Chapter Text
High and dry, out of the rain
It’s so easy to hurt others when you can’t feel pain;
and don’t you know that love can’t grow?
‘Cause it’s too much to give,
‘cause you’d rather live for the thrill of it all
—Daryl Hall & John Oates, 1977
Prologue
August, 1983
Mornings usually didn’t start in the Harrington household till at least six–thirty; but given that it was the first day of school, some sleep could be sacrificed.
Stevie blinked blearily in the mirror, splashing water on her face to try and kick start her brain. It was still dark outside, with only a few brave birds chirping in the dying shadows of early morning.
Today was important, as all first days were; but something about the rush of Junior Year made this one different. She’d talked about it with Carol at length, and they both agreed. Maybe it was the promise of being a cool upperclassman finally—maybe it was the realization that they were almost done with school—maybe it was a mix of the two, or something else entirely.
She didn’t know.
But she knew she couldn’t start with a bad outfit.
Thankfully it hadn’t been hard to impress the importance of this on her mother—and they’d spent the last weekend shopping in Indianapolis for a new wardrobe. Anything to make my princess look her best, her mom had smiled.
When Stevie’s father had grumbled about the price tags, her mother made an offhand remark about the new string of pearls his secretary was wearing—and the matter, like all the rest, was buried in stinging silence.
She stood in her mirror now, wearing the high-waisted blue-jeans that hugged her hips flatteringly—new gold hoops and a matching necklace—a tight black turtleneck that made her feel like Olivia Newton–John at the end of Grease, and a little red shrug for a pop of color.
Nothing crazy, nothing wild, but not nothing.
Her hair was perfect, as always—Dark brown, borderline auburn waves framed her face like a priceless painting—the rollers she styled it with placed back in their case for later that night. Her makeup was flawless—not overstated, and not underutilized.
It was perfect.
She was perfect.
The perfect look for the perfect daughter of a perfect family.
She had to be.
“Do you think it makes me look like a hooker?” Carol asked, peering at her eye makeup in Stevie’s passenger vanity mirror. She had a compact in one hand, and an eyeshadow brush in the other, her purse open on her lap as they sat in the Hagan’s driveway waiting for Tommy to get his ass out of bed.
“No,” Stevie laughed, “You look fine. It’s very…you.”
“Oh go fuck yourself, Stephanie.”
“I would, but I’m just not as talented as you are. My legs don’t bend that way.”
“Oh, we’re being funny today, huh?” Her best friend grinned, teeth sharp and white, “Maybe I’ll tell Tommy what you said the other night about Jonathan Byers? And his eyes—
Stevie smacked her on the shoulder, “Maybe I’ll tell him about how you want to—.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
“I don’t know, Carrie, it’d be pretty funny.”
“What would be pretty funny?” Tommy interjected, tossing his backpack in the backseat and sliding into the Beemer. He looked the same as he always did; button up—jeans—a watch. It was a tried and true formula, and the only one Tommy knew.
“Nothing.” The girls chorused, finally meeting each other’s eyes and bursting out into a fit of giggles.
This was a crucial part of the ritual they’d established in the sun–soaked memories of middle school; back when Carol first moved to Hawkins and TommyStevie became TommyStevieCarol.
Tommy was Stevie’s oldest friend—practically her brother in all the ways that mattered—but he knew that whatever they had couldn’t hold a candle to sisterhood.
It had been that way since they’d been paired up to do a book report in sixth grade—Stevie shared her pudding cup at lunchtime, and Carol dumped a thermos of soup in That–Bitch–Tiffany’s lap after she made fun of Stevie for spelling something wrong on the board—From that day on, they were attached at the hip; the closest thing to sisters that money could buy.
Tommy still hung out with them, but the older they got, the more… romantic him and Carol became; and the less he and Stevie truly talked to each other. Because shooting the shit on the hood of her Beemer after school didn’t compare to them lying in a patch of clover at ten years old, whispering fears back and forth under the cover of the woods.
