( Saturday, November 10th 1984 )
THE last time Julie had ever been to school on a Saturday was for a home soccer game last year, and fast forward the clock to present day and she's ambling across the library in a lilac ribbed shirt and some denim dungarees that clattered with each step louder than her Converses against wood.
"Morning, Julie."
"Morning," she mumbled, barely glimpsing at Principal Mueller stood behind the librarian's desk. Even on a Saturday, she was dressed sharp and classy.
Julie parked herself at a table two rows back on the left-hand side of the aisle, and lowered her messenger bag onto the seat beside her.
"We're expecting two more."
"Who?" she sat down, immediately digging for her weekend read.
"Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington," Principal Mueller recited from the register.
Even with Julie's hand clutching the book in the bottom of her bag, she admittedly froze.
She couldn't escape the kid, not that she was actively trying to, but she had gone three years of her academic career without uttering a word to this boy, only to come face to face with him twice, and now three times, within the last week.
Or so she thought less and less as the overhanging clock ticked against the concave wall arching above the landing to the stacks deck.
Once it had reached five minutes past ten, Principal Mueller said, "I'll give them ten more minutes," and sat herself down for the time being.
Nine minutes pass, and the shiny, dark head of hair with the black eye waltzes through the door. He looked like such a pretty boy, down to his striped shirt rolled up at the sleeves and ironically showing off his watch, his navy blue gilet and some denim jeans that met his pristine sneakers. There had to be some power in looking like that.
"You're late," Principal Mueller informed sternly.
"Sorry, it won't happen again." He sounded sincere.
"Let's just hope there isn't another chair in this room with your name on it again, shall we?"
Passing the brunette by, Steve watched her keep her fixed attention on the book she was reading. Of all people, of course she had to be here.
He plonked himself down three rows back on the right-hand side of the aisle, shrugging back comfortably and outstretching his hand against the table.
"Have you seen the other troublemaker?" asks Principal Mueller between quietly taking the register.
"No, I haven't."
"Then I suppose it's fair to assume he's not going to be in attendance." She hit the pen down and administrated something into the library computer.
The clicks of each keyboard filled the silence of the room, but that wasn't the reason Julie couldn't bring herself to focus. She could feel eyes boring into the side of her head.
She looked up at nothing in particular, trying to decide if it was a shadowed moment of paranoia shading her better judgment. But the feeling didn't shift. The keyboard still chipped through the space of the library, clicking agonisingly slow with Principal Mueller's unexperienced efforts.
When she glanced over her shoulder, Steve looked away, pretending to have been staring ahead and lightly drumming his fingers against the table.
"Alright." The keys clicking stop.
Julie rolled her eyes at his lack of subtly.
"The both of you are seniors due to graduate any day now, so I want you to do something a little different today," Principal Mueller continued, now standing up. "You're going to write a letter addressed to your future self. I don't want it to be truthful, I want it to be honest."
"Isn't that just the same thing?" Steve asked bemusedly.
"No." Principal Mueller rounded the desk, leaning against it with her hands at either side. "I don't want something realistic and grounded in fact. I want it to be reflective of what either of you have done that has resulted in you sitting where you are right now. Try to think about what you've learnt from the poor decisions you've made and how you intend to grow from them."
They both silently wondered what either of them did to end up there.
"Does that sound doable?"
Julie nodded, whilst Steve did no more than purse his lips and quirk his eyebrows. But it's enough to work up a satisfied smile from Principal Mueller, who pulled herself up from off the table.
"Fantastic."
"What do we do once we finish the letter?"
Steve's eyes shot to Julie, surprised to hear her voice. It was flat with an inflection of politeness that he hadn't heard from her before.
"Well, you're in a library. You can study or, better yet, sit in silence and take some long and grounding time to really reflect on your actions."
Julie could hear the traces of mordacity in her principal's tone, and it made her clench her teeth irritatedly.
"I'll be in and out to check in from time to time, but the vast majority of today I will be gone to attend to some duties. I trust you both to behave accordingly." She cocked her head pointedly, "Don't make me regret it."
The sound of her clunking heels carried their way down the hallway upon her leave, echoing through the open library door.
Steve lips trilled exhaustedly and his shoulders sank. He didn't know what to do with himself. He was given an instruction, but he didn't have the means to complete it.
When he looked over at Julie, she was sliding her book to one side and taking a notepad out of her bag instead, followed by a pencil case. Everything was so quiet that the sound of her movements and velcro pierced through the space alone.
"Hey, uh..."
Julie glanced over her shoulder again. In spite of her apathy, Steve was sure she had murder on her mind.
"Is it okay if I borrowed some paper? I didn't bring my backpack because I didn't think we'd get homework," he laughed lamely, then suddenly lost her eyes.
"Yeah, okay," she muttered.
If it wasn't so quiet, Steve was sure he wouldn't have caught it. He was stunned to say the least. "Thanks."
She turned around in her seat and began to rip two pages in her notepad. Steve met her at her table, watching as she carefully pulled at the dotted tear line and held out the lined paper without looking him in the eye.
