He was sure Rowen would call bullshit the second the words left his mouth, but to many people's surprise, there were a lot of things that Billy tolerated. A lot . . much more than they would believe. Much more than his sister would believe.

He didn't care what she believed, to tell the truth, not when it came to something like this.

Billy wondered sometimes if she was so far up her own ass that she couldn't realize how close they were to shouting matches, narrowly avoided only because he decided to be the better person. To swallow his words, to let her go on until it was over with. Why could she not see it? Why could she not get out of her own head for one minute?

A part of him angrily recalled that the only reason she was still upright, throwing things in his face, was for a reason he wanted to stuff deep into the recesses of his mind. A reason he could no better tear up than forget, and would probably never admit, even if he agreed with it.

It didn't matter, she knew what that reason was. He didn't have to say it . . He just wished she would get it.

Billy wanted to throw it in her face for a while . . oh, how he wanted to. It would have been so satisfying to see her fail to form words for once. To watch as she gaped and let him be the one to say "I told you so", or drag her to the police station and make her own up to her mistakes. It made him twitch, itch for one more smoke than he was used to.

He was at the point of finally giving it to her when he came home to a shouting match with another family member, came into her room only to realize that she wasn't there. That she had found a way out of it, slipped away . . . again.

He didn't care that he had to wait until everyone else fell asleep, had to wait until she threw her bag down and walked into the house as if nothing was wrong. He didn't care . . He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't care . . .

And yet he did.

Things were wrong, very wrong. He had been too caught up in his anticipation to notice as soon as she came in. But when he did . . throwing things in her face didn't seem so important anymore.

Billy was already angry, but the state that he had caught her in when she came home only made it worse.

He knew he was the last person she could fool when she was upset, hurt, emotional, whatever the hell it was that was making her act weirder than usual. He wasn't about to take her excuses when she never took his.

It was why he made her show him her arm that night, give him a clear view of the marks on her wrist . . . A part of him wished he hadn't. Seeing the red blotches only made the anger he had bottled up over the week begin to spill out. He tried bottling it up again, keeping it from popping . . overflowing. He thought he had managed come Monday morning . . .

He had, for a little while . . . until Tommy came up to him with what was probably the widest, shit-eating grin he'd ever seen.

"Guess who I caught talking to your sister." was all he needed to hear to send him right back to the frustration he'd gotten out of his system mere hours ago.

Harrington was lucky to not have been in his first period, or second period . . the entirety of the day until they trudged down to the gym for basketball practice, really. The time the guys around him spent anticipating what would go down, Billy spent replaying a memory he didn't have: imagining what could've happened between them. Tommy was too far away to hear either of them speak, but when he had caught them, he said Rowen looked like she had been trying to leave. He told Billy that she looked upset, a little eager to get away from the guy, even.

He had to refrain from looking relieved. Putting up with Harrington was enough to deal with alone, never mind having his sister taking a liking to him.

That answered one question . . but now he had to deal with the problem that was staring him in the face. For good.

The entirety of his time in the gym was spent taking out his newly risen frustrations on the group he played against — which just so happened to include Harrington and his bigger-than-life head of hair. He was left collapsing onto the gymnasium floor multiple times, leaving the rest of their class to laugh at the former 'King' as the game went along.

If Billy was honest, he knew he didn't have to be angry to leave the brunette in the dust . . . but it was satisfying.

Soon enough both senior and junior guys crowded into the locker room. Some changed back into their regular clothes despite the excessive amount of sweat, some ran through the showers.

Tommy reached Harrington first, walking under the showerhead to the left of him.

"I never realized you took break-ups so hard, Harrington," he said. "That split with Wheeler's affecting your game."

He was ignored.

"Coach might bench you for good if you keep playing like that," Billy butt in, standing at Harrington's right.

He was also ignored, letting the patter of the water fill their ears.

"One minute you're good and the next, you fall on your ass every other second 'cause she decided to run off with Jonathan."

Now Tommy had Harrington's attention.

"Can't really call it a coincidence anymore after five days," he smirked. "But hey, King Steve always gets back on his feet, right?"

Tommy took his leave with a grin stretched wide, one less showerhead running . . . In all honesty, Billy wondered how the guy hadn't been kicked in the balls yet. Decorated with bruises . . He probably would have if Rowen had still been in school, he thought.

"What'd I tell you?" Billy said after a moment, redirecting his attention back to Harrington.

Steve scoffed, saying, "You gonna give me dating advice now too, Hargrove?"

"I don't give a shit about your relationship with Wheeler. I'm talking about my sister," he told him. "I don't know what's keeping you from catching on, but I made it pretty clear that I don't want any half-asses feeling her up."

"The hell are you talking about?" Steve asked. He was complete shit at lying . . his poker face was even worse. Worse than Rowens, actually.

