I slammed the front door behind me, causing one of the pictures to fall off the wall onto the bookshelf below it. I hadn't looked at the pictures in my house in a long time. I picked it up, the wood frame scratching slightly at my hands. I felt a sharp sting as the broken glass of the frame sliced my thumb, and a drop of my blood fell onto the picture, in between me and my little brother.
My little brother, Nathan, was a good kid. He was annoying, but that was to be expected. I still blamed myself. I shouldn't have let him walk to school. I should've given him a ride.
I threw the picture at the ground, the glass breaking completely and spraying my shoes. I stomped over the glittering shards, crunching them under my feet. I let my bag drop to the floor next to the stairs, papers spilling out, but I didn't pick it up. Meanwhile, my thumb was still bleeding generously from the small but deep cut. A warm drop of something hit my hand and I realized I was crying.
I trudged angrily into the kitchen to get a bandaid, and there was a knock at the door. I tiptoed quickly back to the door, swinging it open. "What?" I growled, even though I hadn't even seen who it was yet.
Steve sighed audibly. "Byers told me you left school. He got all mad at me, telling me to apologize." He kind of laughed, looking at me. "I just came to make sure you were okay—what's that?" His gaze landed on my bleeding finger, which I had been holding tightly, blood staining my fingers.
"It's nothing," I lied, trying to shut the door, but he pushed it back open with his foot. "Is that glass?" he asked me, stepping inside. "Steve, I'm fine. You can go now."
"At least let me help you clean this up." I sighed, and glanced at his pleading expression. "Fine," I said, retrieving a broom and dustpan from the kitchen closet.
He knelt down to hold the dustpan as I swept up the shards of broken glass. My hand had stopped pouring blood, but it still needed to be dealt with. "Listen, I know I've said some things that hurt your feelings," Steve began, but I didn't let him finish.
"Don't flatter yourself," I snapped. "I expected you to be a jerk from the start. The only thing that annoys me is that you can't seem to pick which side you're on." He picked up the dustpan and shook the glass into the trash. "I didn't know I had to pick sides."
"That's how it is in this world, Stevie." I looked at him, and he was looking around, as if he was trying to find an out. "Don't call me that."
I rolled my eyes at his weak arguments, and ambled over to the stairs. "Listen, I'm just gonna give you your clothes, and you're gonna leave, alright?" He nodded somberly, and I went upstairs to get his clothes from my room.
I picked up the plastic bag from beside my bed, and glanced out the window out of habit. I could see the driveway from here. I could also see my dad's car pulling in uncharacteristically early. I ran to the stairs and yelled over the banister. "Steve!"
Steve started and looked around for me. "Up here!" "What's wrong?" "My dad's home for some reason, and if he finds you here, my parents will send me to a reform school for troubled kids! Get up here!"
He followed me upstairs and into my room. I looked around frantically for somewhere to hide him. Once my dad saw my car, he'd know I was home and come up to my room to look for me. "Quick, under the bed!" I whispered in panic. Steve crawled underneath my messy bed, and I wondered if I would ever see him again. My mom called underneath my bed The Black Hole, so the odds were slightly stacked against him.
I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and I roughly nudged the uncovered half of Steve's body under the bed. My dad knocked twice, then opened the door, which didn't really have a point. "Lola, what's going on? Why are you home?" "Um," I stalled, trying to think. "I feel sick." I feigned a cough, and my dad raised an eyebrow.
His eyes started roaming my floor, as if searching for a sign that I was lying. I caught sight of Steve's hand sticking out slightly from where he was hiding, and I stepped on it. I covered his yelp of pain with another fit of fake coughing.
Apparently done with his search, my dad sighed. "Why are you acting so weird?" I froze. "Girl problems." He nodded awkwardly and left the room, and I crouched down to whisper to Steve. "You can come out now."
He rolled out slowly, bringing with him empty bags of chips and long lost socks. "I think you broke my finger," he grumbled softly, rubbing his hand gingerly. "Oh, don't be a pansy, Harrington," I laughed quietly, patting the side of his face.
He jerked his head away in disgust, but he was smiling in spite of himself. "Well, I'd better get back to school," he sighed, and mimed strangling himself. "Lunch ended a few minutes ago, anyway."
"Yeah, wouldn't want your loyal subjects to miss you," I said, but my tone was flat and cold, which wasn't how I meant it. "Uh, sure." Steve laughed nervously and gestured to the window. "See you tomorrow?" I shrugged awkwardly, and he opened the window slowly.
I caught sight of the plastic bag still thrown on my bed. "Steve," I said, going to the window, but he was already dropping to the ground and sprinting towards his car, which was parked across the street next to the sidewalk.
I threw the clothes off my bed and into the corner to join Mount Dirty Laundry. I had a free half day off from school, and that was a much more boastful accomplishment than becoming friends with Steve Harrington. Not even friends. Barely even acquaintances. But I guess you form a different bond with someone once you hide them under neath your bed and nearly break their hand.
