The cafeteria hums with the clatter of trays and overlapping chatter, while the scent of pizza and fries lingers in the air. I weave through the crowded tables, spotting Carol and Nicole whispering animatedly, their heads close together, laughter bubbling between them.

"Lacy!" Nicole beams, sliding her tray over to make space. Her eyes sparkle with barely contained excitement, practically bouncing in her seat when I take my spot next to her.

"What's the latest?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I peel back the plastic wrap on my sandwich. Nicole is vibrating and I can't help but exchange a questioning look with Carol, who shakes her head in slight annoyance.

Nicole leans in, her eyes wide and gleaming. "Two words," she whispers, "Billy Hargrove."

I roll my eyes, taking a deliberate bite of my sandwich to stifle a snarky comment. "What about him? Did you already scare him back to California?"

"Ha-ha," Nicole brushes off my comment with a dreamy sigh, her gaze drifting through the crowd as she adds, "he has that whole rebel without a cause vibe, Lace. I think I'm in love."

Despite my growing annoyance, a laugh slips out. "I can hear the wedding bells already."

"Laugh all you want, but wait until you talk to him. You'll be a puddle on the floor." Nicole fans her face with exaggerated motions, her cheeks turning a rosy pink.

"Rebel without a cause isn't really my type," I shrug, pulling out my unfinished English homework and Walkman from my bag.

Carol rolls her eyes with exaggerated annoyance. "Oh come on, Lacy, even you have to be a little curious."

I lift an eyebrow, meeting Carol's challenging gaze. Being friends with Carol is complicated. Nicole makes everything easy with her bubbly and slightly clueless personality, but Carol is a little more vicious and intelligently manipulative. We're the stereotypical high school trio: Nicole, the ditsy cheerleader; Carol, the sharp-tongued gossip; and me, the competitive athlete. Our friendship is a delicate balance, held together by the envious stares of our classmates.

"Not in the slightest," I shrug, biting into my sandwich with a smirk.

I try to focus on their conversation, but I am bored by their need to figure out Billy. Nicole is practically gushing and Carol is nodding along, her eyes darting across the cafeteria. I follow her gaze and my stomach tightens when I see Billy sauntering in, flanked by a group of admirers. He's like a magnet, effortlessly drawing eyes and whispers in his wake. His jean jacket hangs causally over one shoulder, and his confident stride sends a ripple through the room.

Nicole's voice snaps me back. "He's so hot," she whispers, her voice breathy. "Can you imagine him in a leather jacket and riding a motorcycle."

"Carol smirks, adding fuel to Nicole's fire. "I'd let him take me for a ride any day."

I roll my eyes, refusing to be a part of the Billy Hargrove show, by picking up my headphones and pressing play on my Walkman. Music floods my ears, drowning out Carol and Nicole's chatter about Billy Hargrove. I busy myself with my homework, seeking refuge in my own thoughts.

Lost in my essay, I feel a sense of contentment with the words flowing onto the page. I glance up momentarily and notice Tommy and his friend Chuck joining the table. Chuck catches my eye and smiles, and I return the gesture politely, avoiding prolonged eye contact. He's a senior like Tommy and had eagerly tried to get to know me after Carol set us up on a disastrous double-date. I almost escaped through the bathroom window before Carol dragged me back out.

It's not that Chuck isn't cute. He's tall, blonde, lean, with a killer smile. He's captain of the baseball team, incredibly polite, someone that my mother would adore if I brought him home. It's his stupidity that I couldn't handle. Nothing turns me off more than a boy who can't hold a conversation that isn't about himself or sports or the next party he's going to. Carol didn't understand at all that night, asking what we would possibly need to talk about when all Chuck wants to do is make out with me. I sneak a glance at her and Tommy now, their lips practically suctioned cupped together and drop my eyes again. At least Tommy knows how to hold a conversation, even if it's laced with sarcasm and commentary at the participants expense.

I sigh, diving back into my essay and reworking my thesis statement as Motley Crue blares in my ears, blocking out the laughter around me. The guitar and drums and vocals are more than loud enough to cut whatever superficial bullshit is being spread around the table.

