tutor

"Harrington!" Mrs. Henderson's voice cut through the droning hum of the classroom, sharp enough to make Steve jump, nearly sending his pen skittering across the periodic table he’d been attempting to doodle a rudimentary monster onto. He’d barely registered the bell ringing, signaling the end of another torturous Chemistry period.

He looked up, a slightly bewildered, charmingly disheveled expression on his face. “Yeah, Mrs. H?”

Mrs. Henderson, a woman whose patience had clearly been tested by years of hormone-fueled teenagers and the inexplicable mysteries of chemical reactions, sighed, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “A word, if you please. The rest of you, enjoy your lunch.”

The other students, a mix of relief and barely concealed amusement, shuffled out, leaving Steve alone at his desk, a faint scent of sulfur and impending doom hanging in the air. He knew this look. He’d seen it before, usually accompanied by a lecture about his grades and his ‘potential.’

“Steve,” she began, her tone softening slightly, though her eyes remained firm. “We need to talk about your performance in this class. Or, more accurately, your *lack* of performance.”

He offered a sheepish grin. “I’m trying, Mrs. H. Really. My brain just… doesn’t seem to click with all this… science-y stuff.”

Mrs. Henderson pinched the bridge of her nose. “Steve, you’re currently sitting at a solid F. A very, *very* solid F. As in, you’re failing.”

Steve’s grin faltered. “Failing? Like… really failing?”

“As in, if you don’t pull this up, you won’t be eligible for the basketball team next semester.”

That got his attention. Basketball was his lifeblood. It was his ticket to… well, he wasn’t entirely sure where, but it was *something*. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. The team? Coach said… he said my grades were fine.”

“Coach only sees your current GPA, Steve. He doesn’t see the individual subject grades. And if this F doesn’t improve dramatically, your GPA will plummet. So, here’s the deal. You need a tutor. And you need one yesterday.”

Steve slumped in his chair. A tutor? This was embarrassing. He was *Steve Harrington*. King of Hawkins High, not some remedial student who needed extra help. “A tutor, huh? Anyone in mind?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Mrs. Henderson’s gaze drifted to the back of the room, to a desk usually occupied by a girl who blended so seamlessly into the background, Steve often forgot she was even there. “Actually, yes. I’ve already spoken with her. She’s one of my brightest students. Knows her chemistry inside and out, and she’s quite good at explaining things.”

Steve followed her gaze, his eyes landing on a small, unassuming figure who was meticulously packing her bag, her long, dark hair falling forward, obscuring her face. Y/N. The quiet girl. The one who always had her nose in a book. The one who, if he was being honest, his friends sometimes ribbed in the hallways, calling her ‘nerd’ or ‘bookworm.’ He’d never participated, not really, but he hadn’t exactly stopped them either. A pang of something akin to guilt, or maybe just mild discomfort, pricked at him.

“Y/N L/N,” Mrs. Henderson announced, as if reading his mind. “She’s agreed to help you. Starting this week. Consider it your last chance, Harrington.”

Y/N, startled by her name, looked up, her eyes wide and a faint blush creeping up her neck. She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson. Steve felt a fresh wave of awkwardness wash over him. This was going to be… something.

***

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the empty hallway. Steve Harrington. *The* Steve Harrington. He was failing Chemistry, and *she* was his tutor. This was either the greatest moment of her life or the most mortifying. Probably both.

For years, Steve Harrington had been a silent, shimmering presence in her life. She’d watched him from afar, a secret admirer in the purest, most cliché sense. Her notebooks, usually filled with chemical equations and literary analyses, also contained a hidden world. Little doodles of his perfectly coiffed hair, stylized 'I <3 Steve's tucked into the margins, even small, detailed observations about his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely amused, the slight frown that appeared when he was concentrating. She knew it was silly, pathetic even, but she couldn’t help it. He was everything she wasn’t – popular, confident, effortlessly cool.

Now, he was standing in front of her locker, leaning against it with that infuriatingly charming smirk, his basketball bag slung over his shoulder.

“So, uh, Y/N, right?” he said, pushing off the locker.

She nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. Her voice felt trapped in her throat.

