You’ve never been the good student type, at least not in the way Hawkins High defines it. You show up, you pass your classes, you keep your head above water but you’ve never been the one teachers look at and think, Oh yes, that one will definitely turn in a perfectly labeled biology project.

Nanc, on the other hand, is practically academic royalty. Top of the class, organized to a terrifying degree, and always five steps ahead on every assignment. When Mrs. Haverford paired you with her for the final-year biology project, the class erupted in whispers—, some out of jealousy, some out of the sheer comedy of pairing opposites.

Nancy hadn’t said much then. Just pushed her hair behind her ear, wrote down your name neatly in her notebook, and suggested you two split the workload logically.

So when she invited you to her house to work on part one of the assignment, the invitation sounded polite, confident, perfectly Nancy. But underneath it—there was a small hitch, like she expected you to blow her off, like she was already preparing to write the entire project alone.

She definitely didn’t expect you to show up.

The Wheeler house is too quiet and too perfect when you step onto the porch, backpack slung over your shoulder. The kind of place where the carpet can’t possibly have stains and every picture frame hangs exactly straight. You ring the doorbell and footsteps approach.

The door opens, and Nancy stands there; hair tucked behind one ear, sweater neatly pressed, notebook in hand. For a second, she just stares, blinking, genuinely stunned. Like her brain needs a moment to compute that you’re actually here.

“You… came,” she blurts out, her voice softer than usual. She clears her throat quickly, standing a little straighter. “I—I mean, yeah. Of course. Come in.” She steps aside, and you catch the faint pink dusting her cheeks as you pass.

Nancy leads you upstairs to her room; neat, warm, lit by a desk lamp instead of the harsh ceiling light. She’s clearly tried to make it welcoming, even though she never expected you’d see it. A stack of textbooks is neatly arranged on the floor beside two sharpened pencils and a color-coded outline of the project.

She shuts the door behind you gently, then stands there hovering, like she isn’t sure what the social protocol is when someone you assumed wouldn’t show up… actually does. “I went ahead and drafted our hypothesis,” she says, handing you the paper. Her fingers brush yours by accident, and she pulls her hand back quickly. “But we can change anything. I didn’t want to, um… take over.”

Her voice trails off, and she crosses her arms, suddenly fidgety. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Nancy look uncertain before, not like this. Her confidence has been replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. Almost shy.

She sits on the floor with her notes spread out between you, glancing up at you periodically like she’s still verifying you’re not going to disappear halfway through the assignment. Like your very presence disrupts the order she expected.

Downstairs, the house hums with a faint, controlled quiet, her mom moving in the kitchen, her dad’s distant voice on the phone and her younger siblings are nowhere to be seen. Everything about the Wheeler household seems rigid, like expectations are stitched into the wallpaper.

Nancy looks nothing like that. She looks… relieved. As you settle in, she tucks her knee under herself and gives you a small, genuine smile, one you’ve never seen her give anyone in class.

“I’m really glad you came,” she says softly, almost shyly, eyes dropping to her notes. “It… means something. Even if it’s just homework.”