#reader insert series

̵͎͆̽ ̵̘͍̖͆͊͠Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̵̧͇͎̿͆̽N̶͖̭̆o̴̱͎͒͐t̶̩̾ ̵͌͜o̴̯̺͆͑̕k̴̩̝͖̃͌.̸̩̾͌N̵͚̱͓̐̅ơ̸̎̅ͅt̶͙̓͜ ̸͕͘o̶̢̼̔k̶̮̑̾.̷͙̈́̔͐ ̷̡̦̩͒N̵͎̉̂̾o̴͙͒͛t̷̘̳́͒ ̸̻̖͗̀͜͝o̸̻̩̬̽͛̾k̷̨̯͊͒.̶̮̀͐ ̶̡͈̝͋N̴̛͕̈́͂ö̴͖́̽̈ẗ̷̟͖̣́͋ ̴͇͗ǒ̶̠͚̄̓ḱ̸̳͓̩͗.̴̢͓̒ ̵̘͍̖͆͊͠t̶̘̋͑ ̵̻̽o̶̳͐k̴͕̺̒.̸͈̈́̓ ̵̗̐̉N̴̬̦̋͠o̶͛͜t̷͖̒̀ͅ ̷̻̩͝o̵͔̣͝k̶̰̰̒.̵͍͒ ̷̛̬̃N̶̮̔o̵̫͐̅t̵͔͆̍ ̵͔̞͐̒ȯ̶̫̈́k̷̡͈̾.̷̢͘ ̴͉̞̌͘N̶͔̩̄̈́o̸̡͎̔t̴̞̱̏̚ ̶͚̣̔ŏ̵̲k̵̝͝.̵̹̍ ̶̡͓͂͂N̷̳̭̂o̵͈̺̐͝ț̷̈̕ ̷̬̏̒ọ̵̫̄k̵̙̹̾̓.̵͇̻̎ ̸͍̤̆N̸̼̈́ǒ̶̯ẗ̵́̒ͅ ̶̖͌̚ō̷͖̣̅k̷̟̙͌́.̴͎̓ ̸̱̚N̶̘̭͋͆o̷̱̍t̸̡̮̅́ ̸͇͘͜õ̶̫̦̕k̴̤̫͋.̴͖͆̃ ̴͔̥̂͋N̵̰̮̈́o̶͎͆̊t̴̼̗̽ ̶̡̯̚o̴̤̅̅k̸̲̇̎.̷̨̐͜Ǹ̶̰̓o̷̫̳͆t̴̥̬̂̇ ̷̡͖̽o̸̤͆ķ̸̚͝.̵̢̩͝ ̵̮͐̅N̴͓̿̑ò̶̪͋t̴̰͗͜ ̴̜͊̀ŏ̴̫ḵ̵͖͗.̴̭͉̈́ ̶̜̇Ń̷̹o̴̝̓̽t̶̮͊ ̶̪͖̉o̶̺͖͌̌k̸͇͙̀.̶͔̝̓ ̵̨́N̸̢̙̚o̴̟͉̍̉t̵͉̍ ̸̣̀ó̵̝k̸̫͑.̷̬͖̂̋ ̶̩̐̕͜N̷̠̈́͝o̸̳̩̓ṱ̶̡̄̉ ̶̪͙̈́̌ȯ̴̧͔k̷̲̰̎̈́.̶͍̜̀ ̶̲͌̎N̸͈̳̈́ố̵͍̬t̵̠̊ ̸̯̅͊ó̶̟͓k̴̯̼̔.̵̯̜̍ ̷̭̦̀N̶̪̺̋̾o̵͖̮͗̃t̴͇̬͗ ̶͖̲͐͘o̷̟̫̔̊k̵̘̹̎.̸̦̄̓ ̴̹̎͆N̶͙̈́͠ŏ̸̢̙̅t̴̹̄͝ ̷̞̐o̷̢͆k̸͙̑.̸͙̅̓Ń̸͉̲ô̴͙̳͌t̵̻͚̆ ̷̠̔ǫ̵͆͆ͅķ̶̈.̷̺͓͛̑ ̸͚̀̚N̸̬̥̿o̸̠̦͆̅t̸̰̿ ̵̣́̕o̸͕͕͛̾k̴͇̈́̓.̴͋̆ͅ ̶͇͑Ņ̴̽õ̵͍͊t̵̢͈̎ ̶͔̈o̷͖͗̋ḱ̴͇.̵̰̭̈̊ ̸̪̓N̵̢̋͆ǒ̶̮ť̸͍̪̀ ô̸̮k̵̲͑.̸̟͝ ̴̹̂Ǹ̶͎ô̴͇t̴̨͌ ̵̧̀o̷͚̅k̷̨̚.̸͎̊ ̸̬͊N̴̻̈́o̶͕͊t̷̹͝ ̴̻̈́ơ̶̥k̷̨̽.̴͕̈́ ̶̺̾N̷̨̎o̸͙͊t̸̫́ ̸̥̓o̸͚͐ǩ̵͍.̵͛͜ ̴̹́Ṉ̷̑ŏ̶͇t̶̖̊ ̴͎̏o̸͕͑k̴̫̓.̴̗͗ ̵̪̔N̷̯͘ó̵͖ṱ̵͛ ̴͈̽o̸̥̿k̵̢̀.̷̞̈́ ̸̞̀Alone. N̷͓̍ö̸̜t̵̑͜ ̶̧̎o̸̳̽k̴̨̿.̷̧̈́ ̷̩̀N̶̙͐o̷͉͊t̴̻̾ ̷̗͋ö̷̭́k̸̭͘.̴̥̏N̵̤̿o̵̺̊t̸̛̠ ̸̲̾ȍ̴̯k̸̥̆.̷̖̾ ̷͎͠N̶͓͊ô̶͖t̵̩̏ ̴̼̚ǒ̷̜k̵̢̓.̷̭̅ ̶͖͋N̵̝̎ŏ̶͜t̸̟̒ ̸̯̈ơ̸̠k̴͕̚.̴̦̽ ̸͎̈N̴̑͜o̷̙̚t̸̹̚ ̵͕̃o̵̹͐k̴̘̈́.̷̳̽N̵̤͂o̴͇͒t̴͚̀ ̷̫̏o̸̙͌k̷̬͛.̶̨͑ ̶̣͐ ̴̫̏ő̴̢k̸͉͆.̴͖́N̶͙̅o̴͕̿t̷̥̂ ̴̪̐ö̷̰́ḱ̸̮.̶̙̂ ̶̮̾Ṇ̸͒õ̸̙t̵̬͆ ̸̛͍ȏ̷̢k̴̮̍.̶̫͐ ̸̰͠Ń̴ͅo̶̺̍t̸̘̏ ̷͚͗o̶̩͝k̴̭͊.̷̪͝ ̸̧́N̶͓̑o̶̹͗t̶̰͂ ̶̩̈ǒ̵͈k̶̭̀.̸̱̋ ̶̤̇N̶̺̑o̵̧̔t̷̤̊ ̵̙̆o̷̭̿k̶̟̾.̴̯̆ ̴͓͠Ṋ̷͠õ̵̟ẗ̴̯́ ̶̥̒o̵̤͂k̶̳̕.̷͗ͅ ț̶̓ ̶͚̑o̴̾͜k̷̍ͅ.̵͈̓ ̷̠̎N̷̮̆o̷̘͌t̵͔͋ ̷͔͆o̸͕̽k̶̫͛.̶̥̿ ̴̣̓N̴̘̽o̶̺͠t̶͙́ ̴͚̅o̶̫͊k̷̘͌.̴̰̽ ̵͕̄N̴̜͒ȍ̵̲ẗ̶̹́ ̵̨͝o̴̘͗k̶͓͘.̷̗̌ ̴͙́N̵̮͗o̸͎͆t̵̫̋ ̵̦̍õ̵̫ǩ̶̝.̵̱̚N̶͔͝ơ̶̢t̶͍̾ ̷̠̂ŏ̷̼k̷̪̈́.̷̣̋ ̴̝͑Ṇ̶̽ȍ̷͉t̸̃ͅ ̵̣̿o̴͇͊k̵̰̆.̴͌͜ ̶̺́N̷̬͂o̶̢̕t̸̳͠ ̶̞̾o̷̮̚k̶̭̀.̵͕͂ ̷̫̂N̴̹̕o̷͑͜t̷͓̔ ̷̫̃o̶̡͋k̵̤̑.̷̼̒ ̷̟̑Ń̸̝o̵̥̔ẗ̴̯́ ̴͚̀o̴̡͋k̶̪̅.̵͓̈́ ̶̥̇N̴̯͌o̴̐ͅt̸̩̑ ̴̟̉o̴̡͑k̷̞̾.̸̠́ ̸̘̔N̸͙͝o̷̥͝t̷̺͝ ̸̭͋ŏ̴̢k̷͖̕.