I really despise the Marvelification of Stranger Things, because all the interviews nowadays are constantly referencing how fast paced and epic and big the finale will be but the reason people fell in love with the show wasn't special effects or long episodes; it was the plot, it was the characters, it was the mystery. Stranger Things 1 may have been a story about a government conspiracy and a monster, but that's not why we stuck around. The show can throw amazing CGI, Russians, a battle within the American army and an apocalypse at the audience with the biggest budget known to man but if they forget to ground it and keep it central, it'll just get lost amongst a plethora of other "epic" blockbusters. We want Steven King, not Avengers.
summary: It’s the Fourth of July 1983, and you keep running into your neighbor, Steve Harrington. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. But is it a coincidence that every single time, it feels like he’s watching you?
Steve rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a lot less like the confident King Steve everyone knew. “Not like… all the time. Just, you know. Around.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Around? Sounds like you’re the one lurking, Harrington.”
pairing: steve harrington x sinclair!reader
warnings: none!
word count: 5.6k
a/n: welcome to the first "chapter" of just across the driveway! i decided to include a prologue for shits and giggles. chapter one should be out (hopefully) soon!
--
Swish.
The sound of your basketball gliding seamlessly through the net filled the driveway. Accompanied by the scuffing of your shoes and the steady metronome of the basketball falling to the pavement.
Walking over, you picked it up and placed it underneath your arm in one effortless motion. Underneath the peak July 4th heat, sweat was beading across your forehead.
Deciding to take a well-deserved break from thoroughly practicing your jump shot, you grabbed your water and drank the last drops from your bottle. Protesting against littering, you sauntered over to your dumpster at the end of your driveway. Lifting it up, you placed the plastic contents into the can.
Right after the lid closed, you were staring straight at your little brother.
“Shit!” You exclaimed, letting the basketball fall from its place underneath your arm.
You clutched your chest, “Lucas?! Where the hell did you come from?” He practically materialized in front of you.
Running from around the trash can, re-lifting the lid, Lucas spoke, “This goes in the recycling. Not the trash can.” He chastised. Fixing your environmentally unconscious mistake.
He’s been spending entirely too much time with Dustin. You thought.
“Whatever, dude.” You lightly pushed his head out of the way, rolling your eyes.
Lucas got a kick out of correcting you. If it were a full-time job, he’d be on his way to making six figures.
Turning around to resume your basketball practice, you almost tripped on your untied shoelace. The small mistake prompted a snicker out of Lucas, which you chose to ignore.
You bent down to tie your shoe, whilst your little brother stalked closer. Blocking the beaming heat of the sun with his body, you could barely make out what he was wearing.
If it weren’t for the vibrant neon of his swim trunks, you might not have even noticed it. A visor lay atop his head, and the white cast of the SPF smeared across his face and arms. He looked like he was ready to fly to Hawaii.
“And what are you so dressed up for?” You tried to contain your smile, not wanting to embarrass him.
Raising his eyebrows and giving you a smirk, you felt a small feeling in your stomach that Lucas was about to ask you for something.
Before even giving him a chance to get a word out, you proclaimed, “No.”
“What!” he sighed in a high-pitched tone, “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”
“You’re gonna ask me to take you and the rest of your little friends somewhere, and the answer is no. I have to keep working on my jumpshot.”
“School doesn’t even start for another 2 months, Y/N.” He pleaded, “Just take The Party to the pool, please.” Lucas begged, hoping he’d have some magical effect that swayed you. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t.
“I know you want to hang out with your friends. Trust me… having you out of my hair for one afternoon sounds great,” Lucas scoffed at that.
“But I can’t afford to miss out on practice time because I’m running around with half the kids of Hawkins.”
Before Lucas could offer another rebuttal, the sound of the front door opening captured both of your attentions.
Standing on the porch, your little sister Erica stood there with her PJ’s and scarf still atop her head, clearly having just woken up.
“You know… Mom and Dad did say you had to take us wherever we want while they’re gone.” Erica stated, smirking.
Your Dad had a work conference somewhere in California. Your parents opted against a full-time babysitter, considering you were almost seventeen. And being the eldest Sinclair child, you were left in charge of the youngest two.
