Chapter Text
Alisson Hopper hated mornings. It wasn't just the waking up; it was the exhausting ritual that followed. Between the hair, the eyeliner, the forced breakfast, and the drive to pick up her best friend, the day felt like a marathon before she even reached a desk. As a naturally lazy human being, every morning was a losing battle against her instinct to just stay under the covers.
She dragged herself out of bed and into the cramped trailer bathroom. A glance at the clock sent a jolt of caffeine-free adrenaline through her: 7:30. She was late. Great.
The trailer was silent, which meant her dad had already left for work. Jim Hopper didn't do "quiet." If he were home, she would have heard the heavy boots and the rattling coffee pot from a mile away. The man couldn't be subtle if his life depended on it.
Alisson leaned into the mirror. Her face was still puffy from sleep and her hair-a ginormous, wavy mess-defied gravity. Getting ready was a chore, but she had it down to a science.
Minutes later, she climbed into her car looking like a different person. She'd thrown on a beaded asymmetrical top in dark red over a long mesh skirt, finishing the look with knee-high boots and a velvet choker. She had the distinct air of a 70s witch; Stevie Nicks would have been proud.
She shifted her old burgundy Chevelle wagon into gear and sped toward Forest Hills Park. Her best friend, Natalie Munson, was already waiting on the curb.
"You're late," Natalie stated, pulling open the door.
"Yeah, no shit. Sorry," Alisson grunted. She tossed her bag into the backseat to make room. "The alarm and I had a disagreement today."
"You have a disagreement with your alarm every day, though," Nat pointed out. She flipped down the sun visor and began expertly touching up her makeup in the car's mirror. "Let's just hope Jonathan got there before second period. You do know we have a test from Kaminsky's class later this week, right?"
Alisson groaned, keeping her eyes on the road. "I know, I know. We're not going to flunk it, I promise."
"Yeah, that is if Wheeler decides to let us copy her answers again," Nat said, her voice dry as she readjusted her hair in the visor mirror.
Alisson nodded, her mind drifting back to how their trio had actually started. It was strange to think that only two years ago, her life looked completely different. When she'd first moved to Hawkins at thirteen, she'd been attached at the hip to Nancy Wheeler. But as high school loomed, Nancy had leaned into the "perfect" life, while Ali realized she hated the boxes people tried to put her in. She wanted to be authentic-someone who stood out in the neon-soaked crowd of the 80s-even if she secretly still craved the attention that came with being "known."
Then she'd met Natalie Munson. With Nat's sharp edges and "freak" reputation, she was exactly the kind of bad influence Alisson's soul had been craving. Nancy hadn't approved, and slowly, the invitations to the Wheeler house had stopped coming.
They might have ended up in total disaster if it wasn't for Jonathan. Alisson could still remember the adrenaline of junior year: she and Nat huddled behind the gym bleachers with a joint, the smell of weed thick in the air. They'd nearly been caught by a teacher, but Jonathan had stepped in with a perfectly timed distraction and a quiet lie that saved their skins. Ever since, the three of them had been an unremarcable trio.
"I actually studied last night, though," Ali added as the school building came into view. "Mostly. Between records."
Nat let out a skeptical laugh. "Studying doesn't count if you fall asleep on the textbook, Ali."
"Hey, it's called learning by osmosis," Ali retorted, swinging the heavy Chevelle door shut with a metallic thunk. "The knowledge seeps into the brain through the cover. It's very scientific."
They hiked their bags up and joined the stream of students. Entering Hawkins High was always like entering a battlefield of cliques. Ali led the way, her long mesh skirt swishing against her boots, while Nat trailed behind with her combat boots, platinum blonde mullet hair, and black leather jacket. They wove through the 'Preppies' near the trophy case and bypassed the 'Jocks' blocking the water fountain.
"Don't look now," Nat whispered, ducking behind Ali's shoulder, "but your former life is at two o'clock."
Ali glanced over. Nancy Wheeler was standing by the lockers, laughing at something Steve Harrington was saying. Nancy looked like a page out of a Sears catalog-crisp, clean, and perfectly placed. For a split second, Nancy's eyes met Ali's. There was a flicker of a smile, a ghostly "hello" from the girls they used to be, before Steve redirected her attention.
"Still weird?" Nat asked as they reached their lockers.
"Always," Ali muttered, spinning her combination lock. "It's like looking at a version of myself that got Deleted." She swapped her Fleetwood Mac tape for her French textbook, leaning her head against the cool metal of the locker. "Where's Jonathan? Usually, he's here to give us the 'State of the Union' address on how much school sucks."
