Rowen made an effort to avoid interacting with anyone for the next twelve hours that wasn't in her personal bubble. Max was, of course, within said bubble. Billy was a hazard she could not avoid . . . Other than her siblings, she took the statement quite literally; staying inside the Camaro when they arrived at the school the next morning, staying glued to her desk when she arrived at work. She had the security of Hopper's word to make her feel like she didn't have to be social or do something constantly, thus took the time to sit down, relax.
It was nice. It was calming . . it did not last long. It lasted until the phone suddenly decided it wanted to ring relentlessly . . again . . and again . . . and again.
She didn't want to answer it, but she had to. She had to work. She couldn't avoid that in the way she could avoid stepping out of the car when she didn't feel like interacting with the crowds that swarmed like bees in Hawkins High's parking lot. Rowen didn't care what her brother said, she was positive no one would be disturbed by her desire to be antisocial and listen to music that didn't give her brain damage. His reputation would survive without her there to act as an accent piece when he walked in and out of school . . . As for her reputation, though? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure she even cared. She didn't want to think about it, anyway. She was too out of it to put her energy into anything but answering phone calls pleasantly — or at least as well as she could.
She was still getting the hang of a few things.
"Rowen?"
She was still getting the hang of keeping her attention from spiraling in no particular direction. Rowen had begun to doodle in her journal — not even write in it, like she was meant to, just . . . doodling. Mindlessly scribbling. Her brain couldn't grasp the concept of anything more complicated than that once she finally managed to snag a break between phone calls. All she could think about — hear — was the insistent ringing of the telephone in her ears on a continuous loop, neverending, never stopping. She was beginning to loathe the sound more than Billy's choice of music.
"Rowen . ."
Someone waved a hand near her face, made her startle a little. She looked up.
Samantha smiled down at her with a look of mixed concern and amusement. "You still with us?"
"Oh — God, sorry . ." Rowen trailed off into a breathy laugh, more embarrassed than amused at the way she completely zoned out. She didn't even process the scribbles in her journal until she dropped her pencil, looked down at the page for a moment. There wasn't any semblance of a real drawing or even the sign that she had attempted to make something; blobs of graphite littered the page as if some of the clouds of smoke she puffed had been sucked into the paper. Or maybe it was a visual of her brain fuzz . . that sounded more accurate.
Rowen leaned her head into her palm, leaned on the desk. "I haven't been able to think straight all day," she admitted. As if to validate what she was saying, a yawn escaped her lips.
Samantha breathed out a laugh of her own. "No kidding . ." she paused, looked around the tiny station. "You want some coffee?" she said, jutting her thumb behind her.
Rowen shrugged. "It hasn't worked so far, but . . Sure." She had already had two cups, but she still felt as if she would fall asleep then and there. Rowen wasn't sure what exactly had torn her from her sleep the night before; she had woken up to pitch blackness as if something had shaken her, startled her . . . scared her. She felt scared. She didn't remember having a nightmare, but her heart was racing as if she had, and she couldn't get it to stop. If anything, it only got worse because once she was awake, felt that rapid heartbeat . . she had thought of the woods. The woods made her heart race like that. The woods made her uneasy and wary and still and calm and confused all at the same time.
She hated it. Restlessness had taken hold of her, and every time she managed to fall into a state of half-sleep, she was pulled right back out of it.
In short, she was really damn tired, and it was why she had avoided as many people as possible since waking up that morning.
The sudden smell of a badly brewed cup of coffee hit her nose like a pickup truck. Rowen didn't jolt, but she was startled enough to sit up straight, look down at the mug that had been placed in front of her. Samantha had brought it to her.
She heard the teenager audibly cringe. "Sheesh, I didn't think Uncle Phil was being serious when he said that stuff made you jump out of your seat."
Rowen didn't register much of what she said. She was still confused as to how Samantha had found the coffee pot. "How'd you know where it was?"
She shrugged. "I've been here enough to know where things are," she said, surveying the two desks near them with her hands on her hips. Rowen wondered if she had seen the mass chaos on one desk and the half-eaten donut on the other when she huffed. "This place hasn't changed much in the last eight years."
Despite her prior experience, Rowen dared to take a sip of the coffee. She was starting to feel so sleepy that the taste of it didn't matter so much, even if it felt like medicine going down her throat. She stopped when Samantha uttered those words, though, asked, "You've been here before?"
