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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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contains adult themes such as sex and sexuality, drug use, violence/assault, and misogyny; other things to be prepared for include complete irrelevance to the canon of stranger things, 17-year-old jason is trying to bang 15-year-old elle which makes me wanna peel my face off (but it's accurate to the film), reader is adopted and has some issues with her bio parents, mileven and lumax with background robin/vickie, and dad!hopper being MVP as per usual

note: significant sections of dialogue were lifted directly from the film, because why mess with perfection? I still took liberties with it, but for some of those really iconic scenes, please know that I'm not the reason those lines are so hilarious. credit for the scenes I transcribed go to Karen McCullah & Kirsten Smith, the screenwriters of 10 Things I Hate About You, who of course themselves based the work on The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare.

length: 20k words

for @get-your-fics midsummer night's writing challenge!! thank you for hosting rosie!

As his hand slid up her creamy white thighs, she could feel his huge member pulsating with desire…

Mike was looking down at his hands, interlaced in his lap, until Ms. Kelley shut her laptop. She smiled at him politely, and he smiled back. “So!” she began, checking his file again. “Michael—”

“Just Mike,” he nodded.

“Right. Well, we’re glad to have you at Hawkins High— it shouldn’t be too different from your last high school! You were well-behaved your freshman year, correct?”

“Uh, mostly… one or two tardies, that’s it,” he assured.

“Great! That means if you see me again, something’s gone horribly wrong.”

“Huh?”

“This is where kids with behavior problems get sent. Deviants, misfits, sluts, weirdos, creeps— they all have to come in and chat with me to get their shit straightened out.”

“Their what?” Mike repeated. “Are you— am I in the right office?”

“Not anymore, my novel isn’t gonna finish itself,” she announced. “So scoot.”

He didn’t, at first, too stunned.

“Scoot!”

He jumped up, trying to process what conversation just occurred, only to bump into someone as he backed out of the doorway. “Watch it!” a firm voice warned him, and he spun to look up in ill-suppressed terror at the guy he’d just collided with.

Mike was too intimidated to even choke out an apology; it’s hard to say where to start with what scared him most. Maybe the chains, maybe the leather jacket and denim vest, maybe the glare? Yeah, it was definitely the glare— that was what made Mike cower and dart away before it could get any worse.

“Ah, Mister Munson!” Ms. Kelley greeted with faux sweetness. “I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual.”

As her smile fell, Eddie’s grew. “Only so we can have these moments together,” he cooed, taking another step inside. “Should I hit the lights?”

“Oh, very clever, trailer park boy,” she offered flatly as she examined the incident report already in his file. “Apparently you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?”

“I was just joking around with my bandmates,” he promised. “It was a bratwurst.”

“Bratwurst,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow and glancing down— ostensibly at his handcuff belt buckle. “Aren’t we the optimist?”

A hint of Eddie’s resolve faded as she tilted her head and smiled at him cheerily again.

“Next time, keep your dangler in your Wranglers, mkay?” she suggested, chipper yet hollow.

Eddie shook his head as he left, leaving Ms. Kelley to return to her desk and re-open her computer. Examining her screen, she erased one word and replaced it.

…she could feel his huge bratwurst pulsating with desire…

“Hey! Mike, right?”

Mike turned, seeing another sophomore standing in front of him with a high top on his head and hightops on his feet. “Yeah!” Mike answered.

“I’m Lucas,” the other student offered with an extended hand for a shake.

Mike sighed with relief as he returned the handshake energetically, noticing Lucas’ basketball uniform. “You know, normally they send down one of those audio/video geeks.”

Lucas nodded; “Yeah, I know— I know what you mean.”

Right on cue, Dustin Henderson rolled by with the A/V cart. “Hey, Lucas,” Dustin nodded, “where should I put the radio equipment?”

Lucas coughed and brushed Dustin away. “Lucas?” he shook his head, pretending he had no idea who that could be, as he ditched a bewildered Dustin and guided Mike along down the hall.

As they walked past a crowd of popular seniors, Lucas motioned towards them.

“So, over here, you’ve got your basic beautiful people,” he explained, “unless they talk to you first, don’t talk to them.”

“Is that your rule or theirs?”

“Watch,” Lucas offered, nodding in their direction. “Hey there,” he greeted.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington asked with a sneer.

“See?” Lucas smiled at Mike, who shook his head as they moved along. “Anyways, you’ve got your Diet Coke drinkers,” he explained as he motioned toward a crowd of students all holding red cans. “Very edgy, don’t make any sudden movements around them.”

Mike nodded in understanding, trying to keep up— literally, since Lucas kept walking quickly, but also in terms of the explanation of Hawkins High’s social dynamics.

“You’ve got your basic stoners—”

A senior with long black hair and bloodshot eyes caught Mike’s attention. “Hey, nice threads, man,” the stoner complimented with a smile, “Ocean Pacific?”

“And your surfers—”

Mike gawked at the muscular, tan guy with a blonde mullet and, for some reason, no shirt on. “Does he walk around like that at school?” he wondered aloud, but Lucas didn’t notice.

“— even though the closest they’ve been to the ocean is when they drink Ocean Spray cranberry juice.”

As Lucas laughed at his own joke, they walked through the courtyard.

“And this is our fearless Hawkins High basketball team!” Lucas explained, setting his hands on one of the player’s shoulders as they passed their lunch table. “Go Tigers, huh?”

The players scowled at him as Lucas’ hand was shrugged off; he crossed his arms.

“Yesterday I was their up-and-coming star,” Lucas recalled with a roll of his eyes.

“What happened?” Mike asked.

“Patrick McKinney started a rumor that my Converse were fake,” Lucas explained with a sigh.

“So they’re freezing you out?” Mike realized, offended on his behalf and concerned that everyone here was that superficial.

“I’ll get back in, don’t worry,” Lucas assured, but Mike wasn’t really worried about him so much as himself.

It was right then that Elle Hopper walked by, carrying with her the essence of youthful beauty and ingenue-ity. Her busy patterned jumpsuit was every bit as colorful as her spirit; she laughed lightly with the redhead at her side, a few words of a conversation about a trip to the mall floating through the air.

As time seemed to slow just for her, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a wave of the scent of candy-sweet perfume right in Mike’s direction.

“Oh— wow,” Mike sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Who’s she?”

“She’s out of your league is who she is,” Lucas warned.

“And?”

“And she’s got this super scary dad— won’t let her or her sister date. Ever,” Lucas announced firmly.

“How bad could he be, is he a hardened criminal or something?”

“Worse,” Lucas shook his head, “he’s the sheriff.”

“That’s worse?” Mike frowned.

“A criminal will just kill you. The sheriff will actually get away with it.”

“So,” Ms. O’Donnell began, “what did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?”

Bethany Walters raised her hand instantly, and you rolled your eyes— because of course she would. “I loved it,” she cooed when she was called on. “I was soooo romantic!”

You grimaced, unable to stop yourself from commenting (a habit of yours). “Romantic? Hemingway?! Please— he was an abusive alcoholic misogynist—”

The rest of the class was already groaning and rolling their eyes, a few mutters of not this again here and there, but you kept going.

“— who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Yes, it was just like you to say something like that when Bethany was just trying to express a perfectly harmless opinion, but it was just like Jason to take it further. “As opposed to an unlikeable, self-righteous loser with no friends?” he quipped.

You weren’t planning on saying anything, but thankfully Ms. O’Donnell stood up for you anyway. “Quiet, Jason,” she scolded lightly— she was never that hard on him, because he was the star of the basketball team, but she also didn’t let him bully you that openly in class.

“I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time,” you concluded, shooting Jason a look over your shoulder, who simply smirked back at you.

And if it was just like you to say something snarky and politically-charged, and just like Jason to use it to insult you, then it was just like Eddie to show up late as if it were no trouble at all. “What did I miss?” he asked with a smile as he burst in.

You answered instantly, without looking back: “The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“Great,” Eddie nodded, spinning on his heel and walking right back out again.

“W-wait!” Ms. O’Donnell called out, but Jason spoke again and took her attention away.

“How about we make a new rule— don’t come to class if you can’t handle your PMS,” he suggested jokingly.

“Jason!” she snapped. “Watch your attitude.”

You smirked to yourself smugly, but that moment of righteous indignation didn’t last long.

“And you,” she added, turning her attention to you, “go to the office.”

“What? Why?!” you protested.

“Because— because you’re being disruptive!” she decided.

Sighing, you got up from your seat and slung your backpack over your shoulder. As Jason snickered at you gleefully, you ‘accidentally’ let your textbook swing into his face, smacking that shit-eating look right off of him.

It was only a minute-or-so walk to the office, where you heard Ms. Kelley calling out to her assistant as you walked in.

“What’s another word for engorged?” she asked her, stumping the receptionist.

“Tumescent?” you offered.

“Great!” she smiled, typing at her laptop; you had some inkling what she was using that word for, though you wish you were blissfully ignorant to her erotic exploits. “So, were you terrorizing Ms. O’Donnell’s class again?”

You frowned. “Terrorism is a pretty strong word for simply expressing my opinion.”

“How about the way you expressed your opinion to Billy Hargrove? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, if you were wondering.”

“In my defense,” you smirked, “I didn’t know he actually had balls when I kicked him.”

“The point is,” he sighed, less amused, “you tend to make a bad impression on others, and that’s not actually something to be proud of. People see you as—”

“Opinionated?”

“The term used most often is ‘heinous bitch’,” she corrected.

The words themselves didn’t bother you too much— yes, they were sexist, but that was nothing new here— but the knowledge that people were actually saying this to Ms. Kelley gave you pause. Were you really so traumatizing that they had to discuss you with the counselor?

“So, you might want to work on that,” she offered. “Bye!”

You scoffed. “As always,” you began as you stood, “thank you for your excellent guidance. I’ll let you get back to writing about aching cores and quivering members.”

As you turned, quietly proud of yourself for standing up to her, you heard her ponder to herself, “huh… quivering member, I like that…”

In the parking lot, you and Robin were walking side-by-side to your car (since she’d gotten a ride from you today, and also every other day for the past year and a half) when you were nearly run over by Jason screeching up to the curb in his car; it was just like him: shiny and new, overvalued, a fabulous body with subpar machinery under the hood.

“Hey,” he nodded at you, flashing that taunting grin, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that you dress like a bog witch?”

“Aw, do you really mean that?” you beamed excitedly, and he frowned at his failed insult as he pulled his car up a little further. If only he would’ve kept driving straight forward forever— he would’ve gone over the edge of the quarry eventually; but instead, he stopped… in front of your sister.

“Hi, ladies,” he greeted suavely, “care for a ride?”

You and Robin watched from beside your car— it was just like you, too: classic, older on the inside than it was on the outside, and debatably in need of a polish— in horror as Elle and Max hopped into the back of Jason’s convertible with all the girlish glee of two ingenues in over their head.

“Well, that’s a… charming new development,” Robin frowned.

“It’s disgusting,” you spat, hopping into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over. As you pulled out of your spot, you nearly slammed into one of those varsity basketball dweebs speeding by on his bike. “Hey!” you shouted at him, leaning out your window. “Didn’t your mommy tell you to look both ways before riding that thing in the street?”

The kid cowered and biked away, and you shook your head as you pulled it back into the car.

“I swear, these kids are getting dumber every year,” you sighed. “I think there’s a little too much chlorine in the Hawkins gene pool.”

As Lucas pulled over by the curb by Mike, the new student stared at you and Robin driving away in the beat-up vintage. “Are you okay? She almost hit you,” Mike noticed.

“Oh, that’s nothing with your beloved’s older sister,” Lucas scoffed. “I’m lucky I still have all my parts.”

“Wait, that’s Elle’s sister?!” Mike realized.

“Uh huh, in the legal sense,” Lucas agreed. “Sheriff Hopper adopted them both when they were little— I assume he found his first daughter abandoned by a tribe of rampaging bitches or something.”

That was just one of many theories about how exactly your dad came to adopt you and your sister, though the real story was much less interesting; speaking of him, he usually got home from the station after you returned from school, with him working later in the afternoons and all. When he returned home that particular day, he found you reading Jane Eyre on the sofa, and he smiled at you.

“Hello, honey,” he greeted. “Make anyone cry today?”

“Not yet,” you returned, “but it’s only four-thirty!”

He hummed and leaned in to kiss you on the forehead as you turned your page. Right about then, Elle walked through the door— and you knew that she thought she would’ve just made it in time to beat Dad home by the cringe that crossed her face when she saw him. “Hi Daddy!” she beamed, trying to play it cool.

“And where have you been?” you asked, getting a grimace from her for your shameless sell-out.

“Nowhere,” she dodged.

But Dad missed the exchange entirely, still going through the mail. “What’s this?” he asked when he saw a massive white envelope. “It says Sarah Lawrence?”

You hopped up off the couch at lightning speed, snatching the letter away and shredding it open like a kid on Christmas— but not you, some other generic kid, because even when you were little you liked to open presents carefully (it helped you temper your expectations). “Oh my god!” you shrieked when you saw a massive congratulations. “I got in! I got in!!”

“Honey, that’s great,” your dad offered, “you can use that to negotiate better scholarships at Indiana State!”

You frowned. “I know you want me to stay here—”

“We decided that you would stay here,” he countered.

“You decided.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna leave?” he realized with a saddened frown.

“We can dream,” Elle mumbled to herself— but not quite enough to herself, because you caught it and you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

“Why don’t you ask Elle who drove her home?”

“Don’t change the…” Dad trailed off, turning to Elle as he took the bait completely. “Who drove you home?”

“N-now, don’t get upset, Daddy,” she pouted, “but… there’s this boy—”

“Who’s about as sharp as a marble,” you interjected.

“And I think he might ask me—” Elle continued, but this time your dad interrupted her.

“I think I know what he’s going to ask you. And I think I know the answer: No!” he announced proudly. “It’s always no! You know the house rules: one, no dating until you graduate. Two, no dating until you graduate! Pretty simple stuff!”

“Daddyyyy,” Elle whined, making you roll your eyes at her. “It’s so unfair!”

“You know what’s unfair?” he returned, looking at you too. “Last week I had to drive a girl to the hospital, she went into labor alone in her car on the side of the road— and she’s fifteen. You know what she said to me in between bouts of screaming in my backseat?”

“I’m a crackwhore who should have made my sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?” Elle assumed.

“No,” Dad frowned, “she said I should have listened to my father.”

“Oh, she did not,” Elle scoffed disbelievingly.

