𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗲, steve harrington

26. COLLEGE ESSAYS

Approaching the library and seeing the scene, Steve's initial thought was just to let Billy do what he needed to do and then leave. The new guy didn't exactly strike him as someone who felt the need or felt at all comfortable in a library, and he predicted that he would have left the room just in time to shove past his shoulder and make some remark to him about Nancy running off. But after leaning against the wall trying to distract himself with the poster Tina had pinned up about her party, he had glanced at his watch and saw that only a minute had passed and there was absolutely no way he could wait any longer. Besides, he had seen the new sight of the tightening tension in her shoulders and that was a telltale sign of her being uncomfortable - and Billy was just a little too close for his liking.

Which is why he interrupted. He knew that Sadie would be able to handle it, and he had witnessed her do just that on several occasions. But never once when she was arguing with Eric or some dick who had made some comment about a part of her body had he seen her look so uncomfortable. And Steve had hated that. So he had stepped in.

And when Sadie requested that he left to go to his car whilst she completed her conversation, he had listened without question.

She had thanked him for waiting when she reached the car park and spoken to him through his rolled-down window, not saying much but a thank you and a promise to follow him in her own car to his house in order for them to study. Her eyes had flickered to the radio, which was still playing the same tape she had chosen the morning of Halloween and slipped over to her car as Billy left school, and had driven over to his house.

His mom wasn't there and so Sadie could park her car in the drive, Steve offering to take some of the stuff she had brought with her to help him with his essay and they had climbed up to his room the at looked over the now covered pool. There was an abundance of dead leaves on it, and she assumed that it didn't get much use. She was right, Steve didn't tend to go in too much no matter the season after what had happened there.

And now they were sitting in silence, Steve rifling through his larger box of tapes usually stashed under his bed, whilst Sadie read through his essay. She hadn't quite yet, and as she scanned the lines of messy handwriting that Steve knew he needed to take care of before sending in his final application, he couldn't read her expression like he did everyone else.

"It's shit, isn't it?" His back pressed against the wooden headboard of his bed, adjusting his pillows so that the edge didn't press into his back. At the end, shoes kicked off and legs tucked under her, Sadie forced her gaze away from reading. "You're thinking that it's utterly helpless, that nothing you do will end up with me having an essay that somewhat makes sense."

"Steve." Sadie stopped him in his tracks. "It's not shit. Yes, your choice in metaphors is... questionable - but you do have a brain, and it works pretty well, which means that you can easily have an essay that makes sense... there'll just have to be a little input first."

"You're too nice to me." Steve shook his head. "What do you think about ABBA?" He asked, thumb running along the marker-covered spine of plastic.

"I think that if you keep the volume turned down and its background music then it won't distract us too much." Sadie watched as he nodded, sliding the tape out and spinning it in the air, catching it as he stood up and put it in the awaiting slot. As if knowing she was watching, he made a show of turning the dial anti-clockwise from its previous position before coming to sit in front of her again.

"So, you don't think I'm entirely hopeless?" Steve really hoped that it didn't look like he was begging for someone to tell him that there was any chance of handing in a viable essay, because he really was fed up at people scoffing over it and then never helping him adjust to what the admissions office was looking for. "I'm not really an essay person, I don't think, so nothing I write will ever be as good as-"