̵̯͝ ̵̪́Ṅ̶̦o̷̳̓t̷̳̾ ̶͈̎ǫ̷͂k̷͉̿.̷̖́N̸̙̊o̷͖͘ṱ̴͂ ̵̝̂o̸̖̔k̵͔͠.̷̮̍ ̶͉̌N̶͈̎ô̵ͅt̵̨͑ ̵̼̐ǒ̸̬k̴͙͝.̵̙̈ ̸̗̆Ǹ̸̤o̷̦̓t̸̫͒ ̵̣͘o̶̠͑ḵ̶̃.̵̳̐ ̵̟̌All Alone.N̷̛̙o̶̯͘t̷͈̀ ̵̥̍ȍ̴̱k̶͔̾.̴̹̏ ̷̫͋N̸̝̕ơ̴̳t̸̟͗ ̴̰́ơ̴̤k̷͈̐.̷̫́ ̸N̴̩̑o̴̖̾ț̵͛ ̶̟̋ó̴̢k̵̪͗.̶͈̒ ̶̱̈́N̸͍͒o̴͝ͅt̴̞͐ ̵̳̆ȯ̶͙k̴̝͘.̶̩͗ t̷̥́ ̶͚̌ǒ̴͍k̶͎̐.̵̻̔N̵̦͗o̵̩̒ẗ̵̲́ ̵̬̐o̴͍͘ ̶̩̂o̷͖̚k̴̻̀.̸͙̐ ̵̻͠N̴̹͐ö̴̭́t̵͈͠ ̶͎͐ö̴̢k̸̗͑.̵̱͌ ̸̧̙̒o̴̰̤̓k̶̩̘͒͝.̸̢͔̒͐ ̸̝̙͆N̸̬͝o̵̺̞͋̄t̵͈́ ̷̦̎o̵͉̖̎͒ķ̵̞̈́͛.̸̡̦̓N̵͍͙͋ỏ̵̺͝t̸̹͋ ̶̖͋ó̴̫ḵ̸̖̎͑.̵̢̱͆ ̴̫͎̒N̵̪͌̚o̵͖̒ț̴̢̽ ̸̳̤́͒õ̵̻k̷̥̎͜.̶̛̞̪̾Ņ̴̱̎̽ò̵̗t̴͚͇͗ ̴̱͖͐o̵̘̭͛͠k̸͈̪̋.̷̝̫́̈́ ̵̹͛N̸̹̻͋o̴̲̓͑ť̸̨̪ ̶̮̯͌o̷̖̅̌k̸̛̜̲.̶̙̋ ̷̯̠͆́N̸͇͑o̷̜͛̀ͅt̴͈̆͜ ̵̥̄ò̸̳̰ķ̵̽̄.̴̯͗ͅ ̸̡̊N̶̺̺̕o̵̮̙͌̾t̸̘̘̔̀ ̴̺̦͊̒N̷̛͇͍̖̚o̸͔͙̳͐̄͘t̷̡ ̶̢̗̭́̑́o̸̝̓͛k̶̯̞̒̏̾.̸̳̈́̋ ̸N̵̗͔̏́͜ǫ̷̜̑̋̚t̴͎͖̤͊ ̷̼̒͗͌ͅo̴̧̥̾̒̓k̷̢̩͛.̶̟̦̜͒́ ̶͚͈̃N̸͙̻̲͘o̵̰͘t̷̲͇̃ ̶̢̼͌̒͜͠o̷̡̻͋͌͒ͅķ̵͙͔̏́̚.̷͇̅́̀N̸̝̲̪̂̏ő̸̢̰ț̴̟̿̂̄ ̵̝͍̭́̉̇ȏ̷͎̟ḵ̴̡͖̎.̷͉̩͎͋̉̚ ̷̟̥̻͊͘͝Ṉ̷̄o̷̘͗̇t̶̛̞͓́ ̴͕͆̇̚ò̵̞k̷̺̗̮̒̆.̸͙̳͒̎̆ ̸̩͈̑N̶̢̳̲̍ỏ̸͎͐ť̶̮ ̷͓̟̊ö̵̝̩̺́̄k̶̙̏̋̚.̷̟̑͒̇ ̴̰̪̈Ń̴̻̚ö̸̢́̇̇t̷̘͇̫́̚ ̷̞̝̺͆͗ŏ̵͓̰̲͌k̶̛͈͗.̶̹͠ ̶̧̎Ń̴̨̝͓o̶̰̾̽͘͜t̸̥̬̂̾ ̷̖̺̈́̅̐o̸̲̼̍̀k̷̪̀̐.̶̝̭̫̊̚͝ ̸͈̱͆N̴͚̽̍̚ͅo̵̘̳̞͂̈́ţ̷̞̖̾̋̓ ̸͖̗̆́͋o̶͔̲̒̈́̍ͅk̷̨̘̀̅.̵̛̠̀ ̴̼̺̼̏̔̈N̵̝̜̒̾ǫ̵̧̔t̵͚̓̈͝ ̴͔̰͓͆̉̀ö̶̭̠́k̶̪̬̎͒̀.̸̹̻͒ ̶͓̅͝N̷̼̊̊ǫ̶̚t̷̩̻̅͛̄ ̴̥̭̓̅o̸̝̠͍̅̒͘k̸̡̻̈́̎̓.̸̳̬̇̈Alone. N̷̛̫̋̚ô̷̩̂t̵͕͌̾ ̵͔͋̌͛o̷͇͆͐k̶̝̿̎͜.̸̻̺͓̈́̅͋ ̵̲̟̩̔̊̈́N̸̗͈̐̚o̷̤̚t̴͓͔̍ ̵̧̮̂o̵̢̺̙͘͠ḵ̶̨͝.̴̡̈́ ̴͎̜̣̑N̸͈͗͝o̵̳̐̚ͅt̸̤͛͐̒͜ ̷̖͐́ͅo̴̰̦̓k̸.̴͍͈̖̂̈͝ ̶̭͑̋N̸̨͖̠͝ǒ̸̟͍t̶̨̠̓͘ ̷̗̫̙̃͊͊o̸̻̳̺̾̃k̵̠͎̦̽.̵̳̹̍ ̸̥̻̔N̸̡͎̈͒ỏ̴̧̯̪t̵̫̓ ̶̢̈́ǫ̷̮͆̒͐k̴̗̦̋.̶̼͌ ̸͕͎̀Ṉ̶̭̣̓̇ò̷̯̱̤̊̾ṭ̶̖̪̿̎ ̷̨̮͛o̶̩͂̆̚ḳ̷̲͗͊̎.̷̳̥̀̏̓ ̷̢͙͕̊͛N̶͓̓̕ǒ̷̘͍̾̈́ẗ̶̫̜̼̌̇ ̸̘̚ó̶̫k̵̰̺̀̎̃.̶̻̭̂ ̸̱̌N̵̘͎͉̔̽o̵͚̜̓ͅt̴̤̘̓̍ ̵̧̺̪̿o̶̹̞͂́͊k̴̮̻͎̓͒.̵̱͆̋̍N̴̮͎̥̏ợ̴̆̇t̵̼̜̋̈͌ ̶̧͉̰͋̌̈́o̵̬͚̮͆̃̕k̵̡̟̯̓̕.̷̲̉̅͛ ̷͕̝͚̊N̸̡̮͕͆̍̕ò̸̙͘t̸͖̟͂͑̌ ̵̦̗̎o̶̢͖͐͋k̴̕.̴͔̖̜͘̕ ̴̡̯̀͠N̶̞͐̕o̷̬͒͌̆t̵̬ ̸̡̍̕o̴̲̓̅k̷̖̱̃.̸͚̍̑͝ ̵̤̆̕N̵̲̮͙̒̓̐o̷̝̖̝̍t̸͍̜̃ ̵̪͎̔̚o̷͈̖̗͐͛͒k̸̝̿̒͂.̶̨̟̄ ̴̙̱̗̏̔N̸̨̘̈́̀o̴̖̣̓̐ṫ̵̮̼͓̃͒ ̶̣̒͗õ̷̺̋k̷̢̐͒͒.̸̠̗̈̆͜ ̶̥̣̞͋̋N̸̝̦̑̿o̶̭̹̠̕t̸̜͕̤̃̅ ̷̠͒ǫ̷͊̅ḱ̷̢̐ͅ.̷̧̥̪̈́̃̑ ̴̺̜̈́̔̔N̸̗̊̕͝ō̶̳̄̈́ț̸̯̣̽͌͝ ̴̢͗ȯ̸̞̭͉̽̑ḱ̷ͅ.̸̥̗̀̃̄ ̸̪̀̏Ň̸̢̗̞o̷̹͆ţ̷̪̞͐ ̴̺̯͈̿o̷͙̫̜͗̚ḱ̷̺̜̙͗̕.̸̟Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈.̶̧͇̿Ń̶̟ö̸̯͛t̸͇̼̦̀ ̶̳͈̳̇̂͝o̷͓̐ķ̶̢͙̈

