Chapter One: Ask Me If I Care.
The thing about Heather Holloway is that she isn't supposed to be in Billy's life. He's tried so hard to make sure of that; works at it daily.
She's an upper class girl. A kind girl. A pretty girl. A girl with dark curls in a scrunchie, wearing bangles obnoxiously thick for her sharp wrists. Doe-eyes that people innately trust. Lips that curve in an enticing slope whenever she opens her sweet mouth. Too sweet. The kind of sweet that sinks into Billy's marrow like a cancer. He hates her immediately, avoids her at all costs, would rather bite off his own tongue than acknowledge her.
So for weeks they never say a single word to each other. The few times she lays eyes on him he shoots her a look so nasty that she averts her gaze instantly. He knows speaking to her would open the floodgates to some sort of inconceivable chaos. He doesn't know how he knows that, but the adrenaline that spikes whenever he sees the back of her dainty head is more than enough warning. He doesn't usually have that kind of reaction to anyone. To anything. The closest sensation is that stomach-turning awareness he gets when he hears his father's car pull into the driveway every evening. But that isn't really the same. This is different, more potent in its unfamiliarity.
It's been no use though. There's a cruel force that keeps her near him. They strangely enter senior year at Hawkins High on the same week in late October; have all the same dull classes; are exactly four rusty lockers away from each other. Their names are frequently called back-to-back during roll call. Hargrove. Holloway . They manage to arrive at and exit the same school doors at the same time everyday. It's a goddamn conspiracy. Being in Hawkins is already depressing enough, but Heather is the sticky icing on the bleakest cake. He can taste it, rich and heavy with something...what is it? Trouble . Definitely trouble. It's a relief that they live on opposite sides of town.
Despite all this purposeful avoidance, Billy has an uneasy gut-sensation that one day their lives will collide. And that once they do, the force of the impact will decimate him, turning him to particles of ash.
It was only a matter of time.
Billy has his first real taste of Heather when he runs into her in the most unlikely place; his own front door step.
It's one of those lazy, drawn-out Sundays when it's just him and his younger step-sister Max biding time. It's mid November and freezing. Neil and Susan are out on their weekly shopping venture and Billy's not doing his homework like he said he would. Instead, he's pumping iron, blaring Van Halen; the clinking steel and pouring sweat a balm over the irritated sore that won't heal: that he's trapped in Hawkins. In Hell.
The doorbell rings and there's no chance he's going to answer it. Max always gets the door on Sundays. She's almost acceptable in that sense; most of the time she actually listens to him. Most of the time. He was going to work on that.
She stomps out into his workout space, blue eyes turbulent, red hair a flame behind her. "Yeah, yeah. I know, I'm getting it."
Billy's eyes are on the stucco ceiling, breathing tightly controlled, and the sudden awareness of David Lee Roth singing "Ain't got no love that you'd call real" bites into his current rep.
Then Max is saying his name. "Billy. Billy! "
Groaning, he sets his barbell down on the rack, feeling blood rush back into his hands. Max is by his side now, standing over him. The chill air rushing in from the open door makes his arms break out in goosebumps. "What?"
"Uh, a girl's asking for the adult of the house." She smirks, "I guess you're close enough?"
Billy runs a hand down his sweat-streaked face, reaches for a towel. "Jesus, it's probably just one of those donation assholes. Tell her to fuck off." But Max is already half-way to her room, her small form disappearing behind a corner. Billy's too physically tired to yell at her just now; he'll tell her off later. He pulls himself up with a reluctant sigh, wiping the remnants of sweat from his brow. He trudges to the entrance, planning a little speech to get rid of the intruder. But then he sees just who 's standing in the doorway, profile to him, that curly hair blowing around her shoulders. Heather Holloway.
Fuck.
Heather's head turns, sees him; she smiles apprehensively. "Hi..." She's holding a thick stack of neon-yellow flyers in her arms.
