By the weekend the car had gotten fixed, and Steve had become the most insufferable he'd been yet; I couldn't manage it anymore.

I kicked the back of the couch, hard enough to jostle Steve awake. He pretty much flung off of it, but quickly brushed himself off, crossing his arms and acting cool.

"It's 2 in the afternoon." I chastised dryly.

"Yeah, okay, mom." Steve responded bitterly, his brow creasing at me.

"Listen, Stevie," I grouch, hands on my hips, "You've moped around long enough. It's time to make a decision."

"A decision?" He repeats, mockingly. "What decision do I have, La?"

I flick a piece of hair from my eyes, fluttering them in agitation. My lips pucker up, jaw setting. "You either get back with Nancy or get over it."

"Ok, yeah, thanks, genius." Steve just responds, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No," I jab a finger in his direction, stepping closer and kicking an empty bottle out of my way. "Listen. You've dragged me from party to party. You show up, you get too drunk to stand, and then I drag your ass all the way home by the skin on my damn teeth."

He throws a hand up in the air, the other resting on his hip in the sassy way he always dons. Before he can speak, I cut him off again.

"Nuh uh. My turn. You ditched Marzi, you left me alone with Billy, I had to kiss Munson- and it's all because Nancy Wheeler sees through your 'bullshit'." I growl.

"I never asked to be your protector, okay?" He snaps, hair bouncing with the aggression.

"Yes! You literally told me that's what you are!" I laughed in disbelief. "You've fought off multiple possible boyfriends because that's what you do!"

"I never wanted to be this self-made hero!" Steve shouted.

For the second time in the past few days, I quiet immediately. He'd never yelled at me this much in my entire life. Maybe it was the way my lips snapped shut, or the way I stiffened at the sound. Maybe he just realized how badly our conversation had gone sour. But whatever it was that caused it, Steve sighed, shoulders dropping.

I felt bad. I never should have relied so hard on him. He let me use the car, he chaperoned all of my parties- whether he wanted to go or not- he beat multiple jerks into the ground, and scared off others. He even took up for me when some of my rumors had gone too far, agitating the general populous. With mom and dad always traveling, I had completely gotten used to relying on him- for everything.

"I just wanted to get through high school." Steve continued, this time dejectedly. If I hadn't known him so well, I would have believed there was something even deeper to that statement under the surface.

I slide a little closer, hands fitted into my back pockets. "I'm- I'm sorry."

He waves a hand at me. "It's nothing to do with you, La. Listen, I'm sorry I've been skimping out."

"Nah," My shoulders ease, "I'm being pushy."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, innocently, cracking a small smirk. "But I'm also going through some bullshit you don't even known about."

"Well," I hum nonchalantly, checking out my nails. "For whatever it's worth, I think you should talk with Nance."

His smirk drops, and he stretches his arms above his head nervously. Then, he begins shaking his hands out, pumping himself up. He lifts his knees as well, getting his heart moving. "Alright, yeah, you're right. What do I say?"

I shrug. This wasn't my problem, but I did want him to be successful. I hated seeing him this way. "I don't know, pal. Get her some flowers and figure it out."

"Flowers," He repeats, hands wiping across his face. "Right, flowers,"

"You got this," I hype, slapping him on the back.

"I got this." He agrees, then he nods to himself, and I watch him yank on his jacket. He pauses, turning around and coming back just to give me a side hug. He meets my eyes, trying to remain composed, but still swallowing hard. "I got this."

"Yeah, buddy," I nodded simply.

And like that, he's gone.

The house was quiet now. My parents were both gone, and I had very little to focus on, aside from the homework I knew was due in a couple days. I scowled at the concept. Homework was for Sundays, and Saturdays were for doing whatever the hell I wanted.

I ended up spending my day walking around the sparse shopping districts in town, calling Veronica to join me, a girl I'd become acquainted with in English class. We meandered down the street, not connecting very well- but it was better than being entirely alone. She was really kind of shy, and loved the Beatles, for some reason. All that I knew was that, and that she was a pretty exceptional writer- given what she'd had to stand up and present before. Still, I was craving retail therapy, so as long as she didn't mind following me around and could keep the conversation going relatively easy, I was content.

After some time we'd wandered into a nook where a grungy little record shop was set up, and my nose scrunched at the scene. I really didn't want to be here.

"Wanna get some ice cream or something?" I suggested instead.