"And a pen."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Or a pencil. Beggars can't be choosers and all."
She bit her tongue, blinking twice before digging for a pen and handing that over, too.
"Thank you."
Once he walked away, she picked up a pencil of her own.
Steve slipped back into his seat and once he settled, he twiddled the pen between his fingers and gnawed on the inside of his gum as he tried to think up a starting point.
It didn't help that the last piece of self-reflection put down to paper ended up crumbled and lying in the backseat of his car until a middle schooler found it and made it sound substantially better.
Although, this letter didn't sound the same as a college application. Sure, they're both as exposing, but beyond the surface level difference of what they require, there was a difference in who was reading his words. How much could he bare to admit—to his principal no less?
He started to wonder about Julie too. He didn't stare at her for too long, afraid of being caught again, but she twisted her pencil back and forth against the side of her head as if trying to gear her brain into thinking.
Her sheets of paper were no doubt just as blank as his.
He twiddled his pen again, and he wasn't sure how long he had been doing so when the sound of lead finally cut through the air.
She was writing something.
And something turned into a lot.
A lot turning into what felt like never ending.
Until it stopped and she sharply turned around. "Can you stop staring?"
"Sorry," Steve shuffled in his seat a little. "I didn't realise I was."
"Well, you are and it's freaking me out."
"Sorry. It's just..."
Julie's eyebrows rose, prompting him to get to a point.
"How did you end up here? You don't strike me as the kind of person that gets detentions, let alone Saturdays."
"And just out of interest," she turned in her seat more, resting her elbow on the back of her chair, "what kind of person do I strike you as?"
"The kind that's too smart to let themselves get into shit."
"Well, I guess people aren't always what they seem." Even though she was smiling, it was spiked with a venom Steve could tell she wanted to poison him with from across the room.
"Did I do something to offend you?" he asked bemusedly. "You just seem pissed off or something."
"Am I supposed to be happy that I'm in detention on a Saturday?"
He sealed his lips shut. "Point taken."
Julie observed him now that he had chosen to surrender and drop his focus on her. She couldn't decide if he cared to know or if he was just trying to make conversation and avert from the awkwardness of an uncomfortable silence.
But she sat back again and proceeded pushing her pencil.
She was about two arrows and three bullet points along when Steve asked, "What did you do to end up here?"
"I pulled the fire alarm," she says without turning around.
"That was you?"
"Yeah," she smiles at the noticeable shock in his voice. "Then I sold crack to freshmen in my free period, played hooky during my fifth. It's a miracle I got let off the hook so easy."
"Fine. Don't tell me. I was just trying to be nice."
After a long moment, Julie's smile faltered and her hand stopped moving. It was one guilty heartstring that played itself in the pit of her chest, but it was enough to make her turn around in spite of her begrudging reluctance.
Steve was writing sulkily.
"Some girls ratted on me for smoking in a bathroom stall."
Steve looked up.
"Just before you called after me at school the other day, so... if I was a bitch to you then, that's probably why. And I'm sorry."
Steve couldn't decide what he was more surprised by in her confession, but his foul mood disappeared. "I accept your apology."
"Okay, you don't have to be a dick about it," she rolled her eyes.
"I wasn't trying to be a dick."
"Well, you just sounded like a dick."
"Then I'm sorry for sounding like a dick."
She regarded him for a long moment, surprised by how well he kept up.
"I accept your apology," she mimicked him, and Steve wasn't sure why, but he smiled regardless.
"I got into a fight with Tommy H," he admitted, earning Julie's genuine attention. "He was the other person that was supposed to be here today."
"Over what?"
"It was stupid. I let some crap he said get to me and I should've had thicker skin."
She angled her body towards him more. "Is that where you got the shiner from?"
"No, that was a different fight."
"Jesus," she scoffed a laugh, "I didn't know you were such a punk, Harrington."
"They weren't normal occurrences to say the least."
"Well, did you at least win?"
"I kicked their asses," he jested.
"Damn," she uttered, picking up on it. "That means if you had a black eye..."
"You should have seen the other guy."
She laughed, and Steve couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. Making her laugh felt like a real accomplishment, and even more than that, her laughter wasn't a terrible thing to hear.
"No, I had my ass handed to me."
Her head jerked forward with incredulity. "By Tommy H?"
"No, the guy probably has a concussion."
"Well, it's not like he can lose a brain he never had."
"It's the mouth I really wish I had done something about," he smiles, and she smiles, too. He gestures to his left eye, "But as for the panda patch, that was all Billy Hargrove. The dude's a piece of work."
"Don't you run in the same circles as these guys? Are you not friends?"
"Billy?" he almost laughs. "Never."
Her eyes narrowed at the way something in him began to shift, almost like he was a little disheartened.
"But Tommy H..." He nods. "We used to be. But that's a long story."
Julie sighed dramatically. "If only we had time."
Steve picked up his eyes, finding her's easily, and her lips twisted up into a slanted smile. She was teasing him, but not like before. She wasn't trying to work up a nerve in him or stalling any deflected irritation she was feeling.
This time she was showing she cared. And for one reason or another, Steve truly believed that she did.