Talking about parties and homework and sports wasn’t the same as making blood oaths in the summer and Tommy telling her in a hushed wavering voice that he liked a boy in their class and he was scared that his dad would kill him if he found out.
Whether he still feared that, or whether he forgot, Stevie didn’t know; the boy she grew up with still sat there hidden in the woods. And his replacement was whining in the backseat of her car about having to listen to Blondie again. So sure, he was still there—but nine times out of ten they’d fall into TommyCarol and StevieCarol, rather than a trio.
But not today. Today they were a group. A whole day of syllabus readings, and a whole new summer to mourn.
Pulling into the parking lot, they spilled out, grabbing bags and sniping at each other—before waltzing into the halls, heads held high.
People stared; of course they did. They always stared at Stevie, ever since sixth grade when she’d had her braces removed (her mother had insisted she get them done early). She knew their eyes were caught on her hair, or her figure, or her clothes. That the looks ranged from envious and hateful to…something else. Her neck prickled every time someone’s eyes lingered on her, and she suppressed the shudder. No anxiety now.
It was showtime.
After making a quick stop at lockers, they waved to the right people, flashed smiles at others, and laughed like nothing mattered. Tommy kept running his fingers through his hair like it would make it look better, and Stevie laughed at him unapologetically for it.
“Fuck off, Goldie.” Tommy shot back, a grin on his face and a false bite coloring his tone. It didn’t matter how snide they were with each other, it was well established that the trio’s sharp words never cut one of their own.
First period Chemistry was almost full, and Stevie noted with surprise that they had assigned seats—but not alphabetically like usual.
That was how she and Tommy had become friends in the first place; Hagan and Harrington, one after another. But now she was placed in the back corner, with…
Nancy Fucking Wheeler.
Great.
Wheeler and Stevie had always run in different circles. While Stevie was out shopping, or flirting with older guys at house parties, Wheeler was barrelling through academics like an off leash herding dog at a state fair. The Sophomore had elbowed her way into higher studies, and held her own better than some of the Juniors did.
The truth of it was that Stevie had never truly noticed her, which made it all the more awkward sitting next to her in the back of the room. Wheeler’s desk was already covered in her textbooks, a new notebook, and a freshly sharpened pencil.
Stevie forgot to bring a pencil. Shit.
Wheeler didn’t seem like the sharing type. Her back was ramrod straight, and a certain fire burned in her eyes that never left the teacher. A real fun gal, Stevie thought.
Looking at the rest of the room, it seemed that the teacher had decided to split them all up; no allowances for TommyStevieCarol in this room. Her heart sank as she realized that it would be like this for the whole year.
Sighing and dropping her bag on the floor, she steeled herself for the period; settling into the drone of their teacher’s voice. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and she was already indulging in the classics: watching the clock, and hoping for a fire drill.
Benny’s diner was their after-school haven—they had their own booth claimed in the corner, with their names faintly etched on the wood surface, gone unnoticed amidst the peeling leather seats and flickering yellow lights. Most of the other patrons were older, or came earlier than 3:30 on a Wednesday.
They didn’t care though; waving at Benny behind the counter, before piling into their spot. Less people meant less ears, and better gossip. Stevie and Carol took one end of the booth, and Tommy got his own side. After Benny had come by and taken their orders—not that he really needed to, they always got the same thing—Carol hissed, “Guess who wasn’t here today?”
“Who?” Tommy asked, trying to fish a cherry out of his milkshake.
“Betty Wicks.”
Big news for a small town. Betty was in their year, but over the summer rumors had spread around town about her having a shotgun wedding in Chicago with a twenty-seven year-old. The bluster had died down, but something must’ve sparked it back up if Carol cared.
“What’s new?” Stevie asked. She had finished picking the onions off her burger, and slid them on a napkin over for Tommy to eat.