“Okay, no, she didn’t— but she was probably thinking it!” he insisted.

“Can we focus on me for a second please?” Elle pouted. Like everything isn’t already focused on you, you thought to yourself. “I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.”

“No you’re not— your sister doesn’t date,” your dad reminded her.

You chimed in quickly: “And I don’t intend to.”

“And, why is that again?” he asked you with a pleased smile.

“Have you seen the unwashed champions of idiocracy that go to that school?!” you replied.

“God, where did you come from? Planet Loser?” Elle spat.

“As opposed to Planet ‘Look at me! Look at me!’” you offered in your best passé, vapid voice with your eyes rolled back halfway.

“Okay, here’s a solution,” Dad decided suddenly, making you both perk up. “Old rule’s stricken, new rule: Elle, you can date—”

She lit up immediately.

“When she does,” he finished, pointing at you.

“B-but, she’s a total freak! What if she never dates?!” Elle whimpered.

“Then you’ll never date! Oh, I like that,” he announced proudly. “And I’ll get to sleep at night— the deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.”

His police radio went off and he sighed.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he decided, directing his attention at you specifically for a moment: “We’ll talk about college later.”

Elle tried to get him to stay with a whine, but he was gone, and she was pissed at you once more. “Can’t you find some loser sad enough to wanna go out with you so I can be normal?” she pouted.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “guess you’ll miss out on some fabulously witty banter with Jason.”

“You suck!” she exclaimed as she stormed off.

“You suck!” you imitated her quietly before you went to your own room.

Mike’s patient, anxious waiting paid off when Elle sat down at the library table, setting down her books with a sigh.

“Can we make this quick?” she asked, sounding a little exhausted already. “Tammy Thompson and Tommy Hagan are having a horrendous, public break-up in the courtyard. Again.”

“O-oh, yeah, okay,” Mike agreed, still a little stunned that he was sitting across from the object of his affection. “I thought we’d start with pronunciation…”

“That’s the worst part,” Elle pouted, “I feel like I’m trying to cough up a loogie.”

“Well, then how about we start with cuisine?” he suggested, heart racing even though he’d practiced this a thousand times in the mirror at home. “We could go to that French place on the square, maybe Saturday night?”

“You’re asking me out?” Elle realized, gentle shock lifting into a wide smile. “That’s so cute!”

Mike’s eye twitched.

“What’s your name again?”

“Uh, it’s Mike,” he answered, “listen— I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought if it was for French class—”

“Wait a minute, Mark,” she interrupted.

“Mike.”

“My dad just came up with a new rule! He says I can date if my sister does,” she recalled.

“Really?” Mike perked up. “Well, then let me ask you, do you like D&D? ‘Cause we should totally do a oneshot together—”

“Uh, big problem, Mick,” Elle reminded him, “my sister is a perfect specimen of freakazoid.”

“Yeah, I noticed she’s… antisocial,” Mike offered sympathetically. “Any idea why?”

“I don’t know,” Elle considered, glancing upward as she thought about it. “She used to be, like, really popular, but it was like she got sick of it. I’m pretty sure she’s just incapable of human interaction. That or she has a brain tumor or something. Either way, she’s a bitch.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike agreed half-heartedly, “but there’s plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a… difficult girl. I mean, she’s not ugly; and people do crazier stuff all the time! Jump out of airplanes, ski off cliffs, swim with sharks… it would be like extreme dating.”

Elle knitted her eyebrows together. “You think you could find someone that extreme?”

“Why not?” Mike shrugged.

“And you’d do all that for me?” she pressed softly, reaching out to brush her hand over his arm.

Mike would do anything for her to touch his arm like that again. “I-I mean, I could look into it…” he offered as his brain short-circuited.

And so he was determined. Which was why he and Lucas weren't actually paying any attention in science class that same day.

As they pretended to make progress on their frog dissection, Mike and his new friend were really scoping the room for local talent to potentially date Hawkins’ resident mega-bitch. Their search so far had only turned up men like themselves: that being men afraid to get the Hargrove treatment and have their future generations compromised. Turns out guys are generally pretty protective of their nuts.

“I told you it was impossible,” Lucas sighed, “no one will go out with her.”

Mike’s attention was taken by the partners two tables over— a massive, freckled kid with a leather jacket, and his buddy with a mess of rocker hair and a custom denim jacket; the latter was fooling around with butterfly knives, before using them to impale the frog carcass, because apparently the little pins provided just weren’t doing it for him.

“Hey, what about him?” Mike wondered, watching with a tilted head.

“Woah, no, you don’t want to mess with that guy,” Lucas shook his head, “don’t even look at him. He’s a criminal, he deals the harder stuff around school— you know, more than just pot. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just did a year at Rikers.”

“Hey, well at least we know he’s horny,” Mike shrugged.

“I’m serious, he’s unhinged!” Lucas warned. “He sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers.”

Meanwhile, the metalhead had taken out a cigarette and was leaning down to light it on a Bunsen burner. The display should’ve deterred anyone, but it made Mike smile optimistically. “He’s our guy,” he insisted.

The basketball team was joking around at lunch as Chance shared an X-rated story from his date the night before, and Lucas took a deep breath as he waited for the perfect moment.

When all the guys laughed at something Chance had said, Lucas quickly slipped in and tried to blend in as he laughed along.

“Oh my— oh my god,” he got out breathlessly as he laughed, “wow, Chance, you’re hilarious.”

He wiped his eye, still laughing as the rest of the table’s reaction died down and they all glared at him.

“Are you lost?” Jason asked coldly.

Lucas sighed. “No, I just… I thought maybe it was all water under the bridge by now.”

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours,” Andy noticed.

“Wow, nice counting, Andy— tomorrow we’ll work on shapes,” Lucas encouraged flatly.

Andy nearly jumped across the table, but Jason put a hand on his chest to hold him back.

“Actually, truth is, I came here to… make a suggestion,” Lucas added, making Jason’s eyebrows raise.

“Go on…”

“You want Elle Hopper, right? The sophomore?” Lucas continued.

“Yeah,” Jason shrugged, “she’s cute.”

“But she can’t date until her sister does,” Lucas went on. “Your problem could be solved if you found someone to take her out.”

Jason laughed. “Does anyone hate themselves that much?”

“Probably not, but people do like money…”

As Lucas bounced his eyebrows up and down, Jason seemed to put together what he was implying. “You want me to pay someone off to date her?”

“I mean, I don’t want you to, but it’s an idea,” Lucas corrected.

“Do you know anyone that desperate for cash and unfazed by the prospect of emasculation?” Jason returned.

“Meet Eddie Munson,” Lucas beamed, motioning to the opposite end of the cafeteria where Eddie was ‘subtly’ trading a bag of pills for a twenty-dollar bill with another student.

“Munson? The Freak? I heard he ate a live duck once,” Jason grimaced.

“Everything but the beak and feet! Clearly he’s a great investment,” Lucas beamed, but Jason remained suspicious.

“What’s in this for you?” he wondered.

“I think you know,” Lucas sighed, “I want back in— I know I’m still on the team, but I wanna be really on the team again. I miss you guys!”

“You miss your chance to be popular,” Jason corrected.

“Also that!” Lucas agreed in a continued upbeat tone.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Jason agreed cautiously. “Now, back to the loser table with you.”

As Jason shooed him away, Lucas moved across the way to the table where Mike was watching it all go down disapprovingly. “Why do we need to get him involved again?” he wondered with a shudder.

“Calm down, he’s just our money man,” Lucas soothed. “We let him think this is all his idea, meanwhile he’s busy dealing with Eddie and you have time with Elle.”

Mike sighed, concerned, but knowing he was out of other options. Still, in a battle for ‘the girl’, he didn’t feel equipped to face a popular, handsome senior.

But when Eddie looked at Jason, he didn’t see a popular, handsome senior; none of that mattered to him. He just saw: douche with a quaff. So, while he was out taking a smoke break on the stands by the soccer field, he was surprised to see that very quaffed douche approaching him.

“Hey,” Jason offered Eddie with a nod— that very nod that made girls want him and guys want to be him, but it was powerless on Eddie, who just glared back at him while exhaling a cloud of smoke. “How are you?”

Eddie blinked forward, barely aware of the Tiger-pride-green blur beside him.

Jason stammered as he tried again to break the ice. “I, uh, had some great duck last night—”

“Do I know you?” Eddie wondered. “Shit, are you buyin’?” He didn’t seem the type, but hey— as long as he had cash, he was Eddie’s type, customer-wise.

“Uh, no,” Jason shook his head nervously. “Well, actually, yes— but—”

“I don’t sell roofies, Romeo,” Eddie warned him.

“I’m not buying drugs!” Jason barked, a little too loud for something that’s supposed to be secret. “I’m buying a date.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Listen, Carver, you’re a good-looking guy, but—”

“No no!” Jason rushed out, face turning pink. “Not for me! For her!”

Jason pointed down the field to where you were running drills, sweating and determined, grunting as you kicked the ball across the grass. “The Hopper chick?” Eddie noticed.

“Yeah!”

Eddie laughed sharply, and so did his friend beside him. “Yeah, sure thing, champ— I’ll get right on that,” Eddie agreed sarcastically.

“Look, until someone goes out with her, I can’t bag her sister,” Jason explained with a sigh.

“What a shame,” Eddie stuck out his bottom lip, “how many years of therapy will you need to cope with this trauma?”

“I know you don’t care about me,” Jason crossed his arms, “but I’m thinking you care a bit about Andrew Jackson?”

“That racist son of a bitch? He was a piece of—” Eddie began, but then Jason pulled the twenty out of his pocket and brandished it proudly, making Munson shut his mouth.

“Whaddaya say?” Jason prompted. “For a crisp twenty, you could take out the lovely Miss Hopper—”

As they glanced down the field, the guys winced at the sight of you roughly body-checking another player, who fell to the ground with a cry.

“For a crisp thirty—” Jason began again, summoning a ten from his pocket.

“Well, now, let’s think about this,” Eddie pondered aloud. “You’re paying me to take her out, but I’ve gotta actually take her somewhere: we’ll say the movies. That’s fifteen bucks for two tickets. We get popcorn, that’s… fifty.”

Jason scoffed. He knew there was more than a little inflation going on in those numbers, but he also knew that the freak had him under his thumb in these negotiations.

“She’s gonna want Junior Mints, what do you know, we’re looking at seventy-five already,” Eddie smirked.

“What kind of gold-plated Junior Mints are you buying?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“What kind of girl is this chick’s little sister?” Eddie countered. “Is she really worth it, or are you just blowing hot air?”

Jason was powerless to even such an obvious trap— he could never say no to a dare. Eddie was really saying, are you chicken? And Jason could probably be talked into fighting a bear while only armed with a butter knife if it was all to prove he was not, in fact, chicken. “Fifty,” Jason spat, “final offer.”

A bill was produced from Carver’s designer wallet, and Eddie’s ring-covered fingers snatched it away and stuffed it into his pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Eddie offered with a sarcastically-saccharine smile, but Jason only rolled his eyes and wandered off.

Just then, Coach Hastings blew the whistle. “Good hustle, girls, good hustle!” he offered to the team. “Take a water break!”

Seeing the group of players disperse, Eddie waited until you were on your way to the cooler to snuff his cigarette and jog up beside you. You shot him a look before he even said anything. “Hey there, girlie,” Eddie greeted you, “how ya doin’?”

“Uh, sweating like a pig,” you answered, wiping your face on your uniform, “and yourself?”

“You sure know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?” he laughed nervously.

You seemed amused, but in more of an at way than a with way. "My mission in life," you quipped. "But, hey, clearly I captured your attention. Lucky me."

He grinned as he watched you chug your water. "So I'll pick you up Friday then?"

You choked, laughing as you nearly spit the water right onto him. "Yeah," you agreed sarcastically as you wiped your chin, "sure, Friday."

"I'll take you places you've never been before," he promised lasciviously.

"Like where, the crackhouse on Miller Street?" you rolled your eyes. "Do you even know my name, screwboy?"

"I know more than you think," he challenged.

"Well, for that to be true," you returned, "you'd have to know more than the average eighth-grade dropout."

You turned to leave, walking away with a shake of your head. "Well that's easy!" he laughed as he called after you. "I did eighth grade twice!"

From across the field, Mike and Lucas watched you ditch Eddie with cringes on their face.

"We're screwed," Mike sighed.

"Now wait a minute, where'd all your optimism go? I wanna hear you upbeat!" Lucas beamed.

"We're screwed!" Mike repeated, a forced, cheesy smile glued to his face between two thumbs-up.

"That's better," Lucas approved, patting Mike on the back.

As you exited the local records store, empty handed due to the continued lack of good punk records available, you sighed at the sight of Eddie Munson leaning against your hood.

"Nice ride," he noticed. "Vintage fenders?"

"Are you stalking me?" you asked instead, brushing past him to try to unlock your door, but he slid in front of you with crossed arms.

"I was in the laundromat," he assured, tilting his head to the washateria across the street, "I saw your car, that's all."

"Funny, you don't strike me as someone who washes their clothes," you mocked.

"Well, if you must know, I was there to make a sale," Eddie admitted.

"And what are you here for, blocking my door?" you wondered.

"To say hi!"

"Hi."

You tried to reach around him again to get the key in the lock but he put his hand over it. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

"Not much of a listener, are you? I'm not interested."

"Are you scared of me?" he asked— not a threat, not hopeful or disappointed, just a genuine question.

"Why would I be?"

"I dunno, most people are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Okay, you're not scared of me— but I bet you've thought about me naked," he purred, leaning in a little closer.

"Am I that transparent?" you gasped, faux worry dropping into deadpan disdain. "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby."

Just when he let you get into your car, finally, Jason Carver and his dick-compensation-mobile pulled up and screeched to a halt right behind you, blocking you in.

"The fuck?! Is there some kind of creep convention going on at the record store?" you groaned, laying on your horn. "Carver!" you barked as he hopped out and strolled by you. "Move your gaudy-ass car!"

"No, thanks," he smiled at you as he walked along towards the storefront.

You felt helpless, until you got a dangerous idea— and fed up as you were, you couldn't resist it. Flooring it in reverse, those vintage fenders of yours piercing right through the cherry-red paint and imported metal underneath.

Jason sure whipped his head around fast and gaped his mouth at the damage. "You bitch!" he screeched.

Hearing Eddie's belly laugh, you looked at Jason and offered him only a flippant shrug and a "whoops!"