Samantha nodded. "Yup. A lot since my uncle's been working here."
"Who's your uncle?"
"Phil Callahan."
Rowen almost choked on the medicine-like caffeine. She took the mug away from her lips, placed it down on the desk as a look of shock unabashedly appeared across her face. "Callahan is your uncle?"
Samantha raised her brow and nodded once more. "Yes."
It should have made Rowen feel a little embarrassed, she supposed, in the way things did when the answer was obvious; when Billy threw her a similar tone . . but it didn't. She didn't feel her cheeks redden with embarrassment or turn her gaze away because she felt like an idiot. Samantha was nodding her head as if the information was just as shocking as Rowen made it out to be, joking with her in that same, dry tone that she used with people. It made her feel a little less isolated.
Nevertheless, a groggy, bashful smile twitched onto Rowen's face. "Can you tell I haven't slept?"
"That's why I got you the coffee," Samantha told her, cutting her eyes at the cup. She looked over at the desks again, sighed. "I'm guessing he never mentioned me?"
Rowen squeezed her eyes shut, began to rub at her forehead. "Yeah, but, it's not that. I just — . ." she paused, thought. Rowen opened her eyes, dropped her hand, and squinted at her confusion. She sat back in her chair. "I don't know why, but I've never pictured him as an uncle."
Samantha didn't look at all surprised by her words. "If it helps, neither did he."
Rowen breathed out another laugh, looked up to the teen. "So your last name is Callahan?" she wondered aloud.
Samantha shook her head. "No, it's Stone. He's my mom's little brother."
Rowen began to give a silent 'ah', though she was interrupted by a ring as soon as she opened her mouth. She groaned fully, completely. Samantha jerked forward, pulled her coffee mug out of the way just in time to let her head plop onto the desk. "Can you answer it for me?" Rowen muttered helplessly.
She heard Samantha laugh. "I mean I could, but I don't think the chief would be happy about it . ."
Rowen grumbled at the mention of Hopper, begrudgingly lifting her head and reaching for the phone she felt more like throwing than speaking pleasantly into.
"Hello?" a neutral greeting was the most she could muster at the moment. Rowen sighed upon hearing who it was. "Oh, hi Mr. Merril . . No. No, Hopper's still out . . No, I don't know when he'll be back. He said he had some things to take care of. It might take him all day . ." She sighed again after a moment. "Yeah . . Yeah, sure. I'll tell him when he comes back . . Yeah, of course. You're welcome . . Bye."
Somewhere, in the middle of her unavoidable conversation with the middle-aged farmer, Samantha had wandered off with a Tupperware container in her hand. Rowen wasn't sure where she had gotten it from, or where she had gone with it, but once the teenager returned, and Rowen hung up the phone, she felt no shame in letting her head fall back onto the desk. Flo wasn't there to judge.
"Is it that bad?" Samantha asked.
"No," Rowen sighed. "I just feel like shit."
She heard a dull plunk next to her head and looked up to see her coffee mug safely returned to the desk. "Have another sip," Samantha offered.
Rowen exhaled through her nose, not wanting to; but she took it anyway, sipped. "I know I shouldn't be complaining, but it's pretty hard not to when you're being pulled in a million different directions."
"Is that why I haven't seen you since Friday?"
A guilty pang in her stomach brought Rowen to her senses; though she hoped it was not an expression of guilt but merely what looked like the work of the second-rate cup of coffee. She hadn't realized just how long it had been since she gave her attention to the girl who now stood before her, expecting an answer that Rowen didn't have.
To tell the truth? It was never in her plans to continue beyond the one impromptu hang out . . but it was never her intention to ignore Samantha either. She hadn't meant to go four days without talking to her. She hadn't meant to do any of that.
Rowen had no legitimate reason to feel guilty; she hadn't acted on that intention, she was just genuinely busy, too caught up in other things to have registered Samantha's attempts to talk to her for the past few days . . . and yet. That didn't make Rowen feel any better; because even though she had not acted on it, it was still something she had admitted to in one way or another. She was beginning to feel bad for thinking it.
She was beginning to wish she was a little more stubborn when Billy tried dragging her places.
But, thankfully, that bad feeling she felt could be translated in a million different ways.