But her eyes sparkled as she took in the display. She tried to contain herself as she turned to me, but I could tell that internally she was very keen on checking out the joint. "Maybe after this last shop?"

I gave it one more look over, and then I sighed. "Alright, let's check it out."

She bounced inside immediately, a bell dinging loudly as the door swung open. The shop smelled like patchouli, and the aisles were dim and smoky. There were a few bright, neon red lights littering the space, some Christmas lights hung around the ceiling. I watched as Veronica flitted over to a section enveloped in Beatles memorabilia, cheap and cladding the walls entirely. I didn't know her well enough to feel like I needed to indulge this, but with the amount of time she spent filling me in on the lore behind the Beatles- I supposed it was alright to stay here a while. Besides, I'd never been in. Nothing could persuade me up to now. I felt pretty out of place, only really listening to things that came on the radio and that Steve suggested. I hesitated, unsure which direction to go.

"Hey, welcome to Mack's. Can I point you somewhere-?" A voice I recognized instantly piped up.

Be calm.

"Oh, Eddie," I greeted nonchalantly, turning to face the man, whose lips now pressed together thinly. "You work here?"

He leant all his weight on one side, the opposite hand coming up to tussle his hair. "Yeah, this is sorta my dive,"

Unspoken words passed between us as we gauged each other- all of which included musings over the kiss. Instead of prodding at the obvious- which I wasn't even sure I wanted to ever revisit- I glanced back at Veronica momentarily. I turned back.

"I'm just here with Veronica- she saw your Beatles collection and went bonkers." I clarify, feeling the awkward palpate my skin.

"What are you interested in listening to?" Eddie urged suddenly, and I recognized a glimmer of mischief and curiosity taking over his demeanor. Thank god we moved past that first stage.

"I don't know, Madonna?" I responded, the words coming out more like a question.

He nodded as if he expected that answer. "Of course."

I crossed my arms indignantly. "What, Madonna bad?"

"I wouldn't say Madonna's the best we have to offer," Salesman Eddie quipped, brushing past me with clasped hands, gesturing to follow.

I rolled my eyes, but followed nonetheless.

"Now, given your," He chose his words carefully, "Contemporary taste, it may prove a bit difficult to turn you onto some real gems."

"Contemporary?" I repeated dumbly. He was trying not to offend me, I think- clearly having a higher opinion of music than I did. I shook my head. "Honestly- I don't listen to much music at all."

He froze, turning to me with a genuinely pained expression. He clutched at his chest. "Oh god, man- you've gotta stop, you're crushing me."

"Oh, come on," I responded, rolling my eyes at the dramatics. "Is it really that important?"

This time he mimicked being struck by an arrow, the whole side of his body flinging in the direction to really sell the act. I flinched back at the action, startled. He bent down, placing both hands on top of his knees, then stood back up, his head shaking from side to side. "You need to be educated, Harrington. Desperately. It may already be too late!"

I let my hands drop onto my hips. "And if it's too late?"

He straightened, eyeing me intensely. "Oh, then you're doomed to live a very boring, granola life. I imagine 5 kids, a Ford wagon, and not a single one without a degree in something athletic."

"No," I gasped dramatically, playing along a little. "Well, hurry, then- what's the solution?"

Eddie pulled on the lapel of his jacket, straightening it out. He fixed me with a very serious stare-down. "I recommend REO Speedwagon, twice daily, Joan Jett or The Smiths for flare-ups, and Van Halen, at the very least once a week."

"Uh-huh," I hummed skeptically, shuffling the cassettes he'd placed into my hands in succession. "Sounds like a lot,"

"Just until you become-" he stepped forward, hands linked behind his back. His brows raised deviously. "...addicted."

"Alright," I concluded, surprising myself. "Fine. But what's your return policy?"

Eddie grinned, hands still behind his back as he leant forward, face about a foot from mine. "You can return to visit any time you'd like, Harrington."

"Ha-ha," I deadpanned. I ignored the racing in my chest as he drew away.

I decided to just shell out the money, realizing I really didn't have any new additions to my weak music collection since I was about 14. I followed him to the check out, shaking my head idly at the way he swaggered around the shop. It was like he owned the place- he spoke with customers like they were his best friends- and he hopped the counter instead of using the lifting door. Something about the prospect of trusting Eddie with a cash-register seemed far fetched to me. Yet again, I was plagued with doubt- doubt that I had read him well at all, and curiosity over what qualities I may have missed in my initial interpretation.