Nat scanned the hallway, her playful expression faltering. The Munson intuition was sharp. "He's not by the bench. And he's not at his locker."
Ali felt a strange, cold prickle at the back of her neck. It was November 6th. The air inside the school felt just as thin and biting as the air outside. "Maybe he's just late. He's probably in the darkroom."
"Yeah," Ali said, though she didn't sound convinced. "Probably."
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Taking French at Hawkins High wasn't something Ali particularly enjoyed, but compared to the horror of mandatory sports, it was the lesser of two evils. Besides, languages came naturally to her-unlike the boy behind her who, for some undeterminable reason, kept poking her shoulder with his annoying pen.
"What, Steve?" she hissed, not bothering to turn around.
"Um, do you think that if I ask Nancy to come over to my house tomorrow night, she'll actually come?" he asked, leaning so far over his desk he was practically whispering into her hair.
Ali finally shifted, giving him a flat look. "Nancy Wheeler?"
"Yeah."
"Going to your house?"
"Yeah."
"Just the two of you? On a school night?" Ali let out a dry, skeptical laugh. "You're joking."
"No, I'm serious. Do you think she'll come?"
"You're messing with me," she said, watching his face fall into a mask of genuine confusion. "First of all, Nancy would never go to a guy's house alone -especially not yours - and definitely not on a Tuesday, Steve! She's the biggest dork in this entire zip code."
"Yeah, but tomorrow is the only day my parents won't be home," Steve countered, sounding desperate. "It's the best day for her to come over."
Ali leaned back, resting her head near his leaning face. "She's a 'good girl,' Steve. And you're her first boyfriend."
"No, not boyfriend," he corrected quickly. "Not yet, anyway. According to her, we're just 'getting to know each other.'"
"So, boyfriend. My point stands-she wouldn't go to your house alone regardless."
Steve slumped slightly, his confidence taking a hit. "Okay, so what do you suggest then?"
"I don't know," Ali shrugged. "Maybe tell her Barb can come too."
Steve actually shivered. "No. Barb, like, totally hates me."
"I wonder why?" Ali offered him a mocking, wide-eyed look of fake innocence.
"Stop that. I'm serious," Steve pleaded, dropping the cool act for a second. "I really like Nancy. Come on, help a guy out? Please?" He made a face-part puppy-dog, part desperate teenager.
Ali didn't really know why he always came to her for advice, or why she always ended up helping him. He could be a total dick with an immense ego, and he'd have flunked French months ago if she didn't let him peek at her notes. But she could tell that behind the "King Steve" stupidity, he was actually a good guy. A dumb guy, sure, but a good one.
"I guess... if it were me, I'd feel much better knowing there were other people at your place," Ali admitted. "I'm not saying she'll say yes, I'm just saying she'd be more comfortable if it weren't just the two of you."
"I mean, I guess I could invite Tommy and Carol..."
Ali spun around in her seat, eyes wide. "Tommy and Carol? Are you serious? They've been doing it since, like, the seventh grade, and Tommy is a condescending asshole!"
"Jeez, okay! You come, then," Steve suggested, throwing his hands up. "Be the 'comfortable whatever' that Nancy needs."
"No way. I have that nightmare test for Kaminsky's on Wednesday."
"Come on, help me out here. If you do this, I'll owe you big time."
"Steve, you already owe me big time."
"Yeah, but I'm your nice friend from French," he said, flashing the dumbest, most charmingly arrogant smile she had ever seen.
Ali sighed, defeated. "Fine. But you owe me. For real this time."
"Am I interrupting, Miss Hopper? Mister Harrington?" A low, sharp voice drifted from the front of the room. Mrs. Click was staring them down over the rim of her glasses.
"No, sorry, Mrs. Click," Ali said quickly, turning back to her textbook. She leaned back slightly to whisper one last thing. "I'm bringing Natalie."
"Then I'm definitely inviting Tommy and Carol," Steve whispered back.
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"I'm sorry-Harrington, what?" Natalie asked, slamming her locker shut so hard the metal echoed down the hall.
"He very nicely invited us to a small gathering at his house tomorrow night," Ali said, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.
"Steve Harrington? Why on earth would he invite us to his party?"
"He invited us because we're friends, and I'm helping him get together with Nancy."
"But why?" Nat pressed, stopping in the middle of the crowded hallway.
"Because I'm a nice human being, Nat."
"But why did he invite me?"
"Because I'm going," Ali said, giving her a look that said don't make this harder than it is.
"But why?"
