TWENTY-FOUR
— just like your mother
ONCE, THEY HAD tried to make the diner a hangout spot. Some kids had the movie theater, others had the field by the train tracks, the community pool. What did they (Lucy, Danny, and Steve) want? The diner— Tom's Diner, or just Tom's. It was comfortable, with rows of booths, and aesthetically pleasing, with vintage photos and random autographed t-shirts. She had been the one to initiate it, with a craving for french fries— even in present day, Lucy wished she hadn't mentioned anything.
Her brother didn't mean any harm, not purposefully. While Steve chowed on a burger, and Lucy picked at her fries, Daniel sipped at a Coca-Cola. It was the nicest bottle of Coke he had ever seen— it was fancy, and in glass. Long story short, he slipped a mento into the drink, it exploded, and the diner owners were rightfully pissed. His two friend (one being his twin sister) sprinted from the restaurant, leaving him, the culprit, to face the consequences.
Point is— Daniel's face was framed in the Tom's Diner, and none of the three returned.
A milkshake was tempting, though, and they caved into the idea of it. Car keys looped around his fingers, Steve peeled his eyes away from the framed photo of Danny, ignoring the large, bolded letters, which read, 'BANNED'. Shifting his attention forward, he squinted at the menu. "Two vanilla milkshakes?"
She side-eyed him, lips pursed. "What kind of freak gets a vanilla milkshake?"
Taken aback by her harshness, Steve placed a hand on his chest. "Me..." he spoke. "I get vanilla milkshakes."
"Figures," she said, eyes wide. Steve pulled the wallet out of his back-pocket, and stepped up to order. In a polite tone, he asked a vanilla milkshake, one straw. Stepping aside, he allowed Lucy to order— she asked for chocolate.
Then, a man stepped from the kitchen— Tom, maybe?— and glanced at the teens. He sent them a smile, to which they returned, and he turned on his heels. Now facing the photo on the wall, the one of Daniel, the man squinted his eyes. Slowly, painfully slow, he turned to look at Lucy, and then back at the framed photo. She blinked, smile falling, watching as the man glanced between her and the picture one more time. Finally, there were two milkshakes in the hands of Steve.
She tugged on his windbreaker. "Come on!" the girl urged, in a whisper-shout. "That man got suspicious! He saw that I looked like the picture of his least favorite costumer."
Brow furrowed, Steve took a sip of the milkshake. "Huh?"
"Danny!" he flicked his forehead, gesturing to the 'BANNED' picture. "I'm not staying in here, Tom'll make a scene."
His eyes went wide. "That's Tom?" Steve sputtered, his mouth full.
She screwed her eyes shut in frustration. "I don't know!" Lucy whispered, between her teeth. Dragging him by the collar of his jacket, they exited the diner, and stepped out into the cool November air.
A moment passed, and Steve sat on the curb. Vanilla milkshake in hand, he took another sip. "So, we're sitting outside, in the cold," he began. "Because, you're afraid of Tom?"
She nodded. "Precisely," Lucy spoke. "If that's even Tom..." Drinking her milkshake, the girl hummed in satisfaction. "Chocolate is just better."
Steve widened his eyes. "Whatever you say, Hop."
They sipped silently at their drinks. Then, a car breezed past— it was shockingly fast, and both of them backed up. Her hair blew back (so did his), and they glanced at each other, eyes wide with surprise. Then, Lucy smiled. A laugh unraveled from her lips, and she couldn't stop.
"What's so funny?" he resisted the urge to chuckle, brow furrowed.
She shook her head. "No, it's not funny at all. It's just—" Lucy cupped a hand around her mouth. "Imagine, that car made a bad turn, or something. Then, we would've been made pancakes outside of Tom's Diner."
Steve scoffed, amused. "Why was that the first thing you thought of?"
"I don't know!" she crossed her legs, smiling. "Because, in my obituary, it would've said I died with Steve Harrington— I'd come back from the dead, just to murder the editor."
He choked on his milkshake. "What did I do?"
She sighed, letting her chest fall flat. Blinking, Lucy turned to him. "Nothing, everything. I don't know," she shrugged. "I guess— if I died next to you last year, I'd be pissed."
Steve blinked. "And, this year?"
Lucy swirled her straw in the milkshake. "This year..." she began. "Maybe, I'd be okay with it."
A grin tugged on his lips. Nodding, he sighed. "I'll take it."
She nodded, as well. "I'll call a truce with you, Stevie."
His brow twitched. "A truce?" he tilted his head. "I didn't know we were fighting."
"Oh, we were," she replied, fighting the smirk on her lips. "We can be friends now, though."
