I never meant to fall for you. No, that’s a lie—I absolutely meant to. How could I not? Short, sweet, and with eyes that could wreck a man with just one glance. And I? I got wrecked.

You used to be Steve Harrington’s girl. Yeah. That guy. King Steve. Hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial, charm for days. But even charm doesn’t mean a damn thing if you don’t actually see the person you’re with. And Steve? He didn’t see you.

I remember when you and him broke up. It was a mess of whispers at Hawkins High. People trying to piece together who dumped who and why. I already knew. The way you looked at him? Like you were begging him to look back and see you, not through you. But his eyes were always darting to Nancy.

So, when it was over between you, I saw my window. I didn’t plan on climbing through it so fast, but the moment felt right.

It started with casual stuff. A chitchat behind the school. Me lending you one of my tapes. Then it was movie nights at my trailer. One blanket “just because it’s chilly,” even though I was sweating bullets the whole time trying not to stare at your lips.

And then… there was the kiss.

You were on your tiptoes, trying to grab a book from the top shelf in my room—some fantasy novel I swore you’d love. I was behind you, trying not to laugh, when you turned to face me, huffing.

“Jesus, you’re tall,” you muttered, squinting up at me like I was halfway to the moon.

I smirked. “Nah, you’re just fun-sized.”

You shoved me lightly, and I caught your wrist—gently, instinctively. We just stood there for a second, your breath hitting my chest, my heart trying to punch its way out. I tilted your chin up.

“You know,” I murmured, “you don’t have to reach for anything. You could just ask me.”

And then I kissed you.

Soft. Careful. You melted into it, your hands clutching the front of my Hellfire Club shirt like you never wanted to let go.

We’ve been together for six months now.

You’re glowing. Hell, you shine. I make damn sure you know you’re first. I leave little notes in your locker. When you talk, I listen—because every word from your mouth is something I want to hold onto.

And Steve? Yeah… he noticed.

There was this party. One of those dumb house things where the music is too loud and the beer’s flat, but we went anyway because you wanted to dance. Eventually, we crashed on this worn-out couch, and you curled into me like you belonged there. Your back against my chest, your fingers laced through mine. I kissed your neck, lazy and soft, because I love how you hum when I do that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him—Steve. Standing there with his cup, staring like he was watching something he didn’t want to believe.

You were oblivious. Bless you. But I wasn’t.

I slipped my fingers beneath your chin—rings cool against your skin—and tilted your face toward me.

“Look at me, baby.”

You smiled and turned those bright eyes to mine.

Then I kissed you. Slow. Deep. Like we had all the time in the world. You smiled against my lips, and that’s when I knew I’d won.

Later, Steve cornered me outside. The porch light flickered above us, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You think this is funny?” he snapped.

I blinked. “What?”

“Parading her around like—like she’s a goddamn trophy. Like you won or something.”

I snorted. “Steve, buddy, she’s not a prize. She’s a person. One who realized she deserved more than a guy who treated her like an afterthought.”

His jaw clenched. “I cared about her.”

“Sure,” I said, stepping closer, my tone dropping. “But you cared more about Wheeler.”

He didn’t deny it.

“She’s happy now, Harrington,” I said, softer. “I don’t have to parade her. She parades herself when she smiles. And you? You’re just finally seeing what you lost.”

You’re it for me. The girl who stood on tiptoe to kiss a metalhead. The girl who made me feel like maybe, just maybe, love wasn’t something reserved for the golden boys with perfect hair and varsity jackets.

And Steve? He’ll just have to live with that.