Ambivalence

S3 Chapter 19 - The Case of The Missing Lifeguard

Erica's persistent ringing of the service bell jolts me out of my trance, disrupting the tranquil atmosphere of the room. With a sigh, I tear my gaze away from whatever reverie had ensnared me, stealing a quick glance out of the glass window to ensure Robin hasn't been distracted. To my mild irritation, I find a young Sinclair and her companions.

"Where's the sailor man?" Erica grumbles impatiently.

"Sorry, he can't help you right now. He's busy," I reply casually.

"You don't even work here." Erica scrutinizes me briefly before returning her cynical gaze to Robin. "Busy with what?"

"Spycraft," Robin declares dramatically, failing to impress the 10-year-old.

***

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." Steve scoffs, peering through the binoculars hidden behind some artificial foliage in the fake mall environment.

"What?" Dustin interjects, eager to contribute to their covert operation against the perceived threat of Russian spies.

"Anna Jacobi's talking with that meathead Mark Lewinsky," Steve mutters with disdain.

"Dude, if you're not gonna focus, just give me the binoculars," Dustin retorts, frustrated with Steve's lack of attention to the task at hand.

"Aw, come on. Whatever happened to standards? I mean, Lewinsky never even came off the bench," Steve gripes.

"Dude, you are the worst spy in history, you know that?" Dustin remarks, wresting the binoculars from Steve's grasp.

"Stop it, hey. Stop," Steve protests as he struggles with the loop around his neck.

"Give me those," Dustin demands, finally taking control of the binoculars. "Besides, I don't get why you're fixating on girls. You have the perfect one right in front of you."

Steve shakes his head. "Seriously, if you say Y/n again—"

"Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n," Dustin repeats, teasingly.

"No, don't. No," Steve pleads.

"Y/n, Y/n," Dustin persists.

"Stop, no, no, no," Steve insists.

"Y/n," Dustin continues, undeterred.

"No!" Steve exclaims. "No, man, she's not my type. She's not even...in the ballpark of what my type is, all right?"

"What's your type again? Not awesome?" Dustin quips.

Steve nods. "Thank you."

"Hm," Dustin hums thoughtfully.

"For your information, she's probably going away to school. And she's weird, I mean she's a Byers. She's a weirdo. And recently she's gotten hyper, and bossy, and—"

"Totally cool? I mean, all you do is talk about each other," Dustin interrupts.

Steve sighs. "And she went to prom with that super senior! I mean, that's a bad look."

"You're just upset that she didn't go with you," Dustin suggests, sassily. "Now that you're out of high school, which means you're technically an adult, don't you think it's time you move on from primitive constructs such as popularity?"

The brown-eyed boy nods skeptically. "Oh, primitive constructs? That some stupid shit you learned at Camp...Know...Nothing."

"Camp Know Where, actually. And no, it's shit I learned from life," Dustin retorts.

"Instead of dating somebody you think's gonna make you cooler, why not date somebody you actually enjoy being around? Like me and Suzie," Dustin suggests earnestly.

"Oh, Suzie. Yeah, you mean, 'hotter than Phoebe Cates.' Yeah, that Suzie. And, uh, let's think about how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend? Oh, yeah. With my advice. Because that's how this works, Henderson. I give you the advice, you follow through. Not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?" Steve counters.

"Listen, Steve. All I'm saying is that she totally likes you. Hello? Last night at the roller rink? She told me all about it on the drive over here. It actually sounded kinda sad how you two just constantly dance around each other," Dustin reveals, his tone shifting to one of sympathy. "It's pitiful, I mean pitiful."

Steve nods irritably before refocusing on their surveillance mission.

***

I stand by the podium, warmly welcoming each guest and meticulously scrutinizing their tickets as they enter and exit the theater. Amidst the steady stream of faces, my gaze locks on a familiar figure clad in sailor attire.

"Did you get lost at sea?" I jab, a playful grin forming on my lips.

"Haha, very funny, Y/n," Steve responds, his hands finding their way to his hips as he indulges in good-natured banter. "Robin cracked the code. Meet us on the roof by the delivery trucks after your shift's over."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Shit, really? Uhm, okay," I reply, a mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling within me. "Better leave before my manager sees me talking to you." I avert my gaze, feeling a pang of awkwardness. Steve's impromptu visits during my shifts are a rare occurrence.

"Right..." Steve murmurs, a hint of uncertainty coloring his tone as he processes the unusual situation.

I emerge from the top of the stairwell, greeted by the relentless downpour that drenches me instantly. Ignoring the discomfort, I stand resolute, coatless, rain cascading down my face, penetrating my white button-up shirt and red vest. Spotting the three delinquents huddled by the ledge, I mimic their posture, moving stealthily towards them, hoping to avoid detection.

"Hey," I whisper, causing the trio to swivel their heads in my direction. Raindrops streak my vision, but I manage to make out Steve's gesture, offering his coat to shield me from the deluge.

I shake my head, declining the offer. He insists and places it a top of my shoulders.

"We're on the lookout for Imperial Panda and Kaufman shoes," Robin informs Dustin, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

"They're with that whistling guy, ten o'clock," Dustin responds, pointing in the indicated direction.

"What do you think's in there?" Steve redirects his attention to me and Dustin.

"Guns, bombs?" I speculate.

"Chemical weapons?" Robin suggests from the other side.

"Whatever it is, they're armed to the teeth," Dustin adds grimly.

"Great," Steve mutters, wiping rainwater from his eyes. "That's just great."

As a room opens up to the delivery men, Robin calls out, "Hey, what's in there?"

"It's just more boxes," comes the reply.

"Lemme check it out," Steve moves to grab the goggles from Dustin hastily.

"No, I'm still looking," Dustin protests, resisting Steve's grasp.

"Steve, leave him alone," I interject firmly.

"Hang on!" Dustin argues, managing to tug the goggles away, resulting in a loud smack on the roof, reverberating through the lot.

"Duck!" I instinctively exclaim, and we all scramble, collapsing onto our backs in a panicked heap. In the chaos, Steve's hand finds mine, and we cling to each other momentarily, our breaths shallow and frantic. As the moment passes, he releases his grip.

We hastily retreat through the mall's backdoors, our hearts racing.

"Well, I think we found your Russians," Robin pants, her voice tinged with exhaustion.