( Wednesday, November 7th 1984 )
TOBACCO had decorated the bottom of her bag between the cracks of textbooks and her notepad alike. She was cursing herself, hidden in a girls' bathroom stall on the ground floor of Hawkins High. A split cigarette was the culprit—the box crushed underneath the weight of her education.
"You've gotta be shittin' me."
The bathroom door opened.
"Apparently it was really dramatic," a whiney-sounding girl says over two pairs of footsteps clomping against the tiled floor. "She was hammered and Linda saw Steve Harrington running out the restroom at Tina's the other night."
They stop walking as a shadow trickled under the door of Julie's stall. She could imagine the gossips fixing their lipgloss and pimping their hair in the mirror in the exact way that they were.
"God," another girl scoffs, her voice a little hoarser. "Nancy Wheeler... Isn't she just full of surprises?"
"I just can't believe she messed up that badly."
"Are you kidding? She probably got tired of him. The guy is not what he used to be."
Julie rolled her eyes, growing bored of the dirt they had to dish on people they clearly didn't know personally. Instead, she went back to rummaging through her bag for a lighter.
"I can hardly blame her really," the hoarser-sounding girl continued, "even if she has gone a little berserk since last year."
"He certainly looks the same and that is all that matters to me."
"He's still no Billy Hargrove."
Finally finding a silver lighter at the bottom of her bag, she made horrible attempts at lighting the cigarette between her lips. Clicking it once... then a second time... and then a third.
Had she been listening, she might have caught onto the lowering of the girls' voices. "Shh," one whispered to the other.
She deeply inhaled and breathed out the smoke into the boxed space, leaning back as she let herself deflate.
She caught onto nothing more than faint laughter, incomprehensible whispers and footsteps before the bathroom door opened and closed again.
The bathroom was mostly quiet, subsiding the mild chatter from the hallway that was diluted by the walls, and she felt as relaxed as she usually did when she was alone.
It was only high school, but she was counting down the days until she graduated. Every second spent alone in a stall or simply driving off the school lot with the stereo playing her favourite songs felt like coming up for air after hours of swimming underwater.
Four drags later with her head rested against the wall behind her for a minute at a time in between, the door opens and closes again.
Heels clunk against the room, swallowing the space with each step. Until they stop, right outside Julie's cubicle.
"Put it out."
That voice wasn't hoarse or whiney. It was clear, assertive and mature. There was no mistaking it.
Principal Mueller is notoriously the unsparing type. She doesn't spare sympathy or understanding for insolence, disrespect nor a direct defile of rules. But as Julie sat across from the principal in her office, it was clear the middle-aged woman was defying rules of her own.
She seemed warmer—disappointed even. The contents of Julie's bag were laid out on the desk dividing them: cigarettes, two textbooks, a notepad, a pencil case, a walkman, headphones, a novel she was reading leisurely and Steve Harrington's Ray-Bans.
"I thought we had a mutual understanding? Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't appear that I'm being understood very clearly."
Julie didn't have anything to say that was worthy of hearing because she simply didn't regret her actions. Her only regret was neglecting to wait until the two girls gossiped their way out the room. The way she saw it, she had it coming.
"Ms Kelley's office is always open. You are allowed to walk in whenever you see fit—"
"I'm fine."
Principal Mueller cocked her head. "I might have believed you more if this wasn't the first time we've been in this position. This isn't a nice position to be put in, Julie."
That's when she began to feel the cement beginning to crack. Being spoken to with such warmth somehow felt more torturous than being yelled at.
"You are such a bright young girl with an even brighter future ahead of you. With the way your grades have tracked over the years, you're an easy frontrunner for valedictorian. But as for your behaviour, I am concerned."
Julie wanted nothing more than the ground to open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
"You and I both know that this is all extremely out of character, don't we?"
"Can we just skip to the part where you suspend me?" she asked, noticing the subtle cinch of her principal's eyebrows underneath her dark curtained bangs. "Please? You told me that if I was caught smoking on school premises again, I would be suspended."
"Your situation, however, would qualify as an extenuating circumstance."
"I don't want to be an extenuating circumstance. I want to be treated like anyone else."
Principal Mueller's silence told Julie she was weighing out her options, but it was unbearably palpable. She was suffocating in the anticipation of what she would decide.
"I'm not going to suspend you," she concluded, causing Julie to leap forward with dispute. "But," Principal Mueller continues before the young brunette can interject, "I am going to put you on behavioural report and give you a Saturday detention."
Julie sank back into her seat.
"I really do believe in you. It's just a matter of taking the steps in order to get you to believe in yourself again."
Julie wanted nothing more than to roll her eyes, but suppressed the urge deep down and silently packed her messenger bag. She swung it over her shoulder and headed towards the door.
"Julie, your report."
She marched her way back and took the folded card that she hadn't noticed Principal Mueller put together for her, before she was disappearing behind the door again.
The hall was a lot emptier now that fourth period had started, with the few students with frees heading somewhere. But Julie didn't notice any of them with each step that she took, too busy reading Principal Mueller's handwriting. Along the dotted lines, she answered that the report belonged to Julie and she was the one who assigned it to her.
"Eileen!"
What Julie truly wanted to do was scrunch up the paper and toss it across the floor.
"Eileen, wait up!" It took the second call to process that Julie recognised that voice.
When she looked over her shoulder, that shiny head of hair was racing towards her, bouncing with his steady jog. It was until he was less than a couple metres away that she noticed the dark ring around his left eye and the busted lip, but she chose to pretend that she hadn't.
"What did you just call me?"
"Eileen," he stopped before her, exhaling to catch his breath. "Your name."
"That's not my name."
"But it was on your apron."
"You mean my mom's name was on my mom's apron."
"Oh," Steve's hands rested on his hips.
"Yeah. Oh. She was busy Saturday, so I was covering for her."
"Then what is your name?"
"Julie. It's a shame we weren't in high school together for four years or you might've known that," she smiled sarcastically.
"Yeah, that's fair."
"Mm," Julie's smile turned slightly smug. But then, it was like she couldn't hold it anymore and concern got the better of her. "What happened to your face?"
"Doesn't matter—"
"No, wait, let me guess," she points with her hand holding the report card. "Your girlfriend's a tulip kind of woman."
Steve chose to ignore her teasing. "I left my shades at the shop."
Julie didn't have to hear anymore, beginning to dig in her bag for them, but that didn't stop him.
"I went down there to pick 'em up yesterday, but your mom, I'm guessing, said she didn't see anything."
She finally spotted them, taking them out and dusting off the few strays of tobacco riddling the lenses before extending them forward.
He was a little stunned, accepting them nonetheless. "Thanks."
"Is that all?" she asked abruptly.
It caught him off guard. "Yeah." He shuffled on his feet, "Yeah, I guess."
"Sweet." She pursed her lips and turned around to leave him alone once again.
He wasn't sure why he was so shocked she pulled the plug on the conversation so quickly, especially because he only found her to ask for one thing. But even still, he couldn't bring himself to move.
He tapped his sunglasses against his palm, watching brown waves, half-pinned back, swaying back and forth with each sharp step across the hallway. He couldn't pin point what he was thinking no less than he could pin point what he was feeling. But he stood and watched until she finally turned a corner and disappeared. Out of sight and out of mind once again.