"WHOOPS?!" your dad repeated, pacing around the kitchen as you sat at the table. "My insurance doesn't cover teen angst!"

You shrugged again. "Then tell them it was a seizure or something."

"Are you punishing me?" he wondered. "Because I don't want you to go to Sarah Lawrence?"

"Are you punishing me for standing up for myself?" you countered.

“No, but I’d prefer you didn’t do it in such an expensive way!”

You scoffed. “I’d prefer that you stopped making my decisions for me.”

“Well—” he began, but he was cut off by his police radio sounding off.

“Chief Hopper, come in— Chief Hopper, this is dispatch, we have a 10-54…” the nasal feminine voice came through.

You both sighed and he picked up the radio. “Chief here, I’ll head there now.” He turned to you with a pointed finger. “We’ll discuss this later,” he promised, or threatened, depends on how you look at it. As he left, Elle stormed in, fuming at you.

“Did you just maim Jason’s car?!” she yelped.

"Allegedly," you grinned. "Looks like little miss princess is gonna have to ride the bus with the unwashed masses.”

As Eddie shut his locker, he was startled by Jason glowering on the other side. “Shit,” Eddie blurted out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results,” Jason frowned.

“I’m working on it,” Eddie insisted, brushing Jason off as he grabbed his books and shut his locker.

“Standing by while she violated my car doesn’t count as a date,” Jason reminded him. “I don’t get any if you don’t, so you better figure out how to charm this chick or—”

“I just upped my price,” Eddie decided suddenly.

Jason had just turned to walk away, but that made him look at Eddie again. “Excuse me?”

“A hundred bucks a date, in advance,” Eddie announced.

“Forget it,” Jason dismissed.

“Then forget her sister,” Eddie shrugged.

Jason hesitated, wondering if Elle was really worth all the trouble. Maybe she wasn’t, to him— but the street cred he’d get if he deflowered her was. He groaned as he reached for his wallet, and Eddie grinned proudly. “You’d better be as smooth as you think you are, Munson,” Jason warned as Eddie snatched up the bill.

The interaction still had Eddie in a particularly bad mood during shop class, making Mike even more hesitant to approach him;

“Wh-why can’t you talk to him?” he asked Lucas.

“I talked to Jason,” Lucas replied.

“Yeah, but you know Jason,” Mike reminded him, “and Jason isn’t… unstable.”

“Just go, chicken,” Lucas rolled his eyes, shoving Mike forward— and he stumbled, but made his way over to Eddie’s workstation.

When he got a glare from under a curly fringe, Mike just blurted it out: “We know what you’re trying to do… with Hopper?”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” Eddie challenged.

“Uh— help you! We wanna help you,” Mike explained quickly.

Eddie wrinkled his eyebrows together, standing up straighter and crossing his arms. “Why, exactly?”

Lucas appeared behind Mike, resting his hands on his shoulders. “You see, my friend here is… mildly obsessed with her sister, Elle.”

“What’s the deal with this girl, her tits shoot fireworks or something?” Eddie scoffed, and Mike nearly jumped on him for saying that— as if that fight wouldn’t be pitifully uneven.

“Mike’s love for her is… a little purer than that,” Lucas promised, “especially purer than Jason Carver’s.”

“Look,” Eddie leveled with the two of them, “I’m in this for the cash. Carver can plow whoever he wants.”

“Okay, there will be no plowing!” Mike exclaimed, voice cracking.

“Listen, Eddie— uh, Ed,” Lucas smiled, “this whole thing— we set it all up! We told Jason to pay you off, so Mike can get the girl. Mr. Popular is just a pawn.”

Eddie seemed to like that; maybe even someone as detached from the popularity hierarchy could still enjoy a little humiliation for the star point guard. “So, are you gonna help me tame the beast, then?”

“Are you talking about Hopper, or your hair?” Lucas joked, though he dropped his smile when Eddie glared at him. “O-okay, yeah, we’re gonna do some research, we can find out what she likes and stuff. We’re your guys.”

“In a strictly non-prison-movie way,” Mike added anxiously.

Mike and Elle were walking around the old bridge— she promised to show him the prettiest place in Hawkins, he thought about turning it into a line but he resisted the urge, and he delicately broke the pleasant silence. “So, have you heard about the party Steve Harrington is throwing at his parents’ lake house?”

“Yes,” Elle pouted, “and I really really wanna go, but I can’t. Not unless my sister goes.”

“I’m working on that,” Mike promised, “but she’s not going for my guy.” He paused before he continued, narrowing his eyes. “She’s not a, uh…”

"A friend of Billie Jean?” Elle finished.

“No, I’m not asking if she’s a Michael Jackson fan,” Mike corrected, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant!” Elle rolled her eyes. “Billie Jean King? Tennis player, women’s rights advocate, giant flaming lesbian?”

“O-oh,” Mike stuttered, “I don’t really watch tennis…”

“Or the news, apparently,” Elle sighed. “The point is, no, I don't think so. I found a picture of Rob Lowe in her drawer once so she's at least got some interest in men. Jury's still out on her bestie Robin Buckley, though…"

"But that's the kind of guys she likes? Pretty guys?"

Elle shrugged. "All I know is she said she'd never date a smoker."

“Okay, no smoking,” Mike nodded, “what else?”

“Listen, I try not to get too deep into my sister’s twisted psyche,” Elle sighed.

“But we need to know more!” Mike insisted. “We need to go behind enemy lines…”

Even though it was his idea, Mike felt a little out of his depth watching Elle go through your room; it looked sort of how he imagined it might, except for missing a giant cork board with pins and red yarn outlining your plan to cause men as much suffering as possible.

“Okay, here we go!” Elle announced excitedly as she rifled through a drawer. “Class schedule, reading list, concert tickets… ha! Black panties!”

Mike cleared his throat as she held up the offending pair of lacy underthings. “What does that tell us?”

“That she wants to have sex some day.”

“Couldn’t she just like the color?” Mike wondered, flustered.

“You don’t buy lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Elle insisted.

“Oh,” Mike nodded, perking up slightly. “So… can I see your room?”

Elle blinked quickly, getting a bit tender all of a sudden. “No… a girl’s room is very personal…” she explained shyly.

“Right,” Mike agreed nervously.

Two sophomores didn’t exactly blend in at The Hideout— it was a dingy old hole-in-the-wall, with grimey old bikers getting drunk in every corner… and Eddie, shooting pool by himself in the back. He straightened up when they approached him, nursing his beer with a raised eyebrow.

“We have information for you,” Mike explained.

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds weird,” Eddie frowned, “she’s just a girl, not a… spy or something.”

“Right,” Lucas agreed as Eddie took another sip from the brown bottle.

Mike narrowed his eyes. “Should you be drinking alcohol when you don’t have a liver?”

“What?!” Eddie scrunched up his nose.

“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head.

“The first thing is she hates smokers,” Mike explained.

Eddie groaned. “I’m gonna have to quit? Fuck, this is getting more unpleasant by the minute—”

“Just for now!” Lucas bargained.

"And there’s another problem: Elle said that her sister likes, uh, pretty guys,” Mike added.

There was a tense pause, until Eddie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying I’m not a pretty guy?”

“H-he’s very pretty!” Lucas smacked Mike on the back. “He’s gorgeous, look at him!”

“S-sorry, I wasn’t sure,” Mike mumbled awkwardly.

Eddie brushed off the insult quickly, taking a big puff off of his cigarette— maybe he appreciated it more, knowing he’d have to cut back for a while after this. Meanwhile, Mike pulled out a folded up piece of heart-shaped mini-notebook paper (borrowed stationary from Elle, obviously) and read the list aloud.

“Okay, ‘likes: Thai food, feminist prose, and—’” he cleared his throat before he continued— “‘angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion.’ Here’s a list of CDs that she has in her room.”

Eddie looked at the list in disdain. “So I’m supposed to, what, take her out for noodles and spoken word and sit around listening to chicks who can’t play their instruments?”

“Have you ever been to Club Nina?” Lucas wondered.

“Her favorite band is playing there tomorrow night,” Mike explained, and Eddie sighed as he pressed his lips together.

“I can’t be seen at Club Nina,” Eddie shook his head. “First of all, that’s rival turf, second of all—”

“She’ll be there, she’s already got tickets for her and Robin,” Lucas pressed. “Just… tolerate it, for a night. And maybe don’t deal any drugs there.”

“Can I at least do some drugs there?” Eddie frowned.

“As long as you’re not too out of sorts to do some major seducing,” Mike offered. “She has a pair of black underwear! If that helps.”

“I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Lucas elbowed Eddie playfully, who jerked away.

As stupid as it was, Eddie found himself still wondering about your alleged black panties as he walked into the club to look for you the next night. He found you horribly frustrating, sure, and the feeling was mutual, but picturing you in something like that was... not too terrible.

Eddie noticed the looks he was getting from the girls at Club Nina, and they weren’t exactly approving; a man invading their space was bad enough, but a metalhead in the land of the soft-rockers was turning heads.

He ignored it for the most part and sat down at the bar, ordering something light enough that he could keep his wits about him, but hard enough that he could tolerate this whole situation. Believe it or not, he didn’t actually like getting repeatedly insulted and degraded by you— it wasn’t even the sexy kind of degrading, just your incessant hatefulness chipping away at his dignity. But damn, he could feel the added weight of Carver’s money in his wallet, and he liked that.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for you to show up at the bar, ordering two waters like the lightweight you were. He pretended not to see you, but you didn’t offer the same courtesy, making a groan of disgust at him. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, just get it over with,” you pleaded distastefully.

He looked at you with an irritated frown, pointing at the band behind him. “Keep it down, maybe? I’m trying to listen.”

That seemed to throw you off, and he enjoyed your moment of bewilderment. “Did you leave your cancer sticks behind?” you asked.

“Yeah, permanently,” he nodded. “Turns out they’re bad for you.”

He shrugged, and you dropped the sarcasm for a split-second. “You did?” you pressed, surprised.

“You know,” he changed the subject instead, “these guys are no Adolescents or Souixsie and the Banshees, but they’re alright.”

“You know Souixsie and the Banshees?” you repeated, flabbergasted.

“Why, don’t you?” he joked. He got down another sip of watered-down liquor, before turning to face you directly. “You know, I was watching you before,” he admitted, yelling to be heard over the crescendo of the song, “I’ve never seen you look so sexy!”

Of course, that was right about when the song ended, and Eddie looked around the club as he realized the entire swarm of alt chicks had heard him. As they laughed at the scene, he smiled awkwardly and watched you get visibly embarrassed— good to know you had emotions other than rage, contempt, and boredom.

“Why don’t you come to Steve Harrington’s party with me?” he challenged, and the moment faded as the next song began.

“You never give up, do you?” you frowned, starting to walk away and back into the dancing crowd.

“Was that a yes?” he wondered.

“No!” you shouted back to him.

“Was it a no?” he added.

“No!” you said again, and he smiled.

“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty, then!” he called to you, but you were lost to him again— for now.

Elle and Max, dolled up in their finest party gear, crept carefully across the foyer towards the front door. Elle knew all the creaky floorboards to avoid, yet even in their silence they seemed to trigger Chief Hopper’s sixth sense. “You should have used the window,” he announced as they deflated.

“H-hi Daddy,” she greeted as if all were normal.

“Hi,” he returned as he looked at them. “Where are we going?”

“Um, just a small study group of friends,” Elle insisted, and Max nodded along.

“Otherwise known as an orgy?!” Dad barked.

“Mr. Hopper— Chief, sir— it’s just a party,” Max soothed.

“And Hell is just a sauna!” he returned.

As you came walking down the stairs into the middle of the argument, oblivious, your dad snagged your attention.

“Are you aware of this party?” he asked. You simply shrugged, on a mission for snacks.

“People expect me to be there!” Elle complained. “I have friends waiting for me! Daaaddddyyy!!”

“If your sister’s not going, you’re not going,” he stood fast.

Of course, that turned her ire towards you. “Why can’t you be normal?” she whined.

“Define ‘normal’,” you challenged as you crossed your arms.

“Going to Steve’s party is normal!”

You scoffed. “Steve’s party is just a lame excuse for all the youthful morons of Hawkins High to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves the pathetic emptiness of their—”

Elle and Max interrupted to finish your rant: “meaningless, consumer-driven lives,” they groaned in unison.

You hadn’t realized you were so predictable, and your shock gave Elle an opportunity to make one more plea.

“Can you just, for one night, forget about your crusade against all things enjoyable and just be my sister? please? C’mon,” she begged, stepping up closer, “please, do this for me.”

It was more sincere than you were used to from her, and it reminded you of simpler times, of when she thought you were the coolest big sister ever and she was your favorite person— before she was spoiled by the world and you were soured by it. Those memories were what convinced you to somberly nod. “I’ll make an appearance,” you agreed, and she squealed as she hugged you joyfully.

“Oh god, it’s starting,” your dad mumbled to himself in a daze.

“It’s just a party,” Elle promised him, but he stiffened up suddenly.

“I want you to wear the belly,” he announced.

Elle whimpered out her “Daddy, no!” but it was too late, he’d already gone to fetch it from the closet, and you watched with schadenfreude as he pulled out the padded faux-pregnancy jacket.

“Not all night,” he promised, “just around the living room for a minute while you contemplate the weight of your decisions.”

She held her arms out in defeat as he slipped it on over her dress, smiling proudly at his work.

“Every time you even think about kissing a boy,” Dad lectured, “just imagine wearing this all the time.”

“You’re such a space cadet,” she sighed.

“Okay, we’re going now,” you announced as you headed for the door, but he stopped you.

“Wait a minute: no drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no tattoos, no piercings, no getting in vans, no— no ritual animal slaughter!” he enumerated. “Oh god, I’m giving them ideas…”

You startled when you opened the door and saw Eddie standing there, fist raised as he was about to knock. “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“Nine-thirty, right?” he smiled, “I’m early.”

“Whatever, I’m driving,” you insisted.

He leaned to the side to look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Who knocked up your sister?”

Lucas held on tight to his drink in a plastic cup as he attempted to keep Max Mayfield’s attention for at least a few minutes at a time.

“You know, I’m on the basketball team,” he reminded her with a grin.

“Right,” she mumbled, unimpressed, but he was a little too tipsy to notice that his lines weren’t working.

“Do you, uh, play any sports?” he asked.

“I skate, if that counts,” she shrugged.

“Oh, rollerblading is cool!” Lucas beamed, but Max rolled her eyes and walked away at his incorrect guess of what kind of skating she meant. “Ever been to Rink-O-Mania?” he called after her, sighing when he realized he’d officially struck out.

You brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder as he pouted. Eddie was still following you, for some reason, dodging dancing girls and kissing couples along the way.

Jason clicked his tongue at you as you passed by. “Lookin’ fresh,” he cooed, in that way that was mostly mocking yet probably a real come-on if you went for it: Schrödinger’s pick-up line, if you will.

“Oh my god, did you feel that?” you looked around at the air. “My pussy just dried up so fast it actually dropped the humidity in here!”

Jason seemed a little too interested in an update on your genitals, but you were already walking away, trying to lose him and Eddie now. “Hey, is your sister here?” he asked you loudly.

“Stay away from my sister,” you warned.

“I will,” he promised, “but, you know, I can’t guarantee that she’ll stay away from me…”

You shook your head as you shoved your way into another room of the Harrington’s massive lodge, accidentally stumbling upon two jocks wrestling and throwing punches on the floor. A crowd had gathered around the scene to cheer them on, and you sneered in disgust at the uncivil display.

“Hey, hey!” Steve himself appeared, trying to break it up. “Take it outside!”

One jock pulled the other up by his shirt, and the two of them went tumbling back— right through the window. They didn’t even stop swinging as they fell onto the grass, and Steve’s face went blank with numb shock.

“Th-thanks,” he mumbled to himself, and you gave him a pat on the shoulder as you passed by.

“At least we’re on the ground floor,” you offered him quickly, but a tap on your shoulder pulled your attention away.

“Hey,” Jason smirked as he let you get a good look at him with his arm around your sister’s shoulders, “look who found me.”

You weren’t even angry— which was a nice break, really— you were just worried now. “Elle, wait,” you called to her as they walked away.

“Please don’t address me in public,” Elle requested with a roll of her eyes.

“I just wanna tell you something!” you pleaded.

“I’m being a normal teenager for a night— you should try it,” she suggested, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd again.

Just in time for your impending breakdown, some guy walked by holding a tray of shots. “Shots, anyone? Ladies?”

You grabbed one with each hand and tossed them back in rapid succession. You reached for a third when Eddie reappeared, snagging it out of your hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m getting trashed, dude,” you offered in a fake party-boy voice. “Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Eddie shrugged. “Think the point is to just… be yourself.”

You snorted. “You might be the only person who thinks I should be myself.”

At the same time that you were ditching Eddie again, Mike was finding Lucas. “Have you seen her around anywhere?” he asked as he scanned the crowd. For all his excitement to find her, he seemed to get overwhelmed when he saw Elle coming down the stairs with Max.

“Come on, man, relax,” Lucas assured as he patted his shoulders. Mike took a deep breath. “Just be yourself.”

Nodding, Mike summoned his courage and approached the girls. “H-hey, Elle,” he greeted politely.

“Hey,” Elle returned, “Mike, um— do you know Max?”

Elle grabbed the redhead and shoved her towards Mike so she could try to break away.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike nodded, “we have Math together, right?”

Max hummed as she crossed her arms; “Great,” she offered unenthusiastically.

“You, uh, look really amazing tonight,” Mike offered Elle, and Max cringed as he failed to take the hint.

“Oh— um,” Elle stalled, and Jason descended the stairs to slip his arm around her.

“And we all know I look amazing,” he interjected, making the girls giggle and Mike roll his eyes. “C’mon, Elle, let’s go— there are jell-o shots in the kitchen.”

He was already turning her around to guide her away, forcing her to look over her shoulder to wave at Mike: “See you around, okay?”

Mike watched helplessly as Jason took his dream girl from right in front of him— the blonde even offered him a thumbs up on his way out, to add insult to injury.

Eddie found you again in the study, starting to work on another drink. “Hey hey hey,” he interrupted as he gently lifted it away from you, watching you whine and make grabby hands for it. “Why don’t you let me have this one, hm?”

“No!” you pouted, jumping for it, but he held it up higher— it forced you to push yourself up against him to try to get it, and he forced himself not to notice how it felt to be close to you.

Someone walked by with their own drink, just about to have a sip when you snatched it away instead, running off before Eddie could set down the cup and catch up. “Shit,” he hissed to himself.

As he tried to navigate past other partygoers to get to the kitchen, he heard the blasting stereo change songs to something not actually awful (in his opinion): Def Leppard. Unfortunately, you seemed to like Pour Some Sugar On Me, too— considering you hopped up on a table and started dancing there instead.

“How’d you get her to be normal?” Jason laughed as he appeared beside Eddie— and he couldn’t decide if he was more disgusted by Carver’s glee watching you, or Carver’s chumminess with him.

“Hey!” Eddie called to you, getting through the crowd of cheering guys as quickly as he could, but you couldn’t hear him through the overwhelming sound and the haze of drunkenness. He watched you dance, a mix of concern, embarrassment, and arousal stirring in him as your moves became more and more suggestive. “HEY!”

When he shouted the second time, it didn’t quite get you to look at him but it did startle you, making you whack your head on the chandelier— which in turn made you stumble and fall. When you came down dramatically, he held out his arms and managed to catch you, looking at your startled, panting face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, but you looked angry at him again.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to wiggle out of his embrace, but failing.

“You’re not fine,” he groaned, “c’mon…”

He didn’t exactly carry you, mostly because you wouldn’t let him, but he didn’t let you walk on your own when he saw how wobbly your legs were.

The sounds of the party faded into the distance as you walked in the grass, up to the shore of Lover’s Lake where the Harrington’s had some rustic old swings hanging from under a massive tree by the water.

“I-I just need to lie down somewhere,” you insisted, stumbling again as Eddie had to grab at your waist to keep you upright.

“No, you can’t lie down right now,” he sighed. “If you lie down you’ll go to sleep.”

You pouted as he set you down on a swing. “I like sleep,” you protested.

“Can’t sleep if you might have a concussion,” he explained, watching you slump against the rope beside you.

He was about to fuss over you a little more, try to keep you awake somehow, but he saw Mike storming down across the grass.

“Hey,” Mike greeted as Eddie stepped past you slightly to meet him. “We need to talk.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Eddie informed him, gesturing towards you.

“Well— it’s over, okay? All of this— the deal’s off,” Mike frowned.

“Huh?”

“She never wanted me,” he realized with a sigh. “She wanted Jason the whole time.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Listen— do you really like this girl?”

“Yeah!” Mike assured.

“And she’s worth going through all this trouble?” he pressed, stepping forward towards the new kid.

“I— I think so.”

“Either she is or she isn’t,” Eddie frowned, “and considering we made it this far, she must be— so you need to keep fighting for her! You’re twice the man that Jason is, if she’s got two brain cells to rub together she’ll figure out she’s better off with you. Capice?”

Mike puffed up his chest a bit. “O-okay!” he decided. “I’m gonna go for it!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Eddie cheered, slapping Mike on the shoulder before he ran off back to the party.

Eddie was smiling as he turned to you, only to lose his grin and rush over as you started to fall forward out of the swing.

“Woah woah!” he yelped as he knelt down in front of you and held your face with both hands. “Gotta stay awake, remember, sweetheart?”

You stuck your bottom lip out. “You’re so patronizing.”

He smirked. “Leave it to you to use your vocabulary words when you’re totally shitfaced.”

When you fluttered your eyes shut, he lightly smacked your cheek, the rings hitting a little extra hard on your jaw as you groaned. “What are you hitting me for?”

“Because you might have a concussion,” he reminded you.

“And you want to add to it?” you assumed, awake enough for him to let go of your face, which he did.

“If you go to sleep now, you might not wake up.”

“You don’t care if I never wake up,” you dismissed.

He smiled at you, a little too amused by such a morbid sentiment. “Sure I do!”

“Why?”

He almost let his smile falter. “If you died, I might have to go out with a girl who actually likes me,” he answered.

“If you could find one,” you snorted, eyes still shut but face curling into a proud grin at your own joke.

“See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” he teased.

You sniffled and sat up a little straighter, so Eddie stepped back and sat down on the swing beside you.

“So, why’d you let him get to you?” he wondered, looking out across the lake sparkling under the glow of a half-moon.

“Who?”

“Jason. You’re normally so unaffected.”

“He always drives me crazy,” you admitted, “but messing with my sister is crossing the line.”

“Well, you’ve chosen some creative revenge,” he laughed, “by drinking through the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.”

You laughed along with him, a rare moment where you two overlapped— and not even in a negative emotion! “You know what they say,” you replied.

“What’s that?” he wondered. But you didn’t continue. He looked to the side and saw you falling down again.

“Shit,” he spat, leaning forward and catching you at your shoulders, tilting your face up to his. “Wake up! C’mon, look at me, sweetheart, listen to me— open your eyes…”

He was a little overwhelmed by the way you did exactly as he’d asked, fluttering your eyes open at him, something entirely new in them that he’d never seen on you before— or maybe anyone, at least this up close. “Hey,” you smiled softly. “Did you know your eyes are a little bit hazel?”

He smiled back at you, examining your face, wondering for a split second if he should go for it.

But before he could, you keeled over and wretched— right on his white Reeboks. “Shit,” he said again.

Elle was waiting out in the cool night air, her thin cardigan not doing much for her as she watched Jason drive off with a slew of girls in tow; he’d tried to get her to go to another party, but along with her curfew coming up, it turned out that he was sort of a dud. For all his alleged charisma as one of the most popular guys in school, he didn’t know how to talk about anything but basketball, plus his ‘boys’ and their misadventures— usually drunken ones. She tried to cut him some slack since he was likely a little tipsy, but she still couldn’t justify the way he talked about his ex-girlfriend. It was just tacky!

As she waited for you to hopefully reappear soon and drive her home, Mike brushed by. “Have fun tonight?” he asked, somewhat sharply.

“Tons,” Elle sighed, expecting him to stop and getting a little more shy when he didn’t. “Hey, um, Mike?”

He stopped and turned, and she gave him a pitiful look.

“Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

Eddie hadn’t driven a car as small as yours in a while— and it wasn’t even small, it just felt that way compared to his van.

You reached forward and turned up the stereo, a Patti Smith song getting louder as you did. “I should do this,” you announced.

“What?” he wondered.

“This!” you said again, pointing to the radio. “Make music, start a band! Aren’t you in a band?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you knew that,” he admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do, too,” you decided with firm defiance. “My father would love that.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to worry about what your father thought,” Eddie noticed.

“Oh, so now you’ve got me all figured out?” you scoffed.

He shrugged. “I’m getting there.”

You deflated slightly as you looked out the window. “Nobody knows anything about me,” you admitted, “except that I’m ‘scary’ or whatever.”

He smirked slightly at your air quotes. “I’m not known to be particularly enjoyable either.”

When you looked at him, he felt a little penetrated by your stare, so he looked back at the road ahead.

“Look at us, having a little talk about real stuff,” he blurted out, trying to break the tension. “I mean, you’re usually so closed off and now I think you might spill your guts or something. Oh, right— you already did…”

And you stiffened up again. Right on cue.

Whereas your conversation with Eddie died a few minutes before you pulled up to your house, Elle and Mike’s only began when he put the car in park. “You never wanted to hang out with me, did you?” he realized, irritation tinting his voice.

“I— I did!” Elle lied, trying to be nice. But she was always trying to be nice, and that wasn’t enough; Mike scoffed in frustrated disbelief.

“You didn’t!”

Elle deflated. “Yeah… okay. Not really.”

“Well, then that’s all you had to say! You could’ve just said you weren’t interested and none of this would’ve happened— but then you wouldn’t have gotten your night with Jason. That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?”

“But I—” she began, cut off by Mike’s rant.

“You know, you can’t just treat people however you want because you’re beautiful. Lucas told me you were vapid, and I defended you! I— I learned French for you! And then you just—”

She cut him off with a kiss— a sweet kiss, not too short, but exactly the sort of kiss two sophomores should share in a car after a party. When she pulled away, she smiled a little, and Mike blinked at her a couple times.

“Goodnight,” she offered softly, getting out of the car and walking up the steps to her front door.

Mike turned to face forward again, dumbfounded expression morphing slowly into a grin. “And I’m back in the game!” he beamed, pumping his fist triumphantly.

As you walked into class, you tried to avoid the eyes on you— but you couldn’t, just like you couldn’t avoid throbbing in your head.

“Nice moves last night, señorita,” one of the stoners in class nodded approvingly as you came in.

“That was radical, dude,” a surfer boy offered with a ‘hang tight’ hand symbol.

And then there was Jason. “What do you owe you for the table dance, babe?” he taunted.

Shuddering, you sat down as Ms. O’Donnell began. “Settle down, please,” she begged the class. “Whatever happened outside of school hours is not to be discussed now. Wouldn’t you rather hear about your midterm assignment?”

The class groaned in unison.

“You’ll be writing a sonnet,” she explained, “in the style of William Shakespeare.”

When you raised your hand, you saw the look on her face, and you knew what she was expecting. And you didn’t blame her. You spoke when she pointed towards you. “Should it be in iambic pentameter?”

She seemed suspicious of such a simple question. “Um, no, it doesn’t have to be,” she replied. “Why?”

“I just wanted to know…” you mumbled sheepishly. “Is that so wrong?”

“Um, no,” she decided. “That’s a good question, Miss Hopper… and it doesn’t. Thank you for asking.”

She wasn’t the only one shocked by your sudden interest in her teaching, and you noticed the way the entire class was looking at you. “What?” you scoffed, and you shook the moment off as Ms. O’Donnell began lecturing again.

Mike and Eddie sat beside each other as they watched your soccer practice from a safe distance. “What’d you do to her?” Mike wondered.

“What? I didn’t do anything— did you see how drunk she was?” Eddie shook his head. “What made you think something happened, anyways?”

“The fact that the plan was working,” Mike answered.

“Why do you care? I thought it was over.”

“It was,” Mike agreed, smiling, “until she kissed me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Eddie congratulated, “I told you to go for it.”

Lucas, meanwhile, was running the track— and he stopped when he passed the two other boys. “Alright, I talked to her,” he informed them, “I got the scoop.”

“What’d she say?” Mike wondered excitedly.

“Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns,” he announced with a sarcastic smile. “That’s a direct quote.”

Eddie sighed, looking a little defeated.

“H-hey,” Mike tried to comfort him, “maybe she just needs a day to cool off?”

But the three of them had to lean away to dodge a soccer ball that came flying over, narrowly avoiding nailing Eddie in the head. When they looked up together at the source, they caught your glare coming their way.

