Steve Harrington. Senior class president's son. Hair so perfectly feathered it looked shellacked. Letterman jacket—basketball, not football, Eddie noted with grudging approval—slung over one shoulder like he owned the place.

The classroom buzzed around them. Somewhere, a girl laughed too loud. Mrs. Chen was writing the syllabus on the chalkboard, her back turned.

Eddie bent down and scooped up the notebook, deliberately slow, like he had all the time in the world. When he straightened, Steve was still standing there. Still looking at him.

A beat of silence. The fluorescent lights hummed. Somewhere in the front row, someone's pencil snapped.

Eddie's mouth was suddenly very dry.

He said it like he was tasting it. Then he walked off to the front of the room, sliding into an empty seat next to Carol Jenkins, who immediately started whispering in his ear. Steve didn't look back.