My principal, who is also one of the reasons I'm not staying at this school for another year, made it a big deal and practically scared me shitless that if anything was not to Mr. Stark's liking when it came to his daughter's education, it was on me to fix or else I'd be screwed.

It was a lot of pressure, considering this was a man who had saved humanity more than once and was likely to continue to rack up that number. 

But the pressure was quickly taken away when he showed up to meet the teacher, and he and his wife, Pepper, were nothing short of kind and supportive parents every teacher hopes to work alongside of. 

Now was he a little forward and slightly egotistical? Yes. But I was prepared, considering his reputation. Pepper balanced him perfectly and quickly put him in his place if he started getting a little too brash. 

And it was quickly shown during any minor and major holiday that they were big-time gift-givers and loved to shower those that worked with them with random treats and thoughtful, yet overpriced, 'appreciations' as they called them.

I remember getting a card during Thanksgiving break that seemed simple and like any other card a parent sends as a thank you, but inside was a gift certificate for a spa day. 

And no, not just a mani and pedi or a massage. It was an entire spa day treatment including; mudbaths, facials, full body massage, hot rock therapy, mani-pedi, acupuncture, and a list of other things I had never even heard of or knew as options. They had already paid for and scheduled it for me, and they had handed it to me like a Mcdonald's gift card. 

I didn't feel right taking something like that from a parent even if I knew they were billionaires and it was equivalent to a Mcdonald's gift card to them. So I attempted to give it back and handed it back to Happy, who usually picked up Morgan and told him it was a kind offer, but I couldn't accept it. 

The next day I had a bouquet of flowers waiting for me in the front office and a card that said;

"Sorry for leaving Tony in charge of your holiday gift. He doesn't realize how intense he gets in that department… But please do treat yourself to a spa day! I changed the package so that you and your sister can enjoy it together, and it's not nearly as overwhelming as the things he added to it. We appreciate all you do for our family. You deserve the pampering!"

It was a sweet gesture, and it felt rude to not take it after they had sent it back to me. I asked my assistant principal about it, who had Tony as a parent for the last 5 years, and she also said to take it. I wasn't used to the private school demographic as much, and she assured me that though it was nicer than what most parents gift, she's seen him gift more outrageous things that Pepper had to fix in the past. 

"I had to talk him down from donating a hot air balloon ride for our field day last year. A spa gift certificate is nothing compared to what I've seen that man do…" she had said. 

So though it still felt weird, I took advantage of it and took my younger sister to the spa, and we enjoyed the massages, mani-pedi, and facials we were kindly given.

All that to say, I've learned this semester that Tony was an ornery man. He reminded me of my father when it came to how he joked in conversations and how blunt he could be about his thoughts and ideas. 

I had thrown something back to him during our first parent-teacher conference by the complete mistake of not filtering my thoughts. And when I thought I was going to get fired, he let out a loud laugh and told Pepper, "Finally, someone who can dish it back and not get butt hurt," he had laughed with a giant grin. 

I apologized quickly and rambled about how he has remarks like my dad, and it was just a reflex to say what I countered with, and Pepper laughed too. 

"It's ok, Ms. Clark. Tony needs the sass to keep him in line as often as possible."

"Yeah, it gets boring when people walk on eggshells around you. Where's the fun in etiquette?" 

That got a quick eye-roll from his wife and a slap to the arm, which he laughed at, and we continued our meeting.

Since then, I have kept a professional demeanor around him, but I also don't hold back when he needs a quick sarcastic remark to put him in his place. 

Now his sliding a resume into Morgan's homework folder was also on the list of things I was not expecting. Right next to the custom-made Stark iPad he gifted me for Labor Day. (Which who gives gifts for Labor Day?)

The resume was an offer to be a personal tutor for Morgan once she got to middle school. She was in 5th grade right now, and she was a bright girl. I don't know why he was worried about her having the extra help, but nonetheless, he offered me a job to be her full-time one-on-one tutor for next year. 