"You know what I'm talking about," Billy shot back. "A little bird told me you were trying to flirt with her yesterday . ."

"I think your little bird needs to get its eyes checked. I wasn't flirting with her."

"But you were with her . ." Steve couldn't squirm his way out of that one. Billy reached over, turning off the showers they stood under. "You'd like to tell me why?"

Steve paused from scrubbing through his hair as the water stopped, shifting his gaze towards him. "You know, last time I checked, it was the older siblings who were paranoid over the younger siblings, not the other way around."

The grin Billy gave him was unnerving, but he kept going.

"I haven't talked to her much, if at all, but from what I've heard, I'm pretty sure your sister doesn't give a shit what you think," he snapped, jerking the water back on.

A laugh erupted from Billy's chest. "You've got a little fire today, don't you?" he chaffed. "Since you're so keen on talking to her, you should know it's a waste of time. And I'm not being paranoid, I'm being a brother . . though it doesn't sound like you know much about that."

Billy rubbed at his nose before shutting his shower off again.

"So what's the point of this little interrogation of yours, huh? You gonna threaten me now?"

He smirked. "Course not. All I'm saying is if you don't leave her alone . ." he reached for the towel behind him before throwing a glare towards the jock, ". . it'll be more than your title that's damaged."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖.

The telephone on her — and Flo's — desk rang for the fifth time in the past hour. Rowen plucked it up from its base, bringing the piece to her ear.

"Hawkins Police Department, this is Rowen."

Her eyes closed briefly once she heard the voice greet her on the other end. "Hi, Mrs. Byers," she greeted back in a cheery tone. Again.

"Has Hopper come back yet?"

"No, he still hasn't," she told her, rubbing her forehead. "Now that I think about it, he left in a rush, so he never actually told me when he'll be back."

She could hear the older woman groan on the other end. "Okay, well, if you could tell him to call me the minute he does, I would really appreciate it."

"I will, don't worry." Rowen assured. "I said I would the last four times you called."

Another groan. "You did, right. I'm sorry."

Rowen smiled at her apology. "It's okay," she said, writing down a reminder for Hopper on a sticky note. "And if he comes back in a rush, I'll sticky note it to his head. Then he definitely won't forget."

They both laughed.

"I'm sorry I keep calling. I just . . I really need to talk to him. It's important."

"Don't apologize," Rowen told her. "I get it."

Mrs. Byers said nothing, but Rowen heard her sigh. "Well, I won't keep you," she eventually said. "Thanks again, you've been so sweet."

"No, it's nothing . ." Rowen brushed off. "I wish I could help you more, to tell you the truth —"

"Oh, no. No, you've been more than helpful, Rowen. Don't feel like you haven't. You can't control what Hopper does."

"I can when he walks through that door," she said, making them both laugh again. "And when he does, I'll make sure your house is the first place he goes, okay?"

Mrs. Byers sighed. "Thank you, sweetie. Really."

"Of course."

Once Mrs. Byers bid her goodbye, she hung up the phone. Rowen highly considered slapping the sticky note in front of her onto Hopper's forehead like she said she would. According to Powell, he was staying out of the office a lot more than usual, which to her wasn't strange . . but she was curious as to what was suddenly grabbing at his attention all the time.

"How's the day been treatin' ya, Rowen?"

She looked up to see Powell trail over to his desk with a coffee cup in hand.

"Fine," she sighed, leaning her head into the palm of her hand. "Mrs. Byers called again."

He chuckled. "Joyce still callin' about Hopper, huh?"

"Mhm," she nodded, eventually drawing her brows together. "Not that I'm offended, but . . why does she always insist that she speak with him?"

Powell hummed, plopping into his chair. "Well, I'd like to think it's because they go way back. They were . ." he shrugged, ". . high school sweethearts, to say the least."

Rowen smiled. "That would explain a lot."

"Mhm," his smile fell back into a line, ". . but I think it's 'cause of that kid of hers."

"It's Will, right?"

He nodded.

"My step-sister's friend told her about when he disappeared," she told him, folding her forearms on top of her desk. "The kids at their school call him 'Zombie Boy' because his family had a funeral for him and everything before they found him."

Powell nodded once more. "Yup."

"But he was missing for a week. Why would you have a funeral so soon?"

"Well, we found another body in the quarry that looked a lot like the kid. Hopper figured out it wasn't Will after the fact but . ." he shook his head, ". . it freaked people out. For a moment, we really thought he was dead."

Rowen's gaze dropped to the multitude of sticky notes. There was another kid found dead. It wasn't Will, thankfully, but still, someone's kid was dead and it sent shivers down her spine. She'd heard of deaths reported through the radio, but never from people around her. It was never that close.

"Has anything like that ever happened before?"

"Nope. Last year was the first . . hopefully the last."

Nodding idly, Rowen looked over to her notebook. Then her gaze trailed up to the clock.