They told you to keep them busy for the week. However, that did not include you succumbing to their beck and call like some kind of chauffeur.
“No, they did not,” You paused, pondering for a moment, “And stop eavesdropping!” You pointed a warning finger at her.
“Y/N, please. Even Erica wants to go to the pool. C’mon! It’ll be so much fun.” Lucas gave you his signature puppy dog eyes.
Ever since you were younger, it worked like magic. He knew exactly what to say and how to convince you to do anything. After all, he was your baby brother.
“Ugh,” You relented, “Fine! We can go to the pool.”
Lucas immediately jumped up and engulfed you in a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He exclaimed.
“Alright, get off me, weirdo. You’re getting all your sunscreen on me.” You giggled, pushing his sweaty body away from you.
Lucas had a point. There was quite some time until the new semester started; you had more than enough time to continue practicing your skills for the upcoming basketball season.
Plus, even at 9 o’clock in the morning, the sun was melting your shoes into the concrete. Any longer like this and you’d be rolled out of your neighborhood in the back of an ambulance.
“Okay, I’ll call the boys and tell them!” Lucas shouted, running into the house, speeding by Erica.
“Good choice.” She said ominously before stalking back inside, staring at you for every second until the door closed, hiding her from your view
You stood there, looking around, confused and dumbfounded, “Whatever that means.”
You shook your head, deciding not to read into Erica’s subliminal messaging. Last time, it caused you to overthink for a week before offering her a banana split to explain what she meant.
You began to gather your belongings. First, the sweat towel that you discarded once it became clear that it wasn’t doing anything, followed by your half-finished Gatorade bottle.
Your eyes scanned the pavement for your basketball, but it was nowhere in sight.
Turning around frantically, you walked over to the trash can, thinking it may have fallen behind it after Lucas morphed into Michael Myers.
Its signature orange hue was nowhere to be found. You tried not to panic. That basketball was given to you by Coach Moore after you made the buzzer-beating half-court shot last season. It won Hawkins High the Women’s Varsity Basketball Championship title.
The sound of a whistle from behind you pulled you from the start of what would’ve been a full meltdown.
“This yours?” Steve Harrington, dressed in red swim trunks, a white tank top, and a whistle tied around his neck, called from his neighboring driveway.
He looked like a cliché straight from a teen girl's dream. One where a cute lifeguard comes to the rescue.
You blink a few times, attempting to spare your pride from letting “King” Steve Harrington know you were openly ogling him.
Jogging over, you began, ”Thanks. Don’t wanna lose this thing.”
As you got closer, Steve extended his hand, palming the basketball.
You raised your eyebrows, impressed, “You play?” You asked, using your hands to shield your eyes from the sun.
Steve shrugged and fixed his hair, “Yeah, sometimes. But I’ve been focused on swimming as of late.” He gestured to his outfit.
Looking closer, you could see on the side of his shorts that read ”Hawkins Community Pool Head Guard.”
Of course, he’s the head guard. You bit your tongue, although it fought to escape.
You knew who Steve was. You’d have to be living under a rock to go to Hawkins High School and not know the elusive King Steve. Even more so after his legendary Sophomore year.
However, it wasn’t in your nature to be swooned. Trusting and being easily impressed didn’t come easily.
But you recognize that Steve didn’t just appear out of thin air. You learned how to read, write, and do math just a few classrooms down from him in Elementary School.
So, instead of saying anything pithy or snarky, you opted to stay silent.
Steve could practically hear the cogs turning in his own head, making the silence even more awkward. He’d be playing coy if he pretended like he hadn’t been watching you before he saw your basketball roll into his driveway.
At first, he noticed how scandalously you were dressed. Wearing probably the shortest shorts he had seen all summer long.
But he quickly shook those thoughts from his head, not wanting to be some typical ‘Peeping Tom’ watching his neighbor.
He had every intention of getting into his car and driving to his shift at the pool. But then he noticed that your jumpshot form was perfect.
Before he could even move an inch closer to his car, he saw you jump out of your skin when a little boy startled you. Your basketball then promptly rolled right in front of his feet.