“Andrea Edwards said she saw her coming from the hospital the other day–she was there because she broke her leg at her grandfather’s ranch in Montana—and apparently Betty looked pregnant as hell.”
Now that was news. Ignoring the fact that nothing happened ever in Hawkins; a pregnancy was a big deal regardless, but Betty? Betty was their age. Betty turned seventeen the week before Stevie did.
And she was going to be a mother.
Stevie suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and it must’ve shown on her face, because Carol’s usual look of excitement over drama was missing. She seemed more concerned than anything, and Stevie was the same—sure, giggling over other people’s problems and petty squabbles was fun, and so was griping about the stupid shit other people did, but this was…different. More real.
“That’s…” Stevie trailed off, “She was supposed to be cheer captain this year.”
Carol’s brow furrowed, her eyes scanning Stevie’s face.
Tommy had also gone silent, but he looked more lost than anything–a bite of his burger still hanging out of his mouth as he looked at the both of them. “Who?”
The girls looked at him like he’d reached a new level of situational idiocy, which wasn’t entirely unwarranted in Tommy’s case “Betty.”
“Oh,” He chewed the bite of burger, Stevie grimacing at his open mouth, “I thought she ran away.”
Carol reached over and slapped his burger out of his hand and onto his plate, “Stop thinking, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Stevie ignored them, glancing out the window past the faded “Now Hiring!” sign that Benny never took down. She tried to ignore the growing pit in her stomach and heaved a sigh as a flock of crows landed on the telephone wire just across the street.
She was jolted back to the present by Tommy’s sudden exclamation, and a puddle of milkshake dribbling down the table and onto his pants.
“Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck balls.”
“Wow, real eloquent,” Carol scoffed, “Go get some paper towels dummy, and stop flinging your elbows everywhere.”
As Tommy hobbled towards the men’s restroom, Carol nudged her, “You good there, Goldie? You checked out for a second.”
Leave it to Perkins to see through everything.
“Oh, um—Yeah I’m good, just—” She bit her tongue, “Could have been any of us, y’know? Poor Betty…”
“It’s not like she died.”
“I know, It just feels too… real for high school.”
Carol nodded, casting one last searching look at Stevie’s face, before knocking their shoulders together. “We should have a sleepover tonight, it’s been too long.”
That was the olive branch—Carol’s limb to let Stevie move on from the topic, and she took it gratefully. She didn’t want to talk about Betty Wicks anymore, or think about a kid having kids, or whether Betty was scared…
She didn’t want to think about her mother, and how she’d been seventeen when Stevie was conceived. She didn’t want to think about how she was expected to follow in their footsteps.
So she bit her tongue, and smiled. She’d always been told she had a nice smile. Maybe it would be enough to hide the fear in her eyes.
September 1983
Chemistry had solidified itself as her least favorite subject. The equations didn’t make sense like math made sense, and there were too many letters mixed in with numbers for her liking. She struggled through the first couple of quizzes, and had basically resigned herself to a low passing grade from Mr. Campbell.
(When she turned homework in, he always leveled her with a look of disappointment, and somehow it stung more than hearing the other students snicker at her when she answered a question wrong.)
She honestly just wanted to zone out for the rest of the school year, but Campbell had other plans.
“We’re doing titration labs today guys,” He clapped his hands, quieting the low chatter as the first period bell rang. After a brief explanation of the lab parameters, which included writing their own procedure, extrapolating their own data, and submitting a final lab report, Mr. Campbell concluded, saying,
“We have limited supplies, so we’ll be doing groups of four– Partner with your neighbor and then find a second group to join up with–I don’t care who.”
And the class erupted in a flurry of movement and chatter.
Great, Stevie steeled herself, and turned to Wheeler; a halfhearted smile on her face. Wheeler mirrored it, though she looked more resigned than anything else. The Sophomore started to speak before suddenly a large book slammed down on Stevie’s desk, cutting her off.