“...or two,” Eddie added.

You groaned as you sat with Robin on the bench, watching the prom committee hang up posters all over the courtyard for the wretched event.

“Can you imagine going to that brainless display of teenage vapidity?” you rolled your eyes.

“Uh, I can,” Robin admitted, “if I had a date.”

“I thought things were going okay with Vickie,” you frowned at her.

“Well, yeah, they’re okay, but it’s not like that, yet,” she explained.

“You’re sparing yourself by not going,” you insisted, “the whole thing is a patriarchal sham anyways.”

“Even if you go with a girl?”

“Yes,” you groaned, “because you’re still supporting the institution. It’s basically a mating ritual you have to dress up for!”

“Alright, we won’t go,” she promised. “I didn’t have anything to wear, even if I knew how to ask Vickie…”

“You’re looking at this all backwards,” you sighed, “we’re not missing out— we’re making a statement!”

“Oh, great,” Robin beamed sarcastically, “something new and different for us!”

Across the courtyard, Elle was busy reviewing her Science homework at a table when Jason popped in beside her. “Hey there, cutie,” he cooed.

“Hey…” she mumbled, focusing still on her textbook, in fact she hadn’t even looked up at him.

“Studying hard, huh?” he noticed, trying to prompt her again.

“Can I help you?” she wondered flatly.

“Well, it would help me a lot if you say yes when I ask you to prom,” he quipped.

Elle only sighed, turning the page in her book. “You know the deal, Jay— I can’t go if my sister doesn’t go.”

“Good thing she will.”

That got Elle to tear her eyes away from cell biology so she could look at the senior beside her. “Since when?!” she gasped.

“Let’s just say,” Jason purred, scooting closer to her, “I’m taking care of it.”

Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek as Jason rambled about the money he’d just handed him. “That’ll cover flowers, limo, tux, the whole enchilada. I don’t care what you do, just make sure she gets to the prom.”

Eddie suddenly handed the money back. “You know what? I’m sick of being a pawn in your little game, okay?”

Jason scoffed at the money. “Then make it two hundred,” he decided, summing another bill to add onto the small pile in Eddie’s palm.

Hesitating, and then sneering, Eddie stuffed it into his pocket. The money felt like it would burn a hole through the denim if he left it there too long— he went to the music store first, wondering if he should spent it; wondering if he should try to talk to you instead of just watching you play around on a bass you’d borrowed from the wall of instruments.

In a moment entirely out of character for him, Eddie just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it, to tap you on the shoulder and get your attention. He could stand on tables in the cafeteria and make a fool of himself playing at the Hideout for whatever crowd of drunks accidentally stayed for Corroded Coffin’s show, but he couldn’t just… say hi to you. You just looked so at peace sitting there on the amp, rocking your head between the big headphones that dwarfed your face; he was happier just watching you play for a few minutes, leaving before you opened your eyes and noticed him.

He watched you from between the stacks at the bookstore, too, swallowing as you flipped through Sylvia Plath. What was it that was making him so nervous to approach you all of a sudden? It’s not a crush, is it? No… no, it’s probably my natural aversion to pain.

Just when he was afraid you were about to leave and he would miss his chance, he jumped up from behind Adult Non-fiction and surprised you before you could head for the door. “Excuse me,” he smiled, “have you seen The Feminine Mystique? I lost track of mine.”

You looked appropriately disappointed and unamused, but he was used to that by now. “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“I heard there was a poetry reading,” he replied, not even trying that hard to sound believable, since you’d never believe it. You knitted your eyebrows together and opened your mouth, apparently searching for the exact words to cut him down.

“Y-you… you’re so…” you started a few times, and Eddie grinned as he realized he’d stumped you for the moment.

“Charming?” he finished for you.

And in a moment entirely out of character for you, you gave up, shaking your head and trying to step past him to walk away. He side-stepped and planted himself in front of you.

“Irresistible,” he offered instead.

“Unavoidable,” you corrected.

“Inevitable,” he agreed with a wink. “Love always is.”

“Love?! Jesus Christ,” you spat, laughing sharply at how absurd it was.

“You do realize you’re not as mean as you think you are, right?” Eddie wondered, following you closely as you kept marching towards the door to leave.

You spun to look at him as you replied, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Ooh,” he winced playfully, “someone still has their panties in a twist.”

“Don’t even for a minute worry that you have any effect whatsoever on my panties,” you snapped.

“Then what did I have an effect on?” he encouraged.

“Other than my gag reflex, not much,” you frowned.

“Gag reflex, huh?” he purred, and you grimaced as you rolled your eyes.

“God, you’re barbaric!” you announced as you shoved a book into his chest— The Feminine Mystique, of course— and utilized the moment he spent looking at it to exit the store. He didn’t even really process that you were already gone until he heard the little bell on the door chime, and he sighed.

Eddie just wanted to get his lunch in peace, but those two pipsqueak sophomores flanked him as he moved through the line. “What’s the word?” Mike asked.

“Well, you were right— she’s still pissed,” Eddie replied.

“Sweet love, renew thy force!” Lucas exclaimed, and Eddie made a face at him.

“Don’t say shit like that to me, people can hear you,” Eddie warned him.

“Look,” Mike interjected, “she’s embarrassed! Sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity and even the score.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie departed the lunch line early— he didn’t want green bean casserole anyways— and left Mike and Lucas to look at each other. “Don’t say shit like that to him,” Lucas soberly instructed Mike, “people can hear you.”

They were right, though, and the next day, he acted on their advice.

You were out on the field with the team, running drills, clearing your head in the only way you knew how. Of course, Eddie couldn’t stay out of your head for long— or out of your way.

You didn’t notice the speakers turning on at first; you heard it, but you didn’t think much of the static buzz of silence. It wasn’t silent for long, though, and everyone turned their heads when they heard an electric guitar begin playing. You looked up in the bleachers, and widened your eyes at the sight of Eddie hopping up into view as he played, a long black cord trailing behind him. The marching band had left some of their equipment up after practice, including the microphone intended for the national anthem singer, and Eddie leaned into it as he began to sing along with his own playing.

“I gotta tell you what I'm feeling inside, I could lie to myself, but it's true—”

“Oh my god, is that—?” you heard a teammate of yours whisper to another, and they were all looking at you suddenly— and so was he.

“There's no denying when I look in your eyes,” he continued to sing, “girl, I'm out of my head over you…”

You turned around when drums and bass began to play as well, from the other side, and you laughed at the sight of the other members of Corroded Coffin— the logo made in tape on the kick-drum was a good sign that that’s who they were.

“And I lived so long believing all love is blind,” Eddie continued, “but everything about you is telling me this time, it’s forever—”

You finally recognized the KISS song and laughed in some impossible combination of disbelief and unsurprise: because of course Eddie would pick a KISS song to serenade you, but oh my god, was he really serenading you right now? In front of everyone?

“This time I know, and there’s no doubt in my mind,” he sang passionately as he played, “forever, until my life is through, girl I’ll be loving you forever…”

The other musicians were singing harmonizing vocals, and your team was staring at you in shock as Eddie pointed at you in a break from his guitar playing; they knew before then that he was singing to you, but apparently even further confirmation continued to blow their minds. You couldn’t believe it either, because, you know… it was you, and this was some kind of modern-fairytale bullshit, and you realized that you only never wanted it because you never thought it could happen. Romantic surprises, sudden music, kisses in the rain? Maybe for other girls— girls like Elle— but never for you.

Except here it was happening to you. “I never thought I’d lay my heart on the line,” Eddie sang into the microphone, “but everything about you is—”

It came to a literal screeching halt, and everyone covered their ears at the feedback from the speakers. Vice Principal Owens apparently didn’t take too kindly to the noise and disruption, as he appeared on the side of the field to chew Eddie out. “What is the meaning of this?!” he yelled, and the drummer bailed first, tossing his sticks and grabbing a hi-hat and tom and making a break for it. As the soccer team cheered and clapped for the performance, Eddie unplugged his guitar and sprinted from the Vice Principal. “That’s school property! That’s school equipment you stole!”

You laughed as the chase began, and Eddie caught your gaze for a second to give you a shrug as he swung the Gremlin over his back and dove off the bleachers.

“I hope you enjoy detention, Munson!” Owens yelled his threatening promise as he shook his fist— obviously incapable of keeping up with a freak on the run.

Coach Hastings stalked the columns of uniform plastic seats-and-desks, eyeing his quarry of quivering detention-goers. A split-second of eye contact with one of them, before the kid jolted and stared down into his lap, made the coach smile somewhat menacingly and approach his desk.

“You look nervous, son,” he noticed with a grin, and the boy hesitantly blinked up at him.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed.

“You’re sweating like a pig,” the coach continued.

“Y-yes, sir,” the student agreed again.

“Your eyes are red! You’ve got pot, don’t you?”

Apparently too scared (and stoned) to deny it, the kid awkwardly pulled a baggy out of his pants pocket and let Hastings snatch it away.

“I’m confiscating this,” he announced as he took it, marching back down the row and snagging a snack bag of Cheetos on his way as well.

Eddie scoffed slightly to himself as he saw it; not exactly a subtle plan, especially to Eddie, whose occupation at the school’s main dealer gave him unique knowledge of the coach’s habit.

He was just preparing to space out for an afternoon of mind-numbing boredom when you came in through the door, and he sat up slightly in surprise.

“Um, sir?” you got the Coach’s attention, meeting him at his desk at the front. “I… have some ideas for practice tomorrow.”

“Now’s not the best time, Miss Hopper,” he replied quickly.

As he turned his back to the class, you made quick eye contact with Eddie to motion to him, pointing towards the window. He sat up further, but tilted his head. “The window!” you mouthed.

When Hastings turned around to look at you again, you played it off with a forced laugh.

“Y-you know, we have that really big game soon against the Paxville Poodles…” you began again, stalling poorly. Eddie quietly got up from his seat, just as Hastings made a move to turn around, and you unthinkingly reached out and grabbed his arm, making him look at you suspiciously. “Your bicep is huge!” you blurted out. “Wow— and look—” you grabbed the other— “this one’s even bigger. You don’t take steroids, do you? Because I’ve heard steroids can cause some shrinking of the, uh, package.”

The other students murmured and snickered to each other as Eddie crept around the back of the room, towards the open window at the front; you repositioned yourself and Mr. Hastings to keep Eddie’s path exactly behind him.

“But I didn’t come here to talk about your package!” you added.

“God, I hope not,” the coach agreed.

Eddie’s next step made a bit of noise— that damn chain on his jeans wasn’t very quiet— but you stopped him from turning to look by talking more. “The point is, they always beat us,” you continued, “and I’ve got this plan to help us win this year!”

“Which is?”

“That… thing you taught us!” you answered chipperly as Eddie kept creeping towards the open window.

“What thing?” Hastings wondered.

“Misdirection.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I taught you that?”

“Yeah! You, o-or, you know, Siegfried and Roy— anyway—”

When he tried to turn his head over his shoulder, you had to reach out and grab his chin to turn his bewildered face towards you.

“They look left, we go right! Bang, we score, we win,” you tilted your head and smiled wide. Panic was setting in because you really thought Eddie would’ve made it out by now— he was close, but not there, and the coach was clearly losing his patience.

“But, how do we make them look left?” he wondered. Eddie was halfway out the window, no looking back now… literally, meaning he didn’t see what you were about to do.

“Uh— like this!”

A rush of adrenaline compelled you to do it— or maybe it came right after you did it, honestly it was all a blur— and you lifted the bottom of your shirt up to your chin. The classroom gasped, the coach’s chin dropped, and you cringed internally as you realized how far you’d gone: but you didn’t regret it, yet. Actually, it was pretty funny, if you thought about it… not that you had exactly thought this through.

Hastings stared at you, dumbstruck and more concerned than aroused, the thoughts of what the hell is wrong with this girl? and oh god, am I gonna lose my job? obvious on his face. The detention attendees began to whoop and holler as you dropped your shirt and Eddie was long-since freed. “Okay!” you said with a thin voice, clearing your throat. “Well, now that you’ve seen… the plan… I’m gonna go… and show the plan to someone else. Okay.”

He said nothing, watching you walk away, and the classroom applauded you on your way out.

“I can’t thank you enough for breaking me out,” Eddie smiled as he paddled the rickety canoe.

“Oh, I do that all the time,” you dismissed jokingly.

“How’d you keep him from seeing me?” he wondered.

You snorted a bit. “I, uh, dazzled him with my… wits.”

Eddie shrugged and looked out at the water on every side, pulling the oars in now that you were stuck in the smackdab middle of Lover’s Lake. “So, what’s your excuse?” he asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“For acting the way we do.”

You considered that for a second, glancing out over the lake. “Maybe it’s, like, daddy issues— ‘cause I don’t know my biological parents or anything. Elle’s write her letters and stuff but mine don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Okay, maybe it’s that,” he nodded, “or…”

You sighed. “I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He smiled, clearly proud of himself for getting you to fess up. “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?” he suggested, and you shrugged.

“Something like that.”

“Then you fucked it up,” he laughed.

“Huh?” you frowned.

His eyes seemed to sparkle more right before he said it— did he have some way of voluntarily doing that? “You never disappointed me.”

You smiled a bit, but hoped he wouldn’t see that stupid, girlish emotion on your face. “What about you?” you countered quickly. “What’s your damage?”

“Oh, gosh, where to start,” he began, tapping his chin as he looked up and to the right like he was picturing it all, and you laughed. “Daddy’s in prison, mommy’s… god knows where— last I heard she was in Washington?”

“Wait, the state, or D.C.?” you asked.

“I don’t even know!” he chuckled..

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got no clue where my mom is, either,” you shrugged.

“I know misery allegedly loves company but, no, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“There were a lot of rumors about what your parents were up to,” you admitted. “Cult and traveling band were both popular.”

“Well, there are a lot of rumors about a lot of things,” he replied, “but they’re all bullshit.”

“So, the state trooper?” you challenged.

“Ridiculous,” he shot it down. “You made out with a chick at a party?”

“Fantasy,” you rolled your eyes. “Of theirs! Not mine— I don’t wanna kiss anyone in public. The duck?”

“Hearsay,” he smirked. “Billy Hargrove’s balls?”

“Well, that one’s actually true,” you admitted, “but he deserved it! He groped me in the lunch line.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that,” Eddie warned, “or I’ll go kick ‘em back up again myself.” He clicked his tongue and tossed his fist as if to demonstrate.

“Why were you held back again? I know the porn career’s a lie.”

