The California sun had nothing on Hawkins heat, you decided as you wrestled the last cardboard box out of the backseat. It was the kind of sticky summer afternoon that clung to your skin, sweat collecting at the nape of your neck no matter how little you moved. The house next door loomed quiet and closed-off, curtains drawn like it was holding its breath. You didn’t know yet who lived there—only that the neighborhood felt like it watched newcomers carefully.

“Okay, Bug,” you murmured, crouching down to your sister’s level as she clutched her stuffed rabbit with one hand and your fingers with the other. “This is home now. Just for us.”

Emily or Bug as you call her, nodded solemnly, big eyes taking everything in. She was only four, too young to understand what it meant that your parents were gone, too young to know why you’d packed your whole life into a rusted sedan and driven until the road signs changed. All she knew was that you were still there. And you intended to keep it that way.

The screen door of the house next door creaked open.

Neil Hargrove stepped out like he owned the street—beer already in hand, eyes sharp and judgmental as they swept over you. His gaze lingered, slow and assessing, catching on your shorts, your tank top, the tired slump in your shoulders. Then it dropped to Emily. His mouth twisted.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough to carry but not quite loud enough to be confronted. “Girls like that…”

You didn’t hear him. You were too busy hoisting Emily onto your hip, whispering reassurances as she hid her face against your shoulder. If you had heard, maybe you would’ve snapped. Maybe you would’ve crumbled. But you missed it entirely.

Billy Hargrove didn’t.

He was leaning against the Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips, watching the street out of sheer boredom. At first, you barely registered—just another stranger unloading boxes. Then he really looked. Saw the way you handled yourself, all quiet determination and exhaustion. Saw the kid clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in her world. And then he heard his father.

Billy’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked from Neil to you, something dark and unreadable passing over his face.

Neil scoffed again, shaking his head before disappearing back inside.

Billy crushed the cigarette under his boot and straightened, running a hand through his hair. He told himself it wasn’t his problem. New people came and went all the time. Hawkins chewed them up just the same.

Still… his gaze followed you as you carried Emily up the front steps, struggling with the keys, biting your lip to keep from crying when the lock stuck.

For the first time in a long while, Billy Hargrove felt something uncomfortably close to curiosity.

And maybe—just maybe—protectiveness.

The door finally opened, and you vanished inside, unaware that the boy next door was already watching, already memorizing the way you moved… and already at odds with his father over a girl he didn’t even know yet.