With every beat that passed, Steve became even more unsure of what to say. He figured you were about to walk away, so he had to say something else if he wanted to keep the conversation going.
“I saw you earlier,” he gestured to your driveway, “Your jump shot’s not half bad.” He smoothly placed his arm on top of his car, leaning on it nonchalantly.
You scoffed, unimpressed at his half-assed version of a compliment. “Are you watching me?”
The sweat pooling on Steve’s arm, mixed with the candidness of your comment, was the perfect combination to make him lose all his balance.
If his window wasn’t cracked open enough for him to slip his hand through to recover, he would’ve eaten the searing hot pavement.
“Huh?” he stuttered, “No, nothing weird, or anything like that. I just… I noticed. I’m a big basketball fan and all.”
This entire interaction was unorthodox for Steve. Typically, girls your age would’ve sported heart eyes if he admitted he’d been watching them.
You, on the other hand, seemed far from typical.
“That’s fair,” You cleared your throat, “Yeah, I’m on Women’s Varsity,” You admitted.
During the first semester of your Freshman year, you were captain of your JV team. After impressing Coach Moore, she threw you headfirst into varsity.
You completely drowned. Not able to keep up with the fast-paced nature of it all. Everything looked like it was falling apart for you.
That was until you made a risky half-court shot that paid off and won Hawkins High School the championship title.
Although that was something to be proud of, you were still hesitant to admit your place on the team. Your track record wasn’t necessarily something worth bragging over. You were rather tight-lipped about your performance.
You vowed to spend every second this summer perfecting your craft. So, having Steve complement your form meant that something must’ve been working.
Steve, however, knew of none of this. “Oh,” He began, “I don’t really go to the Women’s games, but I’ve heard they’re the place to be. Some chick made a crazy half-court shot last season. You know her?”
You scoffed at what you assumed was his attempt at being funny, “Yeah… ironically that was me.”
His mouth turned into a soft smile, nodding his head, “No shit. Must’ve earned you a lot of respect ‘round here.”
“Took a risk, it paid off.” You shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.
If he asked you about any of your highlights from the season, you’d be at a loss for words. There weren’t any.
Unless you count accidentally elbowing one of the girls from a rival team straight in the face. You would’ve felt bad, but she’d been making fouls the entire game.
“You don’t need to be so humble…” He craned his neck to subtly get a better look at your mailbox, “...Sinclair. I’m sure it was a great moment.”
Your eyes squinted at him, noticing how he emphasized your last name.
A part of you was somewhat offended. For the past decade, at least, the Harringtons had been your neighbors.
Sure, his parents weren’t necessarily the nicest people ever. Every year, they turned down Mrs. Lincoln’s invitation to her neighborhood Christmas party. They were the only house on the entire block that didn’t come.
But, you always figured Steve to be the complete opposite of his reclusive parents, considering his monumental reputation.
Almost as if the universe had heard your thoughts, Steve’s Father came barreling outside, a fresh cup of coffee still in his hands.
“Steve?” He questioned, clearly aggravated, “Don’t you have to be at work in 15 minutes?” He chastised. The harshest lines overtook his forehead, and his lips were in straight line.
Instinctively, you took a step back from Steve, scared that his father would snap at you, too.
Opting to stay quiet, Steve whispered under his breath, “Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’.” He roughly grabbed the whistle from around his neck and threw it through the open window of his car, followed by his water bottle and string backpack.
“Gotta go.” Steve kept his head down and entered his driver's seat.
“Thank you for returning my-” before you could even finish thanking him, Steve closed his car door.
“-basketball…” You trailed off.
You turned on your heels and started back towards your house. You watched as Steve’s BMW drove right past you.
From his rearview mirror, Steve watched you bouncing your basketball on the pavement as you slowly trotted back towards your house. He had to squint to stop the morning sun from going straight into his eyes.
Selfishly, he wanted to keep conversing with you. He had to admit, it wasn’t of much substance, but it was one of the most interesting conversations he’d had all summer.
Speaking to you, if only for a few moments, breathed somewhat of fresh air into him for the first time in weeks. Now, he had to stalk to Hawkins Community Pool and yell at kids not to run for hours.
You, on the other hand, walked into the cool air conditioning of your house and pondered over the interaction you just had.