"That will be $41.22," He chirped, leaning on one elbow towards me.

"God, Munson, you're draining me dry," I complained in a mumble, digging around in my bag for some spare change.

"The scholarly path of righteousness costs a hefty sum," Eddie responded cheekily, eyes pinching at the side with the grin as he swiped my cash from my hand.

I watched his fingers work, selecting different options on the register with dexterity and precision. I recalled briefly his band, Corroded Coffin, from gossip at some point down the line, and that he was a guitarist. I must have become a little too entranced in musings over how his hands moved, because soon he was clearing his throat, and I had to rush to put the change into my satchel.

"So, what if this sucks?" I urge, for some reason wanting the conversation to continue.

"Then I will hang up my badge and leave this sacred establishment, never to shame it's patrons again," Eddie responded passionately, sliding back across the counter and landing with a plop- then crossing his heart in promise.

"And…" I eyed the ceiling, not able to coax myself to look at him. "What if it's kinda good?"

His eyes are sparkling, and he tucks his hands beneath his biceps, crossed playfully. Very slowly, he responds, "Well then, maybe you'd be ready to check out my master collection."

"What, your personal collection?" I blink, very sure this time that he was flirting. Unlike last the time I'd caught him, though, I didn't point it out.

He tilts his head as if weighing it out. "If you're good. We'll see."

I flushed bright red as he wandered away. I took a bit to compose myself, hands pressing to my cheeks in an attempt to quell the heat. If I'm good. Beyond being an overtly flirtatious remark, it felt like it held a deeper meaning. I felt I was being tested- or at least examined. For what reason, I didn't know. I had also not yet decided whether I wanted to be pursued and tested in the first place.

I gained my composure, watching as he crept up on Veronica. He finally announced his presence, a very stereotypical and somewhat offensive British 'Ello! causing her to squeak and jump in place. I then watched from a little farther than necessary as he went into long, drawn out detail about the Beatles, almost enough to rival Veronica's own knowledge. This went on for a while, the two bantering back and forth, before he barked out a laugh at something she said, tapping her shoe with his own. I looked down to the bag in my hand of miscellaneous, expensive casettes, realizing I'd just been duped. I had enough of the sight at once, a bitter feeling swelling in the base of my throat.

Outside the shop the air had gotten crisp. The door clattered shut, the bell muted between the wall I'd put between us. Fall was my favorite season, but I hardly felt like it at the present. I felt like I was being chewed on, in small bites, from the inside-out. I yanked a box of camels, lighting one up and instantly feeling my body heat up at the action. I released a puff of smoke out, still annoyed, but less on edge now than a few minutes ago. Why had that even happened?

Veronica came out just in time for me to finish, and so I dropped the cigarette, mashing it into the gravel with the toe of my shoe.

"We finally leaving?" I mumbled, not looking to her as I started the walk back to the car.

"Yeah! Sorry about that," She rambled, "Eddie- Eddie Munson? He actually knew a lot about the Beatles! It was surprisingly nice to talk with him."

A few minutes ago, I might have agreed with her. Instead I take a long breath in. "Yeah, well, no one's just black and white. He was bound to have something redeeming deep, deep down."

"Yeah!" She agrees, missing my jab, "He's actually kind of sweet, you know? He's pretty cute, too-"

"He's bad news." I cut her off, turning to her sharply. My expression was hard. Something took over, and before I knew what I was saying, my lips were curling into words. "I heard he's pedaling drugs to Aaron Brandt."

"Oh," She dampens, her excited shoulders falling into a slump.

I turn, back to taking long, quick strides to the car. I wanted to get home as fast as I could. There was an ounce of regret somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach. Mood shifting, her pace picks up, her small legs having to double my pace to keep up with the one I was setting.

"Hey, maybe we can get that ice cream, now?" She suggested, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I think it's time for me to head home." I dismissed icily.

The car ride back was silent, until she couldn't resist anymore, starting up her new Beatles cassette she'd been seduced into buying. I did everything in my power not to bang my head against the window.

When I got home I stormed up the stairs, dropping articles of outerwear and shoes as I went. When I made it to my room I flung the cassettes into a chair in the corner, sneering at them in distaste. I tossed my bag on top of them, hoping it was a very long time before I had to remember this day- or those damned tapes- ever again.