Dove's alarm pierced the quiet morning, the shrill beeping dragging her out of a restless, uneasy sleep. She blinked groggily, her eyes puffy and sore. Disoriented, she looked around, momentarily confused by the angle of her room. Her body was stiff, her muscles cramped from having spent the night on the floor, her back pressed against the door.
And then, like a cold wave, the events of the previous night came rushing back. She felt her stomach twist as memories flooded her—the thrill of anticipation, the weight of Billy's hands, the way his expression had shifted when she'd pushed him away. She took a shaky breath, pressing her hand against her forehead, trying to steady herself as the realization settled over her.
Dove slowly unfolded her legs and sat up, wincing as her stiff muscles protested. Her room, bathed in soft morning light, looked almost too normal, as if mocking her with its innocence. Her eyes drifted to her bed, to the list of summer goals pinned above her desk, each one feeling like a relic of someone else's life.
She ran her fingers through her hair, her mind oddly blank as she clung to the thought of getting back to her routine, hoping it would steady her. Just yesterday, she would have done anything to escape it, to shake things up and break free. But now, all she wanted was the familiarity, the comfort of slipping back into the patterns she knew, the routines that felt like the only solid ground beneath her feet.
With a deep, shuddering breath, she rose to her feet and shut off the alarm, silencing the reminder to start a day that suddenly felt overwhelming. Dove moved through her room in a daze, pulling on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind thick with the fog of last night's memories, but she forced herself through each movement, determined to keep going. She headed down the hall to the bathroom, gripping the edges of the sink as she stared at her reflection.
For a moment, she didn't recognize herself. Her face was pale, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, traces of mascara smudged beneath them despite her half-hearted attempts to wipe it away the night before. She touched her face as if to confirm that it was really her, a dull ache settling in her chest.
She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face, the chill shocking her awake for a moment. She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she tried to push the emotions back down.
Just then, a loud pounding rattled the door. "Hurry up in there!" Dustin's voice called out, impatient and annoyed.
Dove took a steadying breath before opening the door. Dustin stood there, arms crossed, a grin already forming on his face.
"Whoa," he said, eyebrows raised as he looked her up and down. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
Normally, she'd snap back with a quick insult, shove him out of the way, or roll her eyes at his teasing, but today she didn't have it in her. She walked past him in silence, feeling his gaze linger on her as she moved down the hall, the quiet hanging awkwardly between them.
"Hey, I was just kidding," Dustin said, sounding confused, but she kept walking, too drained to respond.
When she reached the kitchen, the smell of breakfast greeted her, warm and familiar. Her mom was at the stove, flipping pancakes, her face brightening as she saw Dove enter.
"Good morning, sweetheart," her mom said, sliding a plate onto the counter. "I made your favorite—chocolate chip pancakes."
Dove's stomach sank. Chocolate chip pancakes always had strings attached, signaling her mom was fishing for something or preparing her for bad news. The last time her mom had made them, she'd broken the news about the divorce.
"So.. how did your date go last night?" her mom asked, her voice light and casual but with a hint of something else. "Billy seems like a.. nice boy."
Dove glanced up, catching the careful look in her mom's eyes. The last comment was more of a question than a statement, a polite way of saying she had her doubts.
"It was fine," Dove replied quietly, keeping her gaze on her plate. She could still feel the weight of last night pressing down on her, and the idea of talking about it made her chest tighten. She pushed a piece of pancake around her plate, hoping her vague answer would be enough to keep her mom from pressing further.
Her mom's silence stretched a little too long, and Dove braced herself, feeling her mom's eyes on her.
Dustin walked into the kitchen, his gaze landing on the plate of chocolate chip pancakes. He raised an eyebrow and mumbled, "Uh oh, Dove, what did you do?"
Dove managed a weak smile, grateful for the brief distraction. "Nothing, Dustin," she said, trying to sound casual, though her voice felt strained.
Dustin snorted, grabbing a pancake from the counter. "Yeah, sure. Last time mom made these, you'd just smashed the window with a softball, remember?" He smirked, clearly enjoying the memory.
Their mom gave him a look, but her attention quickly returned to Dove. "I just wanted to hear about her evening," she said, her tone light but her eyes serious as she glanced between them.
Dove avoided her gaze, hoping to keep the conversation short. She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "It was fine, Mom. We just drove around a bit, that's all."
Dustin glanced at Dove, his playful smirk fading as he picked up on her unease. He looked between her and their mom, then cleared his throat.
