Billy Hargrove had learned a lot of things since moving to Hawkins—how to throw a punch without breaking his knuckles, how to pretend he didn’t care what people whispered about him, how to survive a town that watched you like it was waiting for you to screw up.

What he hadn’t learned was how to stop looking toward the cafeteria doors every damn day.

The doors swung open, and just like that, the noise of the room dulled around the edges.

You walked in between Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley, confidence rolling off you like heat off asphalt. At five-foot-two, you weren’t tall, but you didn’t need to be—people moved anyway. Long brown hair spilled down your back, catching the fluorescent lights, and the tattoos along your arms peeked out like they were daring someone to stare too long. Your septum ring glinted when you laughed at something Robin said, and the snake bites at your lip pulled when you smirked, sharp and unapologetic.

Billy’s jaw tightened around the toothpick between his teeth.

He’d been screwed the moment he laid eyes on you last year—Dustin Henderson’s older sister, of all people. Loud-mouthed, curly-haired Henderson, who had absolutely no idea his sister had half the school tripping over themselves. Billy sure as hell hadn’t planned on it, but here he was, every lunch period tracking your movement like gravity did the rest.

You scanned the room like you owned it, eyes sharp, protective without even trying. When someone at a nearby table snorted something under their breath, you shot them a look—cool, blunt, warning—and they looked away immediately. Billy felt something dark and approving twist in his chest.

“That’s her,” one of the guys at Billy’s table muttered, nudging him. “Henderson’s sister. Heard she’ll deck you if you look at her wrong.”

Billy didn’t answer. He didn’t look away either.

You leaned down to say something to Dustin as you passed his table, ruffling his hat despite his protests. “Eat your vegetables, nerd,” you teased, voice warm but firm. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

Dustin groaned. “You’re the worst.”

Your grin softened just for him—and Billy caught it. That crack in the armor. That care.

Something about that hit harder than your piercings, your tattoos, your sharp tongue.

Nancy tugged you toward your usual table, but just before you sat, your gaze lifted. For a split second, it locked with Billy’s across the cafeteria. The world snapped back into focus—the clatter of trays, the echo of laughter, the thump of Billy’s pulse in his ears.

Billy straightened in his seat, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t already all in. His mouth curved into a crooked, dangerous half-smile, eyes never leaving yours.

He tapped the toothpick against his teeth, silent challenge and invitation all at once.

And for the first time since last year, Billy wondered—not if he’d get your attention—but what the hell would happen when he finally did.