It stung that Steve didn’t know your name, but realistically, you couldn’t fully blame him.
You weren’t the most unknown person at school by any means. But it wasn’t like you were this super popular Basketball player that everyone knew.
You coast by, floating from person to person, but you didn’t have a set group of friends.
Half of the time, it felt like The Party was the only people you saw in a week. And that was because they were running through your house, keeping you up at all hours of the night.
You were somewhat close to Nancy Wheeler. And you’d always wave and engage in small conversation with Will’s older brother whenever you saw him in the halls. But it wasn’t like you were getting matching tattoos with them anytime soon.
“Are you done flirting with our neighbor?” Erica teased, pulling you from your thoughts. She was sitting at the dining room table. It just so happened to look directly towards the Harrington's driveway. A devious smirk adorned her lips.
“I wasn’t flirting with him. He found my basketball.” You defended, walking behind her to open the fridge and grab an ice-cold water bottle.
The immediate wave of coolness sent a shock through your nervous system, releasing some of the tension that had built up throughout your shoulder blades and arms.
However, Erica was hellbent on disrupting that small semblance of peace.
“Sure, your basketball just so happened to magically roll into the protective arms of Steve Harrington.” Erica chucked, fixing her scarf that was sliding off her head.
You saw your opportunity, swatting her hand away and pulling it straight from her head.
“Y/N!” She exclaimed. Remorse slowly entered your body. Sometimes you forget how young your little sister was. Gently, you fixed her scarf and left a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
“Alright, I want you ready for the pool in 30 minutes, or else you’re getting left.” You pointed at her, “And stop being nosy.”
She pouted, then whispered, “No promises.”
–
At the pool, Steve Harrington sat atop the lifeguard stand.
He had abandoned his shirt hours ago. The intense heat of the July sun was steaming on his traps.
The tinted hue of his sunglasses adjusted his vision so that he could see everyone from his vantage point without interference from the sun.
All of the kids were swimming and playing, and their parents or babysitters lounged on a chair, not even sparing one glance.
All of them except for you.
Steve knew that he shouldn’t be paying this much attention to you. Right now, sitting on guard, he was responsible for every single person in the pool.
But every look and every glance was protected by his sunglasses. He told himself that you wouldn’t notice. And he was right. Your attention was entirely fixed on the group of kids you showed up with as they played in water that was at least 6 feet deep.
Every single time one of the kids went below the surface for longer than a few seconds, he noticed how your posture raised, and how you leaned forward to watch. But like clockwork, the kids would come up from underneath the water, and you would relax.
It took a few seconds of observing you to realize that you could be a great lifeguard. At least that was the excuse Steve kept telling himself for why his eyes found you almost every few minutes.
I’m just scouting for new guards. He thought, ignoring the honest truth.
He was watching you, and not because he needed new employees on his staff. But because he was intrigued by you.
The conversation you had earlier…although brief, proved to strike a nerve within Steve.
He tried to play it cool. He feigned ignorance, and acted like he hadn’t spent years living next to you… noticing.
He’d be a liar to claim otherwise.
Steve watched as the fleet of kids surrounded your lounge chair.
The little boy he saw scare you earlier opted out of using a towel. He chose to whip his body back and forth, soaking you in the water.
The other boys followed suit, laughing as they watched you fold into yourself, serving as a protective barrier. You said something that Steve couldn’t quite make out, but assumed was some attempt at a threat. A deep smile lay atop your face, ridding you of any threatening nature.
Steve watched the interaction intently before he noticed a little girl still in the pool, watching him looking at you. He played it off with a cough and forced himself to look away.
You had him behaving in a way that not even Steve could quite put his finger on.
Shortly after you were attacked by the small gaggle of middle schoolers, you gathered all of their belongings while they headed towards the locker room.
It was now your turn to survey your surroundings, making sure you had everything. Dustin’s hat, Lucas’ toys, Mike’s snacks, Will's crayons, and Erica’s magazine.
Checking everything off the list, you gathered your towel, sunglasses, and the book you never opened.
Turning on your heel, you saw a familiar face on the lifeguard stand.
Steve.