Billy stalks into the doorway, the pulse in his ears deafening. For some reason his hands are clenched into fists, nail digging into palm. His eyes are steely as he gives her an unsettling once-over before snapping them to her heart-shaped face. "What do you want?" His own voice sounds disturbing to him.
"It's Billy, right?" Her smile doesn't falter, but her eyes can't quite seem to ever fully meet his. There's an uncomfortable pause as he glares at her in rigid silence. Her voice is fragile when she continues, struggles to find its footing. "Uh-I'm Heather. I think we're in the same class together? Well, classes. We've never really talked but I see you all the time.I mean, not all the time but-"
"Why are you here ?" Billy drawls, agitated. He wants to shut the door in her face, shove her down the patio steps, or maybe snatch the flyers she's holding in her arms and tear them into tiny pieces.
Heather gets increasingly breathless. "Well, um- I'm going around town to supporting our local cat shelter, The Hawkins Independent Cat Society." Billy's watching a deep flush start to rise up her neck. She's holding out one of those damn flyers to him; He doesn't take it. "Um, winter's coming up so that means we're uh- looking for extra volunteers to take care of the influx of strays we usually get. And any donations that you could give would be so helpful. Even a dollar. We really need any help we can get."
Billy's arms cross as he leans against the doorway. He glances down at the paper, back to her, offers her a fake smile. "I hate cats." He's lying but his tone could kill a small houseplant.
Heather's strained smile dissolves, her brow creasing. She snatches the paper to her chest. "Okay, well that's...unfortunate. Thank you for your time. Uh, see you…" She fades out, her expression dismal. ".. tomorrow ." She does a quick turn and hurries down the steps, snatching her bike from off the grass, cramming the papers into her front basket.
Somehow her last sentence is more violent to Billy than any visual he just had of shoving her down the front stairs. He watches her departure, speeding off his front lawn like she can't get out of here fast enough. He un-clenches his fists, rolls his tense shoulders back, attempts to breathe fully. He slams the door shut, and it makes the windows rattle.
When Billy arrives at school on Monday, he's on the edge of a knifepoint. The day had barely begun but his anxiety is peaking, roiling in his gut. Five minutes after the first bell he loiters in the parking lot, leaning against his Camaro, fingers coiled around a cigarette while brisk wind whips at his hair. He stares out at the small sea of cars, hoping the chill and nicotine will numb his nerves.
He can't quite pinpoint where the tension is coming from. He knows he didn't sleep well last night, knows he didn't study for the math test this morning. He's thinking he'll probably do alright; he's good with numbers, but he wishes he had a firmer grasp of the curriculum. He's been flying by the seat of his pants since he arrived at Hawkins, above average on tests but never quite bothering with homework, skipping class every other day. He knows it'll catch up to him pretty quick.
He also knows that Heather will be there. Front row seat, all slim shoulders and cashmere, her hand raising every goddamn minute. He religiously sits in the last row, and always gets a clear view of the back of her head, her neck almost straining under all that thick hair. Sometimes his fingers itched to pull out that stupid scrunchie. Wanted to see her hair fall out in dark waves down her spine. Maybe yank at the locks and make her squeal. He wanted to know what she sounded like off kilter; not so pretty and perfect.
With that thought he sees her. She's on her bike as usual, rolling into the parking lot real smooth. It irritates the hell out of him. Can't her parents give her a ride or a car or something? She owns a freaking one-speed. It's beneath her, really.
His mind springs back to their awkward interaction yesterday. He had been a total dick; he's sure of it. But he had felt unable to react in any other way. He was usually pretty good with girls. Knew how to lay on the charm real thick, lower his voice and eyelids for that sultry effect. It didn't take much effort. He knew he had a natural gift and took pleasure in utilizing it. With Heather, he felt weak . Felt prickly and embarrassed before he even opened his mouth. It bewildered him. Girls were supposed to be the vulnerable ones.
