"Shit . . . Shit, shit, shit!"

Rowen was a little apprehensive to admit that juggling a schedule was never her strong suit. There was a piece of her that had always struggled to highlight the importance of things such as appointments, to set aside her personal priorities, and act accordingly so she would be prepared. To write these things down. To give herself enough time to prepare for said appointments so she wouldn't be in such a rush right before.

In short, she really didn't care if she was being honest.

In short, she had completely forgotten what day it was.

For Max and Billy, it was the first day of school. It had taken three weeks — from the moment they arrived in Hawkins, to two days before Halloween — for Hawkins High to accept their transcripts, and she couldn't understand it for the life of her. She could, however, understand that if she didn't get to this interview on time, there would be worse things than rushing for her to deal with.

"Billy!" she bellowed throughout the near-empty house without a thought.

The parents were gone, thus her volume was nothing to worry about.

"I need your car, where are your keys?"

"They're right where they're supposed to be," he called back.

Rowen headed towards the bathroom, where she already knew he would be.

Billy stepped out of the small space just as she reached him.

"And where is that?" she asked.

"In my hand and not in yours."

Rowen spun on her heel as he passed her.

"Max, hurry up!" he shouted.

"Billy, come on. I'm already pushing. If I wait any longer to leave I might as well bring a sign that says I can't tell time."

"I don't care, I need it to get to school. You know? That place where you're forced to listen to old guys drone on about even older guys? You went there once."

"Then let me take it when we get there."

The scowl on her brother's face that told her he was beginning to get irritated was momentarily replaced with horror. He shook his head. "No. Hell no."

A look of similar irritation appeared on her own face. "Why not?"

"Because."

"Because what? It's not like I've never driven it before."

He ignored her. "Max, I swear, you take one more second, and you're skating to school!"

"Okay!"

Rowen looked over her shoulder into the empty kitchen. A pair of tiny feet shuffled, but the familiar silhouette never showed.

She turned back to Billy. "Please."

He ignored her once more, walking outside, down the steps, leaving her to groan in a fit of paranoia and intense irritation. Desperately, she followed him out, stood at the edge of the back porch with a pleading look.

An exaggerated sigh left his mouth and he asked, "Why can't you just take your bike?"

"I can't bike that fast! I'll be late."

Though her reason hadn't persuaded him one bit.

"Listen, I don't care what the hell I have to do. I'll clean the car until you can see your reflection, I'll swear off playing Stevie Nicks for a week. I'll — do your fucking homework like I'm some idiot freshman, just please, let me take it."

Billy considered her for a mere moment, looking between her slightly frantic gaze and the back door, where Max would walk through any second.

"I'll do you one better," he finally said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jean jacket. He pointed a finger at her. "I'll let you take it — not just today but whenever I'm stuck in the hell hole at the bottom of the hill . . ."

Rowen's face brightened with a new hope.

"But I'll only let you if you do something for me."

The hope faltered. She flung her hands out in exasperation. "Did you miss the fact that I just offered to do your homework — obviously I'll do it. I don't care what it is, just let me take the car, please."

He raised his brow as if he was surprised to hear that answer. "You sure?"

"Billy, yes. I don't. Care. Just," she held out her hand, silently begging for the keys.

"You get these when I'm in the building."

She cursed under her breath.

"What are you guys talking about?" A smaller, slightly bored voice made itself known. Max appeared to her right, skateboard gripped in one hand, a small book bag slung over her shoulder.

"About damn time," Billy muttered, ignoring her question.

Rowen nearly jumped out of her skin — though not because Max's presence had startled her. The fact that her stepsister was finally there made her jump into action, pushing the redhead's shoulder gently, though excessively.

"Come on, go. Go, go, go."

Max's eyes widened. "What? What's going on?"

"She's having a cow, that's what's going on," Billy said as he slid into the driver's seat.

"I'm not having a cow," Rowen bit, rushed and irritated to the point where she almost pushed Max down the stairs, little bits of dried paint falling to the ground.

"Rowen, calm down! I'm going!"

In an attempt to escape her stepsister's poking, Max picked up her pace and opened the passenger door, then slid the seat forward so she could climb into the back — or rather barrel into it before Rowen reached her.

The older stepsister practically flung herself into the passenger seat. As soon as she shut the passenger door, Billy whipped the car out of the driveway, leaving a trail of dust over the narrow street.

Rowen had never necessarily liked the way he nudged way over the speed limit and drove as if in a race, not when they went down narrow roads that looked too small to zoom over . . . but in that moment, she was thankful Billy had an uncontrollable urge to drive like a maniac.

"Thank you," she breathed.

She heard her brother hum to himself. "Just as long as you know what you agreed to."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖.

Rowen began to question every aspect of what she wore and what she said once her interview was over.

It had gone bad . . . had been a disaster, actually.

She tried focusing on her breathing in order to steady herself. In and out. C'mon, Rowen.