He was willing to pay me enough that I wouldn't need a second job as a teacher. I would solely be Morgan's tutor, and the benefits and pay would be enough for me to work little hours for a salary that a top surgeon in New York would make. 

A part of me struggled with the offer. I knew money-wise it would take care of everything I struggled with; rent, medical bills, helping my sister through college, and the list went on. 

I should have jumped at this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work under one of the wealthiest and most admired men alive, but my heart could never accept something like that merely because it was such an outrageous opportunity to fall in my lap. 

I kept saying in the back of my head that I hadn't joined this career for the money. It was never about the money.

The only reason I took a private school job this last year (which a friend was kind enough to get my foot in the door for) was that money was tight, and I needed the slight boost that public school funding couldn't give me. But I wasn't giving up teaching; I was just moving to a different group of kids to teach. A lot more privileged and supported demographic, but I was still influencing kids' lives.

Though after the last few months, I realized it wasn't a fit for me. As much as I wanted to make it be that and push my morals aside to continue so I could keep paying for things without going into debt, deep down, it wasn't what I signed up for. 

I was meant to help the underprivileged and poverty-level kids. I was that kid that grew up with one parent working more than one minimum-wage job to make ends meet and the other being underpaid as a school teacher themselves for most of my life. The educators who aided and encouraged me to be where I am now made me passionate about the same efforts. 

With all that to be said, I was moving back to the public school in New York after this year, and Tony had found out. 

It wasn't that I didn't care for the kids at this school. I loved them. My group of 5th graders had become 18 of my own personal children. I wanted the world for them and everything in between. The difference was they could have the world and everything in between. They had access to those resources. 

The kids I was going back to had lived in a world I knew far better than the one I was in. I wasn't of major aid to my upper-class students as much as I was to the lower class. And at the end of the day, my job wasn't about the money; I continued to remind myself. It was about the next generation getting the support they needed and deserved. 

So when I saw that Morgan had left her sweater in the classroom before the break and I had the resume in my hand, I called and asked if I could come to talk with him about it. 

I hadn't been to the compound, and the size and security of it all was nerve-racking. The number of guards, levels of clearance, and private entrances I had to go through just to meet him in the lobby was intense. 

I couldn't help but marvel at the architect and the sufficiency the place ran on while walking up the steps outside into the building. 

People were walking around in grey and neutral-colored attire, and I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb with my bright red and checkered winter coat. Though I like neutral colors, I was never one to keep strictly to that. It was near impossible for me to pass up an accessory or statement piece that popped with color. Hence why I always got the comment, "Oh, you're an elementary teacher? You definitely have the wardrobe for it." 

Thank God I spotted Tony only a few seconds after entering the foyer because there were three different reception desks, which I'm sure went to all kinds of departments of the massive establishment, but I wasn't sure which one to approach. 

He approached me with open arms and gave me a hubristic smile as I gave him a keen one in return. 

"The homework folder is meant to hold Morgan's work. Not your side hustles," I said with a raised eyebrow as I handed him a new folder with just the resume in it.

"It's work from a Stark; does that not count?" he said back, his grin never leaving. 

"Yeah, but the work I'm supposed to review is usually based on story elements and division facts. I don't think Morgan is worried about salary levels and insurance benefits at her age."

"With a work ethic like her mother and a brain like her mother… She'll be managing a place like this in no time," he placed his hands in his pockets, not taking the folder just yet. 

I handed off the sweater instead and held onto the folder, knowing I wouldn't be leaving with it either way. 

"That I can't argue. But she may want to get her math down before she starts something like that up," I held onto my tote bag with one hand and dropped the other with the folder. 

"Which is why I had that in her folder, so math and whatever else she needs help in, she can have you to h-." 

He was cut off when a tall, dark-skinned man approached abruptly. I recognized him as one of the Avengers but didn't want to seem shocked or freaked out, considering I was in their home, basically. 

"Hi," he said. 

Running to his side was a second Avenger I somewhat recognized, but he seemed more hesitant and nervous compared to the man with a sweet gap-toothed smile in front of me. 

Tony's light and teasing mood seemed to disappear with his interruption, and he took a breath before saying, "I told you I would help you after I talked with-." He was cut off as the man patted him on the arm and went to introduce himself. 

"Sam Wilson," he smiled kindly, offering his hand, which I smiled back and took. 

"Y/N Clark. Nice to meet you." 

Sam seemed to give his friend a silent look that communicated something else, and the blue-eyed man extended his hand as well. 

"James Barnes," he gave a tight-lipped smile like he was being forced to converse, but I returned a firm handshake and responded. 

"Mr. Barnes. Nice to meet you." 

I realized then I had seen this man earlier today at the coffee shop I stopped at before my errand here. I didn't have my head on straight at the time cause my sister had called saying that the repair man who was supposed to fix our balcony door had once again canceled and rescheduled. This was the fourth time now, and it felt like our apartment was crumbling beneath us with the 20 other things my landlord had kept pushing off. 

I thought I saw him staring then too, but like most strangers, I see in public, I just gave a brief smile and moved on with my day. Though in New York, I'm still learning that isn't a regular thing here. Many native New Yorkers could go the whole day not making eye contact with a single soul on the overpopulated streets. 

I brushed past the fact he was studying me like I was him, as if we were both looking for an answer to a question we didn't even know.

Tony turned all of our attention back to him as he introduced me to them briefly and promptly gave them death glares. Clearly, they were waiting on something from him, and he wasn't showing patience for what I assume were usual antics between the two with how they talked to each other. 

"Cyborge and Birdman, this is Ms. Clark. She's Morgan's teacher. Ms. Clark, these are two of my most impatient co-workers. Who I asked to give me a second before I talked with them…" 

"Thank this one for the interruption," James said while childishly shoving his friend to the point he teetered on his feet. 

"Just seemed rude to not introduce your colleagues," Sam gritted. 

"It's fine," I spoke up, attempting to break some of the tension building. And instantly, Mr. Barnes's eyes were back on me like they had been in the coffee shop. But I acted like I didn't notice and turned to Mr. Stark. "I was here to just drop off these two things anyway." 

I handed the folder off successfully this time since his attention was turned to the other two, and he took it while staring at them still. 

"Yeah, well, I had a few things I wanted to discuss without… This interruption." If looks could kill, his co-workers would be in a casket 6 feet under right where they stood. 

"I appreciate what you're offering, but I've already told you I have a job set with another district after this year."

James Barnes was grinning like a child who just got revenge, but why, I wasn't sure. 

"Yeah, but… Money." Tony said the last word like it was a magic word that would make me reconsider everything instantly and fold. 

"Money is great and all, but it's not what this is about, Mr. Stark." I couldn't help but laugh even if deep down I knew the risk I was taking not accepting his proposal. I went to readjust my tote on my shoulder as a nervous tic. "Maybe after winter break and I get some paperwork back from the new school I'll be at, we will better understand what I'll have on my plate."

"That sounds like a well-worded way to put this conversation off," Tony smirked. 

He wasn't wrong. I had worded it specifically as a way to keep it on the table for him knowing he'd never relent, but also to be able to walk away from the conversation and not get convinced out of my already made-up mind.

"It's Christmas break, Mr. Stark. Have a great vacation with your family, and happy holidays," I nodded, starting to turn out to walk, but before I was completely turned back, I looked at the other two men. "You two as well. I hope the world is kind enough to give you all a break as you deserve during this time." 

