Chapter Text
Chance looked himself over one last time in the mirror and worried his lower lip between his teeth. His scruffy, worn-down shoes clashed horribly with the Hawkin’s jacket hanging from his shoulders. He’d never cared much about keeping his shoes clean; they were dirtied with mud, grease, whatever…it all washed off eventually. But his jacket? It was different. It meant a whole lot more than a pair of Nikes.
It was one of his most prized possessions, the kind of thing you didn’t, or couldn’t, replace easily. He kept it spotless, snapping at anyone who came too close with food, paint, or even a drink. He’d shoved friends away over less. It was stupid, probably, but it was his…in fact, it made him who he was.
He rubbed his thumb along the seam of the sleeve, grounding himself in the familiar ridges beneath his skin.
“Chance! Get your ass down here!” He flinched at the sudden shout.
“Dios mío, Mamá!” he yelled back, grabbing his backpack from the chair and swinging it over his shoulder as he shoved his bedroom door open. “I’m coming!”
He took the stairs two at a time, nearly stumbling as his shoes skidded against the hardwood. He caught the banister at the last second, heart pounding, before stumbling into the kitchen.
Maria Romanillos stood in the center of the room, spatula raised like a weapon. Despite being in her forties, she was beautiful in a way that made many of the women in Hawkins jealous. Chance liked to think he’d inherited her sharp cheekbones and dark eyes. Her hair was curled and pinned into a ponytail, scrubs bright against her darker skin.
“Don’t take that tone with me, chico,” Mom scolded, pointing the spatula at him mock threateningly.
Chance grinned and lifted his hands in surrender, “Sorry, Mamá.”
He circled the counter and leaned down to kiss her cheek. He towered over her now, something that still felt strange. Mom clicked her tongue but smiled anyway, patting his cheek like he was still ten instead of nearly grown.
“Such a good boy,” She murmured, almost to herself.
Chance hummed softly as he pulled back, his eyes dropping to her scrubs again. His brows knit together, “I didn’t think you had work today.”
“I didn’t,” Mom sighed, brushing a loose curl away from her face as she turned back to the stove. “But they called me in. Apparently it’s a busy day.”
“Bullshit.”
She shot him a warning look, but he kept going, frowning, “They’re working you to the bone, Mamá. That place doesn’t know when to quit.”
“Language,” she warned, though there was no real heat behind it. She pulled a plate from the cabinet and scooped eggs onto it, sliding it across the counter to him. Chance grabbed a fork from the drawer without thinking. “And it’s fine. We need the money anyway.”
“That’s what you always say,” Chance replied, setting the fork down. He gestured vaguely around the kitchen, “We’re doing okay. Between me, you, and Pops working, we’ve got it good.”
“You know I don’t like taking money from you,” Mom said quietly.
Chance rolled his eyes and took a bite of eggs, swallowing before answering, “And you know I don’t mind. It’s not like it's worthless spending, I mean, it’s for the bills, Ma.”
“You hardly make anything at the diner,” She continued, her voice softer now. “I want you to have money for college. I want you to leave this place better off than me and your father did back in our home countries.”
The word hit him like a punch.
Chance froze, fork hovering halfway to his mouth. For a split second, he thought about lying. Instead, before he could even sputter out a response and make a fool of himself, he forced a bite down. The eggs suddenly tasted dry, chalky on his tongue. He swallowed thickly and set the fork down with a quiet clink.
“Right…” he muttered.
His eyes flicked toward the clock on the wall, “I—I gotta head out. I’ll be late tonight. Be safe, okay?”
Mom studied him for a moment, like she knew something was off but didn’t push, “You too, mi tesoro.”
He smiled at her, quick and practiced, then grabbed his backpack and headed for the front door. The door slammed behind him harder than he meant it to, the sound echoing through the house as he jogged to his truck.
The October air was sharp, biting through his jacket as he climbed inside. Frost clung stubbornly to the windshield. He tossed his bag into the back seat and started the engine, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while the heater sputtered to life.
His eyes drifted to the passenger seat. The letter sat there, folded neatly, like it wasn’t a ticking bomb waiting to go off. With a frustrated sigh, Chance snatched it up and smoothed it open, reading the words he already knew by heart.