Steve's shoulders fell. He looked away, nodded, and put his attention back on the milkshake. Lips pursed, he plucked the cherry from his milkshake, twisting the stem in between his fingers. "I fuckin' hate this things," he spoke, grimacing.
Her brows raised. "You don't like maraschino cherries?" She was staring at him like he had six heads, "Get out."
Steve shook his head. "I can't even think of them without gagging," he shuddered, "What, do you want it?"
"Yes, please," she smiled. "I ate mine the second you handed me my shake— the millisecond, even."
Steve scoffed and held the cherry up, still delicately pinching it by the stem. He shifted his arm over and held it before the girls face. "It's all yours, Hop."
Lucy grinned and opened her mouth, biting just the cherry and yanking it from the stem. A smile tugged on his lips, and he watched as she chomped at the artificial fruit. Sighing in satisfaction, she rubbed her hands together. "Jesus Christ, it's freezing," her teeth chattered. "We should've stayed inside— you're an idiot for not yanking me back in."
"Yeah, you're an idiot for not bringing a jacket," he shot back. Steve was right; Lucy had on nothing but a thin, brown, long sleeve. Without hesitating, he set his cup down. "Here."
She watched as Steve began peeling his jacket off. It was the one he always wore— a gray, zip-up windbreaker— she knew he liked it. Shaking her head, Lucy backed up. "I'm not taking your pity jacket, Harrington."
"If you get frostbite, your dad will strangle me," Steve insisted. He didn't wait for her to speak, he just placed it on the girls shoulder and moved the sleeves, so they covered her. "I'm not letting you deny it."
Lucy shot him a look. She pursed her lips, eyes darting straight ahead. With one, simple movement, she craned her neck, so her hair fell out from behind her ears— they turned red when she was nervous, and she didn't want him to see. Sipping the last of her drink, Lucy glanced at her watch. She cleared her throat, "I should head home," the girl said. "But, thanks for the milkshake— and, let me know how it goes with Nance."
Nancy. The name rang in her hand, like a constant, looming reminder of Halloween night. She wanted to apologize, to set things right, and make sure they were never apart like this again. The last time they spoke, it was hanging over her, like a cloud. And, Steve... God, Steve. If only, he wasn't Nancy's ex-boyfriend— it was making things a hell of a lot more complicated.
The sun was long gone from the sky when she was returning home. Bright, twinkling stars danced in the atmosphere above, as she trudged through the woods, hands messily swatting at stray tree branches. The cabin wasn't far from where she parked, and she could see the lights were on. Oddly enough, Lucy wasn't mad at Steve for keeping her out late— usually, she'd curse him out, tell him she'd get him arrested. Now, though— it was different. She was just upset she had missed the new episode of Miami Vice; she figured they had watched it without her.
Her chest fell with a sigh. Knocking at the wooden door, Lucy pursed her lips. Once, twice, three times— she had given up on the secret signal; no one was answering. Pounding, now, she began shouting. "Dad! Would you let me in?"
The door flung open. With a heaving chest, Hopper looked down at her. "Your sister... left the house today," he spoke, between breaths. "Did you know what, Lucy?"
She hesitated. Swallowing dryly, her eyes shot towards Daniel— he didn't shout a witty remark, he didn't make a mocking face at her. Instead, he sat, a genuinely concerned look drawn on his face. Blinking, she averted her gaze back towards Jim. "Yeah," she mumbled. "I saw her at the middle school."
A hand flew up to his brow. It was almost like he was expecting it, like he has predicted the inevitable. "Christ," he mumbled, between his teeth. "You saw her, and you didn't think to call me?"
Lucy's lips twitched. "I'm sorry, Dad— I didn't think anyone would see her," she said. "What happened?"
He took off, walking towards Eleven's room. "She lied, she disobeyed," he spoke. "And now, she's grounded." El slammed her hands against the wall. Chest heaving, the younger girl grumbled. She was furious.
Jim continued. "Know what that means? No Eggos... and no TV. For a week," the man walked over to the television, and when he tried to lift it, it stayed put. El stared intensely, holding the object down with her mind. He huffed, "Knock it off, let go."
Her nose was bleeding, now, and the room grew more tense. "Two weeks," he tried again, failing. Shouting, Jim turned to her. "Let go! A month."
Eleven gritted her teeth. "No!"
Hopper had lost his patience. With a hand on his hip, he spoke. "Congratulations," Jim sighed. "You just graduated from no TV for a month, to no TV at all!"
Her face fell. "No!" El watched in horror as Jim ripped the plug to the television, causing it to shut down permanently. "No! No!"
The man paced. "You have to learn that there are consequences to your action."