It was true. Crime and bad guys never ended, from what the news showed, and I couldn't imagine what big holidays looked like around here. 

"If I know anything about teaching, I know you'll need a break just as much," Sam shouted towards me after I was a few feet away, making me laugh.

"Happy Holidays," I said a final time before moving for the exit, thankful that the two men were there to distract Tony from trying to convince me to join his payroll. 

___________________________ 

"Oh sweet loving sister of mine, I'm home," I shouted in a sing-song voice but was abruptly cut off when I shut the door, and she stood on the other side like a damn statue. "Mother Fu-! Hallie!" I shouted after a scream let out of me first. "Why the hell are you acting like a Victorian ghost-child and standing there like that?" 

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?" she said, quickly bypassing how she made my heart practically stop beating for 5 seconds too long. 

"I told you I was going to run errands," I answered vaguely, already knowing where she was going with this but not wanting to give her the advantage. 

"Yeah, errands don't normally involve going to the Avenger's Compound!" she shouted with her arms up as she watched me walk into the kitchen and follow me. 

"Jesus, lower your voice. We have neighbors," I grumbled, throwing my bag on the hooks on the wall and taking my coat off as well. 

"Answers, please," she crossed her arms like a mother who had just caught her daughter sneaking out to a party. 

"I had to drop off something that Morgan left at the school. I figured she'd want her coat for winter break," I answered honestly, just leaving out a few other details. 

"Like she wouldn't have a whole room for winter coats alone. Why did you really go?" Hallie continued to interrogate. 

I looked at her, and she was unwavering. I let out a huff of air, going to the fridge to grab a Dr. Pepper and the sweet cream to make my favorite drink after an eventful day. 

"I'm not lying when I said I went to drop that off," I said, pouring the soda into a glass and waiting for the foaming bubbles to go down. "And you know exactly why I didn't tell you I was going there." 

"You act like I'd go insane if I stepped a single foot on that estate," she groaned, pulling a stool out at our island/ kitchen table in the tiny New York City apartment we shared. "Even if Captain Roger's has walked on those tiles and maybe breathed in the same air and all…" 

"Here we go…" I mumbled, shaking the creamer bottle as I waited for what I knew was to come. 

"And so what if Natasha Romanoff has probably sat in the chairs or road the elevator that leads to what I assume are suites and apartments they have to themselves on the top levels?" she paused for effect as if waiting for me to confirm or deny as if I would know. But I just stared at her, and she continued without hesitation. "It's no big deal that Sam Wilson has probably flown the EX0-7 Falcon wingsuit in the field that surrounds the compound. Or maybe even hearing Steve playing an old jazz record. I know that cause there was a girl who used to live on his street when he stayed in the city, and she said there were a few nights that he would play all kinds of old songs with beautiful trumpet solos. Oh, and!" 

I absentmindedly poured the practiced amount of sweet cream into the Dr. Pepper, grabbed a straw to stir it, and took sips of it as I patiently waited for her to finish her fantasies. 

She went on about Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, and any other Avenger that came to mind until she noticed me stop sipping my drink and start to slow-blink at her. 

"Stop. I know that look," she pointed, stopping in her rant abruptly. 

"What the you-just proved-my-point look?" I fluttered my eyelashes at her and took another sip. 

"Shut up," she sneered, even though she knew I was right. 

As if he had just realized people were home, her small senior brown-haired and deaf dog came hobbling around the corner and yipped when he looked at me. 

"Hey, Chuck Norris," I sighed, and he came up to me, barking at my leg like I was an intruder in my own home. "I still don't think he's used to me."

"You say that like you didn't live with him for 10 years," Hallie laughed, walking over and picking him up with one hand and cradling him in her arm. 

"Three of those years were just visits back home. I figured after a month of you being moved in here, his memory would catch up to realize I'm still the same person when we first rescued him." 

Chuck Norris was a tiny little mutt my sister had found behind a dumpster in the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel close to where we lived when we were younger. 

The vet had said he was already about four or five when we brought him in, but he had no microchips or anything showing he belonged to someone. He was also malnourished from only eating scraps that fell out of the dumpster since he wasn't big enough to scrounge through it himself. So he came with a laundry list of things he needed fixing with his tiny weak body. 

We only ever had one cat growing up, so it was a responsibility my parents weren't too sure about taking on. But my sister being who she is, made a presentation the next night and was able to persuade them to let her keep him for at least a month to show she could handle it. 

After a month, they saw how special of a dog he was to her and how she was practically the only one he trusted, and they couldn't just send him to the pound after that. 

The laundry list of illnesses and help he was going to need to get him back on his feet led to a lot of medical bills in his future. But luckily, an old friend of mine I had gone to high school with went into Veterinary school and helped my family out a few times since we were still close. 

Now Chuck Norris lived here, and he didn't care that I, even if I was paying most of the bills, lived here along with him. He only trusted one person wholeheartedly in his life, and that was my sister. 

Now being 14, possibly 15 years old, his eyes weren't great, and he was almost a hundred percent deaf besides sharp noises he happened to hear every once in a while. I'm almost positive he had some form of dementia, too, cause he treated me like a stranger most of the time.

He must have been sleeping when I came in cause a lot of times, if he sees my walk in, he's at my feet barking and acting like he's going to be the one to bring an end to the big monster that teases and picks at his mom. 

As for the name… Don't ask. My sister's an anomaly, and that's the only answer I have to give for that.

"Back to the question at hand," my sister continued, and I groaned overdramatically before walking to the couch with my drink and turning the TV on. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to see the Tony Stark?!"

"First off, I think you answered that question when you went on your little tangent of extremely specific details. You've for sure daydreamed about the Avengers, you nerd," I started, looking up at her where she stood by the coffee table with the glossy-eyed brown mutt in her hand, who I couldn't tell was looking at me or the window that was behind me. "And second, who's to say I even saw Mr. Stark? I was just dropping off a sweater, and I could have very well just left it at reception and carried on with my day." 

"It's the fact you're saying it all as a 'could have' scenario instead of just saying you did," she deadpanned. 

She had me there, and that one was on me. 

"It's not like it's the first time I've ever met him. He is the parent of one of my students, so it's not a big deal to me anymore," I brushed it off and looked to the TV, and started mindlessly scrolling through the evening shows. 

 She immediately cut off my view by standing right in front of it.

"Move," I said, peeking my head around her body, which she quickly blocked again. 

"Once, I'm asking once, that I get to meet him," she bargained. 

"Eventually. Just not before the break. We're all tired and have been busy, him, I'm sure more than anyone, and I don't think the compound is where he wants to worry about crazy obsessed fans bombarding him," I looked at her with a big-sister stare. "Now, the whole thing is already over and done. Can I please just drink this and watch an episode of this documentary I've been waiting to decompress to all day?" 

As if I was asking too much and the universe needed to humble me, the coat rack I had hung my coat and tote bag earlier fell to the floor with a harsh crash. 

I didn't even look in the direction of the latest home improvement added to the list, but instead closed my eyes and sat up some. 

"Classic," I mumbled and started to move to the closet we kept our toolbag in, but before I could stand up, Hallie stopped me. 

"Don't. I bargained with the building repair man to come tomorrow instead of making us wait another week," she said, looking back at the damage. "He can do that as an extra fix for being an ass."

"How'd you manage that?" 

