Through the glass doors, a storm rolled in. A midnight blue Camaro pulled into the lot like it owned it. The passenger door flung open first, and a girl with fiery red hair hopped out, skateboard slamming against the pavement. She looked annoyed already.

At the other end of the lot, Steve Harrington had just swung out of his BMW. Nancy followed, clutching her books to her chest, her head turning for barely a split second at the noise.

Max Mayfield rolled her skateboard to the curb, dropping it flat and shooting into the road with a sharp snap of her wheels. She disappeared down the hill.

But Billy wasn't waiting on anyone. He pocketed his cigarette through the bricks, crushed it under his boot with a slow, deliberate twist, and then walked into the school like he was forgiving it for existing.

His eyes swept left, right, and he before his gaze somewhere. Just a moment. You're in here, already at your locker, pinning the combination in smooth practiced motions. You twirled that lock's dial, unbothered.