It was Carol, grinning like a shark, with a disgruntled looking Barbara Holland in tow. She grabbed an empty chair and pulled it to the other side of Stevie’s desk,
“You two need two more?”
Stevie grinned back at her, and despite her initial shock, Wheeler seemed to physically brighten up at Holland being there. She shifted her carefully arranged desk around to make room for her.
Carol whispered as she sat down, “Figured we’d be less likely to bite off heads this way.”
Stevie laughed, “You just missed me, bitch.”
“Missed what, your annoying voice? Try again, Princess.”
Their banter was interrupted by Barbara clearing her throat, which definitely didn’t make Stevie jump in her seat, not at all.
“Okay, look,” She said, leveling StevieCarol with a look that made Stevie want to sit up straighter in her chair, “Nancy and I don’t want to do this whole thing by ourselves. This is a group project, so you two have to actually do shit, got it?”
Carol sneered, “No fucking shit, we’re not stupid.”
“I’m just saying, if you two are too busy chattering to pay attention—”
“Chattering?” Carol’s voice was steel.
“I’ll write up the procedure!” Nancy interjected, “Barb has a really steady hand, she can do the actual titration—One of you can record data, and the other can help me write our final report—sound fair?” She seemed stressed already.
So much for not biting people’s heads off.
“I’ll record data,” Stevie said quickly, “I’m better with numbers than words; and Carol’s the better writer.” That was true, but it also meant that Carol and Barbara wouldn’t have to cooperate as much.
Carol sniffed and tossed her hair, “Fine.”
Barbara nodded as well, and went off to grab the supplies off the back wall. Nancy pulled a piece of paper out of her notebook, and started writing on it in a neat, elegant cursive. Sighing softly, Stevie caught Carol’s eye and silently begged her to behave. She shot back a look that blatantly said, no promises, and Stevie groaned softly.
She hoped there would be no blood spilt.
Stevie didn’t shy away from the fact that her friend could be incredibly bitchy on a good day, because she knew Carol, and she knew that most of the time the girl was the most observant, honest, real person she knew.
Carol mouthed off when she felt looked down on, to show people she was more dangerous than just a “stupid girl”. She remembered things about people that most would forget they even mentioned, and she would forge those truths into little blades of gossip on the off chance that someone would need to be taken down a peg in the future.
She’d been the one to start The List on the stall of the first floor girls bathroom; Written in blood–red marker—the names of all the guys who’d ever catcalled a girl, or been pushy, or handsy— as warnings for all who came after them.
It was a sacred text, and grew longer each year.
She’d been the one to spread the rumour of Mickey Davis having a micropenis after a poor freshman girl had been found trying to make herself throw up in the bathroom because he’d made a comment about her not fitting her cheerleading outfit right.
She had dirt on students, on teachers, on coaches—and she was vigilant about her information gathering; Stevie knew firsthand. Carol was abrasive, she was pushy, and nosy, and it either made you gravitate, or reel away in fear.
Carol didn’t care, never had. She had Tommy, and she had Stevie, and never bothered with anything else—not truly at least.
In the end though, it turned out there was no need to hope for civility between the two girls, because, to the utmost surprise of Stevie and Nancy; Carol and Barb got on like a house on fire.
Stevie knew that Carol was a bitch. Carol knew that Carol was a bitch. Most people who met her hated her immediately for the way she spoke, and acted; assuming that the sharp-tongued silvered words were Carol thinking she was better than everyone else. Something that, if Stevie didn’t know her better, she might agree with.
Barb,however, had no problem volleying the bitchiness right back at her, with a wit drier than the desert, and a sardonic sense of humour that tickled Carol’s amusement in a way that made Stevie pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
More surprising than Barb though, was the fact that Nancy didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, and even egged Barb on at points, with a raised eyebrow and an innocent question that set her friend off on another tangent.