I looked at her, impressed, considering the guy was a nuisance and very much a man's man. In other words, "How could two girls on their own ever manage without a big strong man to come and save them when things fell apart?" I think he got off on being able to make us wait for him when it came to things we couldn't actually fix. Talk about a savior complex.

"I said I had to bake some cookies for one of my classes and said I would bake some extra if he came sooner," she shrugged. 

"You're a musical theater major. What class is having you bake cookies?" I gave her a weird look. 

"None. I just didn't want him to think I was baking them just for him," she said with a witty smile. 

"Attagirl," I chuckled, patting the couch next to me. "Just for that, I'll let you pick which documentary we binge tonight." 

"Why is it always with the documentaries?" she huffed, sitting next to me despite acting like she was upset with the option. 

"Don't lie and act like you don't get sucked in." I stood up and put the now half-empty drink down. "I'm going to change, but look through the ones we've already started and pick from those."

"Does Unsolved Supernatural with Shane and Ryan count?" I heard her shout as I turned into my room. 

Normally the answer was no, but I could go for something fun and not so serious. 

"Sure, but pick a good episode!" I shouted back. "Let Christmas break commence…" 

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Bucky Barnes Tags:

 Y/N had gone to file for legal separation from Dean that afternoon. She didn’t have the heart to file for a divorce yet. She had been with him for almost nine years and still loved him, but she couldn’t be with him anymore. He had broken her trust and her heart one too many times. Her uncle had told her that Dean should be served with the separation papers in a few days. Y/N was still an emotional wreck as she made her way back to the hotel room that she was going to have to call home until she found somewhere else to stay.

Once she was back in the safety of her room, Y/N collapsed on the bed and let her emotions take over. She knew that this is what had to be done but it didn’t make it hurt any less. She had shared everything with Dean for years. Their hopes, dreams, good times and bad. They had even planned on starting a family together. How are you supposed to let all that go without the pain eating you alive?

Across town in the home they had once shared, Dean wasn’t doing much better. He lay in their bed holding her pillow like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He could still smell the mixture of her favorite perfume and shampoo as he would take a breath. He could feel his heart break further with every inhale. The agony of knowing that once the smell was gone, he would most likely never smell it again. He shuddered at the thought of never being able to hold her again, wake up to see her face, or fall asleep with her in his arms again. Dean had closed his eyes and almost drifted to sleep when his phone had started to ring.

“Hello?” Dean answered.

“Hey baby, are you ok?” Mary asked him in her soft motherly voice.

“No, I’m not Mom. I’m the farthest thing from ok,” Dean told his mother. He didn’t think he would ever be ok again.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart. What happened?” She asked him.

“Sam hasn’t already told you?” Dean said, a little annoyed. He knew that Sam had to have told her, and that’s how his Mom knew already.

“He did, but I wanted to see if you wanted to talk about it,” Mary said, hoping he would let her try to help.

“There’s really nothing to say, Mom. I fucked up and there is no way to fix it.” Dean told her as his eyes had started to fill with tears again.

“You don’t know that, Dean. She might…” Mary had started to say before Dean cut her off.

“I do know, Mom! I fucking cheated on her and broke her heart and her trust! There is no coming back from this. She’s gone and I will be here alone for the rest of my life!” Dean yelled. He knew what the future had in store and it didn’t include Y/N.

“Dean, I want you to listen to me. Even if Y/N never comes home, you will find someone else. It’ll just take time,” Mary told him softly but sternly.

“You don’t get it, Mom. I don’t want anyone but her! If it isn’t with Y/N, I won’t ever be in a relationship again,” Dean said sadly.

“Then why, son? Why would you treat her the way you did? It doesn’t make any sense Dean,” Mary said to him in frustration. She knew he loved Y/N, but if he loved her this much, why had he done what he did?

“Because I was an idiot! I let my shitty self esteem and self worth get in the way! Instead of telling her how I felt and risk her seeing me as the piece of shit I am, I let other women make me feel better about myself, and all it cost me was the love of my life!” Dean yelled as he paced the bedroom. He had finally said out loud what he had been hiding from everyone.

“Dean, sweetheart… go talk to her and be honest like you should have been in the beginning,” Mary’s words had cut him deeper than he thought they would. He knew it was the truth, but hearing again that it was his fault from his Mom really hurt.

“I don’t even know where she is Mom. I tried calling her and it went straight to voicemail,” Dean said with a sigh.

“You aren’t going to find her curled up in the bed clinging to a pillow,” Dean had frozen at his Mom’s words.

“How did you know that is what I was doing?” Dean asked his mom in shock.

“You seem to forget that I raised you, son. You would always do that when you were upset,” Mary said with a laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” Dean said.

“Now quit moping and go talk to your wife,” he could hear the smile in Mary’s voice.

“I love you Mom,” Dean said wondering what he would ever do without his Mom.

“I love you baby,” Mary said as she hung up the phone.

Dean threw his phone on the bed and paced around the room trying to think of what he could do. He wanted to talk to her and try to convince her to come home, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He had really messed up this time. Y/N had one of the biggest hearts of anyone he knew, but even she could only forgive so much. He could only try to show her how sorry he was, and Dean knew the first step to show her he was serious about wanting her forgiveness.

Y/N had drifted to sleep at some point during her breakdown. She had been mentally and emotionally exhausted from leaving her life and Dean behind. She had never felt anything like this pain before in her life. She rolled to her back to stare at the ceiling to contemplate what the hell she was going to do next when a text on her phone broke her train of thought.

My Love: I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I wanted you to know that I fired Stacy. I love you and miss you sweetheart and I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am. I hope you can forgive me one day.

The text from Dean had her crying again. She loved and missed him too, but she couldn’t do it. He had hurt her too badly this time. She needed to change his name in her phone too, she thought to herself.

Y/N: I’m sorry Dean, but I can’t let it go this time. I still love you and probably always will, but I have to move on with my life now. The scars of your betrayal run too deep. Please let me go and move on.

That had been the hardest text she had ever sent. What had been left of her heart now lay shattered on the ground. She would always wish that things had ended up differently, but they hadn’t.

Dean: I’m sorry, baby. I really am. I will prove it to you somehow, Y/N. Until then, know I love you and I can’t stand to be without you darlin’.

Y/N: Let me know when you won’t be there so I can come get the rest of my things. I’m sorry but I can’t see you right now.

Dean: I’m going to work tomorrow. You can come then.

Y/N: Don’t be there Dean! I mean it. I can’t be around you right now.

Dean: I won’t be here sweetheart, I promise.

Y/N: Bye Dean.

The last words she sent had hurt. She meant them irrevocably: it was goodbye this time, not see you later. With tears in her eyes, Y/N had blocked his number and laid back on the bed to cry herself to sleep once again.

Dean had stared at the last message she sent for what felt like forever. No two words had ever hurt him like those had. Dean still couldn’t comprehend how he could have been such a bad husband. How could he have been so selfish and not seen what his actions were going to do to her? He had thought she would always be there by his side, but everyone had their breaking point. He had broken her beyond repair, and he would never forgive himself.

Dean walked down the stairs to the living room. He thought that maybe if he watched a movie, he could calm down enough to get some rest. He knew he needed a fresh mind if he was going to think of a way to break down that wall she had put up. He picked up the remote control to just push play on the last movie that had been watched. What had popped up on the screen took his breath away. Y/N had been watching the video of their wedding.