Suddenly, one of my headphones is lifted away. "Earth to Lacy," Nicole's voice cuts through my music, making me jump. I glance at her, and she grins. "We're trying to figure out the plan for Tina's Halloween party, nerd."

The table erupts in laughter, and I mimic them, faking a laugh before rolling my eyes. I pause my music and close my notebook, resting my chin on my hands, feigning attentiveness. My eyes scan the group, and I flinch slightly when I realize that Billy Hargrove is sitting among us.

Billy lifts a brow, a smirk spreading across his face as he notices me looking. I narrow my eyes, determined not to let his arrogance bother me. Billy Hargrove does have some kind of magnetic pull, his bad boy persona working wonders for him. I scoff at myself, realizing I've been staring too long, and settle my eyes back on Nicole, waiting for whatever extravagant plan she and Carol have cooked up for tomorrow night.

"So we have costumes, booze, and music settled," Nicole ticks off her fingers like she's checking off a list, "now we just need a ride."

Everyone's eyes settle on me, and I meet each of their gazes individually, making a point to skip over Billy. "Are you kidding?" I ask, and Nicole smiles sheepishly.

"You're the only one that doesn't drink," Carol points out, her tone tinges with a teasing annoyance.

"Because I'm always the one that has to drive," I argue, glancing around. "I can't fit all of you into the single cab of my truck, anyways."

"We'll sit in the bed like we always do," Tommy claps his hands like the problem is solved, turning to whisper something into Carol's ear.

"Not anymore," I say firmly, keeping a slight smile on my face as I point at Chuck. "That's been revoked since Chuckie fell out last time."

"Oh, come on," Chuck groans, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I was drunk!"

"That doesn't help your argument," I chuckle, but my voice is firm. "No one is sitting in the bed of the truck."

"Drive Carol's car then," Tommy says, his patience for me clearly waning.

"Fine with me," Carol agrees, but I am in a mood now, bothered once again that I am the one that has to take care of them.

"The Rabbit can only seat five," I remind them before narrowing my eyes on Billy. "Seems like there's six of us now."

Billy leans back, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Oh is that the issue?" he asks, his tone light, but eyes sharp. I meet his gaze, finding that there is a sense of amusement in his gaze at my obvious disdain.

"Fine," Tommy snaps, ignoring Billy's comment. "You stay home then, Lacy."

"Fine," I respond, smiling as sweetly as possible before opening my notebook again. "You can fucking walk there."

"I thought this one was supposed to be the team player?" Billy asks, but he's talking about me like I'm not right in front of him. I feel my jaw clench, my glare settling on his smug smile. My friends are silent for a moment and I can feel Nicole tense slightly next to me.

"I didn't realize I was talking to you," I snap, and Billy chuckles, his gaze slowly moving down my body, settling on my chest, before moving back up. I cross my arms over myself defensively, because I can feel my face getting hot. It's not the first time a guy has checked me out, it's just that I never had a guy like Billy do it so blatantly … and so up-close.

"You are now," Billy challenges, his eyes refusing to lift.

I open my mouth, a retort on the tip of my tongue, but Nicole nudges me with her elbow, silencing me. "Since Chuck ruins everything anyway," she says, her voice a bit frantic, trying to control the situation, "he can drive. His dad has a station wagon."

"I fall out of one truck," Chuck sighs in frustration. He looks at me and says, "Lacy should still have to drive; she doesn't drink."

I hold my breath, feeling everyone's eyes on me. Their silent judgment is palpable. Why are you being so difficult, Lacy? Why are you throwing a fit? I never drank at parties because someone had to make sure they got home safely. I always took care of them – getting them to drink water, making sure they threw up in a bathroom, and mediating their fights.

At the last party at Tina's I had clearly drawn my line in the sand regarding driving them or at least I thought I did. Chuck and Tommy were riding in the bed of the truck, standing and playing chicken. I hit a corner a little too hard and Chuck flew out. I saw my license, my life, and future fly out with him, but of course no one cared about that. They thought it was funny, recreating the look on Chuck's face when we helped him back into the truck.