"Shit . ." Rowen saw the long hand point to seven past three. "Shit. Shit. Shit. I gotta go!"

She practically leaped from her desk, taking the sticky note with her as she walked towards Powell's desk.

"If Hopper comes back before I do, give him this the second he gets in . ." she handed the green note to him. "The second . ." she pointed. "If he ignores you, slap it on his forehead and tell him I told you to do that. I'll be back."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖𝑖.

Turns out Billy had forgotten his tight schedule as much as she had. Rowen had gotten herself worked up over nothing, was left with a rapidly beating heartbeat, a crowded parking lot . . . but no sign of her siblings. She sighed, frustrated. This was the second time they had done this.

It was also the second time she decided to lock the Camaro and walk away, wander . . "get some trippy alone time" as Billy had called it. She went the same way she had the day after Halloween, trailed along in no particular hurry, scuffing her shoes. She avoided walking onto the track this time, though, spotted a couple of the guys on the team. She waved at them . . they waved back as eagerly as Dustin had when he saw her at Benny's.

She wasn't exactly sure where to go . . Then again, she wasn't exactly sure she cared, either. Rowen took in her surroundings properly this time — without the blurring after-buzz of very red punch. Or whatever it was that had made her forget a lot of what she had passed the last time she was here. Rowen ended up walking down a snug alleyway, in spite of the slight claustrophobia she had when it came to tight spaces. It was roomy enough.

She leaned against one of the brick walls, put her foot against the red brick. One of the cigarettes she had stolen from Billy's pack stuck out from her jean pocket. Rowen grabbed it, searched for her lighter.

"Don't tell me you've got some hideaway in this place now . ."

Rowen didn't need to look up to realize it was her brother who had spoken; her brother who had found her there in mere minutes.

"If you're gonna steal my cigarettes, you could at least pay for them sometimes," he said. Billy swiped the remaining one from her pocket and pulled out his own lighter.

"I don't cling to them as much as you do," she told him, meeting his gaze.

"You sure about that?"

Nothing about her expression changed. "If I did, I'd be buying the whole damn thing."

Billy huffed. She thought he looked as if he was keeping himself from smiling, holding it back while they were still in unknown territory. He had done that before, had always done that in unfamiliar places. When they moved schools for the first time in San Diego, it had made its first appearance; one of the popular kids had made a joke and he didn't know whether to be chill about it, unapologetic with his laughter, or somewhere in between. Rowen, at the time, didn't care either way . . Somehow that had gotten her into the kid's good graces. It made Billy follow suit, adopt this indifference.

Rowen still felt indifferent towards a lot of things in a more raw, true kind of way that made her unsure of how to approach people. Billy, however, still perched himself on top of the other kind. The one that made people gawk over him as if he was on another plane of existence.

"Did you scare yourself right out of the office yet, or what?" he asked.

Rowen's brows drew together. "What?"

"Your job," he pressed, as if her confusion was irritating.

Her hand paused in midair, cigarette dangling. "How'd you know about that?" she asked after a moment.

"Max isn't like her mom, but she doesn't have her lips sealed all the time either."

Rowen felt a little annoyed with this information. She had wanted to be the one to break the news . . but she couldn't exactly fault Max for letting it slip. She was so excited that she had to be kept from jumping on the bed and shaking the rest of the house awake.

Rowen let out a long sigh. "Figures."

"Told you the ruggrat can't go two minutes without blabbing."

"You can't go two seconds without insulting her," she said, taking her left foot off of the wall, leaning the right one on it. She huffed. "And no, I haven't run out yet . . It's actually pretty nice."

"Seriously?"

She looked up to see him staring at her with a look of utter bemusement.

"Yes?" she drawled, unsure she should say anything else.

Billy wasn't so intent on holding back his laughter this time. "Jesus," he said under his breath before telling her. "Am I the only one that's actually trying to stay focused here?"

He was only confusing her. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about getting out of here. You know? The thing you reminded me of last night when you were all worked up?"

Rowen felt a little baffled. "Worked up?" she scoffed. "Seriously?"

"You know what I mean," he dismissed, looking away from her.

"Yeah, be glad that I do," she bit. Billy turned his gaze back to hers, as intent on keeping his stare as she was . . . He broke away first, passed it off as that indifference he had copied from her so long ago. Rowen didn't push back the little bit of pride that swelled up when his gaze turned.

"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked, still a bit bitter. He didn't say anything, so she continued, a little calmer, ". . I'm surprised you're not dragging me back to the car right now so we can get home for no reason. I thought dad was anal about that stuff."

Billy shrugged. "He's not gonna get back till late."

Rowen blinked. She pressed her lips together, nodded in understanding; though it was more to herself.

"They're gonna have dinner without him . ." he added, trailing off. Billy snickered. "If Susan thinks I'm staying for that, she's got a whole other thing coming."