Mr. Romanillos,
We regret to inform you that if you do not pass this year’s classes with 80% or above, you will be required to repeat the year. If you have any struggles or questions, please feel free to contact me.
Sincerely, Miss Kelly.
Short and sweet, but just as damning. He crumpled the paper slightly before forcing himself to flatten it again and toss it back onto the seat. Chance leaned forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.
The vents slowly pushed warm air into the truck, but it didn’t help. He still felt cold down to his bones. His mom was going to kill him and somehow, that felt like the least of his problems.
Chance Romanillos, born to Mexican and Filipino parents—a nurse mother and an engineer father—was a second generation immigrant. He was seventeen, turning eighteen in two months, fluent in both Spanish and English, secretly listened to Madonna in his freetime, the best point-guard in their school, fast on his feet and sharp under pressure. Off the court, though, he ran with the worst guys you could ever know.
And now, because of that—and a whole lot more—he was royally fucked.
“There has to be some way,” Chance pleaded, his voice cracking despite his effort to keep it steady.
Miss Kelly looked at him with practiced sympathy. He’d shown up late to school and hadn’t even bothered heading to first period. Instead, he’d gone straight to her office, backpack still slung over one shoulder, desperation outweighing any fear of getting in trouble.
“You’re a good student, Mr. Romanillos,” she said gently. “I’m sure you can pass your classes.”
“Not that good!” Chance burst out, the words louder than he meant them to be. Miss Kelly’s eyes widened slightly. He immediately inhaled, shoulders tensing.
“Sorry,” he muttered. He swallowed and tried again.
“I can’t disappoint my parents, Miss Kelly. I can’t.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “But there’s no way I can do this on my own.”
Miss Kelly leaned back in her chair, tapping her manicured nails against the surface of her desk. Her dark brown eyes stayed warm as she thought it over, the silence stretching just long enough to make Chance’s stomach twist. He didn’t have much hope but he’d take just about anything right now.
Then her expression shifted.
“What if you had another student help you?” she suggested.
Chance blinked, “Another student?”
“Sure,” Miss Kelly nodded, her hair bouncing slightly with the motion. “As in, someone to tutor you. I know a student who would be more than willing to help someone in need.”
Hope flickered in his chest.
“Are they…smart?” Chance asked cautiously.
Miss Kelly smiled, “He has the highest GPA at Hawkins High.”
Chance let out a shaky breath.
“And you’re sure he’d actually want to help me?” he asked, desperation slipping back into his voice.
“I don’t see why not,” she replied. “But just to be sure, we can call him up here. How does that sound?”
Chance didn’t hesitate as he said, “Please.”
She nodded and pressed a button as the intercom crackled to life. For a split second, Chance felt bad for whoever this kid was, getting dragged to the counselor’s office for his mess, but desperation outweighed guilt.
“Will Byers, please come to the counselor’s office. I repeat, Will Byers to the counselor’s office.”
Chance stilled and the hope that had been rising in his chest plummeted just as fast. Miss Kelly switched off the intercom and turned back to him, her kind expression shifting into concern as she took in his face. “Mr. Romanillos? Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” Chance said quickly. Just absolutely screwed, he thought, but didn’t say.
See, when Chance said he hung around the worst guys you’d ever meet, he wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, it was an understatement. Andy and Jason were shitheads, Chance could admit that much. He could also admit that he’d done some pretty messed-up things just to earn their approval.
Will Byers, while not their biggest target anymore, had once been one of Andy’s favorites back when they were kids, or so that’s what Andy told him. But when Will came back from California, there wasn’t much left to bully. He wasn’t scrawny anymore, didn’t have that stupid bowl cut, and he definitely wasn’t short. He had tan skin, a wide smile, and the same kind heart that made him less of a target and more of someone people actually liked.
His friends, though, were still fair game. Andy and Jason never let that go.
Which was why there was no way—absolutely no way—that Will fucking Byers would ever help him. Not when Chance was friends with utter douchebags. Chance chewed on his nails as he waited, bracing himself for rejection while already feeling like he’d lost. After a few minutes of silence, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Miss Kelly called.