Dean wanted to turn it off, but he couldn't bring himself to hit the button. He watched as Y/N walked down the aisle to him, the smile on her face was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Dean continued to watch as they said their vows to each other, his chest felt tight with all the emotions that had washed over him as the video played. His eyes were glued to the screen as he watched himself kiss Y/N for the first time as husband and wife. Dean had finally managed to turn off the TV, not able to watch any longer. That had been what she had watched right before she left him.

Dean had woken up the next morning for work and just wanted to crawl back under the covers. After seeing their wedding video, he had gone on a drinking binge. He laid in bed and stared at the ceiling trying to remember what he had done the night before. His whole body ached, and he had cuts on his hands. He groaned as he sat up knowing that whatever he had done could not be good. After getting dressed he made his way downstairs to come face to face with what he had done. The living room had been trashed and things thrown everywhere.

“Fuck!” Dean yelled into the empty house.

He remembered that Y/N was going to be there soon, and he promised he wouldn’t be here. Which meant that he had no time to clean up his mess. Why do I keep doing such stupid shit, he thought to himself? If he wanted to try and get his wife back eventually, this was not going to be the way to do it. Dean rushed around the living room trying to clean as much as he could when he heard a car door shutting. His heart jumped up in his throat knowing he had taken too long, and Y/N was there.

Y/N walked up to the door of the house she had loved so much, once holding so many great memories, now only reminded her of her husband’s betrayal. She shook that thought from her mind as she opened the front door. What she saw had her frozen in shock and anger. Her living room was trashed and there stood her husband. She had plainly told him not to be here and there he stood. She knew he was also the reason their things were broken and scattered around the room.

“Dean, did I not say that I didn’t want you here when I showed up?!” Y/N yelled at him, her fists clenched at her side.

“Y/N, baby, let me explain!” Dean said holding his hands up in defense.

“You don’t need to explain Dean. Let me guess, it involved a bottle of whiskey and your temper?” she said sarcastically. Anger was her only defense to keep from bursting into tears.

“Baby…” Dean started to say before she had cut him off.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me, Dean! You lost that right when you were railing your secretary behind my back!” Y/N had lost her composure and the tears had started to flow.

Dean watched as Y/N hung her head and cried into her hands. This was the first time he had seen her since the night before she left when he had left her standing in the living room to go take a shower and wash the smell of Stacy off him. Hell, he hadn’t even gone back downstairs to talk to her that night. No wonder she didn’t want to look at him.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Please know that I love you so much,” Dean said as he walked toward her and placed his hand on her arm.

As soon as he had touched her, she flinched away from his touch. That simple action had destroyed him. There stood the woman he loved, and she was repulsed by his hands on her. Dean took a step back in agony as he felt like he was going to be sick.

“Don’t touch me, Dean!” she shouted as she stepped back away from him.

“Y/N, please…” Dean said with a whisper, afraid if he spoke any louder, he wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears.

“No Dean, I can’t do this,” Y/N said in defeat as she turned to walk back out the door.

“Wait! What about all the pictures? You don’t want to take them?” Dean asked her, but she didn’t turn back to face him.

“Just burn them,” she said before she slammed the door behind her.

As soon as the door had shut, Dean crumbled to a heap on the floor. The look on her face when he had touched her was his undoing. Her soft beautiful eyes that had held so much love for him now held nothing but disgust and contempt. Her body that had always responded to his touch now revolted in his presence. Dean realized that he would never get over the woman that had just walked out the door and he only had himself to blame.

You were no stranger to boys (because really, that’s what all these high-schoolers were despite their obvious thoughts otherwise) trying to approach you. Sometimes they were sweet and shy, sometimes they were blunt and upfront, and sometimes they were just obnoxious and crass. Hell, sometimes they were some bizarre combination of the three. Regardless of their approach, they were always met with the same result: denial served with a side of pitying kindness. It wasn’t that they were all pigs or anything. Sometimes guys you genuinely cared about and appreciated were the ones who approached (and they were always the hardest to turn down). You were just tired of the same old drama. Between the girls on your squad who ran to you for everything (like their pseudo mother hen) and your own... experience during your freshman year, you had suffered through more than your fair share of painfully awkward relationship drama. Besides, you had more to worry about. You had a squad to lead, a school to run, and a college resume to build. The times you were approached tended to be few and far between, so it wasn’t a frequent occurrence anyways.

Guys, in general, seemed to be intimidated by you. You’d think a girl who was smart, funny, kind, feisty, and a student leader would be dream girlfriend material, right? Apparently, that only worked for the heroines in teen romcoms. Once upon a time, it used to frustrate you: now, you welcomed the reprieve. Steve was the only one who could really hold his own, and you two had never been more than friends. All the others were too terrified. Those who weren’t scared off by your reputation and dating history usually backed off when they had to talk to you around your squad. You typically had at least one or two of your girls back you up. Besides, it wasn’t like you had a bunch of spare time to waste on guys. This was the only time of the day you could really be found alone. You enjoyed the quiet solace of stopping by your locker during lunch, especially on Fridays when all the other students in Hawkins rushed to get a slice of the weekly pizza. The hallways were typically bare, and people had learned not to mess with you during your locker breaks. Between cheer practice after school, the many social needs of your squad and demands of being captain, and your rigorous course load (because you were getting into college and as far away from Hawkins as possible), you rarely had time to yourself. And you loved it. You really did. But these precious five minutes at your locker during lunch was the only time you were really able to breathe. They were sacred, and everyone knew that.

So who the fuck was stupid enough to interrupt that?

With a dramatic sigh, you stretched your cheeks into what you hoped was some semblance of a smile (even if it was a painfully fake one). You could sense them, whoever they were, on the other side of your locker door. And they didn’t seem to be budging any time soon. You tried to stall for time, mentally counting down the seconds of freedom you had left.

Ten... You grabbed your calculus book and practically chucked it in your locker.

Nine... You shoved your composition book into your backpack.

Eight... You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

Seven... You prayed this jackass would take the hint.

Six... No such luck.

Five... You searched both your locker and backpack in vain hope of finding anything else to stall.

Four... You figured you’d have maybe a minute of having to endure some painfully awkward conversation as you secured the lock, zipped your bag, and booked it the fuck out of there.

Three... You mentally double-checked that your fake smile was in place.

Two... You sent up one last Hail Mary they’d take the hint.

One... You took a calming breath.

And your time was up.

You had a sneaking suspicion whoever this was had planned it all out.

The hallways were practically empty, with just one or two stragglers making a futile dash for the cafeteria in the hopes there would be some pizza left. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met a pair of beautiful, crystal blue irises. Your fake smile dropped for just a moment as you took in sunshine curls, honeyed skin, plush lips, and slightly freckled cheeks. Your eyes traced over the almost gentle features of his face. His sharp cheekbones, lovely nose, and square jaw were practically begging you to cup his face in your hand. And his body... Damn. Nothing delicate there. You knew your fair share of jocks and hunky boys. But none of them compared to this. He wore a faded jean jacket, and he filled out every inch of it. It was clear he was buff, but you’d bet he was cut too. This blond in front of you was... Well, he was beautiful. You had never met a man (because fuck, but that’s what he was) who left you so thoroughly speechless. And then he had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Like what ya see, sweetheart? Cause I certainly do.” The lazy drawl matched his lax stance as he leaned against the lockers. He was posing for you, you quickly realized. This was a guy who knew exactly what he was working with, and he wasn’t afraid to shamelessly use it. A chill ran down your spine. 