The funny thing about group projects is that they have the potential to ruin people, break friendships, and foster hatred and resentment; the likes of which have never been seen before.
But sometimes.
Sometimes they can bring people together. People who otherwise wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with each other. Sometimes it can make friendships out of nothing. Without warning, or explanation.
Just that morning, Stevie was bracing herself for her most hated class, with people she didn’t get along with—Five hours later she was sitting on the bleachers listening to Carol laugh her fucking ass off at Barb’s (scarily accurate) impression of Mrs. Click.
Outside in the warm sun of an autumn not yet laced with cold; watching the rest of the student body mill about, enjoying the temporary freedom of lunch, Stevie took a deep breath and relished in the moment of reprieve from life. She turned back, and her eyes caught Nancy’s. Warm, dark-brown, and uncertain, but not unkind.
She grinned, and Nancy grinned back, and it felt something like hope.
They started hanging out more outside of class—not as much as TommyStevieCarol, but enough to the point where StevieCarol and NancyBarb were rather common sights to see together. Tommy fumed every time they cancelled Benny’s dates to go have “girl time” but Carol told him he could fuck off.
Stevie didn’t know when it started, but she found herself gravitating towards Nancy in their little group outings to Melvald’s, the record store, or the library. They would pile into the Beemer and drive out to the quarry to hang out or do homework, and Stevie would find herself staring at Nancy for no reason. She was just…
Magnetic.
The way she carried herself, how she spoke, how she saw the world. It was like a burning flame that Stevie couldn’t look away from. She’d never wanted to be friends with someone this badly. She’d never cared this much, and it was a bit terrifying to be perfectly honest.
She really wanted Nancy to like her.
And it was strange, because Stevie had never really had to fight for friendships before. Girls had always flocked to her to ask for hair tips, and talk about where she got her clothes, or her makeup. She’d never sat by herself at a lunchtable, or had to spend a Friday night home alone. And guys had never left her alone either—there was always one hanging around asking if she was free to go see a movie, or grab a milkshake.
But Nancy was different. She was cool, she was smart, she had grand plans for the future about becoming a journalist and moving to Boston, and Stevie…
Stevie didn’t have any plans; hadn’t really thought about life beyond Hawkins. She had cheerleading (After Betty dropped out, the girls had made her Captain), she had the swim team in the summer, and she had Carol and Tommy. Her father expected her to go to college and find a husband, her mother expected her to join her as a country club wife, and she’d never let herself consider anything else.
Not like Nancy. Nancy was going to be someone someday.
Stevie was just Stevie.
Boring, old, air–headed Stephanie Harrington. Pretty faced and lacking substance, like a dying flower in a vase; already cut down and no chance for growth.
It was an old fear of hers; one born from watching her mother host parties full of women who married young, had kids, cared for their homes and didn’t dream beyond them. She’d grown up surrounded by walls, and the caged bird always envied the wild one. She’d end up just like them one day, still in Hawkins, still wanting more.
And Nancy would be free. Off experiencing all the world had to offer, while she sat there in their small town, watching the birds fly and wondering where the time went. She’d probably wake up one day at eighty and wonder why she never did anything, but it would be too late then.
So for now—it was all she could do to stay close and try and indulge in the fire, even if it burned her.
At least she’d feel something.
They’d started hanging out at the library after school, and a few weeks ago, Carol would have pitched a fit about it; but her grades were improving alongside Stevie’s, and it was undoubtedly more fun to study with Nancy and Barb.
They had systems worked out that made learning actually…fun, believe it or not. And although Stevie still hated reading with a burning passion, they never judged her for having to take a bit longer to get through a paragraph when the letters started floating.
Sure, they looked at her weird when she asked certain questions; but so did Carol and Tommy, so that wasn’t new. When she tried to gossip with them like she did with Carol, Barb would always get super snippy, so eventually she stopped trying and let the other girls lead the conversation. More often than not, Carol and Barb would start up a debate and wouldn’t stop until they physically dragged them away from each other.
