Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:
HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG

Part IV

Hyde parked Jackie's Lincoln inside a high double gate. They'd reached the Burkharts' property, after what seemed an interminable drive. He left the key in the ignition and opened the driver-side door, but Jackie clasped his shoulder. "Thank you for driving me home."

"You blackmailed me," he said and exited the car. She'd refused to drive herself, claiming she was too anxious. They'd gotten to The Hub's parking lot without a word. Her Lincoln was as pristine as they'd left it; someone like him hadn't popped the tires. But then she piped up with a quavering voice, and he was screwed. His hand snatched the keys, and he was behind the wheel.

Hyde shielded his eyes as the passenger-side door opened. His shades were off, and the Burkharts' porch lights shone in the distance. A gravel driveway encircled the mansion like a moat, but the only alligator here was Jackie.

Her family was wealthier than he could ever dream to be. His place in the world had been slotted at fertilization, the moment Bud Hyde's sperm broke into Edna Dunbar's egg. Not that he aspired to be rich. Staying not-dead and out of prison would be enough.

"Oh, I did not blackmail you," Jackie said as gravel crunched under her boots. "Extortion is for people who need money, and I have more than—"

She stopped herself, maybe before giving him a needless reminder he was poor. He was born into a lower-class family. Would probably always be lower-class. People like him were too rebellious to follow society's dictates and too soft-hearted to be truly criminal, relegated to living on the fringes. Digging one lousy burrow after another.

"Emotional blackmail," he said, gazing at the porch lights.

"How? Because I knew you wouldn't leave me in the parking lot?"

His jaw clenched. Her Easy-Bake Oven head was impenetrable. He'd taken refuge in their non-conversational walk to The Hub. Assumed it was a sign he'd gotten through to her, but she'd merely used it to regroup.

"You think you hate me," she said, standing close enough for their arms to touch, "but if you did, I'd be in that old house of yours with—"

"Don't." He looked at her, tried to look into her, to transmit what he wouldn't speak. She beat him to it. Shawny's intentions played out in her large brown eyes. "Never woulda let that happen," he said, "no matter how I feel about you."

"Just like you didn't let Laurie tear me to shreds. Just like you comforted me after Michael broke my heart." She jabbed the center of his chest. "Do you even pay attention to what's in there?" She jabbed him again. "Do you?"

"Quit it." He swept her hand away and shuffled backward, and his butt bumped into a stone pedestal. Over two-dozen of the pedestals were placed along the driveway, adding to the property's castle-like atmosphere. Soft light emanated from them, a glow that would've attracted moths in his old neighborhood.

Was that what he was to Jackie, a misguiding light? If she flew too close, he'd burn her up.

Her gaze was lingering on his chest. He resisted the urge to rub where she'd poked him. "There's nothin' there to pay attention to," he said.

She smirked, another expression she'd swiped from him. "Mm-hmm. That's why you haven't left yet."

"Gonna rectify that right now."

He turned toward the metal gate, but her voice followed him: "You can try to ignore me, Steven Hyde! You can say that I'm a square and uncool and whatever else makes you feel better, but I'm not stupid, okay? I know when a boy likes me!"

"Like you?" He could've escaped. The gate was within reach, but his legs brought him back to her. "Man, I can barely stand to look at you, so you can cut out your girly fantasy crap."

"Fantasy?" She slammed her purse on the hood of the Lincoln. "Is it fantasy that you've made me feel better than Michael ever has? Yes, Michael's gorgeous, but he's a horrible, selfish person."

"So am I."

"No." She reached for his face and managed to cup his cheek. "You're scruffy but handsome," she said, stroking his sideburn with her thumb. "Generous. And a wonderful person."

"No, I'm not!" He pried her hand off him and stumbled back. Her touch was diseased, deadly. "Jackie, I'm shit, all right? You saw where I come from. That's all I got—and all you'd get from me."

She patted her heart. "You've already given me more than Michael ever has. You taught me how to protect myself from burns. Told me I deserve better than a cheater. Did everything you could to save me from that gross hophead, even though your lies could use work."

A breeze swept through her hair. Tendrils not tucked into her pony tail whipped at her forehead. Hyde's fingers twitched, reacting to a stray thought. He'd tucked her hair behind her ear once, frantically. He had no desire to do it ever again, calmly or otherwise.

"Telling him I'm twelve?" Her hands were on her hips, and she tilted her head. "Really?"