Oh, he had definitely planned it.

Too bad he hadn’t planned for you.

You had more than your fair share of experiences with a guy like that. It wasn’t something you were looking to repeat anytime soon. The smile slid back across your face, a mask you had perfected and an armor you had worked all the chinks out of long ago. You watched, almost bemused, as a flicker of annoyance slid across his face. He knows, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. He knows you’re putting walls up. He can see it.

“Just getting to know a face I’ve never seen before.” Most guys would take the perky tone and sweet grin for the superficial flirting it appeared to be. The diversion you intended for it to come across as. You had a feeling this guy was smarter than that. You upped the bubbly factor, wanting to see how it would affect him (and a small part of you hoped it would annoy him). “You must be new to Hawkins. Welcome!” You had to stifle a giggle as he visibly bristled.

“Not that new,” he mumbled as he released the smooth facade for just a moment. He was clearly upset by the idea you hadn’t heard of him yet (which, of course, was not the case. Everyone and their mother had about the hot new guy with a killer car, but he didn’t need to know that). He managed to recover relatively quickly though. His eyes widened a fraction before that smirk snapped back into place. “Been here nearly four days, sweetheart. And in those four days, I’ve heard you’re the girl who runs the show around here.”

“And what makes you think that?” You figured playing innocent was the best way to go here. As helpful as your girls were in getting the gossip, it never hurt to have a little more info. No matter how high up the ladder you climbed, it was nearly impossible to get a real grip on the rumor mill here at Hawkins. Secrets and lies just tended to have a way of getting out, so no one ever quite knew what the truth was. Sometimes, you even second-guessed what you knew about yourself.

“Well, you’re the only cute (h/c)-haired, mini-skirted spitfire I’ve met so far. And I’ve made it a point to look out for the... feistier girls. Y/n, right?” Interesting. So he was going to keep his cards as close to his chest as you were. The suggestive smirk he sent you and the emphasis on the word feisty weren’t lost on you. You could hazard a guess as to what he really meant. So, the new kid had done his research. This should be fun.

“I’m so embarrassed. Here you are, knowing all about me, and I don’t even know who you are. What’s your name?” Of course, you knew exactly what his name was before he even said it.

“Some girls might call me the man-they’ve-been-waiting-for, but you can call me Billy.” The smile on his face would dazzle any crowd, leave any competition judge putty in his hands, and make the girls on your squad melt at his feet. It was clear this guy trying to work you over. But that was why you were the captain: you weren’t so quick to fall.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Billy. Hope your first week went well.” And with that abrupt dismissal, you were off. In your years of evading hormonal and horny teenage boys, you had perfected the well-timed retreat. Flirt with them and talk just enough to let them think they’d hooked you, then cut it off quick. You had subtly worked the zipper on your backpack closed during the conversation, so all that was left was to fasten the lock and run. You were only a few steps away before Billy recovered. Impressive. Usually, you could get halfway down the hall as they were left reeling from your attention.

“Y’know, my first week has been fine,” he drawled again as he easily fell into step with you. A slight stab of annoyance tore through your chest. You checked your fake smile. “But it’d be even better if you agreed to show me around this weekend. Since I’m new here and all.” You pretended to consider it. You waited just long enough to make it seem like you weren’t going to turn him down before the words had even left his mouth. You were all about giving new kids a chance, but not when they had interrupted your precious alone time and stood between you and your pizza.

“Sorry, but the squad has practice tomorrow. And then the girls and I have team bonding on Sunday, so I’m all booked for the weekend.” You simpered, throwing a flutter or two of your lashes and a mock pout his way for good measure. You thought you had won that little confrontation until you saw a determined gleam in his eyes.

“I take it you aren’t going to Tina’s Halloween party tomorrow night, then?” Damn. The new boy was already connected enough to cinch an invite to a party? It usually took new kids weeks before they broke into the social scene enough to even hear gossip about the last party. Hawkins might’ve been small, but it was a pretty tight-lipped town when it came to outsiders. This guy must’ve known exactly what he was doing if he had already gotten that far in. And, worst of all, he had you trapped.

After all, you couldn’t exactly lie and say you weren’t going. By now, the two of you were close enough to the cafeteria that there were people around. If you lied, said you weren’t going, and then showed up anyway, it would make you look fake. Two-faced. Bitchy. And you had worked so hard to get your reputation to where it was after the disaster that was your first two years in high school. You were depending on your friendly and kind reputation to get you a student body position next year that would look killer on a college application. You couldn’t run the risk of ruining it because of some gossip about being a bitch to the new kid, who hadn’t even been in town for a week. Besides, that familiar tingling of a guilty conscience seemed to whisper. You barely know the guy. At least give him a chance.

“Silly me,” you forced yourself to giggle for fear of biting the words out instead. You didn’t want to judge him preemptively, but there was something about him that set alarm bells off. “I must’ve forgotten. I can’t believe it’s Halloween already.”

“Honest mistake. I tend to have an effect on girls that leaves them forgetting a lot of things...” He moved to step closer into you, and that was when it hit you. You knew exactly who Billy reminded you of. Eric. Your douchebag of an ex-boyfriend who had left you scarred against relationships. As the blond in front of you leaned over you, you were struck with the flash of an image of green eyes instead of blue. You refused to give ground and carefully tried to breathe. You tried to remind yourself this wasn’t him. Hell, Billy probably didn’t even know the guy existed. He didn’t know what he was doing. He shouldn’t be written off because he reminded you of a monster. But it did send a worrying thought through your mind. You hoped you were wrong, but there was a nagging sense that you couldn’t be too careful. You needed to get away from him, now.

You sent him another falsely sweet smile and quickly scanned the cafeteria over his shoulder. Your eyes desperately searched as you forced yourself to back up a step, feigning butterflies when you were really just trying to buy yourself time. It was Pizza Friday, so he had to be somewhere nearby. He loved Pizza Friday. Nancy told you how he always ditched after class to make sure he got some. Surely he hadn’t wolfed it down that quickly... There. Your eyes landed on the luscious head of hair you had been searching for, and you practically leaped at your chance to escape. You let your eyes flit back to Billy, trying to send him a flirty smile whilst internally panicking.

“Sadly for you, I don’t forget things easily.” You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you meant them as a threat or a promise. If only he knew how true they were. “Guess you just got lucky this time.”

“Oh sweetheart, luck had nothing to do with it.” He stepped in closer again. Your heart had practically crawled up into your throat. You snapped your eyes back to Steve, praying either he or Nancy would somehow sense your distress.

“Y/n!” Steve called, waving you over after catching your eye. Finally, it seemed like someone was up there listening.

“Well, looks like we’ll have to see if lightning strikes twice. Catch you later.” You sidestepped the blond’s advance and, without giving him a chance to respond, made a bee-line for the couple’s table. You had to warn him. You couldn’t be sure, but you had a feeling you knew what the research, the quick invasion of the social scene, and his singling you out immediately meant.

Billy Hargrove was gunning to be king.

And he wouldn’t be the first guy to try and use you to get there.

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