A pair of Ray-Bans sat on the bridge of his nose, and the same whistle he threw in his car earlier that morning hung from his mole-littered neck.
Although you weren’t entirely sure, due to his sunglasses, you could’ve sworn Steve was looking at you just a mere second before. The perfect swoop of his hair had jolted the second you turned around.
This heat is getting to me. You thought.
There was no way in heaven, hell, or anywhere in between that Steve Harrington was staring at you. That would’ve been the second time in less than twelve hours.
Shaking all the thoughts from your head, you walked towards the locker rooms, clutching the mountain of items in your arms.
You sat on the bench outside, waiting for everyone to meet you. Shortly after, all the boys came bustling through the doors of the boys' locker room.
“Alright,” You started, “I got all your stuff. Make sure it’s everything.” You pointed next to you on the bench.
All the boys took inventory of the things you grabbed, not noticing anything missing.
Lucas spoke, “Where’s Erica?” He sounded congested, probably due to all the chlorine he’d ingested in just a few hours.
You pointed towards the bathroom. As soon as he turned his head, the door opened, and your little sister stalked out. The visor Lucas let her borrow was still on her head, shielding her face from the rays of the sun.
She walked over, looking exhausted.
But, despite that, she couldn’t resist making a comment on what she noticed, “Our neighbor just loves to stare.” She muttered.
You squinted, this time not because of the sun, but because of confusion, “What?”
She elaborated, “Steve Harrington was staring at you. He'd better be lucky, we all know how to swim, or else someone could’ve drowned.” Erica scoffed.
This caused all the boys to snicker.
You shot them a warning look, no smile on your face this time. They all bristled and looked away, pretending not to hear what Erica said.
“His job is to look around, Erica,” You rolled your eyes, “And what have I told you about being nosy?” You gently grabbed her arm and turned her towards the exit of the pool.
“Get in the car… all of you.” They listened to your command, strolling out of the gate that led to the parking lot.
You hopped in the driver’s seat and started driving back towards town. With every building that passed and every mile that was closer to home, you thought about what Erica said.
She was nosy and always managed to be in everyone's business but her own. But one thing you had to give your sister was that she was rarely ever wrong.
And if she was right about Steve Harrington watching you for the second time in one day, maybe she was right about the fact that you had been flirting with him earlier.
You just kept driving, focusing on the road. You took everyone home one by one until all that was left in the car were Sinclairs.
The house was quieter than usual when you finally pulled into the driveway.
Lucas had dragged himself inside, still damp, muttering something about Mike cheating during their underwater breath-holding contest. Erica trailed behind him, already halfway to her room before the car door had shut.
You lingered, just for a moment. Sitting in the driver’s seat, hands still on the wheel. You stared straight ahead at nothing in particular.
The sky had softened into that deep summer blue, the kind that only showed up after a long, hot day.
Fireworks were already starting somewhere in the distance. The faint pops and crackles echoed through Hawkins.
You exhaled, finally pushing the car door open. Praying your thoughts would slow as the night continued.
–
Later that evening, your neighborhood continued to buzz with celebration.
Families gathered in backyards, radios played too loudly, and every so often, a firework burst lit up the sky just enough to cast shadows across the houses.
You sat on the side of your house, tucked just out of view from the street. It was the spot you always came to when you were overthinking.
The only place where you didn’t have to worry about Erica peeking through her window or Lucas clinging to you like a lost puppy.
You brought a cigarette to your lips, inhaling slowly. It wasn’t a habit you were proud of. You were a varsity athlete and the eldest daughter of a well-respected man in town.
Everything about the habit screamed “irresponsible.”
But it helped take the edge off. The pressure. The expectations. The constant feeling that you had to prove something.
And you thought if you made the conscious decision to smoke, at least it was a choice that you made.
Something no one else could take credit for.
You exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the humid night air. You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the entire day creep up your spine.
You couldn’t wait for your parents to get back. You missed them, almost as much as you missed practicing.
Selfishly, it felt nice to take a day for yourself. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the wrong thing to do.
Before you could continue down the rabbit hole of self-pity, you heard your last name cut through the silence.
“Sinclair!”
You jumped so hard the cigarette slipped right out of your fingers.