As far as Stevie could tell though, there was no bad blood; and for the first time since they were in middle school, Carol was making a new friend, so Stevie didn’t care if she felt a little stupid in their group outings. She was a little stupid compared to them, so there was no point in whining about it.
Two girls attached at the hip had become four, and Stevie couldn’t be more happy.
October 1983
“Honey, are you doing alright? You look a bit sick.”
“Hm? No, i’m—I’m all good—thank you though, Mrs. Byers, I appreciate it.” Stevie lied through her teeth, flashing her best “don’t mind me” smile.
It was getting too cold to hang out at the quarry, so they’d chosen Melvald’s as their hangout spot. Nancy’s family was close with the Byer’s, so they made sure to wave hello to Mrs. Byers every time they went. She’d wave back with a warm smile; one warmer than any Stevie’s own mother had ever given her.
Not that Stevie’s mom wasn’t a good one; she was, really, she just…wasn’t there a lot.
Neither of her parents were.
When she was younger, she’d always found it weird that Carol and Tommy’s moms were always at home when they hung out at their houses. She’d grown up with a rotating cast of nannies and babysitters since she was six–years–old, and that was just normal to her. With her father out on business trips around the country, and her mother accompanying him; she didn’t see them all that much, and that was okay.
She wasn’t a baby, she didn’t need someone to be with her all the time. She could take care of herself.
When she had tripped down the stairs at six years old and ran sobbing into her father’s study; he hadn’t babied her, or listened to her whining; he’d told her to put some ice on it and suck it up, and she had.
She did it again when she fell off the roof in the 4th grade trying to get a frisbee down; and when she ate shit at the skate park after she’d gotten new skates for Christmas; and not once did her father ever intervene.
So she grew up tough.
She hid her tears, rubbed some dirt in it, and kept on moving. It was what Harringtons did. (Her father never said he’d wished he had a son, but the disappointment in his eyes never fully faded when she caught him looking at her. They didn’t talk about it. They never really talked about anything.)
The thing about growing up with parents who weren’t always there meant that Stevie got away with a lot of shit. Parties when they left town, drinking, weed, hooking up with college boys from Indianapolis, trespassing, skinny-dipping; you name it, Stevie did it. And became an expert at lying too; to the police, to her teachers, and especially to her parents.
(She also got really good at lying to herself.)
But when parents aren’t absent; when they’re present and always there, (when they’re good), they tend to see everything, and they tend to be really difficult to fool.
And Joyce Byers was a damn good mother.
Stevie was currently fighting off a cold that had snuck up on her in the middle of the night (possibly brought on by a midnight hangout at the quarry with Carol, Tommy, and a bag of Munson grade weed). She’d done her best to hide the eye bags with concealer, but she knew by the look in the woman’s eye that Joyce wasn’t fooled.
Even so, she didn’t push it, to Stevie’s immense gratitude, and with a wave she ran off to join back up with her friends in the Halloween section.
They’d decided to do a group costume this year, despite Tommy’s initial protests.
For once, he was caught up with the whole group instead of just StevieandCarol. He didn’t mesh with NancyandBarb in quite the same way, but he knew better than to pitch a fit, and was cordial at the very least.
Besides, he was a little more than excited to be Batman for Halloween.
Finding it difficult to come up with a specific set of characters; they’d settled for just an assortment of different DC characters. Carol was Catwoman, to no one’s surprise; Nancy was planning on being Supergirl, after remembering an old blonde wig she already owned.
Barb lasted for about five minutes before giving in to the group insisting she be Barbara Gordon’s Batgirl, and she only caved after Tommy teased her about not being ready for the Bat-Mantle.
Stevie was going to be Wonder Woman, and no one challenged her. Not even for a second. She just needed to come up with a way to pay for the costume, because her parents were out on another work trip and her allowance was really only meant to cover food expenses.