"Hey, Mom, we should probably get going," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "Don't want to be late, right?"
Their mom glanced at the clock, then back at Dove, her expression softening. "Alright," she said, giving Dove's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Have a good day at school, sweetheart."
Dove nodded, managing a small, grateful smile as she rose from the table. She could feel Dustin's gaze on her, filled with quiet curiosity, but he didn't say anything as they grabbed their bags and headed out the door.
The siblings mounted their bikes and set off toward school, the early morning air cool against their faces as they pedaled down the familiar streets. Dove pedaled faster, hoping the movement would distract her, help her clear her head. But her mind kept circling back to last night, to the feelings she'd been trying to push away since she'd woken up.
Beside her, Dustin was glancing over, clearly sensing something was off. She could feel his curiosity practically buzzing in the air, and after a few minutes, he finally spoke up.
"So, are you gonna tell me what happened, or are you just gonna act like a zombie all day?" he asked, his voice carrying that annoying tone that usually got a rise out of her.
She felt a flicker of irritation but kept her eyes straight ahead, pretending not to hear him. She didn't have the energy to snap back or even roll her eyes. All she wanted was to reach the school, to lose herself in the routine and push everything else aside.
Dustin was quiet for a beat, and she could feel his gaze linger, the teasing fading into something softer, more uncertain. They rode the rest of the way in silence, Dustin's presence beside her oddly comforting despite the tension. She knew he was worried—he could probably read her better than anyone—but for once, he didn't press her further. Instead, he just matched her pace, riding beside her without another word.
Dustin veered off toward the middle school, glancing back at her one last time with a faint, concerned look. Dove continued toward the high school entrance, shoulders squared, forcing herself to keep her head high. She could do this. Maybe, just maybe, she could slide back into the routine, and everything would feel normal again.
Inside, the familiar rush of students, the lockers clanging, and the chatter of early-morning conversations wrapped around her like a shield. She walked to her locker and focused on the rhythm of opening the combination lock, the click of the metal bringing a small sense of comfort. As she grabbed her books, the noise of the hallway faded into the background. With each familiar movement, she felt a tiny spark of confidence. Maybe she could just leave last night behind her. Maybe things hadn't changed as much as she'd feared.
But then she heard his voice—a low, casual drawl that turned her blood cold. "Hey, Dove."
She froze, her hand gripping her textbook tightly. Slowly, she turned to see Billy leaning against the lockers, his hands shoved into his pockets, that same smirk plastered on his face. His eyes flicked over her, not with the cruel edge from the night before, but with the same smug confidence that sent chills down her spine. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, as if nothing had happened. As if everything was just fine.
Dove felt her pulse quicken, her brief confidence crumbling under the weight of his gaze. Her stomach twisted, and for a second, all the fear, the discomfort, the helplessness from the night before flooded back, making her feel small and trapped.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice firmer than she felt, her grip tightening around her books.
Billy's smirk never faltered. "I was thinking," he said, his tone casual, like they were picking up a conversation from yesterday, "do you want to see a movie tonight? I promised I'd take you somewhere next time, didn't I?"
Dove stared at him, taken aback, trying to gauge if he was serious. He looked right at her, his expression easy and unbothered, like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't spent half the night walking home, feeling shaken and exposed.
The anger inside her simmered, slowly taking over the fear. "Do you seriously think I'd go anywhere with you after what happened last night?" she asked, her voice cold, each word sharp.
Billy rolled his eyes, shrugging like it was nothing. "Oh, come on, Dove. I was just messing around last night."
Dove felt the words hit her like a slap. She clenched her jaw, struggling to keep her voice steady as she scoffed, disgusted. "Leave me alone, Billy," she said, each word clipped and cold, a warning in her tone.
Billy just grinned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her with that same smug amusement. He raised his voice just enough for the surrounding students to catch his words. "No need to play hard to get, Dove. You weren't exactly shy last night."
Dove felt the blood drain from her face as his words hung in the air, already taking root in the ears of the curious students nearby. A few glanced her way, eyebrows raised, their expressions flickering with intrigue and judgment. Her hands tightened around her books, a surge of anger and helplessness flooding over her as she watched him walk away, that satisfied smirk still on his face.
She wanted to scream, to tell them all what really happened, but her throat tightened, her voice catching in her chest. All she could do was stand there, her heart pounding, as Billy disappeared down the hallway, leaving her in the center of curious, judgmental stares.
By lunchtime, everything had shifted.
