The locker door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the hollowed halls of Hawkins High. You adjusted your backpack, avoiding the flickering fluorescent lights that cast long shadows on the linoleum floor.
The weight of your books felt heavier than usual, each one a brick pressing into your shoulder as you turned to leave. But then you saw Mike standing near the water fountain, his plaid shirt rumpled and his brow furrowed like he’d been searching for you. Your stomach twisted. You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when you wanted to convince yourself you didn’t care, and spun on your heel. The slam of your locker echoed again as you strode past him, but his voice stopped you mid-stride.
“Wait. Please.”
You froze. His hand brushed your wrist, gentle but insistent. You wrenched free.
“What do you want, Mike?” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to cut glass. The words tasted bitter, but you swallowed hard and glared at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.
He stepped closer. “You made fun of that girl today,” he said, his voice low, trembling with something between anger and grief. “The new one. The one who just moved here from Texas. You didn’t say anything. You just watched.”
“So what?” You shrugged, hating how high and cold your voice sounded. “It’s not like I hurt her. You think I care what you think?”
His jaw tightened. “You’re my girlfriend. I care. And I thought you cared, too.”
Your laugh was abrupt, bitter. “Girlfriend? We're not together anymore, Michael. Not for weeks. But guess what? I don’t need you. Or them. Or this.” You gestured vaguely at the hallway, at the posters of the prom court, at the lockers that had once felt like a fortress of normalcy. Now they felt like a cage.
Mike's face fell, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the pain and hurt you had been causing him. “Don't say that. You're hurting and pushing everyone away. You’re changing. And I just… I don’t know how to help you if you won’t let me close.”
“I don't need your help,” you hissed, stepping into his space. Up close, you could see the redness around his eyes, the dark circles under them.
He looked exhausted, like he’d been running on fumes for weeks. It made you furious. “You think this is some ‘issue’ you can fix? That I just need a hug and a pep talk? My sister is gone, Mike. She’s dead. Because of us. And I’m tired of pretending like I don’t know what I am—what we are. Do you even listen to yourself? ‘Let’s just talk it out’? ‘I care about you’? You’re talking to a ghost, Mike.”
His face crumpled, but he didn’t look away. “No. You’re not a ghost. You’re here. And I’m here. And I’m not giving up.”
“Stop.” You pressed a hand to his chest, wanting to shove him back but needing him closer all at once. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to be the good guy who saves the day. Not this time.”
The words hung between you, raw and aching. Somewhere down the hall, a janitor turned on a vacuum, the roar of it drowning out the quiet spots in your conversation. Mike reached for your hand, but you pulled away, tucking it into your pocket like a weapon.
“Why won’t you talk to anyone?” he asked. “To me?”
“None of your damn business,” you shot back. “So why don’t you just… leave me alone?”
His jaw clenched. “You think I can? You think I’d just walk away after everything?”
“Yeah! Walk away! You’ve got your life, and I’ve got mine.” Lies. You didn’t have a life. Not really. Just Justin’s cigarette smoke and Bella’s sneers, just the way they laughed at the world like it owed them something. But it was better than the alternative.
Mike took a step closer, his voice softening. “You’re not yourself. I get it. Your sister—”
“Don’t,” you whispered, the words breaking. You pressed a hand to his chest, wanting to shove him back but needing him closer all at once.
“—but you don’t have to shut us out,” he finished, anyway. “We’re here. I’m right here.”