𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟭. 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙠𝙞𝙙𝙨

𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙠𝙞𝙙𝙨

The Camaro came growling down the street like a beast that didn't belong there. Its music, some rock anthem turned up way too loud, rattled the glass of Hawkins High's front windows. Heads turned. Conversations froze.

The car rolled to a stop right in front of the main steps. On the plate, half-covered in dust and sunlight, you could read: PCE 235 California.

The driver's door swung open.

Billy Hargrove stepped out first, cigarette already hanging from his mouth. He stretched his arms like a lion after sleep, taking in the crowd of Hawkins students with that same arrogant smirk he wore most of the time.

Next came Maxine Mayfield, skateboard tucked under one arm, her eyes already scanning for escape routes.

Finally, the passenger seat tilted forward, and James Hargrove pushed his way out of the cramped backseat. He straightened, blinking against the sun.

He barely had time to glance at Max before asking, "Wanna grab our schedules together?"

But she was already gone, both feet on her board, rolling across the courtyard like she'd lived there all her life.

"Great," James muttered.

Billy let out a low chuckle, flicking ash from his cigarette.

"Don't waste your time, little brother. That one is a lost cause."

James shot him a look, half annoyed, half tired.

"Have a good day, Billy."

"Always do."

James slung his bag over his shoulder and turned toward the school. The whispers started before he even reached the steps, California plates, Hargrove, who's that? small-town curiosity like static in the air. He ignored it, though it crawled over his skin. Being the new kid was bad enough. Being the Hargrove from California made it worse.

He adjusted the strap of his denim jacket, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked inside.

The hallway smelled faintly of floor wax and teenage anxiety. It wasn't the worst school he'd seen, just old. The paint peeled near the corners, and a few lockers looked like they'd survived more fights than they should have, but the place felt... alive.

After a few wrong turns and two near-collisions with students who didn't bother to move, he finally found the Administration Office, and there she was again. Max.

Leaning against the wall, red hair bright under the fluorescent light.

She caught sight of him and straightened just a little. James smiled, ready to ask what she thought of the place—

"Ah! You must be James Hargrove!"

The voice boomed before he could speak.

The man who stepped forward wore a pressed suit and a red tie, his smile wide and warm.

"Perfect. You're both here. Let's get you settled, shall we?"

Max didn't answer. She just frowned, shifting her weight, eyes darting to the clock on the wall.

"I'm Principal Owens," the man continued, handing them each a stack of papers, timetables, maps, rules. "Welcome to Hawkins."

And just like that, they were off, following the rhythmic click of the principal's shoes down the hall.

When the door to their new classroom opened, every head in the room turned.

"Ah," the teacher said, pausing mid-lecture.

He was a middle-aged man with a mustache that seemed to have its own personality.

"This must be our new students."

"Indeed," Principal Owens replied. "All yours."

And with that, he was gone.

Max started toward the back of the room immediately, head down. But before she could disappear into the crowd the teacher spoke.

"All right, hold up there," the teacher called, smiling. "You don't get away that easy."

Max froze, sighing quietly. She exchanged a quick look with James before turning back toward the front.

"Dustin, drum roll, please!" the teacher said.

A curly-haired boy wearing a baseball cap slammed his notebook shut and began tapping on it like a snare drum.

"Class," the teacher announced grandly, "please welcome, all the way from sunny California, the newest passengers on our curiosity voyage, Maxine and James!"

The class chuckled.

"It's Max," she said flatly.

"Sorry?" the teacher blinked.

"Nobody calls me Maxine. It's just Max."

The teacher smiled, unbothered.

"Ah, understood. All aboard, Max. And you, young man?"

"James is fine, sir."

"Perfect. You're free to go."

Max didn't wait another second. She headed straight for the back row, dropping into a chair with a huff. James followed, taking an empty seat a few desks away.

As he set his bag down, movement caught his eye.

Up front, four boys had turned in their seats to watch Max, one with a baseball cap (the "drummer"), another with a mop of curls, one with a slightly nervous grin, and a dark-haired boy.

They whispered something to each other, eyes still fixed on the redhead at the back.

James frowned.

His gaze slid from them to Max. She was pretending not to notice, arms crossed.

But James saw the tension in her shoulders.

He didn't know what those kids wanted or who they were but he made a silent note.

Whatever it is, they'd better keep it friendly.

- ⏳-

The rest of the day passed in a blur.

For James, the hours slipped one into another, each class indistinguishable from the next. Math, history, English, some teachers tried too hard, others not at all. None of it stuck. Not the names, not the faces. Just noise and the quiet sense that he didn't belong.

When the final bell rang, the halls of Hawkins High flooded with life. Backpacks slammed shut, lockers clanged, sneakers squeaked across the linoleum floors.

James slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way outside. He didn't bother looking for Max. He knew better.

She had her walls up again, same as always.

He'd tried, in the months since their families had merged, to reach her. To talk, to joke, to bridge that impossible distance between "stepbrother" and "stranger." But Max didn't want bridges. She wanted silence.

And Billy?

Billy was gasoline on every fire.

Of the three, James was the only one even pretending to try.

And he was the last to reach the car.

The Camaro gleamed under the fading light, its bluepaint slick with dust. Through the rear window, he could see Max slouched in the back seat, face turned toward the window.

Billy leaned against the car, cigarette between his lips, impatience radiating off him like heat.

"Take your time, why don't you?" he muttered as James approached.

His blue eyes burned with irritation, though whether it was about waiting or about something Max had said earlier, James couldn't tell.

He didn't reply. He just opened the passenger door and slid in.

Billy flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out beneath his boot. He climbed in after a beat and slammed the door. The engine roared to life, and the Camaro peeled away from the parking lot.

The silence was heavy, suffocating. The kind of quiet filled with things no one wanted to say. James could practically feel the tension bleeding off his brother and guessed again that some argument had already flared between him and Max.

Through the rearview mirror, James caught her reflection, arms folded, eyes fixed on the window, jaw tight. She looked like she wanted to vanish.

Billy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, restless.

James thought for a second, then spoke.

"Can you drop me at the Palace Arcade?"

Max lifted her head, surprised.

Billy's eyes flicked toward him, brow furrowing.

"The hell you wanna go there for?"

James shrugged, casual. "Heard it's a cool spot."

Billy was silent for a moment, jaw working. Then he sighed through his nose, rolling his eyes.

"Two hours. I'll pick you up in exactly two hours. Not a damn minute later."

James smiled faintly. "We'll be ready."

Billy's eyes narrowed. "We?"

He turned his head, gaze cutting from James to Max in the back seat. Max froze.

"Promised," James said quickly. "You won't have to wait."

Max didn't say a word, just kept her eyes down, gripping her board a little tighter.

Billy grunted, turned up the volume on the stereo, and drove faster. The music filled the car, too loud to be comfortable, too rough to be ignored. The road stretched out before them in a blur of late afternoon sun and long shadows.

When they finally reached the Palace Arcade, Billy braked hard, tires squealing against the asphalt.

"Out," he barked. "I don't have all day."

James was out in seconds, pushing the passenger seat forward for Max.

"Faster," Billy snapped.

Max muttered something under her breath, a low growl of defiance James couldn't quite catch. But Billy did.

"What'd you say?" he hissed, twisting in his seat.

"Forget it," Max said flatly.

"Don't start with me you little shit—"

Before he could finish, Max slammed the door. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Billy's jaw tightened. Then, with a curse, he hit the gas. The Camaro tore off down the road, the growl of its engine fading into the distance.

Max lifted her middle finger toward the disappearing car.

James stood beside her, the arcade lights reflecting off the glass front. Neither of them spoke for a while. The buzz of neon and faint music from inside filled the silence.

Max exhaled, brushing hair from her face.

"Well," she said finally, not looking at him, "you coming or what?"

And before he could answer, she pushed open the door and disappeared into the noise and color of the Palace Arcade.

The neon glow of the Palace Arcade spilled over them as James stepped inside. The air buzzed with the hum of machines and the click of buttons. The scent of dust, soda, and faintly burnt circuits filled the space.

Max's eyes lit up the instant she saw the rows of glowing cabinets. She walked straight to Pac-Man, sliding her skateboard under the machine as she dug out a few quarters from her pocket.

The screen came alive in bright yellows and blues.

James watched her slot the first coin in, her shoulders loosening, her focus absolute. The tension she'd been carrying all day seemed to fade as soon as she wrapped her hands around the joystick.

The game chimed, and Max was gone, completely absorbed.

James stayed back, leaning against a nearby pinball machine, hands tucked into the pockets of his denim jacket. The flashing lights painted his face in shifting color, and for a while, he just watched.

He could've joined in. There were plenty of open games : Galaga, Dig Dug, Defender but he didn't feel like playing.

He'd only come to make sure she could.

To give her a break from Billy, from the shouting, from everything that made Hawkins feel like a cage instead of a town.

Max didn't notice him watching. Her world right now was just dots, ghosts, and escape routes.

James smiled faintly to himself. Then he pushed away from the wall and walked deeper into the arcade, the hum of machines following him like static.

Maybe this town wasn't so bad after all.

Thank you so much for reading this far! 🎡

And that's where you'll meet James Hargrove ! I hope you'll grow to love him as much as I do.

Your feedback means the world to me. Whether you felt moved, confused, or amused, please share your thoughts!

(My sincere apologies if you spot any clumsy grammar; I'm still mastering English.)