Dove walked into the cafeteria, and the buzz of conversation seemed to dip the moment she entered. Whispers and sidelong glances followed her as she made her way to her usual table, the curious, judgmental stares weighing on her with every step. She caught snippets of murmured conversations—her name, his name, and words she didn't want to hear, twisting together like vines.
The cafeteria, usually noisy and chaotic, felt suffocatingly small. She could feel the rumors wrapping around her, trapping her. The trust she'd placed in Billy, the naive hope that he'd shown her a new side of herself, now felt like a mistake she couldn't escape.
Dove's face burned with shame, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. It wasn't true. None of it was true. But the truth didn't matter here. The rumor had already taken root, spreading like wildfire through the halls. And no matter what she said, no matter how she tried to explain herself, it wouldn't be enough. People had already made up their minds.
She clenched her fists under the table, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep herself together. The room felt like it was closing in around her, the walls pressing tighter with every whispered word, every stolen glance. Her heart thudded in her chest, her breath shallow as she forced herself to keep her eyes down, trying to block out the stares she felt pressing in from all sides.
Just as she was about to stand and leave, her gaze lifted and locked with Steve Harrington's across the room. He was sitting with his usual crowd, right beside Nancy, who was laughing at something Tommy H had said. The noise of their table hummed around him, but Steve wasn't laughing, wasn't even listening. His gaze was fixed on her, curious, as though she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Dove felt her anger flare. Of course, he'd be watching too, trying to piece together whatever story everyone was whispering about her. She glared back, her jaw tight, daring him to look away, to go back to the world he belonged to—one she'd never been a part of and never wanted to be.
But he didn't look away. He just kept watching, his face unreadable, his eyes almost thoughtful.
The intensity of his gaze made her feel exposed, the way everyone else's whispers had, and she couldn't stand it. Finally, she shoved her chair back, the scrape loud in the quieting cafeteria. She grabbed her tray, her fingers trembling as she dumped it and strode out of the room, forcing herself to keep her head high.
The final bell rang, and Dove rushed to her locker, her mind set on one thing: getting out of this place as quickly as possible. She shoved her books inside, not caring about the mess, just wanting to escape the day's whispers and stares.
As she grabbed her bag, she heard a voice behind her, sickly sweet and mocking. "Dove!"
Dove turned, and there was Carol, flanked by Tina and Vicki, each with a smirk that made her stomach turn.
"So," Carol said, dragging out the word with a grin. "We heard all about last night." She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Got any details to share? Don't keep us in suspense."
Dove clenched her jaw, her heart pounding as the heat of anger rose in her cheeks. "There's nothing to tell," she said, her voice cold. "Billy's lying."
The three girls exchanged looks, Tina raising her eyebrows as if surprised, and Vicki barely suppressing a laugh. Carol gave her a look of faux sympathy, crossing her arms. "Oh, sure. It's just funny, you know? Everyone's saying the same thing, and here you are, playing innocent."
Dove took a steadying breath, her frustration bubbling over. "Playing innocent?" she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. "That's your area of expertise, Carol. Or do you think we all believe that you're a natural redhead?"
Carol's face reddened, her expression faltering for a split second as Tina and Vicki stifled giggles. The girls quickly went silent under Carol's sharp glare, but the damage was done.
Taking advantage of Carol's stunned silence, Dove slammed her locker shut, swung her bag over her shoulder, and turned on her heel. She could feel Carol's furious stare burning into her back as she walked briskly toward the exit, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and satisfaction.
As she pushed through the doors and headed toward the bike rack, she spotted him—Billy, leaning against his Camaro, talking and laughing with a few of the guys from the basketball team. Her breath hitched, her anger intensifying at the sight of him standing there so casually, like he hadn't turned her world upside down with a few careless words.
Before she could think it through, her feet moved on their own, carrying her straight toward him. Her heart hammered in her chest, each step bringing her closer to him, fueled by the simmering rage that had been building since the night before.
Billy noticed her approach, a smug grin spreading across his face. He pushed off the car, cocky as ever, and opened his mouth to say something, probably some new taunt or sly insult.
But before he could get a word out, Dove lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the parking lot, silencing everyone around them. Billy's head snapped to the side, and for a brief, satisfying moment, the smirk vanished, replaced by shock.
The basketball players exchanged stunned looks, glancing between Dove and Billy, and a few whispers rippled through the group. Billy straightened, his eyes darkening as he looked at her, his cheek reddening where her hand had struck him.