Samantha saw the expression on her face and softened. "Hey, don't worry about it," she told her. "It's no big deal. I was just wondering, is all."
In all honesty, Rowen hadn't expected her to be so gentle about it. It made her feel worse, shake her head. "No, it is, Samantha. I —" she cut herself off. What was she supposed to say? That she felt horrible? That she wished she never agreed to roll up to Benny's and have one of the best lunches she had had in a while? That she should have paid more attention? . . She should have paid more attention, but saying that only felt pitiful. It only felt like something that would offend the girl in front of her. She didn't want that.
What she really wanted was a time machine.
Samantha offered her another small smile. "Rowen, seriously. Don't worry about it."
God, why was she being so calm about this? So unphased, so relaxed, so . . So indifferent. Rowen used to be good at that; once better than she was now.
She shook her head again. "No . ."
Samantha leveled a look at her. "Yes . ." she drawled, pushing the mug closer to Rowen. "Drink your coffee." It wasn't a suggestion. Rowen picked it up, took another gross sip as Samantha shuffled in place. "Listen," she said, a little hesitant, after Rowen took two gulps. "I'll admit that, for a second, I did think something was up. That's why I came here but, now that I see you like —" she began gesturing her hand up and down at Rowen's state with an expression that Rowen had seen a few times before, "— this, I get it. You're busy . . barely hanging on, by the looks of it."
Rowen would admit that she wasn't too far off in saying that. There were a couple of times when she felt like she was hanging on to nothing but a string way too thin to handle the weight of her problems. There were a couple of times when she felt like she had her whole upper body and a leg safely over the edge . . . Most of the time, though, she didn't know what the hell was happening; if she was safe or needed to do everything in her power to survive. Sometimes her problems felt valid, sometimes they didn't.
Right now though, she didn't care. What she did care about was the way Samantha claimed everything was fine yet failed to hide the expression on her face that told Rowen that wasn't completely true. There was something else there.
Rowen began to open her mouth, to try and tell her that she was sorry . . . but Samantha cut her off before she could get a word out. "I know how Hopper is with people coming in, so I won't hold you up," she said, and Rowen could hear the drop in her voice as if it had been shouted on a loudspeaker. "Maybe I'll see you?"
Somehow it had taken until the end of their conversation for Rowen to realize that that sinking feeling wasn't solely because of her guilt; it was because she had a sneaking suspicion that Samantha wasn't telling the whole truth.
. . .
〝 𝑖𝑖.
"Hey, Stevie." She heard it soon after her lighter clicked shut.
Rowen looked up. Between the tendrils of smoke that clouded her vision, she saw Steve, hands in his pockets and a wary look on his face as if he wasn't sure whether he could approach or not. She gave him a smile and hoped that would answer his silent question.
He was dressed a little warmer than he had been on Sunday; heavier sweater, heavier jacket . . A little ironic, really, considering she had dressed lighter. She didn't feel as cold as she had before; though she chose not to say anything about it. She was more focused on the fact that 'Stevie' was close to 'Steve'.
"Shouldn't that be your nickname?" she questioned.
He paled a little, as if he was reliving a memory. "No. Hell no. That died in the third grade." Rowen opened her mouth, he pointed a finger. "Don't."
She smiled, but complied. His hesitancy had seemed to dissipate because once she grinned at his horrified expression, the look melted away and Steve was all smiles too — though a great deal more bashful.
Rowen was ready to ask what made him so paranoid about being called 'Stevie', thinking his mom or a friend must have tied it to an experience that, as a kid, was a little traumatizing . . . but as soon as she opened her mouth, his smile was suddenly gone. Steve looked over his shoulder, to her, behind her, as if he was expecting something.
"What?" she asked.
He hesitated again, but asked in return, "Billy's not gonna jump out from behind a corner or something, is he?"
She supposed the normal reaction to a question like that would have been to laugh, but Rowen felt far from giving a humorous chuckle and pretending her brother was nothing more than a pain.
She wished she could ignore the pang within her that squashed what had been an okay mood. She wished she could ignore anything and everything that tried adding itself to her pile of problems; but the thing was, Rowen was buried too far beneath the chaos of it all to even attempt to do that. Inwardly, anyways . . . Holding on to a good mood was like trying to hold on to smoke; she took it in, but once it was out, once it escaped, she couldn't get it back.