“Do you?” he challenged.

You tried not to get too flushed imagining that. You were strictly against porn, on feminist grounds, but… it was an interesting mental image.

He laughed first, then you followed suit. “I missed a lot of classes, yeah, but I don’t have any good excuse. I— to be honest, I have a lot of trouble with reading. It takes me hours, gives me a headache… so I keep failing English. And it’s not like I’m making ‘A’s in anything else…”

You tilted your head as you looked at him. “Eddie, are you dyslexic?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m bisexual,” he corrected.

“Dyslexia is a learning disorder, it causes difficulty in reading,” you explained.

“Not even gonna react to the bisexual thing, huh?” he pressed.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” you encouraged.

“No cure for it,” he shook his head.

“For the dyslexia, dumbass!” you snapped, and he laughed.

“Okay, okay, I will,” he promised, “if you go see about getting that stick up your ass surgically removed.”

You rolled your eyes, but you still couldn’t stop a smile from filling your face. “I thought you didn’t mind it.”

“I don’t,” he smiled. “‘Cause I know you’re actually just a hopeless romantic under all that venom.”

You glanced down at the floor of the boat, at Eddie’s Reeboks across from your worn-out Converse. You heard him whisper your name, so you looked up again, and he pulled you into a sudden kiss.

Kissing in a boat on Lover’s Lake— a little on-the-nose, maybe, and another one of those things you never expected to happen to you. You never expected to like it so much, either, but you smiled into it and wrapped your arms around his neck. Pulling you back with him, he fell into the front end of the canoe with you on top of him, kissing you harder.

Unfortunately, you both got a little carried away… and when he tried to roll you onto your back so he could lay above you, it knocked the small boat off-balance and sent you both tumbling into the lake.

You came up with a gasp, and a laugh, as Eddie came back facing the wrong way and yelling your name fearfully— like you’d drowned in the last three seconds. Hearing your laugh, he spun around and put on a self-effacing smile before swimming a little closer and kissing you again. You let him, even though that warm feeling in your chest was just getting hotter until you worried it would burn you up from the inside out; you brushed dripping, limp curls out of his face and grabbed him by the back of the neck to keep him close.

Half-dry from the journey home, Eddie walked beside you up to your front porch. Not exactly wanting to bring in a lake-damp drug dealer, you guided him to sit next to you on the steps, and he seemed to look somewhat reverently out at the surrounding neighborhood. “Beats the trailer park?” you assumed.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but it’s not as bad as people think it is— I guess neither are we, though.”

“Okay, then tell me the truth,” you requested.

“The truth? I’m afraid of the dark,” he grinned.

“No, something real,” you protested.

“Okay…” he agreed, lowering his voice and leaning in to kiss your neck. “You’re sweet.”

You smiled, and he moved around to kiss the other side, giving you an eyeful of his fringe.

“And sexy,” he added. “And completely hot for me.”

“You’re… very self-assured,” you giggled, “anybody ever told you that?”

“I tell myself every morning,” he agreed with a smile, “part of my daily affirmations.”

Your eyes drifted over his face— over his gentle eyes and soft lips and strong jaw— and you wondered how you never noticed how perfect he was before.

“Go to prom with me,” he said suddenly.

The moment left and you felt a little suspicious. “Um, are you asking me, or telling me?” you wondered with a raised brow.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he promised.

“No it won’t, it’ll be a circus of patriarchy and the hypersexualization of the American teenager,” you insisted.

“It’ll be fun if you come with me,” he clarified. “I thought you liked doing what nobody expects? The only one who expects you to go to prom is me.”

“Why do you even wanna go to the prom?!” you wondered.

“Maybe I’m more conventional than I look!” he defended. “Maybe I only never went because I never had a beautiful girl to take.”

“I don’t buy it,” you scoffed. “Why are you so insistent on this? What’s in it for you?”

“Do I need to have a reason to want to be with you?”

“You tell me,” you challenged.

“You know something? You need therapy,” he frowned. “Maybe a shrink can help you unpack this inability to accept affection. Were you not hugged as a child or something?”

“Right,” you snapped, “because all my problems are caused by being adopted— I forgot.”

“I didn’t— that’s not what I was saying,” he defended.

“So, what are you saying? If I’m not madly in love with you, something must be wrong with me?”

“I think if you don’t trust me by now—!”

“By now? One kiss and you’re totally trustworthy?” you tilted your head.

“We kissed twice,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, my mistake,” you scoffed, leaving the question of whether the number or the kisses were the mistake hanging in the air. Shaking his head, Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket.

“Damn it, they’re soaked,” he groaned as he opened it.

You snatched it away. “I’ll throw them out for you,” you offered sharply as you stood up and stormed inside, slamming the door behind you.

Max Mayfield startled when she opened her locker, a flood of folded papers spilling out— origami stars. She tilted her head as she knelt down, picking one up to unfold. Because you’re funnier than people realize, it had written inside in somewhat poor, yet meticulous, handwriting. Wrinkling her eyebrows together, she snagged another from on top of her textbooks. Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in class, listening and thinking. It was cheesy, but she bit her lip as she imagined who this… extravagant secret admirer might be. About to unfold another, Lucas leaned beside her at the lockers.

“Huh,” he noticed, “wonder who did all this just to ask you to prom.”

As he crossed his arms in front of his chest, she noticed the band-aids around the ends of many of his fingers. “Basketball injury?” she assumed.

“No,” he denied sheepishly, “just, uh, papercuts…”

She smiled as she raised an eyebrow at him. “So, you think this… stalker guy is asking me to prom?” she noticed.

“I— um, I assume,” he shrugged.

“That’s presumptuous of you,” she laughed.

Across the hall, Vickie was emphatically agreeing to Robin’s more tree-friendly prom invite: no letter or origami or notes or anything, just the courage to finally ask, and that was all she had wanted anyways.

All across the school, plans were being made, except for Elle: she had more options than most for her date, yet was forced to choose none because you were still resisting Eddie with what little fight you had left in you.

After catching her glare each time you passed in the hall at school, you decided to attempt a peace offering at home.

You hesitantly knocked on her bedroom door after dinner. “Come in,” she called from the other side, but her annoyance was obvious. Especially when you entered and found her sitting on the bed, reading a book, ignoring you completely.

“Listen,” you sighed, “I know…”

She didn’t shut her book or look up at you. You sat down near her feet and carefully took the book away; she crossed her arms as she finally returned your gaze— though hers was much sharper.

“I know you hate having to sit around at home because I’m not, you know, popular or dating or anything,” you informed her.

“You don’t care,” she rolled her eyes.

“I do care!” you insisted. “But I believe you should do things for your own reasons, not someone else’s.”

“I wish I had that luxury,” Elle snapped, “but I can’t do anything because you don’t want to! You know I was the only sophomore asked to prom? And I can’t go because you’re too uptight and feminist-y to just go out with that Eddie guy.”

You frowned. “How do you know about Eddie?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sixteen, I’m not stupid. And everyone heard about him serenading you on the soccer field anyways.”

Your cheeks warmed at the memory. “Well, that’s not the point. I can go out with him if I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prom.”

“Prom is actually gonna be fun you know, it’s not this horrible institution that you think it is,” Elle promised. “And Jason asked me and—”

“He never told you we went out, did he?” you interrupted, and Elle’s jaw dropped.

“You’re joking, right?” she assumed; you shook your head. “You and Jason?!”

“For a few months, freshman year.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he’s sooo cute,” you answered with a Valley-girl-voice, but it didn’t do as much to diffuse the tension as you’d hoped.

“You hate him!” Elle noticed.

“I do now.”

“What happened?” she wondered, and you looked away because you thought it might be easier to say it if you weren’t looking right at her. Even if she hated you, you didn’t want your little sister to think of you in the way she might when you admitted it.

“Well…” you trailed off, but she beat you to it.

“No,” she sighed, “you didn’t— you did it?!”

“Once,” you interjected firmly, as if that made it any better. “Just once, because, you know, everyone was doing it. I wanted to be cool— I wanted to feel normal. But afterwards, I told him I didn’t wanna do it anymore because I wasn’t ready. Aaaaand he dumped me.”

Elle blinked at you in bewilderment.

“After that, I decided to never do anything else again just because everyone else was doing it. I haven’t since! Well, except, you know, going to Steve Harrington’s party and getting wasted.”

“How did I not know about this?” Elle wondered. Apparently she confused being popular with being omniscient.

“I warned him that if he told anyone, all the cheerleaders would find out how small his dick is,” you snorted. Elle didn’t seem as amused, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wondered.

“I wanted you to make up your own mind about him,” you replied.

“Then why did you help Daddy keep me hostage here?!”

She got up off the bed and stood, frustration switching to anger, and you wrinkled your eyebrows as well. “Because I wanted to protect you!” you replied.

“By not letting me experience anything?” she countered.

“Not everything is worth experiencing, Elle!” you snapped. “Not everyone can be trusted!”

“I wouldn’t know!” she announced furiously. “You were too busy worrying I’d make the same mistakes as you to let me make my own!”

She stormed out of her own room and left you alone in it with a slam of the door. You sat on the bed for a minute, considering what she’d said. Noticing the picture on her nightstand, you sighed at the shot your dad had taken of the two of you, years ago, in line at Disneyland. She used to think you hung the moon back then… why couldn’t things still be that easy?

You glided down the stairs quickly, holding up the end of your dress, and passed Dad as he watched TV. “Bye, I’m going to prom,” you offered him flippantly as you passed.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he returned flatly. Of course, when he caught you and your outfit in the corner of his eye, he realized you were serious.

Before he could even ask what was going on, you were out the door. He would’ve chased you in search of more information, but he was distracted by Elle marching by next in her sparkly, colorful gown.

“What’s that?” he asked when he saw the midriff-baring garment.

“A prom dress!” she answered joyfully.

“I seem to be hearing that word a lot lately,” he frowned.

The doorbell rang, and Elle scampered across the foyer to answer it. On the other side, Mike was waiting in a suit with a corsage in hand ready to give her— but he stalled when he got a look at her all dolled up (even more than usual). “Wow,” he beamed, “you look… bitchin’.”

She smiled and started to leave with only a wave to her dad, but he crossed his arms. “Stop,” he insisted, and Elle sighed as she froze. “Turn.”

The young couple turned, Mike looking a bit anxious as Elle prepared for the usual.

“Explain,” Hopper demanded.

“Well, you know how you said I could date if my lovely, wonderful big sister dated?” she batted her eyelashes. “Turns out she found this guy who’s sort of perfect for her, which is sort of perfect for me, because Mike invited me to the prom—” she squeezed her date’s hand for emphasis— “and I really wanna go and I’m technically allowed since she’s going, and I know you’re a man of your word so you’ll stick to the rule you made. Right?”

There was a heavy pause; Mike extended his hand to the Chief politely. “Nice to meet you,” he greeted.

Elle took his hand instead and guided him out the front door. Powerless, Hopper stepped up to the open doorway and watched them run to the waiting limousine together. “Back by eleven, you hear me?” he called out. “One minute past and the entire police department will be looking for you!”

They got in the car and drove off as he watched with a sigh.

You’d sort of been expecting Eddie to wear a t-shirt with a tuxedo pattern printed on it… maybe that’s what everyone expected of him. But he was wearing a real one, in a dark cranberry color that seemed to bring out that little bit of hazel in his deep brown eyes.

It was stupid how easily his one simple glance over your body could make you fight the urge to blush. You knew you looked good, you actually felt good, but it was different to see Eddie acknowledge it. “Wow,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “uh, you too.”

He handed you a rose before you hooked your arm in his to walk inside to the decorated gymnasium.

“Where’d you get a tux?” you wondered.

“Wayne had one,” Eddie shrugged.

“Really?” you pressed, and Eddie laughed.

“Hell no, he couldn’t even help me with my tie! I… had a friend help me get this,” Eddie admitted, internally disgusted with himself for referring to Jason Carver as a friend. Then again, he was disgusted with himself for doing this for Jason’s benefit at all, but at least there was a real benefit for himself, too: the only girl he’d ever really fallen for walking arm-in-arm with him to prom. “Where’d you get the dress?” he wondered.

“Oh, um,” you blinked quickly, “I guess I really was a hopeless romantic deep down after all… ‘cause I had a nice dress in the back of my closet, just in case someone ever wanted to see me in it.”

There was a little moment of pause as Eddie imagined you saving a dress like this for someone special, hardly believing it was him.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have questioned your motives for asking me out,” you blurted out suddenly. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

He’d never seen you so… humbled? And it made his heart twist. “Don’t sweat it,” he encouraged, “you’re here with me now— that’s all that matters.”

Jason was already wearing his tux— and a sparkling-white smile— as your father opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Hopper,” he offered charmingly, even though anyone with half a brain knows to call him Chief Hopper. “I’m here to pick up Elle for the prom?”

Saying nothing, the Chief shut the door as suddenly as he’d opened it.

As you walked in to the room, dancing and general merriment in every direction, you caught Elle and Mike dancing cheek-to-cheek not too far off— and your sister offered you a quick wave and a gentler smile than you’d seen on her (directed at you, at least) in years.

Robin and Vickie, as always, were dancing to the beat of their own song, ignorant and uncaring to the judgment of others; Lucas guided Max to the dance floor, and you were one of many who noticed how good the unlikely pair looked together.

You were so caught up in it that you almost didn’t notice the music changing to another song— your favorite song. Eddie nudged you with his elbow and pointed at the stage, where the band from Club Nina joined the musicians already playing, and you gasped. “Oh my god!” you choked. “It’s—!”

“I had a friend help me with that, too,” Eddie grinned at you, drinking in your ecstatic excitement. You looked like a kid in a candy store as the lead singer waved at you; first humbled, then unabashedly joyful… so many new emotions that Eddie wasn’t used to seeing you show, but he liked this one so far. He liked how beautiful you were when you let yourself be openly happy— it reminded him of the way you looked dancing to this song at that club all those weeks ago. He hadn’t just been putting on the moves, he really thought you looked sexy when you let go and enjoyed yourself. And now you looked that way again, but you were dancing with him. You looked, and felt, freer than ever.

Elle was on her way to freshen up in the girls’ room— because the last thing she needed now was a lifting false lash with everything else going so perfectly— when Andy and Patrick stopped her. “Woah, hey,” Andy said as he grabbed her shoulder, “what’s going on?”

“What?” she wondered.

“Where’s Jason?” they pressed.

“I dunno, probably off somewhere picking his nose?” she replied sarcastically.

