⁴𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐃, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 ✔

010-running up that hill

THE FIRST PLACE MAX WANTS TO BE TAKEN IS HER TRAILER.

It was a familiar drive for Steve—he'd ended up being something of a designated driver for all of the kids over the past year. Max didn't use him to her advantage like Dustin did, but there'd been a few times in which she'd asked for a ride. And who was he to say no after everything?

Carla hadn't been to the trailer many times. She had helped the Mayfield set up her new room. Went over a few times with Steve for carpool purposes. Truly, after the events of summer, Max had closed herself off. She misses the Max she used to know—though she feels like she can't be speaking. She's closed herself off more than she'd like to admit in the past few months, too. 

The car is silent, excluding the light music that came from the BMW radio—it's not doing anything to ease the tension on the groups shoulders. Max stares out the window, in her own world. Lucas watches her intently. Dustin stays quieter than Carla's ever heard him, fiddling around with the walkie. Steve's hands clench and un-clench against the wheel as he tries to fight away the voice telling him to turn right back around. The Wheeler herself picks at her cuticles, eyes darted down in her lap.

The BMW passes by a row of rusty mailboxes, the gravel beneath the wheels leaving a trail of dust as it's crunched. Carla glances up and looks out her window, taking in the emptiness of the place. It was much different than the bustling of officers, news anchors, and concerned passerby that filled the place yesterday—the police tape keeping people away from the Munson house deeps a reminder as to why they had been there. 

Steve hits the brakes and unlocks the door, "Alright, this better be fast, Mayfield."

"Twenty seconds." Max replies sharply, getting out and slamming the door. She throws her backpack over her shoulder and makes a quick dash into her trailer, ponytail swinging behind her. 

As the Mayfield leaves, Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes flicked to his girlfriend, who was back to her hands. Her cuticles were now slightly red from all the picking. He can't help but ask the question he seems to ask her every day, hoping for a truthful answer for once. "You feeling okay?"

Carla glances up at him, offering a nod. "Yeah."

It's unconvincing. She's lied to him for a month—he has no reason to let her go with a simple yes or no.

"You've had anymore headaches?"

The Wheeler thinks about the vision she'd had in the shower that morning. Billy pinning her to the wall, telling her that she was weak—that she wouldn't win again. "Not since yesterday." 

Steve looks at her for a moment longer but he doesn't push. He lets out a breath and mutters, "Good." 

The car falls into silence again—a tension filled silence. No one knows what to say, or if it's right to say anything at all, really. The looming thought that today could be Max's final day was heavy in their heads, and conversation didn't really seem relevant if it was. Who wanted a light-hearted conversation when Max was about to die?

After a beat of silence, the Harrington glances back in the rear-view mirror at the walkie in Dustin's grasp. "That thing's got batteries in it, right?"

 The Henderson looks up with an incredulous expression—was he serious? He shakes his head. "I'm not even answering that question."  Steve narrows his eyes, unamused with the boy's reply. Dustin snaps at his silent refuge, "Yes, it has batteries!"