"Didn't know you had such a temper, Dove." he said, his voice low, dripping with sarcasm, but his expression remained casual, almost amused, as if her slap hadn't fazed him at all.
Dove's fists tightened, her anger bubbling over. "Tell them the truth, Billy," she demanded, her voice steady but laced with fury. "Tell everyone that you're lying."
Billy raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence, his smirk never faltering. "Lying?" he repeated, glancing around at the small crowd that had gathered, clearly enjoying the attention. "Look, Dove, I get it. You want to keep up appearances. But let's not pretend you weren't right there with me."
A ripple of laughter and whispers spread through the onlookers, some exchanging glances, others watching intently. Billy's friends shot each other knowing grins, a couple of them nudging each other, clearly buying into his story.
Dove's voice trembled with frustration. "You're pathetic," she spat, trying to keep herself together as she glared at him, hoping to see some flicker of shame in his expression.
But Billy just laughed, shrugging casually. "Whatever you say, sweetheart," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "But you're the one who keeps coming back for more."
The taunt stung, echoing in the silence that fell over the crowd. Dove could feel the weight of their eyes on her, judging, doubting. She turned sharply on her heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, his laughter and the murmurs of the crowd chasing her as she left the parking lot.
Dove didn't cry. She didn't even glance back. She was in full fury mode, her mind racing as she made a beeline for her bike, grabbing the handlebars and swinging her leg over. She pedaled hard out of the high school parking lot, her hand still tingling from the slap, the sting of it echoing in her chest. She coasted down the hill toward the middle school, where she knew Dustin would be waiting, but her anger twisted and morphed with each turn of the pedals, slowly sinking into a thick, heavy shame.
The thrill of standing up for herself—the raw satisfaction of finally lashing out—was gone, replaced by a hollow feeling in her gut. All her anger, all her fury, had only seemed to make things worse, practically confirming what everyone already thought they knew. She'd fought back, but Billy's smug smirk and his careless words had somehow turned it all back on her, making her look like exactly the person he'd made her out to be.
By the time she reached the middle school, her face felt hot, her jaw tight as she tried to swallow down the mixture of shame and regret that had settled over her. She spotted Dustin by the bike racks, leaning against his own bike, clearly waiting for her.
He straightened up as he saw her approaching, his face brightening at first, but his expression quickly shifted to concern as she came closer. Dove's face was set in a hard line, her jaw tight and her eyes blazing, her hand still stinging as she gripped the handlebars. She skidded to a stop beside him.
"Whoa," Dustin said, pushing off from his bike, his brow furrowing. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Dove snapped, the words coming out sharper than she intended. She saw the flash of surprise on his face and immediately softened, sighing. "Sorry. I just want to go home, okay?"
Dustin's concern deepened, but he nodded, seeming to sense that pushing her wouldn't get him any answers. "Yeah, sure," he said, glancing at her one more time before climbing onto his bike.
They started down the road, the silence between them thick and tense. Dove gripped her handlebars tightly, her mind racing, her pulse still elevated from the confrontation with Billy. The shame, the anger, the way her hand still tingled from the slap—all of it twisted in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Dustin glanced over once, clearly still curious, but he kept quiet, sensing that now wasn't the time. Dove focused on the road ahead, letting the familiar streets lead her home, trying to push down the knot of emotions tightening inside her.
When they finally pulled into their driveway, Dove hopped off her bike, barely slowing down before she pushed it onto the lawn. She felt like she was holding her breath, the weight of everything pressing down on her as she walked toward the front door.
Dustin followed behind her, his curiosity and concern almost palpable. He reached for her shoulder as they stepped onto the porch. "Dove, are you sure you're okay?"
She took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. "I'm fine, Dustin. Really. I just.. I don't want to talk about it." She tried to keep her voice steady, but she could feel the anger and frustration creeping back in.
Dustin nodded, his expression hesitant, but he let it go. "Alright. But, if you need anything.. you know I'm here, right?"
Dove managed a faint smile, grateful for his quiet support. "Sure, Dustin."
They stepped inside and Dove headed straight for her room, desperate for the solitude and comfort it offered. Once inside, she shut the door softly behind her, resting her back against it as she took a deep, shuddering breath with her eyes closed, willing herself to calm down. But when she opened her eyes, the sight of her room—the cozy familiarity of it, the neatly arranged shelves, the carefully chosen posters, the corkboard with her hopeful list of summer goals—only seemed to mock her. Everything felt so trivial, so small compared to the whirlwind of anger and shame burning inside her.