The door slid open, dragging softly across the carpet. Will Byers peeked his head inside, cheeks flushed. He wore a dark green hoodie, jeans spilling over the heels of his shoes, and his hair was a mess like he’d been running his hands through it too much. His eyes scanned the room before landing on Chance, then quickly shifting to Miss Kelly.
“Miss.Kelly?”
“Come in,” She said warmly, ushering him inside. Will shuffled forward, converse scuffing quietly against the floor. “Take a seat. I was hoping to ask something of you, Will.”
He sat down, and Chance forced himself to look away, heat creeping up his neck.
“Of course,” Will said. “What is it?”
“Mr. Romanillos here is in need of some extra tutoring in order to graduate,” Miss Kelly explained. “We were hoping you might be able to help him with a few classes.”
The silence that followed was loud.
Chance gathered what little courage he had left and looked up. Will was already watching him, eyes narrowed slightly. Chance’s tongue felt heavy, dread settling deep in his chest. They stared at each other for a long moment. Will’s gaze flickered over his face, studying him. Chance tried not to return the look but it was difficult.
“What classes?” Will asked, directing the question pointedly at him. Chance felt the breath leave his lungs. He swallowed once, then again.
“Algebra…and Biology,” he said, stiffly.
“That’s it?” Will tilted his head.
Chance nodded stiffly. Will pursed his lips, then sighed, “Sure. I can help.”
“Seriously?” Chance breathed, disbelief clear in his voice.
Miss Kelly clapped her hands together lightly, “I knew I could count on you, Will.”
Will smiled at her before she turned back to Chance, “I’m glad we got this handled. You can come to me if you need anything else, but I do have a meeting. Do you need a pass to class?”
“I’ll be fine,” Chance said, still in shock.
“Wonderful,” she nodded. “Please get to class—no wandering, Mr. Romanillos. Have a good day, Will.”
“You too.” Chance barely registered leaving the office, the world feeling tilted as Will walked beside him. In the hallway, Will stopped suddenly and reached out, placing a hand on Chance’s arm.
The contact felt like fire. Chance jerked away, and Will frowned slightly before asking, “What days are you free?”
“Uh…” Chance blinked. “What?”
“For tutoring,” Will clarified, looking at him as if he was particularly slow.
“Oh. Right.” Chance thought it through. He had practice Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays with work almost every night. Weekends were the only days off. “Shit.”
Will glanced at him. “What?”
“Are you free weekends?”
“No way,” Will shook his head, one hand on his hip. “I’m not tutoring on my days off.”
“I can’t really do weekdays after school,” Chance muttered. “Not between work and practice.”
Will considered that, “You work at the diner, right?”
“How did you—”
“This is Hawkins,” Will shrugged, as if that’s all he needed to say. It technically was. “Do you have slow days?”
“Every day is a slow day,” Chance deadpanned, then sighed. “But Wednesdays and Thursdays are the least busy.”
“Fine,” Will nodded shortly, decision made. “Then I’ll meet you at work on those days.”
Chance never did get to ask what time. By the moment Will finished speaking, the bell rang and the hallway flooded with students pouring out of classrooms like a dam. Chance barely had time to blink before he was swept away with them, backpack tugged crooked on his shoulder, Will disappearing into the crowd before he could even open his mouth. By lunch, the twisted feeling in his stomach hadn’t worn away.
“What’s with the pout?” Amelia asked, leaning over and poking him square in the cheek.
She was already in her cheer uniform despite the cold, though she’d at least thrown a long-sleeve shirt underneath it. Chance flinched and swatted her hand away.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You’re totally pouting,” James said around a mouthful of grapes, plucking another from his tray, “Like a kicked puppy.”
“Estúpido,” Chance muttered under his breath.
“Hey!” James pointed at him, scandalized, “I know what that means.”
“No, you don’t,” Chance shot back.
James hesitated, “Well…no. But I can guess.”