"If you did, I'd be concerned," Rowen said around her cigarette, fiddling with her shirt sleeve. She was tired of wearing sweaters, thus chose a warm shirt . . . but the majority of her long shirts had tight sleeves, and it wasn't comfortable over the bruise on her wrist. She had been adjusting it all day without any semblance of improvement.

"Do they have any burger joints around here, or is this one of those one-diner towns with stuff they try to pass off as good?" Billy asked after a while.

Rowen snorted before she could stop herself, looked away from her brother.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "It's just the things we had in San Diego weren't exactly five-star restaurants."

"They knew how to make a good burger, at least."

She couldn't argue with that. "There's a diner near town," she said eventually, "Benny's . . but we could go find a burger joint or something if you don't wanna subject yourself to that . ." she raised her brow. "Give Max and the original blabber mouth some quality time."

He looked up at her, confused. "You're not eating with them?"

Her brows drew together. "It's not my first choice, no . ." she drawled. "Not that I wouldn't want to hang out with Max, unlike you . . but if I have an excuse to avoid Susan's conversations, I'm gonna take it."

Billy's expression changed just a little, but it was enough for her former irritation to return. Rowen squinted at it, shifted on her feet. "What? Do you not want me to come with you?" She felt that bitterness begin to bubble back up.

He said nothing.

"Billy . ." she tried. He busied himself with his cigarette. "Seriously, what is it?"

He shrugged as if the entire conversation had been small talk. "I just thought you'd found a new friend to spend your time with." His words, however, did not. They were bitter, he couldn't hide that from her no matter how hard he tried — which, most of the time, was pretty damn hard — and he couldn't deny it. Not that she would make him confess such a thing . . even if she felt tempted sometimes, just to see if he had more than two emotions. She wouldn't. Trying to put Billy and any kind of feeling that wasn't used to startle people away was like trying to coax a rabbit out of a hole . . It was there, sure . . but it wouldn't come out.

Not unless you knew how to coax it . . . But, unluckily for her, after seventeen years, she still didn't. Rowen was lucky enough to say that she could at least read his face, read his body language — that she could see through it, even if she couldn't draw it out.

Damn right I know what he means.

In regards to Samantha, however, Rowen did not know where to go. She hesitated, crossed her arms. "Not really . ." she eventually said. "I mean, I hung out with her once, but I wouldn't say that makes us friends."

Billy huffed again.

She was starting to feel irritated. Rowen closed her eyes, sighed. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "I just think it's funny you're still doing that."

Now she felt defensive, as if he was interrogating her the way he did with Max. She shrugged, shook her head this time. "Doing what?"

He fell silent again.

Rowen groaned under her breath. She didn't have the patience for it anymore. "Doing what, Billy — seriously, what the hell are you talking — . ."

She cut herself off upon hearing another set of footsteps approaching them, jerked her head towards where the brick wall ended and the dirt path and track field began.

The gravel that crunched beneath a pair of worn Nike shoes was like an alarm going off in her head, a warning to utter nothing more until they were alone again. It had happened so many times before that it almost felt like an instinct to her . . . though her instinct did not prepare her for when she realized it was Steve's face that appeared around the corner.

She was much more well-versed than him in honing her poker face . . faking it, if you would. When he processed the fact that they were there, his mouth fell open and she had to withhold the glare she wanted to give him. He didn't even try to close it, not even when Billy's expression went from neutral to territorial, as if Steve's presence was a serious offense.

It probably is, she thought.

Billy looked annoyed, and Steve looked like he had wanted to retreat in the hideaway that was two brick walls behind the middle school himself, but was abruptly presented with the fact that he couldn't. Not unless he liked extremely tense silences. Rowen wondered for a moment why he had wanted to come back there.

"The hell are you looking at, Harrington?" her brother shot.

Steve hesitated, glanced between the siblings as if he was looking for a way out. He better find one real quick, before Billy decides to stalk up to him. Rowen looked away when his gaze fell on her, stared at the brick wall, her shoes . . fiddled with the cigarette that was becoming a stub between her fingers. They couldn't exactly acknowledge each other. She was counting on the fact — or rather hoping — that he knew that. An attempt at anything other than that would subject the jock to something she did not want to see happen, or strike a match and set fire to something else that she would have to put up with on the way home. At least she had Max to help her get out of those situations . . Steve was on his own.

Billy was what he would like to call protective. Billy was what she would like to call an ass . . . Billy was Billy. Steve didn't know enough, but she hoped he knew this one thing.

He continued to shift awkwardly for another second before clearing his throat. "I — uh, nothing . . Nothing," he muttered. To her relief, he walked away almost as soon as the words escaped his mouth.

Billy stared at the place he had stood for a few moments before turning back to her. He threw his cigarette to the ground.

"Let's go," he said.

She didn't object.

. . .