“Shit,” You scrambled, crushing it under your sneaker before whipping your head toward the voice.
It was Steve Harrington.
He was dressed differently from the last time you saw him. Gray sweatpants and a Hawkins Pool T-shirt.
You couldn’t even muster up a sly comment about why the hell he was wearing sweatpants even in the nighttime heat.
All you could muster was a measly, “What is wrong with you?!”
He stood a few feet away, halfway between your yard and his, hands raised like he hadn’t expected that reaction.
“Relax,” he whisper-yelled, glancing toward both houses. “You’re gonna alert the whole neighborhood.”
You clutched your chest, still catching your breath. “Yeah, and my siblings!”
You took a deep breath, releasing the grasp over your heart, “You just took ten years off my life.”
Steve wanted to give you some sly comment. Something about how the cigarette was doing that all by itself. But who is he to chastise you for something he occasionally partakes in as well.
So, he simply shrugged and said, “Yeah, well, maybe don’t lurk in the shadows.” He took a few steps closer, closing the gap between your lawns so he was officially on your property.
You shot him a look. “I’m not lurking.”
You reached behind you, searching for your pack of Marlboro Golds, when you realized that was your last one. You sighed, defeated.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced that you weren’t lurking. His eyes flicked briefly to the ground where you’d stomped out the cigarette.
“You smoke?” he asked, nodding toward it.
You hesitated for half a second before crossing your arms. “Yeah.” You admitted, “Not proud of it. I’m trying to quit.”
Steve nodded slowly, like he respected that answer more than he expected to. “Well, good luck,” he said simply.
You nodded, not sure what else to say. A beat of silence settled between you.
It wasn’t awkward this time around, just unfamiliar.
Steve shifted his weight, glancing up at the sky as another firework cracked in the distance. “So… basketball.”
You let out a small huff of laughter. “You want to talk about Basketball right now?”
“It’s a solid topic,” he defended. “You’re pretty decent.” Steve raised his eyebrows, extending the compliment.
You studied him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was being genuine.
“…Thanks,” you said, quieter this time.
He nodded, then kicked lightly at the grass. “I meant what I said earlier.”
You tilted your head, not entirely sure what he was referring to, “About what? You said a lot earlier.” You snickered.
He glanced at you, attempting at being offended but, there wasn’t enough seriousness in his gaze.
“Your shot.” He leaned forward slightly, giving emphasis to his words.
Another pause.
Then, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, he said, “I’ve seen you play before.”
That caught your attention. Your brows furrowed. “What?”
This would’ve been the third time today you realized that Steve had been watching you.
It should’ve creeped you out. If it were Randy’s son from down the street, you would’ve run back inside. But you didn’t.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a lot less like the confident King Steve everyone knew. “Not like… all the time. Just, you know. Around.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Around? Sounds like you’re the one lurking, Harrington.”
He sighed, realizing he’d dug himself into something. “Not much else to do when I’m home but lurk.”
He stopped, but then continued, “It’s nice to not have to notice myself for once.”
You blinked.
That wasn’t what you had expected. Twenty four hours ago, you weren’t convinced Steve could have a conversation with a girl without trying to shove his tongue down her throat.
Now, you were talking like you’d been friends for years and weren’t just neighbors.
“Do you even know my name, Steve Harrington?” For a second, he didn’t say anything.
If it weren’t so dark, you might’ve noticed the small flush of red that took over his face. All of a sudden, he felt himself getting shy.
He opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off.
“Y/N,” you said, matter of factly. Seemingly sparing him the embarrassment of getting it wrong.
Steve smiled a little; he already knew that. But, he pretended not to.
“Yeah, I figured I should probably learn that at some point.” Steve cleared his throat.
You glanced back up at him. “Yeah… it’s not like we’ve been neighbors for years or anything.”
“Hey,” he held his hands up again, “I’m working on it.”
A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Another firework lit up, briefly illuminating both of you in soft gold. Steve glanced up, admiring the beautiful color that adorned the night sky.
“I’m shocked you’re not throwing some big rager today. You know… to celebrate the fourth.”
“Can’t.” He said, simply, “My parents are home. I think my Dad would put my head on a stick if he knew I was planning to have people over.”