With the way things had been going lately, she supposed she should have expected that. She should have expected her good mood to fade, to trickle out of her as if there were too many cracks for her to cover up. At this point, she felt like she was barely managing to keep herself from resembling a cracked teacup; putting bandaids all over herself and hoping that the things that poked at her insides wouldn't seem so bad in a day or two.
She tried convincing herself multiple times that she was overreacting, overthinking way too much. She tried ignoring it . . but nothing could hide the fact that the pangs she felt were like a weight, a feeling of disappointment that felt so final.
The reality was that a lot of people felt the same way towards Billy: intimidated, skittish . . scared. She never liked it when that expression hovered over peoples' faces, appearing over and over, like a broken record; that surprise that morphed into knowing, that morphed into uneasiness. That confirmed her suspicions. People ran away from him when he did that; ran away from her, by association. She hated it. She hated it when that expression came across Steve's face the day before, how it appeared again now.
It was still there. She didn't want to see it, but she kept herself from looking away.
Her smile had long since faded. She shook her head, trying not to frown. "No . . you looked like you were about to break into a sprint yesterday, though."
"He was glaring daggers at me for existing. What the hell was I supposed to do?"
"Exactly what you did," she told him, quite serious. "Get the hell away from him."
He didn't look comforted. She wasn't sure whether she should try to make him feel better.
"Listen, there isn't much you can do when he gives you a look like that," she offered. Steve relaxed a little, leaning on the wall. Rowen took another drag. "At least you moved instead of staying still . ."
"Staying still?" Steve echoed her words hesitantly, as if he didn't want to know her answer.
She gave it to him anyway. "If you stood still, you might as well 've asked him to beat the shit out of you."
He leveled a confused look at her. "He's that touchy?"
"When he doesn't want to be disturbed."
Steve's face contorted as if he wanted to say 'what the hell' but didn't because she was there. Rowen didn't care, to tell the truth, but she wasn't sure how to tell him that when only a few days ago she had told him to watch it for bad-mouthing her brother . . . As if Billy didn't deserve it.
A beat passed before Steve's expression changed. He looked at her again and suddenly the disbelief melted into something resembling concern. He took a while to open his mouth, but eventually, he spoke up, asking, "Was everything okay?"
Rowen turned away from him this time, stared at the ground. She didn't want to hold his gaze, not when some strange gut feeling began to swirl around in her stomach at his words and made her question if she was as stable as she had been mere seconds ago. No, everything was not okay . . . in actuality, things were terrible. But she wasn't about to turn to someone who might as well have been a stranger and dump all of her problems in a back alley all because he had the decency to ask.
She settled for nodding at the wall. "Totally. He's just touchy when people try prying into our conversations. Not that you were, but . . ."
She heard him give an 'oh'.
Rowen was getting tired of making excuses for her brother; repetitively having to play it off as nothing when it was quite an obvious something. But if she was to admit to that something, then she would have to explain that something; and explaining that something and its reasons were, as well, not something she was about to dump on him . . . on anyone. No one else needed to attempt to pry in and fix their problems.
Thankfully, Steve hadn't tried to pry in the way Billy had assumed he would and let her mull over her thoughts in peace. Whether he even noticed the way her mind was whirling was an entirely different question, but Rowen had crushed her curiosity towards that before it could even take root. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to worry about it.
"What're you doing back here, anyway?" he eventually asked.
Rowen shrugged. "Bored," she told him, placing her cigarette between her lips. "I got tired of waiting with an empty Camaro."
"The dickly brother of yours won't show?" Steve guessed.
She breathed out another cloud of smoke, gave him a weak glare as if to say "watch it" though not care whether he did or not.
Her gaze fell to her shoes; they were beginning to look dusty, she noted, from a few laps of walking while she waited for her siblings, from wandering in their backyard yet never daring to get close to the underbrush of the woods. She had done a lot more walking lately than she thought she would be. A lot more waiting, too. Billy wasn't making an appearance this afternoon — for whatever reason — but she didn't feel like wasting steps to find out why. Max was the same. Rowen did feel like trying to find her . . . maybe in a few minutes, she thought.
"I'm not waiting all afternoon for him."
Steve smirked. "Is leaving him here sounding better this time?"