She hated it. She hated managers, hated corporate jobs, hated their fake pretenses. She hated how hard it was to find work, one-lane town or not. She hated how she was making it harder for herself. She hated this stupid town.

Or . . she didn't. But right now everything was up for debate.

She felt her hands begin to shake again as she reached for the front door, storming out of the very place that left her nerves wrecked. For once, she should have listened to what her dad was saying, how he had described the people there. She wasn't even sure what he had been doing, just that he had found himself in the company of the very person who interviewed her: Tom Holloway. He seemed as if he liked him . . . she should have taken note of that, even if the chance of it being a huge assumption was a possibility.

But no. She had made herself go anyway, stepped into the proverbial flames, hoping it would make her tougher, somehow . . . but she came out feeling terrible. She hated that she couldn't take it, couldn't take the sight and sound of people like that laughing her out of an office. Why couldn't she just deal with it? She needed a job, she needed money, not a friend group.

And yet she couldn't keep her skin from crawling when she thought of having to work amongst people she would more likely than not end up hating, doing something not at all interesting. A sack of flesh bumping into other sacks of flesh . . . she was scared of it.

Something about becoming like that made her draw inward. Not all workplaces were so dull, though, were they? There had to be someplace where people were remotely decent. Someplace sane, somewhat nice. Somewhat bearable.

Being laughed at almost pushed her over the edge. As if having little experience in anything was the most embarrassing thing in the world. As if trying to take a leap was a bad idea.

It was a bad idea. She regretted every bit of it. She wished she could still stand babysitting.

"You okay, kid?"

Rowen jumped, presumably so shaken that she couldn't comprehend the person that had spoken to her. She turned her head, took in his appearance. Police, she thought immediately. He was tall, clad in a tan uniform and what she thought looked like a cowboy hat, but realized wasn't. He wore a sheriff's badge, a semi-gruff expression. He looked like the chief her neighbor had talked about.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I just . . . I needed a second."

At some point, the guy, who she assumed was the chief, had directed her to a bench she hadn't even seen. Rowen didn't even register she was sitting down until she realized he hadn't left her alone. He stood to the side, silent, looking down at her with a concern that felt extremely foreign.

"Why is it that one minute, you feel right for a job but, then the next, you don't?" she blurted. ". . Like you shouldn't be there or something, you know? You can't sit straight enough or say the right thing. You're just . . there. Being judged."

That seemed to catch him off guard. He scratched at his beard. "Uh, well . . I'm not sure," he was talking more to himself, trying to think despite the reality of his words. She heard him sigh.

He looked like he wanted to be helpful; but he also seemed stumped in the way a parent was stumped when a kid asked a loaded question, falling silent for a moment. "If it counts for anything, I don't always feel like I should be the chief of a police station."

So he was who her neighbor was talking about. The chief of police and his gruffness were more concern than the accidents themselves. He didn't sound very concerning, smiling at his own words.

The smile fell. He looked over his shoulder to the building she had run out of. "Listen, those guys in there are a piece of work. If they were giving you trouble, I wouldn't pay any attention to it," he told her, lowering his voice to a mutter, "Holloway is an ass as far as I'm concerned."

Rowen caught it and laughed a little. The chief's mouth quirked under his beard.

"I don't wanna ask the same question twice, but — you sure you're okay?" he asked.

Rowen rubbed at her nose. "Yeah. My pride is a little bruised, but . . yeah."

He nodded in return. "M'kay. I just gotta make sure. Don't wanna file Hawkins Post for giving a kid a panic attack."

"I'm not having a panic attack," Rowen said, shaking her head. "It's just — a lot . . moving. Finding a job," she admitted, taking a deep breath. "I thought I was fine, but . . I haven't lived anywhere except California and — I don't know, it just all kinda hit me at once, it's . ."

"A lot to take in, huh?" he said.

Rowen nodded.

She heard the chief hum to himself. He didn't say anything for a moment.

Then: "Well, if I can tell you anything, it's don't try and rush it. Just go at your own pace."

Rowen scoffed. She wanted nothing more than to do that. "I don't know if I can."

A beat of that dead silence passed. "You can," the chief said.

He didn't get it. She didn't try to argue the point, though. She didn't exactly want him to get it. That would cause problems.

"Well, if they ever give you any more grief, just let me know, alright?"

"I'm not going near that place again, trust me."

That made him chuckle a little. "Uh-huh . . well —" she wanted to roll her eyes at the reoccurrence of that word."— I wish I could have given you a better first impression of Hawkins but, nevertheless, welcome to Hawkins."

She smirked at his attempt. He didn't seem to like the way his words came out.

"I'm Hopper," he added. "Chief of Police. You already knew that, but . ."

"Rowen," she introduced in return. "Californian . . but you already knew that."

He didn't, but that had gotten a smile out of him. Hopper nodded a silent goodbye and trailed back to the SUV a few feet behind them. She wondered how she had missed the thing when she had seen it trail down Cherry Road many times before.

. . .