“Oh my god,” Patrick laughed. “I knew he couldn’t do it!”

“Huh?” she asked.

“He was so sure he could pop your cherry tonight,” Andy explained, bemused, “but he was full of shit— as per usual.”

Elle stepped back. “What a creep!” she spat, but they weren’t even paying attention anymore, just chuckling to each other about how they wouldn’t let their team captain live this one down for a while.

As for Jason, he wasn’t too far away after all— he was angrily storming through the dancing crowd towards you and Eddie. “Hey, freak!” he yelped just before grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him aside, though not quite far enough away. “What’s Elle doing here with that pipsqueak?! I didn’t pay you to take out her sister just so some little weirdo could get with her instead.”

Eddie whipped his head around, praying to whatever deity would listen that you hadn’t heard, but it only took a split-second to see the look in your eyes. And there was a third emotion he’d never seen on you before: real heartbreak. No anger, no rage, just devastation.

“Wait,” he pleaded as you began to walk away.

“I can’t believe I was right about you,” you replied with a shake of your head, “the first time.”

Jason let Eddie go to unsuccessfully chase after you; he was disinterested in the Freak versus Bitch drama unfolding once again, much more focused on getting back at Mike Wheeler for screwing him over.

Lucas tried to intercept him, but he got shoved roughly to the ground on the way to Mike. “You messed with the wrong guy,” Jason informed him with a sneer, “and now you’re so done. You and that prissy bitch.”

“Watch what you say about her,” Mike warned angrily, but Jason wasn’t exactly intimidated— in fact, he almost looked amused right before his fist collided with the sophomore’s face. Mike crumpled to the ground, not exactly a match for Jason’s strength… but then again, neither was Elle, and she was the one who swung back— right in the nose.

“That’s for making my boyfriend bleed!” she explained as he clutched his face. “That’s for my sister,” she added as she kneed him in the gut, “and this… is for me.”

A swift kick to the crotch sent him to the ground, and Elle stepped over him to offer a hand to Mike. He took it, looking up at her in awe as she helped him stand again. “Uh, boyfriend?” he noticed.

It was the kind of move you would’ve been proud of, if you were there to see it; apparently ball-kicking ran in the Hopper family, and not just in the soccer sense.

“Please, let me explain,” Eddie begged as he chased you out of the gym.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory!” you returned sharply. “It was all a set-up, by fucking Jason! I should’ve known it was too…”

Too good to be true. You couldn’t admit that, you’d already given away so much. “It wasn’t— that was just how it started!” Eddie promised. “But I really fell for you.”

“Yeah? Funny what money can do to a person.”

“I never cared about the money!” he insisted, and when you spun around to challenge that, he grabbed your shoulders. “I only cared about you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” you sneered, and he did want to show you— he wanted to wipe that all-too-familiar look off your face and go back to how things were. He kissed you, hard and forceful, but you pushed him off with a whine. “I hate you!” you spat as you managed to fight him off— not that he was trying that hard to force you to stay, he knew that was wrong… though he wished he could. He wished he could hug you tight enough to keep you here until you would listen, but you were too stubborn for it to work anyways. It was that stubbornness that made him resent you in the beginning, then it was one of the things he fell for— and now it was the reason you were walking away, and he was just watching you go, unwilling to hurt you anymore.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come?” Elle asked again, pityingly, as Mike held her hand. You shook your head. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

It was sweet, but it was a lie; a young couple didn’t want you chaperoning their movie date. Lies can be so sweet that way, the best ones usually are. You watched them walk together down the sidewalk, knowing it wouldn’t cheer you up to go with them. “Is she gonna be okay?” Mike whispered to his girlfriend, though not quietly enough.

“I hope so,” Elle replied softly.

As they left, your dad appeared and sat next to you on the steps, groaning as his older joints made it a bit more of a task. “Where’s she going?” he wondered.

“To meet a bunch of bikers,” you offered quickly. “Big ones… full of sperm.”

“Not funny,” Hopper frowned. You gave him a look, and he smiled slightly. “A little funny.”

It still wasn’t enough to make you smile back, and you looked forward at the houses across the street again.

“So… the dance,” he remembered, “was it groovy?”

Even that couldn’t make you crack a smirk, though you wanted to. “Some parts…”

“Which parts?” he wondered.

“The part where Elle beat the crap out of some loser,” you recalled— the stories around school were already glorious. You were pretty sure the rumor that she pulled some Karate Kid moves and spin-kicked him in the face was just a rumor, but you liked picturing it anyways.

“Elle did what?” he gasped.

“What, are you afraid she’s taking after me?” you challenged.

“No,” he answered quickly, “I’m impressed.”

You looked at him again, soaking in that all-too-rare approval. It’s not that he wasn’t affectionate… well, he wasn’t, but it was only because he had trouble expressing himself. It made his eloquence going forward even more unexpected.

“You know, fathers don’t like to admit when their daughters become capable of running their own lives,” he explained. “It means we’re obsolete… we’re spectators. Elle still lets me play a few innings— you’ve had me on the bench for years— and when you go to Sarah Lawrence, I won’t even be able to watch the game.”

You were about to complain about the baseball metaphor until you realized what he was really saying. “When I go?” you repeated excitedly.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind now! I already sent them a check,” he answered with a slightly mischievous smile. Exclaiming in joy, you threw yourself on him for a tight hug.

“I assume you’ve all prepared your sonnets for today?” Ms. O’Donnell looked over the room. She frowned when she saw Jason sinking into his chair. “Mr. Carver?”

“Uh… I, uh, have a doctor’s note,” he explained.

“Oh— well, regardless, sunglasses are not permitted indoors,” she reminded him.

Sighing, he took the aviators off, and the class snickered at the sight of two black eyes on either side of his bandaged nose.

“Would anyone else like to read theirs for us?” she encouraged, and you waited a second before raising your hand.

That seemed to surprise everyone— most of all Eddie, who lifted his head from where it had been resting on his desk. Some of your classmates assumed the worst— here we go and time for a feminist lecture that rhymes and all that— but some seemed to sense what was really coming. Ms. O’Donnell, pleasantly surprised, stepped aside to let you come stand at the front.

You opened your notebook and did your best not to look at everyone looking at you.

Clearing your throat, you began. “I hate the way you talk to me,” you read aloud, “and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.”

Your reading was particularly flat and unemotional, just hoping to get this over with, yet at the same time, so many emotions were flooding you inside.

“I hate your stupid white Reeboks, and the way you read my mind— I hate you so much it make me sick, it even makes me rhyme.”

You spared one half-second glance up, and even just in your peripheral you saw Eddie’s face, and you had to fight getting choked up.

“I hate… I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie,” you whimpered, voice breaking, “I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when— when you make me cry.”

As a hot tear crossed your cheek, you fought the instinct to defiantly wipe it away— for once, you wanted to feel this, and you wanted to be seen even at your most vulnerable.

“I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call,” you continued, approaching the end. “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

The way Eddie was looking at you was just too much; the way everyone was looking at you was just too much. You stormed out of the class, leaving them in stunned silence, crying harder as you ran down the hall.

Your face was dry by the time you got to your car; maybe you’d let Eddie play with your heart and invade your mind and cry way too much, but you decided that was over now— no more tears over boys. Especially dumbass, annoying, sexy, horrible, gorgeous boys who play you for a fool and have the audacity to fall for you in the process.

You were about you open your driver’s side door when you saw the sparkling white resin in the front seat, and you bent down, greeted by the Fender Stratocaster you’d been eying resting in your seat.

Reaching in through the open window, you pulled it out delicately and inspected it like it was magic— because maybe it was.

“Nice, huh?”

Eddie’s voice behind you made you jump and spin, and he smiled at you expectantly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted back on his heels for a second. “A Fender Strat?” you noticed. “Is this— is this mine?”

“I figured you could use it,” he shrugged, “when you start your band. Or join mine.”

You smiled slowly as you looked at it again, and then back at him.

“Besides, I had some extra cash,” he explained. “Some jerk paid me to take out this amazing girl…”

“Yeah?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but, uh, I kinda fucked it up. ‘Cause I totally fell for her.”

You loved the way he looked with a flush tinting his cheeks. “Really?” you pressed.

“Of course,” he grinned. “Very rare to find a girl who’ll flash someone to break you out of detention.”

It was your turn to feel your face warm, then, wondering how long ago he found out about that. Dropping your forehead into one of your hands in embarrassment, you laughed shamefully at the memory, hardly believing you’d done something so impulsive. As risky as it was, you actually kind of liked the person you were when you were with Eddie.

With a gentle grip on your wrist he moved your hand away from your face, the other tilting up your chin so he could kiss you. You let him, for a moment, but before you could properly melt into him you carefully pushed him back by his shoulders.

“You know you can’t just buy me a guitar whenever you screw up, right?” you asked.

“I know,” he agreed, “but hey! There’s always drums, bass, tambourine… triangle…”

You snorted your laugh and he kissed you again. You pushed him away again. “And don’t just think you can—”

He kissed you again, a little harder, and you gave in to it willingly.

Yeah, all that cheesy romance stuff? Sappy poems, public serenading, making out in front of everyone as the bell rang and the day ended? Turns out it really can happen for a girl like you. It can happen for a guy like Eddie, too; neither of you expected it to, but it did. And as you spent the rest of your senior year getting to know him better, you found a lot more things about Eddie Munson that you would've hated if you learned them before— but they only made you love him more instead.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #10 things I hate about you #mileven #lumax #rovickie #stranger things fanfiction #AMidsummerNightsWritingChallenge

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,252

warnings: swearing, anxiety, loneliness, a smidge of angst, karen wheeler and her goons as well as mentions of the way they treat billy, hurt, comfort

a/n: hi!!! alas, behold!! i’ve been working on this very slowly for like the past week. but i think i’m pretty proud of this part. thanks for sticking around to read each of these and for encouraging me to try something new. i really hope you enjoy this part. love you bunches!! <333

before you read, listen to: angeleyes by ABBA and/or tiny dancer by elton john

————

The bedsheets are cold everywhere that your body isn’t. Each time you that you rub your feet together you feel the chilly fabric and scramble back to the warm spot you’ve created.

You flip onto your side, reaching for the phone on your nightstand. You punch in a number. A number you think you might remember for the rest of your life.

You wipe your cheek as you maneuver to your back, receiver pressed to your ear.

You stare up at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of tears at your hairline from the change in position. You can’t get them to stop.

The phone’s barely rung before he picks up, and you notice that it’s one in the morning.

“Hello?” Billy’s voice sounds like he hasn’t used it in awhile.

“Hey. It’s me,” you say.

“Figured. No other dumbass would call my number at fucking dark-thirty.”

You can’t find it in you to laugh, though you feel in your chest that you would’ve if you weren’t so stuck.

“Were you sleeping?” you ask, though you know he wasn’t. Not with the speed at which he answered the phone.

“No. What’s the matter?” he inquires.

You sniffle, and Billy sits straight up on the other side of the line.

“Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath, steeling yourself.

“I miss you.”

Billy has to take the phone away from his ear for a second. He runs a hand down his face and blinks. Hard.

No one has ever said that to him.

I miss you. I miss you.

Composing himself, he responds. “Oh yeah?”

“Billy.” Your tone is stern, though not quite pleading.

“You wanna know somethin’?”

“Sure.”

“I miss you more,” he tells you.

“Please don’t make this a competition, Hargrove.” Now you speak a touch more pleadingly.

Billy laughs, and it makes you smile.

You wish you could see him. See the way his eyes squint when he chuckles, or the way he tosses his head back and cackles.

“So you just miss me? That’s all?” He changes the subject.

You stop for a second. No. That’s not all.

“Yeah,” you say, though it’s not very convincing—to you or to Billy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You pause shortly before continuing. “I-I just wanted to hear your voice is all.”

Billy’s grin dissipates. Something’s wrong, and he can feel it. He goes to speak, but you beat him to it, perhaps sensing that he’d dig for more. You hadn’t meant to sound so sad.

“I’m gonna try and get some sleep, okay, Billy? Will you do the same for me, please?”

You ask because he’s told you he doesn’t sleep well a lot of time. And sometimes, when you look at him, you can see it.

The rings under his eyes. The way he holds himself.

Billy hates that you’re not telling him something. Something that’s made you call him in the middle of the night, something that he thinks has made you cry. He thinks that because he’s never heard that particular kind of sniffle before. You sound so tired.

He doesn’t want you to cry or to be upset. Billy Hargrove cares about you more than he’s ever cared about himself. He even finds that he wants to. For you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try. But only if you promise you’re really going to rest.”

“I promise, Billy,” you say.

“Okay. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Billy.”

When you set the phone down, your tears have stopped, though you remain awake, staring at the wall, your thoughts enveloping you.

You really hadn’t meant for him to catch that you’re upset. You hadn’t even meant to call him. You just needed him a reminder that he was there.

Earlier, you’d been straitening up your room when you found yourself going through old boxes filled with pictures or badges or cards. And you’d found a couple of photographs with you and your old friends. Some with your small group of middle school friends, but also some with Nancy.

Suddenly you’d found yourself very overwhelmed. You felt fear wash over you like when you’re at the beach and you try and jump the waves but miss.

You’d been afraid that Billy might leave you like everyone else.

You don’t want him to leave you. You want him to stay.

————

“You know you can invite Billy over whenever you want, right?”

Your mother sits on the living room floor. She’s decided to alphabetize your VHS tape collection. You have no idea why.

You’re spread out on the couch, watching her. “Is this a trick?”

She turns to face you and smacks a hand to her chest. “What? No!”

The smirk she’s sporting says otherwise, and you give her a look that makes her relent. “I just feel like you’ve been really quiet lately. I can tell you’re anxious. And I see the way Billy helps that.”

She shakes your copy of The Sound of Music for you to see. She knows how you feel about Mr. von Trapp. You grin sweetly.

“And I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him,” she says.

“Mom.”

“Honeybee, I’m serious,” she tells you, voice soft as ever. “I can tell that you feel safe with him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know.”

You’re quiet for a minute. You wonder if Billy’s busy today. You would like to see him, though you always want to see him.

“I’m gonna go call him, okay? Maybe he could come over this afternoon and stay for dinner?”

Your mother gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up as you stand, and you watch her eye Gene Kelly for a minute too long before you head for the phone.

————

Billy doesn’t have any plans today, he tells you.

“I was thinking we could hang around for awhile and you could eat with us? My mom said she might even make cookies.”