"A little," Rowen admitted, then scowled. "I don't know what the hell I have to do to make him realize he's not the only one with a tight schedule. I have a job now."
"You do?" he said, eyes widening a little. "Weren't you just saying you needed one two days ago?"
She nodded.
"Did you walk into an employment gold mine or something? Because if you did, I'd like to know where it is."
Rowen smirked, but shook her head. "No, uh . . more like being in the right place at the right time, actually . ." she paused. Rowen took a step forward to look out from the alleyway . . then a groan slipped from her mouth. The Camaro was still left alone. "Though the whole 'right place at the right time' thing may be for nothing if someone doesn't show up."
Steve followed her gaze. "Not that I'm the expert or anything, but I doubt you're gonna lose your job if you're a little late getting back."
"I want to make a good impression," she told him, feeling a little aggravated. "Besides, we agreed we'd meet when they get out at three."
"They?"
"Yeah, my stepsister. Max. The redhead?"
Steve lifted his chin, though it looked more like a random gesture than actual recognition.
Rowen took another drag of her cigarette, inhaled . . exhaled. She was beginning to fill the alleyway with clouds, but she didn't care. She was hoping smoking would have helped in keeping her nerves at bay. Hopper did it enough, and he was as calm as she had ever seen . . but it wasn't working.
"How's the heartbreak going?" she asked, trying to tear her attention away from her siblings being late.
Steve flinched, though he tried not to show it. He placed his hands on his hips, began to rock back and forth on his feet. "It's, uh . . it's going."
"No luck?"
He scoffed. "No. No Nancy at all. I don't even know where the hell she is, I haven't seen her since last week."
Rowen wondered at his words. She figured that it was less likely Nancy hadn't disappeared and more that she was just avoiding him. The cigarette in her hand was becoming a stub. She fiddled with it, then dropped it to the ground.
"You want some advice?" she asked, crushing it with her shoe.
"Are you gonna give it to me anyway?"
"No," Rowen shook her head, brow raised. ". . no. If you don't want it, I won't give it."
Steve looked away, focused his attention on nothing particular as if he was considering it. He turned back, wagging his hand impatiently. "Okay, fine. Tell me."
"Don't fall in love . ." she said after a moment. "In high school, anyway. It's full of mixed signals and moody shit and people who can't make up their minds half the time."
Steve blinked. "But I already did fall in love."
"Then don't do it again . ." she said. Despite the sour turn her mood had taken, Rowen was trying not to smile at the disappointment in his expression. "I didn't say my advice would be good."
"Yeah, yeah . ." he waved her off.
Rowen shrugged to herself, began to pull out another cigarette. She wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. She wasn't sure he was sure of what he wanted to hear.
She heard Steve sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Samantha's pep talks have been the best thing I've gotten all week . ."
"Do you guys always hang out?" Rowen asked, turning her gaze back to him. Her lighter clicked open in her hand, closed, opened again.
"No, uh . ." he began to rub the back of his neck. "I used to be a bit of a douchebag to her . . A lot of a douchebag, actually. Doing dumb shit and all that."
"No inviting you for milkshakes, hm?" she said, offering him the cigarette she had lighted. He shook his head at it, though.
"Yeah, no. No milkshakes. We were arguing over worse things than ice cream, too . ." he paused for a moment. ". . I'm surprised she never slapped me or anything, but . ." he shrugged. "Y'know. Stuff happened. I quit acting like an ass. We got to know each other a little better."
Rowen nodded slowly, fiddling with her lighter.
"I don't know why she's even putting up with me but, you know . . she's pretty cool."
"She is," she agreed.
He didn't look at her, but his profile contorted just the slightest. "Her uncle's ice cream is still shit though. I don't care what she says."
Rowen refrained from rolling her eyes, took a drag. "I still can't believe you were arguing over that," she said, breathing out wisps.
Steve raised his brow, giving her a very serious look. "I can. It was a pretty serious topic."
She tilted her head. "Oh c'mon, not you too . ."
He waved a dismissive hand at her. "No, no forget it. If you don't think it's important, I can't convince you. We'll just keep our debates over ice cream to ourselves."
Rowen didn't know whether to feel incredulous or amused.
"You never gave me an answer, by the way," he said after a moment.
She paused mid-smoke. "An answer to what?"
"To hanging out again," Steve explained.
