young woman cocked her head, eyes looking the tall figure up and down. "Pleased to meet you, Jim. I'm Diane."

"Diane." Jim took her hand, the grip strong, confident, something he hadn't expected. "Jim Hopper. Can I get your bags?"

"Just these two," Diane indicated, turning and gesturing to two modestly-sized cases. "We travel fairly light, lucky for you."

"Yes indeed," Jim chuckled, eyes catching on hers with the sneaking suspicion that he had heard... sympathy in her voice? Perhaps she wasn't like her cousin much at all, perhaps she understood... "I'll just take these out, we best get going if we want any of those sandwiches before they spoil."

"Sandwiches? Ah, I'm starved," Diane admitted, taking Susan's hand and giving her hair one last swipe before the mirror, a thick mass of dark blonde waves that looked as if they might have curled once upon a time. "You are very kind."

"He really is," Susan parroted. "We've been friends since we were children."

"Yep, we've known each other for ages," Jim hastily amended, and thank the Lord, was that pity he caught on the tail end of Diane's gaze?

"That's the one thing that I envy about Hawkins, that tight-knit community. It keeps me coming back, but still, a summer every few years is about all I could manage." She gave a light laugh. "Otherwise I think I'd go crazy in such a tiny place ."

And thus the seed was planted. The seed of wanderlust in Jim Hopper's heart, and the seed of interest in this no-nonsense city girl, Diane. The drive home sped by, and Jim found himself almost sorry as they pulled back into his driveway, taking his time toting the bags across the yard to the Tubbs home, depositing them in the guest room, shaking Mrs. Lewis' hand, and lingering before Diane.

"Nice to meet you," was all he said, and her grin again put him immediately at ease.

"We really do appreciate it," Diane returned. "Maybe there's a second reason now why I'd like to come back to Hawkins."