She spots him and turns her head away. He immediately hates this reaction, which surprises him because her ignoring him was suiting him just fine a few days ago. That is, before yesterday's interlude. Billy tosses his cigarette butt, and starts towards the front doors. He walks slowly so Heather reaches the building way before he does.
To his surprise she cruises on up next to him and gets a little too close. He catches a whiff of her floral shampoo, sees the shine of her lip gloss, her handlebar nearly brushing against his arm. "You're late too, huh?"
"Yeah ?" He makes sure that his irritation is obvious.
"Race you there." She teases, bold unlike yesterday.
Hilarious. "I'm good, thanks."
She shoots him a lopsided grin, and Billy's heart-rate picks up a notch. "See you in class." She takes off, speeding to the front of the building; dismounting and locking up her bike up with a dexterity that impresses him. Billy stares as she strides through the front door with a kind of grace that only an athlete could have. He wonders if she dances, or does gymnastics. Something that would explain her agility, her posture, that body …Billy grimaces, steeling himself against his own thoughts.
He seriously needs to stay the hell away from her.
Billy is the last person to arrive to Math class.
"Mr.Hargrove!Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to join us today."
Billy ignores Mr. Davis's sarcasm and notices that someone's taken his usual spot in the back. Of course the only desk available is right beside Heather. The conspiracy continues. He sits down in the empty seat, avoiding eye contact with her, running his eyes up her jean-clad legs under her desk.
"It seems you've forgotten your supplies." Mr. Davis says dryly behind his glasses.
Billy shifts in his chair, feeling everyone's gaze on him. He was so focused on getting to class that he had skipped going to his locker. "Would appear so.."
Mr. Davis sighs and scans the room. "Does anyone have a spare pencil?".
Billy hears a quiet snap as Heather opens her pencil case and rummages through it. He eyes her organized desk and sees that she has definitely not forgotten her school supplies. In fact, she has an overstock.
She passes him a pencil with a perfectly sharp tip. "Here." Her eyes are sympathetic and it makes Billy want to leave her hanging, but he takes it with a mumbled thanks.
"Alright, class." Mr. Davis begins handing out the tests, starting with Billy . "I really hope you've studied this weekend, because there's going to be a few surprises on this one."
Billy groans inwardly, starts skimming the test for signs of danger; frowns when he sees problems that he's destined to struggle with. He glances at Heather who's already scribbling furiously, white teeth piercing her bottom lip. He stares a little too long at her mouth.
"Do you need another pencil,Mr. Hargrove? Eyes on your paper."
Heather meets Billy's gaze for a second before he jerks his head away, disconcerted by the heat rising in his own face. Her eyes are always so damn soft , like melting hearts is her life's purpose. It was better when he could only see the back of her head.
After about five minutes, Billy realizes he's going to fail this test. Or at least shame himself. Math was his best class outside of Gym so it comes as an unpleasant surprise. He hadn't realized just how behind he was. He pushes awkwardly through it, exhales in relief whenever he finds an equation he understands. For an hour he feels like a complete idiot. By the time Billy reaches the last section, he's absolutely defeated.
Heather finishes first, curls bouncing as she springs up from her desk to place her paper on the teacher's desk. She gathers her stuff and Billy pretends he doesn't notice her ass when she walks past him. He gives himself permission to steal another glance as she leaves the room. This doesn't concern him too much as he probably would have had the same reaction to any girl with a good body. He should really stop thinking about her eyes though; pools of warm chocolate that threatened to brim over any second. He bets she cries easily, probably bawls at Pampers commercials. Billy loathes sappy chicks.
Billy realizes he's had his pencil hovering over one digit for several minutes. Jesus, he was off today.
Ten minutes later, he finishes the test to the best of his abilities, knowing he bombed it. He gets up and slams the paper down on Mr. Davis's desk, making him jump in his seat, glasses sliding down his nose. Billy grins and struts out into the hall, prepared for the worst.