Chance didn’t respond. His eyes had already drifted across the cafeteria, landing on Andy and Jason near one of the back walls. They were half-hidden behind a column, Andy lighting a cigarette while Jason kept watch, both of them failing miserably at being discreet. Mrs. Smith was already on the prowl near the vending machines. Chance grimaced, heat crawling up his neck in second-hand embarrassment.
“What idiots,” Amelia muttered under her breath.
James followed her gaze and wrinkled his nose, “I seriously can’t believe you’re friends with them.”
“We don’t really hang out as much anymore,” Chance said, rubbing a hand over his face.
“But you still hang out,” Amelia countered.
Chance exhaled sharply, “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We’ve only got a few more months left before this is all over and we never have to see each other again.”
Amelia let out a long, wistful sound, “If only that were true.”
“Hawkins is cursed,” James added solemnly, stabbing at his salad with a plastic fork. “It’s like we’re stuck here. Nobody has the money to leave once they move here, and the ones who do always end up right back where they started.”
“Take Mayfield,” Amelia said. “Or even Byers.”
Chance’s mouth twisted into a frown before he could stop himself. James caught it immediately. He lifted his fork and pointed it accusingly at Chance. “You’re pouting again. Why are you pouting at the mention of Will Byers?”
“I’m not,” Chance said too quickly.
Amelia raised a perfectly shaped brow, “If that’s not a lie, I’ll kiss my shoes.”
James leaned forward, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re ribbing him like you do his friends.”
“So what if I was?” Chance snapped, irritation flaring.
“I happen to like Will,” James shot back. “Don’t be an asshole to him.”
Chance blinked. “Since when do you even talk to Will Byers? Since when do you like Will Byers?”
“Since always,” Amelia said easily. “He’s sweet.”
“He’s basically an angel,” James nodded, deadly serious. “So don’t be rude.”
“I wasn’t even that rude to begin with,” Chance muttered, though the lie tasted sour. He slumped forward, resting his cheek in his palm and staring at the scratched surface of the lunch table.
“Oh no,” Amelia sighed. “Now he’s actually pouting.”
Chance groaned, “Can you both drop it?”
James crossed his arms, “Not until you explain.”
“Explain what?” Chance asked.
“Why you look like you’re about to throw up every time someone says Will’s name,” Amelia said gently.
Chance hesitated. He hated this part but the weight in his chest was getting unbearable.
“Miss Kelly paired me with him,” he said finally.
James blinked, “Paired you…how?”
“For tutoring,” Chance clarified. “He’s supposed to help me graduate.”
Amelia’s eyes widened, then softened, “Oh.”
“That’s…good, right?” James said cautiously.
Chance dropped his forehead to the table with a dull thunk, “Totally.”
“That didn’t sound convincing,” James said.
“It’s really not meant to be,” Chance mumbled.
“Chance,” Amelia said quietly, “you know Will’s not gonna bite you.”
“No,” Chance said, lifting his head just enough to glare at them. “But he’s got every reason to hate me.”
James frowned, “I don’t think Will’s the kind of person who hates people.”
“You didn’t grow up with Andy bullying the hell out of you,” Chance replied flatly. “That could make you hate anyone just by association.”
“Then maybe,” Amelia said, voice careful, “this is your chance to stop being tied to them.”
Chance didn’t answer, his gaze drifted back across the cafeteria, where Andy was laughing too loud, Jason nudging him with an elbow like nothing in the world was wrong. Chance’s stomach twisted.
“Even without them,” Chance muttered, “I’m still not a good person.”
“Hey.” James interrupted, a frown on his face. His blue eyes narrowed onto Chance, “Don’t talk about my best friend like that. He’s a great guy.”
“Shut the hell up, dude.” Chance flushed, and Amelia laughed, putting a hand on his arm.
“James is right,” She agreed, “You’re a good person, Chance. You’ve made mistakes, but so has everyone. And anyways, if it’s upsetting you so much just apologize.”
“Apologize.” Chance echoed, then nodded, “Yeah. You’re right, I’ll apologize.”
So it turned out that attempting to get ahold of Will Byers was a lot more difficult than Chance had expected. It had taken him days just to catch a glimpse of the other in the halls—and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Chance had definitely tried, but Will was pretty elusive. And sure, he could’ve gone up to him during lunch, but every single time a “jock” got anywhere near Will’s table, they closed ranks like guard dogs.