This reminded you of the interaction you had that morning.
His Dad, stalking out of the house, looking disappointed. Steve took merely 2 seconds to talk to someone on his way to work, and Mr. Harrington acted as if someone had pissed in his morning cup of coffee.
Noting the silence, Steve looked at you again. This time, more seriously. He hesitated before finally asking, “You ever think about playing after high school?”
The question caught you off guard. You decided to indulge him with basketball talk.
“All the time,” you admitted. “That’s kind of the point.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Steve’s thoughts seemed to trail off.
You studied him, noticing how he was so engaged in conversation, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blade of grass his shoe was touching. “What about you?”
He let out a quiet laugh and looked up, but there wasn’t much humor in his eyes. “My dad thinks I should be doing… everything.”
Steve sighed and stalked even closer, deciding to take a seat right next to you.
“Everything?” You shifted a little to the left, allowing him some more room on the seat.
“Basketball. Baseball. Swimming. Whatever looks good on paper.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter what I actually like.”
You leaned your head back against the siding. “So what do you like?”
He hesitated. “I…,” he stopped. Thoughts raced through his head.
“That’s the funny thing,” he paused, “I don’t really know.”
That made you frown a little. The perception you had of Steve before slowly started to crumble. You felt… sad for him.
“Well,” you began, “that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
He just stared at you, not quite sure what you meant, “Me not knowing what I want for my future is a good thing?” He asked, genuinely confused about the point you were trying to make.
“Don’t put it like that,” you smiled.
“I just mean… you’re what, seventeen? About to be a Junior in High School? You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. You can…you know…take some time to figure out what you want.”
He scoffed lightly. “Yeah. It’s not that simple.”
“It kind of is,” you shot back. “You either do what you want,” you poked his shoulder, causing him to chuckle, “Or you spend your life doing what someone else wants.”
Steve looked at you like that answer surprised him. Like no one had ever said something that direct to him before. He rarely talked to a person who possessed enough emotional intelligence to provide comfort. Almost all the “friends” he had in his life dismissed him.
He was well off, got moderately good grades, and drove a BMW at seventeen. All his problems seemed minuscule in comparison.
He never got the reassurance that maybe he didn’t have to have the next 10 years of his life planned out to the tee.
He smiled, sincerely, “Are you always like this?” he asked, just staring at you.
“Like what?” You looked away, preferring to look into the night sky rather than share eye contact with Steve.
“Honest.” He deadpanned.
You shrugged, like it was nothing. “Saves time.”
He laughed quietly under his breath, shaking his head, “Noted. Maybe I’ll try it,” he admitted.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite to it this time. Just simple amusement.
Another comfortable silence settled in. You two sat there for a few more moments. Not saying anything, just taking comfort in the others’ presence.
Steve then glanced toward your house and the cigarette in the grass, then back at you.
“I’ll replace that,” he said, nodding toward where the cigarette had been.
You shook your head immediately. “You don’t have to, seriously.”
“You sure?” He questioned.
“I’m actually trying to quit,” you said, more firmly now. “And if Erica finds out, I’m dead.”
“That your sister?” he questioned, thinking back to the little girl he saw while he was watching you at the pool.
You nodded in response.
“Yeah… she seems terrifying.” He chuckled, although he was being dead serious. He saw the way she stared at him, almost straight through his sunglasses.
You let out a laugh that you didn’t mean to let escape. “You have no idea.”
Steve stood up and slid his hands into his pockets. “Alright. No replacement then. Although you can change your mind.”
You nodded once.
He turned slightly toward his house, then paused.
“…Y/N,” he said, almost to himself.
Still, you responded, “Yeah?”
He looked back at you, a small grin forming. “Eh, Sinclair has a better ring to it.” He admitted, clearly teasing to get a reaction out of you.
You stared at him for a second. Then smile, despite yourself. “Goodnight, Steve.”
“Later, Sinclair.” He walked back toward his house, disappearing inside with one final wave to you before the door shut behind him.
You stayed where you were for a moment longer.
Thinking.
You leaned your head back, looking up at the sky as another firework burst overhead.
And for the first time that day, you weren’t thinking about basketball.