“Mrs. Henderson said you’re gonna, like, save my butt with this Chemistry stuff,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty much clueless. So… thanks for, you know, doing this.”

She managed a small, raspy, “It’s… no problem.”

“Cool. So, uh, when do we start? My place after school? My parents are never home, so it’s pretty chill. We can, like, order a pizza or something.”

Her eyes widened. His house? Pizza? This was happening. “Okay,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat, trying for a more confident tone. “Okay, that works. I’ll… I’ll bring my notes.”

“Awesome. See ya then.” He gave her a quick, casual wave and strode off, his presence leaving a lingering scent of aftershave and a trail of butterflies in her stomach.

She clutched her chemistry textbook to her chest, her mind a whirlwind of excitement and terror. This was her chance. Her chance to actually talk to him, to show him she wasn’t just the quiet nerd. Maybe, just maybe, he’d see her as more than that.

***

The Harrington house was, as expected, massive. And empty. Y/N felt a fresh wave of nerves as she knocked on the heavy oak door. Steve answered almost immediately, dressed in a comfortable t-shirt and jeans, his hair still perfectly coiffed.

“Hey! Come on in,” he said, stepping aside.

She entered, clutching her backpack, feeling impossibly small in the grand entryway. The house echoed with a silence that spoke of absent parents and a life of privilege.

“So, uh, kitchen table okay? Or do you wanna, like, get comfy on the couch or something?” he offered, gesturing vaguely.

“Kitchen table is fine,” she managed, her voice still a little shaky. She set down her bag, pulling out her neatly organized binders and textbooks.

Steve, meanwhile, rummaged in the fridge, pulling out two sodas. “Root beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

They sat at the large, polished kitchen table, an awkward silence stretching between them. Steve fidgeted, picking at the label on his soda can. Y/N meticulously arranged her notes, her heart still thumping.

“So,” Steve finally broke the silence, clearing his throat. “Where do we start with this… chemical bonding nonsense?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “Okay. So, the basics. Atoms want to achieve stability. They do this by either gaining, losing, or sharing electrons. That’s where ionic and covalent bonds come in.”

She launched into an explanation, trying to sound confident, professional. Steve, to his credit, listened, though his eyes glazed over a few times. He asked questions, sometimes genuinely confused, sometimes just to break the monotony.

An hour passed. Then another. And gradually, something shifted. The initial stiffness began to melt away. Steve, frustrated with a particularly tricky concept of electronegativity, threw his hands up.

“Seriously? So, one atom is just, like, a total jerk and hogs all the electrons? That’s what you’re telling me?” he exclaimed, a laugh bubbling up.

Y/N, surprised by his analogy, found herself laughing too. A genuine, uninhibited laugh that felt foreign in his presence. “Well, yes, in a way! Think of it like a tug-of-war. The stronger atom pulls harder.”

“So, like, a bully atom?”

“Exactly!”

They continued like that, Steve’s silly analogies somehow making the complex concepts click into place. He was surprisingly quick to grasp things once he had a relatable framework. And Y/N, in turn, found herself relaxing, her shyness slowly receding as she saw past the ‘King Steve’ façade to the genuinely bewildered, slightly goofy guy underneath.

They ordered a pizza – pepperoni, his choice, which she secretly loved – and ate it amidst scattered textbooks and crinkled soda cans. He told her about basketball practice, about his friends, about the ridiculous things Dustin, Lucas, and Mike got up to. She, in turn, found herself talking about her favorite books, about the satisfaction of solving a complex equation, even a little about her passion for astronomy.

“Wait, so you’re telling me there are, like, millions of galaxies out there? And we’re just this tiny speck?” Steve asked, his eyes wide with a genuine sense of wonder.

“Billions, probably,” Y/N corrected softly, a smile playing on her lips. “It’s pretty humbling, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, staring up at the ceiling as if he could see the cosmos through it. “Crazy.”

The conversation flowed easily now, punctuated by laughter and comfortable silences. They were no longer just tutor and student. They were two teenagers, sharing stories, finding common ground in unexpected places. At one point, as Y/N was explaining the nuances of chemical nomenclature, Steve leaned in, his elbow brushing hers, his gaze fixed on her face.