"Because! Anyway..." Ali shifted the subject, her voice dropping an octave. "Did you see Jonathan yet?"
Nat's face instantly went from skeptical to serious. "No. He's MIA. It's almost fifth period and he still hasn't shown."
"Do you think something's wrong?"
"I don't know. He's not the type to skip, like, ever. I think the guy has a perfect attendance record."
"I know. It's weird, right?" Ali felt that cold prickle again. "Something has to be wrong."
"Weird like Steve inviting us to a party weird? No," Nat admitted, shifting her heavy bag. "But yeah, it's strange. Do you want to go to his place after school? See what's up?"
"Yeah."
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Jonathan was quiet-different from Nat and Ali. He possessed a natural melancholy that made him comfortable in the shadows; he was good at being a loner. In fact, he'd mastered the art of being invisible until Alisson Hopper barged into his life with a joint, a defiant stare, and an uncanny need to be "authentic."
Ali was loud. Not because she screamed or made scenes, but because she simply appeared. Whenever she stepped into a room, the atmosphere changed. People looked, maybe it was the 70s-style layers, the clinking beads, or the witchy mannerisms, but she just popped. In a hallway full of grey people, she was the one with saturation. And Jonathan knew that was exactly what she wanted.
She wanted to be different, and she wanted to be seen.
He, unlike her, truly felt invisible. Even if he tried to stand out, he felt like he'd just stay in the background of the shot. He was okay with that, he thought differently than the others. They couldn't understand the way he saw the world even if they tried. He didn't need to be popular, and he didn't need to "pop." He was an observer, and he made his peace with that.
He could still remember the sheer shock of that first day in the cafeteria. He had been perfectly content at his small, isolated table, fading into the wallpaper, when Alisson Hopper and Natalie Munson, the two most polarizing girls in the 9th grade, suddenly sat down and started eating their lunch as if they'd been invited.
Jonathan was definitely confused. The two girls hadn't spoken a single word to him all year-they had existed in a completely different orbit, spinning around the edges of the school's social scene while he stayed firmly in the dark.
And yet, here they were, dropping their trays onto his table with a loud, plastic clatter that felt like a gunshot in the quiet cafeteria. Suddenly, they were talking to him as if they had been best friends since birth.
Natalie was already mid-sentence about some record she'd stolen from her cousin Eddie, and Alisson was looking at him with an intense, curious gaze that made him feel like a subject in one of his own photographs.
He didn't know how to react. He was used to being the observer, the one behind the lens, safely tucked away where no one bothered to look. But Ali didn't just look-she saw him. And for the first time in his life, Jonathan realized his invisibility had been officially revoked.
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The memory of that first lunch-the plastic clatter of trays and the sudden, warm intrusion of their friendship-flickered in Ali's mind like an old film strip. It felt a lifetime away from the heavy, biting silence of the woods she was driving through now.
"You're driving like a maniac." Nat noted, though she didn't tell Ali to slow down. She was gripped by the same unease, her eyes fixed on the wall of trees passing them by.
"Yeah well I got a bad feeling, I dont know, its just too unlike him." Ali muttered, her knuckles white on the Chevelle's steering wheel.
They pulled into the gravel driveway of the Byers' house. Usually, this place felt like a cosy, safe space. But today, the small house looked lonely, huddled under the gray November sky.
Ali cut the engine. The silence that followed was absolute. No music, no barking dogs-just the wind whistling through the dead leaves.
"Maybe he just has a fever," Nat said, but she stayed in the car for a beat too long, her hand hovering over the door handle. "Maybe he's just sleeping it off."
"Only one way to find out."
Ali climbed out, her boots crunching loudly on the gravel. She walked up to the porch, every step feeling heavier than the last. She reached out and knocked on the wood-three sharp hits.
There was a muffled sound from inside, the heavy slide of a deadbolt, and then the door creaked open.
But it wasn't Jonathan who stood there.
It was Joyce Byers. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wide and rimmed with red, and she was clutching a phone like a lifeline. She looked at Ali and Nat as if she didn't recognize them for a second, her face a mask of pure, vibrating panic.
"Ali?" Joyce's voice was thin, trembling. "Hi honey. Is... is Will with you? Did he stay at your house?"
The "cold prickle" Ali had felt all day turned into a sheet of ice. "No, Mrs. Byers. We haven't seen Will. We came to check on Jonathan. He wasn't at school today."
Joyce's let out a strugled breath. Behind her, the house was a mess-lamps turned over, the phone cord stretched to its limit.
"Jonathan's not home." Joyce said. "He went out... Will never came home last night..
Will is missing."
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