“Here you go, sir.” Chance slid the coffee across the counter to the officer, who accepted it with a grunt and went right back to his newspaper. Chance hummed along to the Whitney Houston song drifting out of the jukebox.
He grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter, tired but on autopilot, when the bell over the door jingled. Without looking up, he called lazily, “Welcome to Stephanie’s. Take a seat wherever—I’ll be right with you.”
No response, which wasn’t unusual. He kept wiping until a binder landed on the counter in front of him. Chance froze. He stared, then slowly looked up. Will Byers stood by the stool, he wore a band t-shirt, one Chance recognized as The Smiths and a pair of jeans.
“I thought you weren’t available till Wednesday?" Chance stuttered, and Will blinked at him.
“It is Wednesday.” He pointed out, then took in Chance, who was wearing his pastel purple uniform and rundown pants. Chance refused to be embarrassed, but he did feel his ears begin to heat up.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Will asked, “You look pretty tired.”
Chance quickly ran a hand through his hair, as if that would make him look more put together. He shrugged, tossing the towel aside, “It’s a better time than any.”
Will hesitated for a moment, then slid onto one of the stools anyway. He kept his binder close, fingers curled around the edge like he might bolt at any second. Chance tried to feel less jittery, “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Uh…” Will started, "I'm fine.”
There was a moment of awkward silence and Chance wanted to sink into the ground. How he has made any friends is a question he asks himself everyday. He’s awkward as hell. Will coughs softly, “Right, lets just start. Do you have any preference? Algebra or Biology?”
Chance leaned against the counter, thinking. He’d been doing pretty bad in both classes, yet, always seemed to fail to grasp a single concept that was spoken about in Biology. He tapped his finger, “Um, biology?”
Will blinked slowly, then nodded, smiling slightly. It was a nice smile, Chance thought. He flipped open his binder, pulling out a few sheets, “Do you happen to have any homework in the class?”
Chance stared, then when Will looked up at him, he nodded abruptly. “Er, yeah.”
He turned around, pulling his bag from underneath the counter and unzipping it, skimming through the folders until he found his biology one. He grabbed it, throwing his bag back under the counter.
Chance slid the folder over, already bracing himself.
Will opened it and scanned the page, his thumb holding the corner down so it wouldn’t curl.
“Okay,” he said after a moment. “This isn’t awful.”
Chance huffed, “You’re lying to be nice.”
“I’m really not,” Will said, glancing up. “It’s just cellular respiration stuff.”
That did not sound reassuring. Chance squinted at the worksheet, it looked like a bunch of pictures and gibberish to him, which he told Will.
Will’s lips twitched, like he was amused but didn’t want to admit that, “So, what exactly are you confused about?”
Everything. Chance winced, “you might just want to start from the top.”
Will nodded, and picked up his pencil and started outlining parts of the diagram instead of labeling them outright.
“Okay, so,” Will began, “your cells don’t just magically get energy. They convert glucose into ATP. ATP is what the cell actually uses…sorta like fuel.”
Chance nodded, “but how do they do that?”
Will looked up, “Glucose gets broken down in a process called glycolysis. That happens in the cytoplasm, which is the jelly-like part outside the mitochondria. Glucose gets split into two smaller molecules called pyruvate. That step makes a little ATP on its own, but most of the energy is still trapped in the pyruvate.”
“Wait.” Chance is lost again, “what is a pyruvate?”
Will waves it off, “Pyruvate is a 3-carbon molecule made at the end of glycolysis when glucose is broken down. It’s important because it’s like a starting point for the next steps in how the cell makes energy.”
Chance scrunches his brow, but allows Will to continue without anymore questions.
“Then the pyruvate enters the mitochondria. Inside, it goes through the Krebs cycle, which releases electrons, and then the electron transport chain, which is where most of the ATP is actually made. Oxygen is really important here because it grabs the electrons at the end. Without it, the whole process slows way down.”