Rowen felt a little ashamed of the way her stomach dropped. She hadn't even realized he'd asked. What was more, she had had a similar conversation with Samantha not even four hours ago, and Rowen hadn't felt all too good about herself for the way it ended. She didn't want to come off as rude . . Hell, she wasn't sure why, but holding any resemblance to her brother aside from looks, for whatever reason, felt much more heavy and distasteful than it used to. Rowen tried her best, but when Samantha left, she still felt that gut-wrenching guilt swirling around her insides.
What was worse, she felt relieved to be free of the burden.
The reality of it was that she didn't want to make friends when she wasn't planning on being there for very long. Antisocial urges aside, it felt wrong, leading people on like that. She didn't want to do that to anyone. She didn't want to do that to Samantha or Steve . . . and yet, here she was. She had fallen into the hole before she realized what she was doing and now she had to take the sting of it.
Rowen was just hoping that it wouldn't be too late; that she could wiggle her way out of it before things turned for the worse.
"Samantha enjoyed herself and, I mean, I had a good time," he continued with a shrug. "We were wondering if you wanted to do it again. Somewhere else, this time, though," Steve paused to think, letting a hand hover in midair, ". . Maybe a drive-in? Have you ever been to one of those?"
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. "Not really . ."
"No? Okay, well, we could go to one of them. Or somewhere else, if you want —"
"No, no. That's . . that's not what I meant. I . ." Rowen hesitated. She didn't know how to say it, ended up sighing. "I just — I don't want to spend all my free time hanging out."
No. That wasn't right.
Steve's expression fell a little and somehow it reminded her of the looks her friends had worn when she told them she was moving away. She had barely talked to them for a few weeks before that.
"I mean, don't get me wrong. I — I had a good time too," she quickly added, trying to remedy it. "I'm just — busy . . Besides, you saw Billy yesterday. If he knew we were hanging out, he'd probably lose his shit."
She didn't like the way his expression changed, as if he had remembered something that had gone unsaid until then, but had been there the whole time. "Right . . Billy."
"I wasn't thinking about it when we went, but, now that I am, I'm thinking it's best we just . ." Rowen shrugged. ". . you know. Left it at that."
She could hear the far-off shouts of those on the track team, heard their jogging footsteps as they passed. She could just barely see two of them go down the part of the track closest to them as Steve fell quiet for a. He folded his arms across his chest.
"The both of us or just me?" he eventually asked, staring at the ground beneath their feet.
Rowen's brows drew together. "What?"
"I mean, are you saying I should just leave you guys alone, or are you talking about Samantha too?" he asked, lifting his gaze back to her. He looked suspicious . . She didn't like it. "Last I checked, Billy's not trying to butt heads with her."
Rowen's mouth hung open. "I — both of you," she stuttered, trying to figure out how she was supposed to continue. A beat passed. His expression didn't improve. "It's not that I don't like you guys. I just don't think it's a good idea . ." Another beat. "I'm sorry. Seriously, I am, but —"
Steve shook his head. "No. No, I get it," he interrupted, dismissive. "It's fine, don't worry about it." He began to walk off.
"Steve," Rowen called. He ignored her, kept walking. "Steve!" she called again. He disappeared behind the brick.
Rowen turned to stare at the wall, open-mouthed. She sighed heavily, eyes closed, and began to rub her temple.
. . .
〝 𝑖𝑖𝑖.
Somehow, despite the fact that he had been the one to initially break their agreement of meeting at three o'clock on the dot, every day after school, Billy was still in a mood. He had appeared after she decided to leave her newfound hideaway, suddenly, ready to begin the search for her siblings. But she didn't have to . . they showed up just when she was ready to go find them and ask where the hell they had been.
She didn't ask, though. She knew that ill-tempered expression when she saw it.
Max was just nearing the car when Billy slid into the driver's seat.
"You just narrowly missed the death sentence," Rowen told her.
"What's he pissed about this time?" Max asked.
Rowen shook her head. "I don't even wanna know," she mumbled, letting Max climb into the back before sliding into her seat. The second she closed the door, Billy cranked the engine, speeding out of the parking lot. The tune of Foreigner's 'Juke Box Hero' encompassed them, managing to remain the only sound that filled the car for a portion of the drive . . . Until Billy opened his mouth.