I release the breath and force a smile, hoping they don't notice the tension behind it. "Fine. I'll drive the station wagon. Is everyone happy now?"

I don't wait for their responses. As I put my headphones back on, I can't shake the feeling that if I stopped being the designated driver, they would find a reason to no longer need me. It's like walking a tightrope, one wrong move, and I'm out. Despite the volume of my music, Billy's voice cuts through the noise. "Is she always this uptight?"

My jaw clenches. I keep my eyes glued to the paper, my pen moving aimlessly. I wait for Carol or Nicole or even Chuck to say something, but instead, the table erupts in laughter.

"Lacy's our good girl," Carol says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "The world would just fall apart if she didn't keep everyone in line."

The words sting, sharper than I want to admit. Who is Billy to them anyway? Just the new kid they want to impress. Billy speaks up again, his voice carrying over the laughter. "She's wound so tight I think she might snap."

The laughter grows, and I feel the heat rising in my face. What does Billy Hargrove know about me? Or any of them, for that matter? They never see the effort it takes to keep everything together. I continue to stare at my essay, pretending it's the most fascinating thing in the world, waiting for someone – anyone – to say something nice.

Nicole's voice breaks through, lighter, but still part of the joke. "Come on, she's not that bad. Who else is going to do all our homework?"

Billy laughs, the sound grating on my nerves. "I see why you keep her around," he says. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look up. "At least she's nice to look at."

The comment stops me cold. My pen hovers over the paper as I try to process the casual cruelty. No one else seems to notice, their conversation shifting to after-school plans. My tolerance for their behavior is wearing thin. I glance up briefly, catching their animated faces, and then quickly look away. Do they even realize how much it hurts? Or do they just not care?

I feel the slight rush of anger, biting back the words. No, I won't give them the satisfaction. I won't confront them, not now. Maybe they talk about me like this because they know I won't. I fit in here – somewhat. They need me to hold them together, and I… I guess I need them, too. For what, though? Normalcy? Stability? It all feels so fragile right now.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. I gather my things slowly, pretending like everything is still okay, but eager to escape the cafeteria and Billy Hargrove's suffocating presence. I carefully pack my belongings, watching as Nicole shamelessly flirts with him. I bite my tongue, deciding that maybe she deserves him. Two shallow, arrogant people worked well for Tommy and Carol—why not Billy and Nicole too?

"Lace," Carol coos. She has a smile on her face. I try my best to return it. "You have the math homework?"

I swallow the bitter laugh that threatens to escape. I want to tell her to shove it, but the careful balance of my life requires me to keep the perfect smile on my face, nod, dig through my bag, and hand it to her. "Just make sure I get it back before sixth period."

"You are such a doll, Lace," she says, and I hear the humor in her voice, as she exchanges a look with Nicole.

I pick up my bag, noticing Billy watching me as he waits for Nicole to finish packing up. I meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by him. There's something unreadable in his look – curiosity, maybe? Amusement? I huff, turning away before I can decipher it. He might think he's charming, but I can see through the act. Billy Hargrove is nothing but trouble.

The school day drags on, each class a blur as my thoughts keep circling back to lunch. By the time, the final bell rings, I feel drained, craving the simple routine of tennis practice. At least there, the rules are clear, and the only competition is on the court. I head to the locker room, eager to shed the weight of the day and find some semblance of peace.

"Hey, Lacy!" A voice calls out. It's Tori, my tennis teammate. Her cheery disposition radiates from her as she approaches. She's not as popular as me and Carol and Nicole can't stand her, but her presence is a welcome distraction from my swirling thoughts.

"Ready for practice?" I ask, falling into step beside her. My shoulders re-catching their regular tension.

"Always," she grins, adjusting her own tennis bag. Tori's cute, with long blonde hair and big green eyes. I never really understood why Carol and Nicole didn't like her. She was funny and confident and kind and suddenly it's clear that she's everything Carol and Nicole might lack. I catch myself studying Tori for a moment, wondering if we shared any of those similarities. "I saw you eating lunch with the new kid," she says, and I bristle slightly, "what's he like?"

The mention of Billy makes my annoyance flare again, but I try not to take it out on Tori. "Don't get me started," I mutter, as we push open the doors to the locker room.