Chance tilted his head, “So if there’s no oxygen…”
“Then the cell does fermentation instead,” Will explained. “You still get some ATP, but not nearly enough. That’s what makes muscles burn when you sprint too hard, lactic acid builds up.”
Will keeps going, and it does start to make sense. Chance has never been the smartest, half the times he has to ask questions about the smaller parts of the big parts for it to even make sense. It’s embarrassing, and a reason he’s failing his class. The teachers give up on calling on him when he raises his hand.
“There.” Will helps him finish the worksheet, “Does that make any more sense?”
Chance looks at the completed worksheet and then back up at Will, “You might just be saving my life here, man.”
Will’s eyes widened, “I’m sure that’s not true. I mean, it’s just biology.”
“No, seriously.” Chance pushed, “you’re doing me a huge favor here.”
“It’s no big deal.” Will mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and Chance could not feel more like an asshole. Amelia’s words echo in his head, if it’s upsetting you so much just apologize.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink? Maybe even some food?” Chance tried to offer instead, Will shook his head and checked his watch.
“It’s getting late, anyways.” The other said, packing his stuff up, “I should probably head out.”
Chance shuffled on his feet, feeling nervous for no particular reason. Will grabbed his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder and giving Chance one last glance, “I’ll see you tomorrow, m’kay?”
“Yeah.” Chance nodded, echoing, “Tomorrow.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.” Chance repeated again, ignoring the odd look he got and instead watched as Will walked out the diner. Chance stood there for a minute, then once Will was out of eyesight, he groaned, slamming his head against the counter in embarrassment.
“Kid.” A voice called, “Can I get another coffee?”
Chance finished up the rest of his shift fairly quickly, the words left unsaid echoing in his head on the drive home, in the shower, in his pajamas and even at dinner.
Apologize.
But how do you go about that? Chance didn’t know.
He apologized to people all the time. When he bumped into them in the hall, when he cursed in front of a teacher, when he cut the lines in lunch to talk to a friend—he did it all the time. But it was a little different.
Chance ate at the dinner his mom made, his spoon playing around with the fideo. The sound of Jeopardy in the background, grating his nerves. His dad looked up from his own plate, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Chance answered quickly, embarrassed.
“You’d usually be talking our damn ears off by now.” His dad said, narrowing his eyes at Chance, who took a bite of food to avoid answering.
“He’s got a point, mijo.” Mom agreed,
Apologize.
“How do you apologize?” Chance blurted out, face flushing. His mom gave him a curious look.
“You know how to apologize,” His dad said.
“Now, Ricardo.” Mom scolded, “Let him speak.”
His dad muttered under his breath but gestured for Chance to continue. Chance swallowed thickly, “I..um. There’s this guy at school…I’ve been a douche to him before and now he’s helping me out with a favor. I dunno, I feel sort of shitty for the way I’ve acted but I don’t know how to apologize for it.”
His mom hummed, “Well, it’s good to acknowledge what you did, make him aware that you know, apologize for how you’ve acted and thank him for his effort in helping you.”
Chance sighed, “I tried to tonight, at work. But it’s like the words got stuck, you know?”
“You’re embarrassed.” Dad told him, Chance glanced at him—he looked knowing. “It happens to everyone, kid. You know what you did, and you're ashamed of it. It makes it more difficult to do anything when you're ashamed.”
“He’s a really nice guy.” Chance mumbled,
“You’re a brave boy.” Mom complimented, “You just have to have the courage.”
Chance picked at his food, thinking, “But what if I mess it up again? What if he thinks I’m faking it or just being awkward?”
“Then you try again,” Ricardo said. “And maybe the third time. And if you’re genuine, he’ll get it. People usually notice when someone means it.”
“How bad, exactly, did you treat him?” Mom asked,
Chance shrugged, “I mean…I didn’t do a lot but I sorta stood by and watched as my friends did.”
“You’re friends?” Mom said, brow raised, “James?”
“No!” Chance shook his head, “You know James wouldn’t do that sorta thing.”
“That’s why I was surprised..” Mom agreed, “You’ll figure it out, mi tesoro. You’ve always had a knack for charming others, I’m sure this new fellow won’t be able to resist you for long.”