"Why was Harrington talking to you?" he asked suddenly.
It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't addressing Max, for once . . and that Max clearly did not associate with Steve.
Rowen squinted at him. "What are you talking about?"
He smiled. "Jesus," he mumbled, ". . first him, now you."
"Billy, seriously. What are you talking about?" she pressed, confused despite the fact. Rowen's initial thought had been of what had happened a mere half hour ago . . . but it couldn't have been what Billy was referring to. How could he have seen them? That alley was hidden away from the high school lot.
"I'm talking about Sunday . ." he finally explained. "Someone saw you with him in town."
"Someone?" she echoed, ignoring the way she felt caught. "And who is this 'someone', a little watchdog of yours?"
"It doesn't matter," he said dismissively. "What matters is that they said you looked like you were trying to get away from him."
"How do you know this someone isn't lying? For all you know, they could be —"
"For all I know, you could be . . Listen, I'm not trying to back you into a corner here, I just wanna know —"
She groaned. "Jesus — fine. Yes, I was with him, okay? Happy?" she interrupted. He said nothing. ". . but he just came up to me. And I wasn't trying to get away from him," she continued, pleading her case. "I was in a rush to get back to the arcade."
"Then why'd you look pissed off?"
"I wasn't," she dismissed. ". . Maybe your watchdog needs glasses."
It wasn't exactly a lie . . hell, it wasn't a lie at all. She hadn't minded talking to Steve . . but she had a feeling Billy would have a choice few words for that. She wasn't lying when she told Steve if he saw them together, it was more likely than not that he would lose his shit. He sounded like he was trying not to right now.
Billy hummed that oh-too familiar hum, as if he was mulling over her words. "What about him, hm? Why'd he look pissed off?"
"Why are you asking so many questions?" she threw back.
"Ro . ."
She knew that meant 'just answer the question'. "I don't know," Rowen said begrudgingly, defensive. "Maybe he was still moody after breaking up with his girlfriend. Who knows?"
"They didn't break up," he said a matter of factly. "She dumped him."
"What?"
"She dumped him," Billy repeated. "The guy's been moping around school an' hovering around people like he's trying to find someone to rebound with. That's why I asked."
Rowen sat silent for a moment. "So, what? You're saying you think he was trying to 'rebound' with me?"
"What else?"
She scoffed. "Even if that was true — which it isn't . ." she said, certain of herself. ". . why do you care? I don't poke my nose into your social life."
"Because I know I'm not the one being led on by some fluffy-haired jackass when I take girls out on dates," he said a matter of factly.
"Yeah, because you're the fluffy-haired jackass in that instance."
He rolled off her insult like it was nothing, pulling into his spot behind the house. Camaro parked, the younger sibling stepped out, dropping the cigarette in his mouth to the ground, and shut the door. Rowen followed suit, let Max climb out, then took his place in the driver's seat, changing the radio to a softer tune. Before she could pull back out, however, Billy leaned a hand on the open window.
"I would stay away from him if I were you," he told her, a little more casually than she expected to hear.
She wanted to tell him that he wouldn't have to worry about that, that she probably wouldn't see Steve anymore, never mind look as if she was angry with him. He was pissed off with her, if anything . . . but she kept her mouth shut.
Rowen leaned back in her seat. "Is that a command, or is this just your way of being a caring brother?"
"Listen, I've said you're a pain in my ass a million times and I'm gonna say it again, because you are . ." Billy paused, looked away from her. From where she sat, she could only see part of his face, but she could still catch his hesitancy. He looked as if he was fighting some instinct, pushing it inward . . He looked like he wanted to snap instead of continue saying whatever it was he had begun to tell her . . . It wasn't surprising. Rowen had seen it happen before. She had seen this look on his face a handful of times, but it took her a moment to realize.
Eventually, he turned back to her, muttered, "But you're still my sister, older or not."
Her gaze dropped to his hand. She sat silent for a moment . . but then pushed it off of the car window. "I thought I was the older sibling here."
"Doesn't matter."
"It does," she countered. She still felt bitter over her talk with Steve, with Samantha. How everything felt as if it had gone downhill so quickly. "I appreciate the attempt at sentiment, Billy, but I can take care of myself," was all she said before putting the Camaro in reverse, turning onto Cherry Road.
. . .