"Had my reasons," he said. Shawny was a reptile, but prepubescent kids were too innocent even for him … not that it had stopped him from going after Hyde. "Yeah, my lies could use work."

"Well, I can teach you. I'm a fantastic liar." She grinned with a cute crinkle to her eyes, and his spine straightened. Cute? Nothing about Jackie Burkhart was cute. She'd infected him. Those two seconds she'd touched his cheek, a parasitic exchange must've taken place.

He opened his arms wide, like he'd done in his old neighborhood, presenting her own property to her. "This is where you belong, man—and where I'm gonna leave you." But as he moved toward the gate again, something bit into his left foot. "Crap." He plunked down onto the driveway and pulled off his boot. A piece of gravel had gotten stuck in there. "How the hell...?"

"I know," she said. "It gets in my boots, too, unless I tuck my jeans into them."

"Freakin' impossible," but the metaphor wasn't lost on him. Taking a rich man's gravel home in his shoe was the most he could aspire to. "Stop starin' at me," he said when Jackie stepped closer. "Go already."

She didn't listen but sat two feet away from him. Gravel shifted under her butt. "You're not shit."

"Jackie, get in your car, drive into your garage, and get the fuck outta my sight."

"Despite your nasty attitude, you are so wrong about yourself. But you're right about something. We'll never be friends because..." her hand landed on his right boot, "I love you, Steven Hyde."

He scrambled to his feet, and gravel flew around her, displaced by his ungraceful movements. His left boot was only partially back on. He shoved his foot into it, slamming his heel into the driveway and kicking up more gravel. "You're nuts. A certifiable headcase."

"Maybe," she said and stood up, "but at least I know how I feel. And what I feel for you is love."

He would've laughed if his guts weren't twisting inside-out. "You shouldn't use that word so easily, man. It'll just screw you over in the end."

She nodded, but she couldn't possibly understand. "After Michael, I promised myself never to say it to another boy unless he earned it. You have."

"You've gotten into a hero-worship rut," he said. "That's all it is. The second one of those rich jocks asks you out, you'll be lovin' him, too."

"Do you really think so little of me?"

"You dated Kelso for over a year. Screams volumes."

She jutted out her chin defiantly. Her face seemed to be growing red, but he couldn't be sure. The pedestal lighting wasn't all that revealing. "Yes," she said, "and that experience taught me a lot. I've told you that. And you wouldn't still be here, arguing with me, if you didn't care. If you didn't feel something for me beyond indifference or hate."

She had him there. All his attempts at leaving had failed. What was he trying to accomplish? Convincing her to give up on him—or himself to give up on her?

"I don't love you," he said.

"But you like me."

"I don't love you."

She grinned again with that crinkle in her eyes. "But you like me—"

He shrugged, even as an unwanted sensation buzzed in his chest. He didn't like her, couldn't like her. Her fate was to rule a kingdom while his was to steal from her coffers.

"—enough to go on a date with me," she said and tugged on the rip in his jacket. He didn't stop her. "Because I went on your tour of Hydeville so you could show me your true self."

"Yeah, which worked out spectacularly."

"It did. And you owe me the chance to show you my true self."

"If roller-disco or any kind of disco is involved, you can forget it." He flinched. What the hell was he saying? He wasn't going on a date with unicorn-obsessed Jackie Burkhart. "What I mean is, you can forget it altogether."

She grasped his hand for the dozenth time tonight. And for the dozenth time, he should've pulled free, but the buzz in his chest turned into heat. "You owe me," she said. "I've got that skeevy, strung-out guy's tongue stuck in my memory thanks to you. He called me a pig. Me!"

Her grip tightened, and his brain commanded his hand to break free. His hand didn't listen. It stayed put as Jackie blathered on. "The date I'm planning? You're going to enjoy it as much as I hate where you brought me today."

"Whatever," he said with a heavy sigh, but he did owe her. One night, one date.

"I'll pick you up at seven, day after tomorrow."

"Whatever."

She jostled his hand. "You're agreeing to this, right?"

"I'm doin' an experiment in masochism, so … yeah."

"Great!" She released him, and the night air cooled his skin. She snatched her purse from the hood of the Lincoln, opened the driver-side door. "By the way, if you try to cop out—if I show up at the Formans', and you just happen to be missing?—I'll tell my father where you took me tonight. He won't be happy. And, trust me, you don't want him unhappy with you."

Her body slid halfway into the car. He thought they were done, but she glanced back at him. "And that, Steven, is blackmail."