“You should get a job—work after school like Tammy Thompson does at the clinic.” Barb suggested while digging through Melvald’s clearance Halloween bin. She pulled out a ratty old Michael Myers mask and grimaced as the hair fell out.
“Or,” Tommy said from the candy section, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “You could put your real skills to the test and—”
“I fucking swear Hagan, if you finish that sentence—”
“It was a joke, Holland! A joke! Do you know what that is? Do you know what jokes are? Huh?”
Nancy and Stevie shared a long-suffering look.
“Seriously though, a job isn’t a bad idea,” Carol remarked, fiddling with a plastic bat, “You’ve been talking about wanting to move out after graduation, right? Saving now wouldn’t hurt.”
“Who’s gonna hire a Junior with no work experience in the middle of October?” Stevie whined,
“Let’s face it, I missed the bandwagon, and now Wonder Woman is gonna be Underwhelming Woman this year.”
Nancy snorted at that, and Stevie grinned, but it was short lived.
“What about Benny’s?” Tommy asked, breaking off from arguing with Barb.
“...What?”
Tommy looked at her incredulously, “Benny’s, stupid. He’s always got that hiring sign out front and we only ever see him in there by himself. He’d probably be stoked to have another set of hands back there.”
“That’s…” Stevie started.
“ —Not half bad a plan, Hagan.” Carol finished. “Who knew you had it in you.”
“I’m not appreciated enough in this house.” Tommy grumbled halfheartedly, fighting back a grin as the girls laughed.
November 1983
It turned out, Benny was more than happy to have Stevie up front behind the counter to take orders for him. She took to the work like a duck in water, and she thrived in the customer service setting. It was just lying! All of it! Pretending to be friendly and charming, pretending to be on top of things, pretending to be sorry when the food took a bit longer than expected.
She was surprised she hadn’t thought of this sooner; what with all the time they spent there that past summer.
Tommy and Carol would come and visit her, and so would Nancy and Barb. She didn’t have to pretend to be nice to them, that came naturally.
It was grounding, to have something to do, and she found her worries of the future slipping away into the back of her head. Not fully gone, but not churning in her stomach anymore.
She was hopeful, and it felt amazing.
People watching was another fun part of the job. Benny’s was a far more interesting place than she had originally given it credit for; with all the different people that would come through the door.
Chief Hopper was a frequent visitor, there for the waffles and the coffee; So was Wayne Munson, who would come in Sunday mornings for scrambled eggs and the newspaper. Wayne never spoke to her that much, but he’d started nodding at her when he walked in, and she would take that as a win.
The Chief had seemed startled to see her that first day, but he shook it off and would now ask her about school every time he came in. And for the first time, she could actually say it was going really really well.
Between Nancy and Barb’s tutoring, for once Stevie’s grades were looking less like “scraping by” and more like “steady average”. If she kept it up, then between her grades and her sports then her chances of making it out of Hawkins were growing more real by the day.
And she didn’t even realize it, but Benny had become the main person she shared those experiences with—Every ‘A’ she earned she brought back to the diner and he pinned it on the bulletin board much to her embarrassment.
He was encouraging, and always listened to her ramble about her life, and never once made her feel weird about caring so much about “dumb high school shit. Hell, Benny knew more about the ins and outs of Hawkins High drama than most of the kids who went there.
She waved at him and wished him a good night after they closed; shivering as she made her way to the Beemer. The streetlights flickered for a second, but didn’t go out—Thank goodness, it was dark enough out here. She drove home listening softly to Tears for Fears, and wondering excitedly what the group’s plans for tomorrow would be—it was Friday after all.
She didn’t know. How could she?
She didn’t know that Will Byers was going to go missing that night, and that nothing would ever be the same.
She didn’t yet know that monsters were very very real.
And she definitely didn’t know that the next day she’d get called in to the principle’s office to be told that Benny had shot himself in the fucking head.