Chance pursed his lips…feeling doubt.
Chance didn’t apologize.
He didn’t apologize the next day, when Will stayed with him long past closing time, pencil tapping against the diner counter as they worked through algebra problems under fluorescent, headache inducing lights. He didn’t apologize the week after that, either. He just kept showing up, kept letting Will help him, and kept swallowing the words every time they crawled up his throat.
He told himself there would be a better moment, a less awkward one but guilt has a way of piling up when you ignore it. It took one thing to finally break the dam, or one good grade.
The biology exam was slapped onto his desk with a sharp thwack, and Chance barely heard the teacher say anything else. His eyes locked onto the red ink at the top of the page. For a second, he just stared at it, like it might disappear if he blinked. A month ago, he hadn’t even known where to start. A month ago, he’d been convinced biology was some elaborate prank designed to make him feel stupid.
He’d gotten a ninety-three percent. The first A in this class all year.
The bell rang, and Chance grabbed the paper, fingers curling around it so tight it crumpled at the edges. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and was halfway out the door before Stacy could finish saying his name.
“Chance—”
He pushed through the crowd in the hall, heart pounding harder with every step. He spotted Will near his locker, shoulders hunched slightly as he talked to a boy with long black hair and sharp features. Mike, Chance thought—pretty sure it was Mike—but he didn’t slow down.
“Will.” He stopped a few feet away. Will turned, surprise flashing across his face. They didn’t talk at school. Barely even acknowledged each other unless it was about homework, and even then it was usually quick and quiet.
It was out of character, and Will clearly noticed.
“Chance?” Will questioned, “What’re you doing—?”
Chance didn’t let him finish. He shoved the exam into Will’s chest, a little too hard. Will stumbled back a step with a startled noise. Chance winced immediately, grabbing his wrist with his free hand to steady him.
“Sorry—” he started, then stopped.
Will looked down at the paper, then back up at Chance, baffled, “What the hell was that for?”
“Look at it,” Chance said, tugging lightly at his wrist.
Will frowned but did, eyes scanning the page. Then they froze on the number at the top.
“Holy crap,” Will breathed. “You passed.”
“I passed,” Chance said, voice tight.
Will’s face broke into a wide smile, genuine and bright, “I’m glad. You’ve been working really hard.”
Something warm spread through Chance’s chest at that. He shook his head, forcing himself back on track, “Will.”
The seriousness in his voice wiped the smile from Will’s face immediately.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
Will blinked. His brows knit together in confusion, “What—?”
“I was a douche,” Chance blurted out. Will went still, eyes wide. “Like, grade-A asshole behavior. And you still helped me. You’re still helping me. I let Andy and Jason shove you and your friends around, and I laughed. I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t step in. I should’ve, and I didn’t. I was a jerk, and I’m sorry.”
For a second, no one said anything.
“Jesus, Chance,” Will said finally, cutting him off. There was a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. Chance wondered, distantly, if he was sick. “It’s fine.”
“But it wasn’t,” Chance denied quickly. “You didn’t deserve that. None of you did.”
Will exhaled, slow and shaky, “I can’t blame you for something you didn’t do.”
“You can,” Chance said, shaking his head. “I was there.”
Will looked at him then, really looked at him, like he was trying to figure something out. The hallway noise seemed to fade.
“…You didn’t have to say all that,” Will said quietly.
“I know,” Chance replied. “But I needed to.”
Will glanced back at Mike, who was pretending very hard not to listen, then back at Chance.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Then…Thank you. For saying it.”
Chance nodded, relief loosening something tight in his chest. “And...uh...Thanks, for the tutoring. I wouldn’t have passed without you.”
Will’s mouth twitched, just a little, “You did the work.”
“Still,” Chance said. “Thanks.”
They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither quite sure what came next.
“Well,” Will said finally, shifting his grip on the paper, “I guess…congrats. I’ll see you next Wednesday?”
Chance huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, “Yeah. Guess so.”
As he turned to leave, the weight in his chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. The apology hadn’t been perfect. His words had stumbled and rushed and probably come out wrong in places but he’d done it. His mom would be proud.