Billy’s laugh is gravelly and sends a shiver straight down your spine. “Cookies, huh? Yeah, alright.”

“So it’s the cookies that do it for you then?” you ask, feigning offense at his agreeing only after you mentioned treats.

“Should there be something else that sweetens the deal?” He’s teasing you now.

“You tell me.”

“I was thinking maybe this girl I’m talking to would be a good addition.”

“Oh?” You twist the phone cord around your hand.

“Yeah. She’s a real pain in my ass, but I kind of like her, so I keep her around.”

“She sounds nice, I guess.” You’re so glad he can’t see you.

Billy hums. “You guess? I think she’s pretty damn sweet herself. I guess I don’t even really need the cookies. She’s more than enough for me.”

————

Billy opens the car door and grins at the sight of you—especially since you’ve decided to sit in the backseat with him, leaving the passenger seat empty.

Your mother realized that she not only had nothing to cook for dinner, but also no supplies for cookies, so she decided you could just scoop Billy up, take him along to get groceries, and then drag him back home.

Billy couldn’t really believe the gesture. But even if it was odd, this entire premise of being part of someone’s plans or being cared for, he found himself enjoying it.

Your mother turns the radio up a little, allowing a buffer for the both of you to talk to one another, that way she can’t really hear you.

Billy looks you over. He’s still worried about you after that phone call. He notices your knee bouncing and reaches over, slipping his hand over it and tucking his fingers snugly underneath it.

The bouncing ceases. You put your hand on top of his, run your fingers over the lines and creases in his skin, the engravings on his ring.

“Is it the store?” he asks tentatively. He figures going out is what’s got you a little nervous.

You look at him and nod. He lifts his other hand, dragging the pad of his thumb along the slope of your nose, which you wrinkle in response.

He smiles at you. Each and every smile that he gives you feels like it’s special. Feels like it’s meant just for you.

You grab his hand, freeing it from over your knee so that you can hold it properly. When you’re successfully doing so, he gives it a squeeze.

Your mother pulls into the parking lot and you’re looking for spots, not paying attention to Billy.

You feel him raise your clasped hands, and then you feel the warm press of his mouth. You turn to him, though he’s already looking at you. He lets his lips rest against the back of your hand for a second longer, and then he releases you down so he can unbuckle himself.

You’re practically burning on the way into the store, despite the fact that there’s a chilly wind blowing every which way that should be preventing that.

Your mother grabs a cart and then digs around in her bag for the list she made. She rips it in two and gives one half to Billy. “I’m trusting you not to let her sneak unnecessary things into the basket.”

“How do you know I’m not going to do that?” Billy counters, eyes dancing around the little scrap of paper.

“Well it’s fine if you do. I’ll make a little corner for you to keep snacks.”

“Are you kidding me?” you start. Your mother winks at you, and walks off, pushing her cart away with her.

You go the other direction, snatching up a basket. “I can’t believe this,” he hears you mumble.

Billy laughs behind you. “Keep it up, Hargrove. Keep it up.” That only makes him laugh harder, and then he plants his forehead between your shoulder blades, his hands going to your sides.

“You’re just mad she likes me more,” he says into your back before righting himself.

“I’m not even allowed to have a ‘corner of snacks.’ You’re such a dick.”

You move away from him, but not before snatching the list so you can see what you’re supposed to be retrieving.

He takes it right back from you. “I’ll share with you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You grab hold of his bicep and he takes that as having earned your forgiveness, though it’s not for long, because you can’t actively reach for groceries whilst holding onto him.

He opens the fridge door while you grab milk, gets things from the top shelves that you can’t reach, picks out all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

He doesn’t actually end up grabbing anything for himself; he can’t fathom letting your mother spend money on him like that.

You turn a corner, in search of your mom. You’re now holding the basket with both hands because it’s much too heavy, and you’d like empty it out into her cart.

She scoots into the other end of the aisle and you rush to her, relieving yourself of the groceries.

“She wouldn’t let me hold it,” Billy tells your mother.

“I have muscles,” you state, pretending like you’re not slightly out of breath.

You wander down a little ways in search of pretzels. Billy follows you a few seconds later, having paused to ask if your mom needed him to get anything else.

“Billy?” You hear him walk up behind you.

“Y/N?”

“Can you get those for me? The stick ones? Please?” You’re pointing upwards. Normally, you’d scale the shelf, but with him here that seems unnecessary.

“Sure.”

He stretches upwards, his shirt riding up, and you catch a small stretch of his stomach. You wonder what it feels like. Probably softer than his hands.

On the other end of the aisle, your mother looks back and forth between her list and the groceries in her cart, scratching things off as she goes. She’s nearly finished.

There’s a hubbub of voices from behind her, but she chooses to ignore it. It sounds like soccer moms. She’s never been one, and never wanted to be.

“Nicky!” A voice she recognizes snaps her out of her stupor, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself.

Karen Wheeler. And from the sounds of it, a couple more moms from her group.

Nicky lost all claims to being in said group when you were in middle school. She couldn’t take the obsessive PTA meetings and activities that just made it look like these mothers actually cared about their children, when everyone knew they didn’t.

Nicky pushes her glasses up into her hair, caps her pen, and turns.

“Hi, Karen. Pamela. Tiff.” She makes eye contact with each of them in turn and offers a stiff smile.

“How are you? How’s Y/N?” Karen asks.

“I’m just fine.” Nicky’s head darts towards where you stand with Billy. She smiles at the two of you.

He’s got his fingers hooked in your belt loops, and you’re playing with the cuff of his sleeve, occasionally brushing your thumb against the skin of his wrist. You look happy.

“Y/N is doing just fine, too. Really well in school. I’m very proud of her.”

Nicky turns back to Karen, but her eyes are glued on you. More specifically, on Billy.

“Is that Billy Hargrove?” Karen seems to realize that sounds off, and covers. “His sister, Max, is friends with Mike.”

“Oh, I see,” Nicky says, appraising the looks on her and the other women’s faces. She doesn’t like the way they can’t seem to stop staring at Billy.

They’re looking him up and down, looking at him like he’s an object, like he’s this sex symbol.

Pamela turns to face Nicky. “Is he with her?”

“Would it matter if he was?” Nicky suddenly finds herself very angry and unwilling to put up with these women.

Pamela looks shocked, but it’s Tiff who pipes up. “I just thought that he’d be with someone more…mature. Y/N’s so quiet. So…anxious.”

Nicky tosses her pen in her bag. “What the hell is wrong with you? Billy is eighteen years old, and the three of you are looking at him like he’s good enough to eat. Last time I checked, you all had children the exact same age. If by mature you mean yourself, then shit! If you can’t see what’s wrong with that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Billy hears your mom raise her voice and holds onto your waist a little more firmly. You look up when he does.

“What gives you the right to assume you know what kind of relationship he wants to be in?” your mother continues. “He’s a fucking kid, Tiffany, and so is my daughter.”

“She might be quiet but there isn’t a damn thing wrong with that, and neither is there with being anxious. It’s clear to me that the three of you don’t know the first thing about what life is like for teenagers these days, even if you were one once. And I’m sorry that you’re so unhappy in your marriages that you think it’s okay to prey on Billy. Get a fucking divorce.”

Nicky grabs hold of her cart and pushes it towards the both of you, cocking her head to the side in a swift motion that tells you both to follow her.

“You two get everything?” she asks, continually walking.

“Yeah,” you tell her.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

————

You notice, as you’re starting to help your mother make cookies, that Billy keeps pushing his hair out of his face. Having already secured yours away from any possible encounters with ingredients, you decide to help him.

“Come with me,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of his. He grabs hold and let’s you lead him to your bathroom.

He thinks about the last time he was in here, about you cleaning him up.

You pull the cabinet open and get a scrunchie, stretching it over your fingers to show him. “This okay? I could tell it was buggin’ you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Billy blushes a little at the idea of you having your hands in his hair, and you pretend not to notice.

You reach up, gathering all of his hair at the base of his neck. It’s softer than you expected, though you can feel the product in it, and the little bit of frizz that’s fought back.

Your nail grazes his neck, just slightly, and it makes him shiver. You tie his hair up into a bun. There are a couple shorter pieces hanging out at the front, and you make him face you so that you can push them behind his ears.

You twist one curl around your finger and then tuck it away. You look into his blue eyes, and he’s staring at you like…no. He couldn’t feel that way, could he?

Though maybe he does. Maybe he’s got the same ache for you that you’ve got for him.

Before he can think too much about it, Billy cups the back of your head and leans in, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your skin, and then he’s giving you another one.

His lips are warm and soft, and you feel the press of them long after he’s pulled back.

You can feel him rubbing his thumb against the back of your head, and you lean into his touch. “You’re welcome.” The smile you give him makes him feel like he might actually die.

When you’re back in the kitchen, your mother has already got a batch in the oven, but she’s set everything else out for the two of you to make one.

“I wanted there to be at least a couple edible ones,” she says.

You turn to Billy. “Are you hearing this? She doubts my skills.”

“I don’t blame her,” he says teasingly, looking at Nicky, who laughs sickly sweet.

“You know what? I’ve had enough of this.” You feign wiping tears from your face and go to stomp away, but Billy just grabs hold of you instead, gently pulling you towards the counter.

“Don’t go, I need you.”

Your mother takes that as her queue to give you two some time.

Nicky knows. She knows that Billy is falling in love with you, if he’s not already there.

She thinks you feel the same, but she also knows you.

————

Billy seems to have made himself quite comfortable where he sits cross legged against your headboard. He’s already eaten his share of cookies, but he’s glad to wait as you finish yours.

You’re sitting at the end of the bed, facing him. When you finish your cookies, you sit up and move towards him, reaching to set your napkin on your side table. When he sees you go to move back, he grabs hold of your hand.

“Sit up here with me.”

You comply, positioning yourself beside him, and when you’re sideways so that you can look at him, he pulls your legs into his lap, resting his hands on your calves.

He’s only quiet for a second before he speaks again. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You adjust the pillow behind your back.

“Y/N. You know what. You don’t just call me at one in the fucking morning, sounding like that, and then expect me to forget about it.”

“You could tell then I guess?”

“That you were crying? Yeah. You think I don’t pay attention to stuff like that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

“Well I’ve been worried about you all day, and don’t say I didn’t need to be.”

Billy raises his voice just enough to be serious, though he’s not yelling. You can tell he’s a little frustrated with you though.

“Please talk to me. I opened up to you about my fucking dad, Y/N. You have to let me in.”

Your eyes well up, but you push those feelings down, pulling yourself away from Billy and sitting up on your knees. He looks upset at the loss of you splayed across him.

“I was having a rough night, and I freaked myself out,” you start.

“Billy, you’re the first friend I’ve had in a long time.” He nods, urging you on.

“I found all these old pictures, some with friends from middle school, but some with Nancy too.”

“Wheeler?”

“Wheeler,” you confirm. “When I was middle school, I had a couple of friends, and we would do everything together, you know? We’d plan out our futures, even if it was just talking about high school and dumb shit like that. But I always felt like the odd one out, you know? I was freaked out about high school. They weren’t. I was shy, I was wary. I didn’t want things to change.”

“But they did. And we got to high school, and I lost all of them. They all found their own groups, and I just didn’t. I did find Nancy, though. We were both in the library at the same time, and we just clicked? We got really close and I felt safe with her.”

“We knew everything about each other. I felt like her family was my family, that kind of thing. But then she met Barb, and then Steve,” here your voice breaks, and Billy fucking hates it.

“Nothing bad happened. We just started seeing each other less, and I’d call and she’d be busy. It got one-sided. Billy, it was like she forgot about me.”

He extends his hand, and you take it. Those tears you’d been fighting win, spilling over slowly and then all at once.

“And I’ve had a hard time getting over that, even if I tell my mom that I’m fine. Really, I’m not mad at Nancy. I just feel so…insignificant. It hurts, knowing I’m so easy to forget, Billy. And I saw all those pictures last night, and then I thought of you and I got so scared all of the sudden.”

“It’s like everyone I’ve ever let in has left me behind. And I’m scared you’re going to forget about me too. And I don’t think I’ll recover from that, Billy. Because I need you.”

You stop then, and a sob rips free from your throat, though Billy can tell you didn’t want it to. “I’m sorry.” You try to apologize for your state.

He sits up on his knees too, and pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his neck and he lets you, because he knows exactly how you feel. He thinks about his mother for a second, but let’s that go.

Billy’s hands move steadily over your back, doing their best to soothe you. He carefully guides your face from his shoulder, ensuring you look at him.

“I’m not going to forget about you, Y/N. I fucking swear. I could never. You are not anywhere near insignificant, and you’re not anywhere damn near easy to forget.”

“I’m so sorry that all of happened to you, and I can’t explain any of it, because everyone’s got their own shit going on. But I can tell you that you didn’t deserve it. And I can tell you that I need you too. You make me want to stay in this shithole. You make me want to be better.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is quiet, and you look so young, so fragile. It’s killing him.

“Yeah.”

The both of you are quiet for awhile, sitting with each other, Billy waiting until your breathing has steadied, until he feels your hiccuping stop.

“Billy, if I ask my mom, and she says it’s okay, will you stay the night?” You grin as you ask.

He laughs at that, and you can feel the vibrations of it where your face is shoved into his chest. He remembers the joke he made about that one of the first times you hung out.

Shit, he thinks. He really needs to tell you.

“Yeah, I will.”

You hop up, rubbing your face dry, and then excitedly make for the door. You hold up your index finger. “I’ll be right back.”

He hears you patter to the living room, the mumbling of your and your mother’s voices.

When you return, you’re giddy.

“My mom said you can stay the night, Billy.”

He laughs so hard that he falls onto his back, the spring in your mattress making him bounce a little. He’s fucking cackling at you, and it only makes you do the same.

————

That night, after Billy has made sure Neil and Susan will be gone awhile, after he’s sat and waited for Hopper to pick up Max and take her back to theirs to be with El, and then packed an overnight bag, he’s back in your room.

In your bed. With you.

“My bed is much warmer with you in it, I must say.”

Billy smiles at you, and even let’s you play with the pendant around his neck. “I’m glad,” he says. “Guess that means I’ll have to spend more time in it then.”

You turn your face into your pillow, and he chuckles.

“Come here, baby. Let me hold you.”

Baby.

You scoot closer to him, and he scoops you up in his arms.

“I’m never going to forget about you.” He says it into your hair, his breath warm on your scalp.

“I believe you.” Billy kisses your forehead again, and you feel safe. He feels like he could be your forever home.

————

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