Steve Reinheiser

Quick Facts

• Role: Classmate turned love interest; gentle foil to destructive male figures in Eden’s life
• First appearance: Freshman-year history class as “Stephen Reinheiser,” derogatorily nicknamed “Fat Kid”
• Key relationships: Eden McCrorey, Mara, Cameron
• Defining features: Physical glow-up from awkward, overweight freshman to confident junior; persistent kindness; emotional vulnerability

Who They Are

Bolded by insecurity, then burnished by growth, Steve Reinheiser is the novel’s clearest picture of what a safe, respectful relationship could look like for Eden. He is patient, attentive, and increasingly self-assured—an option for healing that Eden cannot accept. As a counterpoint to the secrecy and harm surrounding Kevin, Steve’s presence asks what love looks like when it’s tender and honest—and what happens when trauma makes that love feel impossible.

Personality & Traits

Steve’s personality starts shy and uncertain, then matures into steady confidence without hardening into cruelty—until his final, painful lapse. His defining qualities are gentleness and loyalty, but the story also exposes the limits of even the kindest intentions when they meet unspoken pain.

• Kind and gentle: He consistently treats Eden with respect—joining her book club, checking in, and offering reassurance rather than pressure.
• Intelligent and perceptive: During their freshman history project, he questions the heroic myth of Columbus, showing critical thinking and an early alignment with Eden’s skepticism.
• Hesitant outsider: As a freshman, he speaks in a “hesitant manner” and fails to intervene when Eden and Mara are targeted in the cafeteria, marking him as kind but not yet brave.
• Loyal and persistent: He carries a crush on Eden for years, pursuing connection without mocking or belittling her volatility.
• Vulnerable: Eden’s rejection eventually breaks him; his tears and final outburst reveal how devotion can curdle into self-protection when kindness is repeatedly refused.

Character Journey

Steve’s arc tracks a quiet reinvention. He begins as “Stephen,” the overlooked outsider who watches cruelty from the sidelines. His partnership with Eden on the Columbus project sparks his voice and their intellectual bond. By junior year, he reemerges as “Steve”—physically fit, socially steadier, and more self-assured. He seeks genuine intimacy, asking about Eden’s interests and moods instead of chasing popularity. In contrast to Eden’s fragmentation under Identity and the Loss of Self, Steve models a healthier self-rewrite: not a mask, but growth. Yet every attempt to bridge the distance between them runs into the barricades of her silence. After a humiliating series of mixed signals and a public snub, his patience finally fractures in the hallway confrontation; in lashing out, he momentarily mirrors the judgment Eden fears, revealing both his hurt and the story’s bleak truth about how trauma isolates.

Key Relationships

• Eden McCrorey: Steve sees the girl Eden used to be, and loves her for that continuity rather than for the party-girl persona she builds. Their Columbus project bond—naming supposed heroes as possible villains—echoes the secret that shapes Eden’s life, especially around Kevin Armstrong. Steve offers stability and respect; Eden, unable to trust safety, pushes him away until he breaks.
• Mara: Early on, Steve shares outsider status with Mara and Eden. His failure to defend them in the cafeteria illustrates his initial passivity, while his later growth shows what Eden can’t—or won’t—accept: that people can change into braver versions of themselves.
• Cameron (Character Overview): Steve’s friendship with Cameron consolidates his social confidence. When Cameron advocates for Steve’s feelings, it underscores how visible and sincere Steve’s care for Eden has been to everyone but Eden herself.

Defining Moments

Steve’s turning points map his movement from hesitant kindness to wounded self-protection.

• The Columbus project (freshman year): He and Eden reject the “heroic” narrative of Columbus together. Why it matters: It’s their first intellectual intimacy and a subtle mirror for Eden’s private understanding of heroes who are actually villains.
• The physical transformation (sophomore to junior year): He goes from “Fat Kid” to fit and confident. Why it matters: His body catches up to his mind; he chooses reinvention rather than bitterness, making him a living alternative to Eden’s self-erasure.
• The confrontation in the snow: He reassures Eden—“I would never hurt you”—after she flinches. Why it matters: His gentleness collides with her fear, exposing the depth of her Trauma, Silence, and Secrecy and the gulf he can’t cross without her trust.
• The party snub and hallway argument: After being stood up and embarrassed, he finally lashes out. Why it matters: His compassion has limits; the moment stains his “safe” image and shows how the cycle of pain can pull even good people into cruelty.

Symbolism & Significance

Steve symbolizes the ordinary goodness Eden believes she no longer deserves: safety, patience, and the possibility of love without violation. His long-standing crush is rooted in memory—who Eden was “before”—but that very memory becomes a barrier, because Eden no longer recognizes herself. Rejecting Steve becomes a way of rejecting the self she thinks is gone for good. He is both a comfort and a wound: proof that healing is possible and proof that she can’t take it yet.

Essential Quotes

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, I get it. No one’s ever really said it like that, I guess.”

Steve validates Eden’s critical reframing of Columbus, signaling intellectual alignment and emotional safety. It’s the origin point of their connection: he listens, considers, and changes his mind—something Eden desperately needs from others but rarely receives.

“I’ve liked you since we were in ninth grade, with the Columbus project, and then the library thing, remember?”

By anchoring his feelings in shared history, Steve shows this isn’t a superficial crush. He’s invested in the continuity of Eden’s identity—past and present—offering a stable thread she can’t hold.

“Wait—I want you to know, Edy, I would never hurt you.”

This promise, spoken after her flinch, clarifies both characters: he leads with gentleness; she lives in reflexive fear. The line reveals the tragedy of mismatch—safety offered cannot be received without trust rebuilt.

“You know, I can take weird,” he says quietly, the muscles in his face flexing and twitching. Then quieter, “I can take fucked up.” And his eyes, they fill with water. Oh God, his voice shakes. “But you’re just a . . . slut.”

His breaking point strips the veneer from his kindness, showing how humiliation and hurt can metastasize into judgment. The cruelty of the word doesn’t erase his prior goodness; it exposes a human limit—and how Eden’s pain ricochets outward, injuring even those who try to love her.