“You’re actually really good at this, Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Like, seriously. You make it make sense.”

Her cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through her. “Thanks, Steve. You’re… you’re not as hopeless as you think you are.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “High praise from the brainiac.”

They were so close, their shoulders almost touching, the scent of his cologne and pizza mingling in the air. For a fleeting moment, she thought he might lean in further, that something unspoken might pass between them. Her heart throbbed with a hopeful ache.

Then, he stretched, breaking the spell. “Man, I think my brain is officially full. I actually feel like I learned something. This is a first.”

Y/N laughed, a little wistfully. “We should probably call it a night. You have practice tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, early start. Thanks again, Y/N. Seriously. You’re a lifesaver.”

As she gathered her things, her mind replayed the evening. The laughter, the comfortable conversation, the way he’d looked at her. Maybe, just maybe, her impossible crush wasn’t so impossible after all. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, a lightness in her step.

“See ya, Steve,” she said, giving him a small, genuine smile.

“Later, Y/N.”

She walked out into the cool evening air, a giddy feeling bubbling inside her. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that a cold dread washed over her. Her notebook. Her precious, secret notebook. It wasn’t in her bag. She must have left it on Steve’s kitchen table.

***

Steve stretched, yawning. He actually felt good. Chemistry, for the first time, hadn’t felt like pulling teeth. Y/N was… surprisingly cool. And smart. Really smart. He picked up the pizza boxes, clearing the table. That’s when he saw it. A small, spiral-bound notebook, peeking out from under a textbook. Y/N’s.

He picked it up, intending to put it aside for her to grab tomorrow. But as his fingers brushed the cover, it fell open. His eyes scanned the page, and then he froze.

It wasn’t notes. Not exactly. There, in neat, elegant handwriting, was a detailed sketch of him, mid-dunk, a tiny heart floating above his head. And then, a little further down, a list:

*’Steve’s laugh – deep, comforting.’*
*’The way his hair always falls perfectly.’*
*’His eyes crinkle when he smiles for real.’*
*’He smells like pine and something else… expensive.’*
*’I <3 Steve. So stupid. So true.’*

Steve stared, a slow flush rising up his neck. His crush. Y/N had a crush on *him*. And not just a crush. A full-blown, notebook-filling, detailed-observation crush. He felt a weird mix of flattered, embarrassed, and… something else. Something he couldn’t quite name.

He flipped through more pages. More doodles of him. More ‘I <3 Steve’s. More observations. His face burned hotter. This was… insane.

A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes. He couldn’t *not* show this to someone, could he? This was prime material for a laugh with the guys. It was harmless, right? Just a bit of fun.

The next day, Steve walked into school, the notebook tucked conspiratorially under his arm. He found Tommy and Carol by their lockers, already gossiping about something or other.

“You guys are not going to believe this,” Steve said, a smirk playing on his lips, holding up the notebook.

Tommy snatched it, his eyes widening as he flipped through the pages. Carol peered over his shoulder, a gasp escaping her lips.

“No way!” Tommy guffawed, pointing at a drawing of Steve with hearts in his eyes. “Look at this, man! Little Y/N has it bad for you!”

Carol snickered, her hand covering her mouth. “’He smells like pine and something else… expensive.’ Oh my god, Steve, she’s obsessed!”

They dissolved into peals of laughter, their voices carrying through the bustling hallway. Other students turned, curious.

Just then, Y/N walked past, her head down as usual, trying to make herself invisible. She heard her name, then snatches of their laughter. She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw Tommy holding *her* notebook, Steve standing nearby, a sheepish grin on his face.

Her breath hitched. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. She knew, instinctively, what they were looking at. Her face drained of all color.

“Look at the little nerd, thinking she has a chance with King Steve!” Carol sneered, loud enough for Y/N to hear.

“Pathetic,” Tommy added, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh. “’I love Steve.’ Ugh, get a life, Y/N!”

The laughter intensified, echoing in Y/N’s ears. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes, a hot flush of shame spreading through her. All the hopes, all the giddy feelings from last night, shattered into a million pieces. She felt exposed, humiliated, like every secret, every vulnerable thought she’d ever had was laid bare for the world to mock.

Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring the faces of her tormentors. She wanted to disappear. She wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Without a word, she turned and ran, the sound of their cruel laughter chasing her down the hallway.

She bumped into a solid wall of muscle, nearly falling.

“Whoa, watch it, nerd,” a familiar, gruff voice snapped.

She looked up, her vision blurry with tears, to see her brother, Billy Hargrove, glaring down at her. He stopped short when he saw her tear-streaked face. His usual sneer softened, replaced by a flicker of concern, quickly masked by annoyance.

“Y/N? What the hell happened to you?” he demanded, his voice dropping slightly.

She shook her head, unable to speak, a choked sob escaping her lips. She pointed vaguely back down the hallway, towards the lingering laughter.

Billy’s eyes narrowed, following her gesture. He saw Steve, Tommy, and Carol, still chuckling, the notebook still in Tommy’s hand. He didn’t need to hear the details. He knew his sister was a magnet for jerks, and Steve Harrington was the king of them all.

“They… they found my notebook,” she finally choked out, fresh tears streaming down her face. “He… he showed it to them. All of it.”

Billy’s jaw clenched. He knew what ‘all of it’ meant. He’d accidentally seen her scribbling in those notebooks before, the tell-tale hearts and names. He’d even ribbed her about it once, though never in front of anyone else. Now, seeing her so utterly broken, something in him snapped.

“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered, his voice dangerously low.

“No, Billy, please!” she pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Just… just leave it. I just… I need to go.”

She pulled away from him, running past him, disappearing into the girls’ bathroom, the door slamming shut behind her. Billy stood there for a moment, his fists clenched, his eyes burning with a cold fury. He looked back down the hallway. Steve Harrington was still there, now looking a little less amused, a flicker of something that might have been regret crossing his face as he watched Y/N run off.

Billy took a deep, shaky breath, then started walking, a predatory grace in his stride, towards the basketball court. He had a score to settle.

***

Later that afternoon, the basketball court was unusually tense. Billy and Steve, usually rivals but occasionally teammates in pickup games, were going at it with an intensity that bordered on aggression. Passes were harder, shoves were more pronounced, and the air crackled with unspoken animosity.

“You’re playing like crap today, Harrington,” Billy snarled, elbowing Steve a little too hard as they vied for a rebound.

Steve stumbled, regaining his balance. “Maybe you should focus on the game, Hargrove, instead of running your mouth.”

“Oh, I’m focused, alright,” Billy retorted, his eyes glinting. “Focused on how much of a prick you are.”

“What’s your problem, huh?” Steve shot back, anger rising. He was already feeling guilty about Y/N, and Billy’s taunts weren’t helping.

“My problem?” Billy laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “My problem is you, Harrington. My problem is you making my sister cry.”

Steve froze, the ball momentarily forgotten. “What are you talking about?” he asked, though he knew exactly what Billy was talking about.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Billy snarled, his face contorted in a mask of rage. “You think it’s funny, huh? Making fun of her? Parading her private stuff around like some kind of trophy?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” Steve stammered, a fresh wave of shame washing over him.

“You didn’t *mean* for it to go like that?” Billy seethed. “You showed her personal feelings to your little fan club so they could laugh at her! You humiliated her, Harrington! My sister!”

Billy lunged, pushing Steve hard in the chest. Steve stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet, and landed with a thud on the hardwood floor, the air knocked out of him.

“Hey! What the hell, Hargrove?” Steve gasped, scrambling to his feet, his own anger now boiling over.

“That’s for my sister, you pathetic excuse for a human being!” Billy roared, swinging a fist.

Steve ducked, the punch whistling past his ear. He retaliated, a wild swing connecting with Billy’s jaw. The sound of flesh on bone echoed in the empty gym.

Billy staggered back, clutching his jaw, a surprised grunt escaping him. Then, his eyes blazing, he charged, a primal roar tearing from his throat. The two boys collided, a whirlwind of fists and fury, their long-simmering rivalry exploding into a full-blown brawl on the basketball court. The game was over. The fight had just begun.