"You are like Papa!" Eleven screamed, whipping her body around to face the man.
He chuckled. "Really?" Jim's eyes widened. "I'm like that psychotic son of a bitch? Wow! You wanna go back to the lab?"
Caught off guard, Lucy felt her brow furrowed. "Dad!" she shouted, shaking her head. "Stop."
Jim continued. "One phone call and I can make that happen."
"Quit threatening her," she said, firmly. Gaze darting left, she made eye contact with her brother— he sunk into the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, shock pulling over his features.
Eleven's lips twitched. "I hate you," she spat, pointing a threatening finger at the man.
He chuckled. "I'm not so crazy about you either," Hopper said. "Know why? Cause you're a brat. Know what that means? That's your word for the day. B-R-A-T." Picking up the dictionary, the man tossed it to El— she stopped it, midair, and send the book flying back.
Lucy pushed the hair from her face, stressed. "El," she murmured, shaking her head.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jim shouted, stepping forwards the younger girl. She darted her head, sofa crushing his legs between the wall. Slamming the door behind her, Jim followed, angrily.
He slammed his fists on the door. "Open this door! Open the door!"
Growing stressed, Lucy shouted. "Dad, just leave it!" she said, begging.
"She's had enough, stop!" Daniel spoke, standing from the sofa. His eyes were wide, and his tone was rough.
Jim continued. "You wanna go out in the world? You better grow up!" he slammed his fist on the door. "Grow the hell up!"
Eleven screamed, her throat raw, and chest constricting. Then, the windows shattered. It was the last thing she expected— why would she expect the windows to explode? A string of curses fell from her lips, and she ducked down, hands over her head. She felt glass shards bounce against her skin, and the shattering noise itself was enough to make her cringe.
Eyes bloodshot, Lucy stood straight. Her chest heaved, heart hammering in her chest. Stepping forward, glass crunched beneath her sneakers. "Why?" she huffed. "Why do you do this?"
Jim snapped his head left. Already upset, he seethed at his daughter. "Why do I do this?" he spoke. "You encourage her!"
"She's thirteen!" Lucy fought, shouting. "I don't encourage her, okay? I just don't like to see her miserable."
He rubbed his face, stressed. "You're sixteen, Lucy," Hopper groaned. "Grow up."
She scoffed. "Don't tell me to grow up," she said. "You're just crazy. Can't pin it on other people, not this time— you're the reason she's miserable."
Jim laughed. He ran a hand down his face. "You're just like your mother, you know that?"
Brow furrowed, Lucy gave him a look. "What the hell does that mean?"
"You ruin things, and you blame other people," Jim explained. "You ruined what we had going— Jesus, Luce, you could've just called! Just like your god damn mother." He started pacing.
"Dad!" Danny shouted, stressed. "Don't make it worse, leave her."
She turned away, chest heaving. "Quit bringing her up— you say I blame other people, for my mistakes? God, Dad, then I'm just like you." Lucy gestured his direction. "You're insane! Look at this house— glass everywhere, it's a mess, because of you!"
Daniel tugged at his sisters arm. "Lucy, just stop!"
"Stop acting like a child!" he threw his hands in the air, "Take responsibility for your actions— if you hadn't encouraged her, none of this would've happened!"
Tears threatened Lucy's eyes. She opened the door to the cabin, chest rising and falling, rapidly. "Fuck you."
He kicked the glass beneath his feet. Adrenaline pumping, Jim waved a dismissive hand at his daughter. "You hate me so much?— then leave," he spoke. "I don't want you here, now, anyway."
Danny shot his eyes between them. "Can you guys just calm down?" he shouted. "Luce, stop!"
She yanked her keys from her pockets, lips pursed. Lucy opened the door to her car, desperately trying to start the vehicle. The engine revved up, but failed, sputtering as she continued the turn the keys. Rain began to patter on the windshield, and the few drops turned into a complete pour down. "No, no," she muttered, voice shaking. "No."
She let warm tears stream down her cheeks. "Piece of shit!" Lucy shouted, slamming her palm against the wheel of her car. Stepping from the vehicle, she ran to the side of the cabin, snatched her rusty bike, and kicked a leg over it. Despite the pouring rain, Lucy used all of her strength to ride that bike. She pedaled, and pedaled, a mixture of tears and raindrops falling down her flushed face. She tried her hardest not to cry, really, but this fight was different. So, she let it happen. She cried, and cried, and cried— and she did it all the way to Steve Harrington's house.
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DAISY JONES & THE SIX DAYYYYY 😊😊😊😊
like up my new edit but there's spoilers DONT SPOIL IF U HAVENT READ ALREADY unless u want @ steveharringtonlvrwp