"That bad, huh?" she asks, shaking her head. "Too bad, he's kind of nice to look at."

I snort, "If you like arrogant assholes, sure." I slip into my tennis skirt, feeling my tension beginning to ease. There's something comforting about the feeling of the fabric against my skin and for a moment, I am almost the person I was before my parent's divorce.

Tori and I walk onto the courts together, the fresh air hitting our faces, and I take a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of the grass and the sound of tennis balls hitting in the distance. We reach the courts, and I set down my bag, pulling my racket out from its sleeve. The weight of the racket is balanced in my hand as I take a few practice swings. The courts are a hub of activity, with my teammates warming up and the coach giving instructions.

Before joining them, I kneel down, taking a moment to tighten the laces of my shoes, the routine grounding me and clearing my mind.

"You ready?" Tori asks, a competitive gleam in her eyes. She is my doubles partner, and has been since we joined the team freshman year. Despite not really being friends outside of the court, Tori is the only person on the team that can keep up with me.

I nod, feeling the competitive spirit ignite within me. "Absolutely."

Tori and take our place on the court, immediately I can feel the weight of the day lifting. This is my space, not even Carol or Nicole or Billy can take it from me. Everything fades away and it's just me, the racket, and the ball. The rhythm of the game consumes me, each serve and volley erasing the lingering frustration from lunch, until it doesn't exist at all.

Practice goes by in a blur of rapid movements and focused concentration, and by the end, I am panting, trying to catch my breath. Tori and I take up a place on the bench, sipping our waters and watching as the sun is beginning to set. It's casting a golden glow over the courts and I savor the moment of quiet.

"You were pretty intense today," Tori observes, giving me a curious look. "That last serve almost took Sara's head off."

I force a laugh, picturing her wide eyes as the ball drove down on her. "It was a long day," I admit, leaning back and closing my eyes. "You know how it is."

"I can imagine," Tori says sympathetically. We sit in silence for a few moments, before she continues, "Are you going to Tina's tomorrow night?"

"Uh, yeah," I nod, remembering that I've been roped into driving earlier. "You?"

"Yeah," Tori grins, "a few of the tennis girls are going to get ready at my house tomorrow, you should come."

I hesitate, taken aback by the invitation. A part of me wants to accept, to see what it's like hanging out with people outside of my usual circle. But another part of me worries about what Carol and Nicole might think, or worse, what they might say. They were territorial and I can hear the snide remarks already. I glance down at my hands, fidgeting slightly. "I, uh… have plans with Carol and Nicole," I mumble, avoiding her gaze.

"Right," Tori says, her voice still friendly, but I can sense a hint of disappointment. There's a shift in her eyes, maybe annoyance, or something else I can't quite place. It makes me uncomfortable, but I quickly brush it off. "I guess we'll see you there then."

I watch her walk away, joining the rest of the tennis team by the locker room doors. They laugh, the sound traveling across the quiet courts. I'm slightly envious of their easy going nature, the way they seem to genuinely enjoy existing together, rather than competing against one another. I pick up my tennis bag, pushing the feelings away and reminding myself that Nicole and Carol grant me normalcy in the halls of Hawkins High, a place to belong, even if it's fragile.

As I drive towards the diner, I can't help but wonder what tomorrow night will bring, but I have a sinking feeling it won't be as simple as just driving them to the party. The tension from lunch still lingers, a knot in my stomach that refuses to loosen. It's not just Billy's smug attitude or my friends' casual cruelty that bothers me – it's the realization that, no matter what I do, I'm always the outsider looking in. I'm the designated driver, the responsible one, the glue holding the group together, and someone, still never truly a part of it.

I tighten the grip on the steering wheel, the cold air seeping through the windows. I hope Dustin remembered to bring a jacket; the thought of him riding to the diner in this chill worries me. At least with him, I know where I stand, – he needs me and I need him. As I pull into the diner's parking lot, I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease. Tonight, I'll focus on Dustin and his stories of arcade triumphs. But the nagging thought persists: in the grand scheme of things, where do I really fit in?