Her gaze landed on the list she'd made at the start of summer, full of plans to push herself, to try new things, to become someone she was proud of. But everything on it felt like a joke now. Without thinking, she ripped it from the board, staring at the hopeful words she'd written in her own careful handwriting. The thought that she'd ever believed any of this could happen, that she could actually change her life so easily, made her blood boil. She tore the paper in half, then into quarters, ripping it into smaller and smaller pieces before throwing it into the trash can by her bed.
But the anger didn't leave. It simmered and grew, fueled by the helplessness she felt. She looked around the room, her eyes landing on her posters, images that had once inspired her, dreams that felt silly and distant now. She grabbed one off the wall, tearing it down with a rough yank, crumpling it in her fists before tossing it aside. She ripped another one, and then another, the sound of paper tearing filling the room as her frustration poured out.
But it wasn't enough.
She turned to her dresser and picked up a book about the Pacific coast—a place she'd dreamed of escaping to someday—and threw it across the room. One by one, she tossed the books, bookmarks fluttering out as they hit the walls and scattered across the floor. The idea of those dreams now felt ridiculous, childish, like distant fantasies.
She grabbed a picture frame from her nightstand, her fingers curling around it tightly before she hurled it across the room, the glass shattering as it hit the wall.
Her breaths came fast, her vision blurred with a mix of anger and release. She didn't stop until every corner of her room was in chaos, her belongings scattered and broken, the once-cozy space now torn apart, reflecting the storm that had been building inside her since that horrible moment in the parking lot.
Finally, out of breath, Dove stood in the center of her trashed room, her chest heaving as the last of her anger ebbed, replaced by a hollow ache. She looked around at the wreckage, feeling the emptiness seep into her, mingling with the fading remnants of her rage. The dreams she'd held onto so tightly felt distant now, leaving her in a room that was both her own and somehow utterly foreign.
Dove bent down, her fingers brushing against the shattered glass as she picked up the broken picture frame, a weight settling in her chest. She turned it over, carefully sliding the photo out from behind the cracked glass, her hands trembling slightly as she looked at it.
It was a photo of her and Dustin, taken just before they'd moved to Hawkins. They were both younger, faces bright with the innocent excitement of kids who hadn't yet learned how heavy the world could feel. Dustin's grin was huge, his arm thrown around her shoulders as they leaned into each other, their eyes sparkling with laughter.
Dove's heart twisted as she looked down at that girl in the photo—the one who had been full of hope, so eager for new beginnings. She could barely recognize that person now. She could feel herself slipping into someone bitter and defensive, someone she didn't want to be.
Her grip on the photo tightened, and a wave of determination surged through her, pushing back against the shame and anger. She wouldn't let Billy's lies, his smug smile, and his whispered innuendos shape the person she became. He'd already taken so much from her, twisted her world into something ugly and distorted, but she wouldn't let him take anything else.
Dove took a steadying breath, her resolve hardening as she set the photo carefully on her dresser, away from the broken glass. She would find a way to reclaim herself, to put herself back together in a way Billy couldn't touch. Whatever it took, she would fight her way through this—not just for herself, but for the girl in the picture, and for Dustin, who still looked up to her with that same unwavering faith.
She would not let Billy win.
After a week of forcing herself to ignore the whispers and stares, Dove had fallen into a routine, keeping her head down and blocking it all out. The hallways still buzzed with rumors, but she'd trained herself not to care, to tune out the laughter that floated her way.
She'd barely made it to her locker when she sensed him—Billy, leaning casually against the locker beside hers, a smirk already plastered on his face.
"So," he drawled, his voice low and taunting, "you come around yet? Maybe thought about taking me for another spin?"
She could feel the curious eyes of other students around them, everyone waiting to see what she'd do. The humiliation from before simmered, but this time, something steadier, clearer, took its place. She looked up, meeting his gaze with a smile that caught him off guard.
"No, thanks," she replied, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Once was more than enough. You talk a big game, Billy, but honestly, that's the only thing big about you."
There was a beat of silence as whispers spread through the crowd, and for a split second, Billy's smirk dropped, his expression hardening as he absorbed the implication. Dove held his gaze, refusing to flinch, letting the weight of her words settle in.
He forced a chuckle, trying to brush it off, but it rang hollow. Dove turned away, leaving him standing there as a few students cast amused glances his way. As she walked down the hallway, her heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and triumph, the weight of the stares finally lifting, a bit of control returning.